“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you,” Brookes growls, punching Blake again.
“Brookes!” I yell, stumbling across the room and wrapping my hand around his arm. “Stop, please?”
And he does stop. Immediately. His eyes widen when they see me, like he’d somehow become so consumed by his own rage that he’d forgotten where he was, or that I even was here.
“Shit, Pops,” he huffs, dragging his bloodied-knuckled hand down his face.
I kneel beside him, pulling him into my arms, and he wraps his own around me once again, holding me just as tight.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “I’m okay.”
“We’re okay,” he whispers back.
“You’re fucking finished, Brookes.” Blake groans, scrambling to his feet.
I look up at him, wincing at his obviously broken nose, blood streaming down his face.
“You are fucking done!” he shouts, pointing an accusatory finger at Brookes.
I hold onto Brookes a little tighter, instinctively cowering away from Blake as he sways unsteady on his feet.
“Expect a call from the cops.” He scoffs, laughing almost manically.
“Sure thing,” Brookes spits back. “I’ll be sure to show them the footage.”
Blake’s smirk falls, his eyebrows bunching together.
Brookes points to the far corner of the room, to a small flashing light that looks like a built-in light. “You’refucking done, Blake,” he warns. “Now get the fuck outta my house.”
Blake’s narrowed gaze flits to me, and I quickly avert my eyes, unable to look at him again.
Tightening his arm around me, Brookes continues, “And don’t you ever fuckin’ show your face around here. You are fucking dead to me.”
Blake staggers out of the room, knocking into the wall on his way out, his shuffled steps fading before the front door slams.
“Baby, did he hit you?” he asks, his palm gently cupping my cheek that feels like it’s the size of a football.
I nod, a thick swallow working its way down my throat.
With a muttered, “Fuck,” Brookes jumps up, but I stop him, tugging on his hand. “Don’t. Please…”
Crouching down, he steadies me with an earnest look. “I’m just going to get you some ice, baby.”
I sigh, relieved, my shoulders falling as my exhale stammers through me. Pulling myself up onto the couch, I grab one of the throw pillows, hugging it to me. And when Brookes returns with an ice pack wrapped in a towel, he sits down next to me, carefully placing it against the side of my face, looking at me with tears glossing his eyes.
“Shit, baby,” he whispers, his voice raw. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”
Closing my eyes, I shake my head, dismissing his apology. “It’s not your fault, Brookes. I’m okay.” I look at him, placing my hand over his as he holds my face.
“Thank you for stopping me,” he says after a beat. “I was ready to kill that motherfucker. I just… I saw red.” Shaking his head to himself, he continues, his voice low and laced with danger as he says, “Pops, if… if you hadn’t been here, I-I don’t think I would’ve been able to stop.”
“Shhh…” I touch his arm, tracing one of the many tattoos inked into his skin. “I was here. And Iamhere. And I’m not going anywhere, okay?”
Sniffling, he nods, leaning in and resting his forehead against mine. “Thank you.”
“Always,” I whisper, closing my eyes and basking in everything Brookes.
THE COMEBACK THAT ALMOST WASN’T: DEVEREAUX’S RESURGENCE
