Angel Box Set

Chapter 4-1

Chapter 4

“Come on, Jay. Open up. I’m bleeding out here, man.”

Jay grimaced as Dean banged on his door again—an on-going action lasting over ten minutes. An earlier telephone call from April alerted Jay to Dean’s arrival, but the cow—b***h!—hadn’t warned him soon enough. The casual conversation worked around to the subject of Dean, of how he and she talked, and the eventual confession of how the two decided the best solution was for Dean to head on over.

Ambushed. Worse than Dean’s failed attempt to do that to his sister, was his sister and Dean ganging up to do a similar thing to Jay. The first thing he blurted was a panicked, “When?” He detested getting irate with April, the sensation alas too familiar. All siblings argued, but their relationship was no longer the same. The more they aged, the more April deserved his anger some days, her controlling nature wearing thin. Maybe he shouldn’t trust her so much anymore. He hadn’t needed April to tell him to deal with Dean or her saying what a pain in the arse Dean could be. Neither did he need her to refer to Dean as a good bloke at heart. The attribute was why Jay put up with him.

No sooner back from his break he faced the thing from which he’d run away. Yet to unpack, to throw a pile of clothes in the wash, the only progress made on a need to eat was a half-consumed sandwich resting on a stack of paperbacks no doubt unhygienic, plucked out of his case. After his sister hung up on him, left with no way to vent, Jay succumbed to the urge to flee. Grabbing jacket and keys, during his mid-sprint to the door, Dean knocked, and now, ten minutes on, Dean persisted.

The next knock made the door vibrate as Dean took to hammering. Jay pictured the large fist responsible. Jay lived in a block. Sound carried through the walls. Other occupants had to be hearing this. Jay took a step, stopping as the sound ceased. Silence spun out broken by Dean saying, “I’ll sit here all night if I have to.”

A strange sliding sound followed the snap bang of the letterbox punctuating Dean’s words. He must have shouted through the raised flap. Peace descended but no way had Dean slipped away. Unless Jay meant to avoid the other man for life, April was right, and they needed to talk. That didn’t give her the authority to interfere. He’d open the door for the sake of his neighbours, not for any other reason. When he grew tired of waiting, Dean would pound on the door again, the man’s surprising determination one of the things Jay liked about him…even when on the receiving end.

He paused once, before tugging the door wide as far as the chain allowed. Confronted by an empty corridor, brain cells fired, he identified the earlier noise and looked down.

Dean sat on the floor with his back to the wall, hands clasped, and legs bent, elbows resting on his knees. A strip of cloth knotted around one palm shone white splashed with red.

“Christ!” Jay slammed the door fumbling to unfasten the chain. “When you said you were bleeding, I thought you were being a wise arse and meant emotionally.”

Dean grunted, rose to his feet, bent to pick something off the floor, and marched inside. Jay wasted no time herding him into the kitchen and headed straight to the drawer where he kept medical supplies.

He spun, mouth open to order Dean into a chair, prevented by a large bunch of sharp greenery almost whacking him in the face. He stepped back, meeting Dean’s sheepish gaze over the top of the leaves. The odd gesture and romance of receiving plant-life failed, owing to the near miss of an injury, and the act of thievery. When the flowers were finished often some of the leaves remained. Although the stems looked tired, this being the low point of the year for them, Jay recognised Christmas Roses because he loved them so. The easy to grow Hellebores Niger bloomed in the darkest months, even when all else lay frozen. He admired their defiance. Most varieties were white, or tinged with pink through to purple. Mrs Thompson’s were well established. She grew the white, but also an outstanding type of velvety purple against shiny, dark green leaves. Clumps of earth still clung to these.

“You stole from Mrs Thompson’s garden?”

“Why do you think I’m bleeding?”

“I take it the bite wasn’t Mrs Thompson?” The old woman had it for her to bite, and Jay wasn’t sure he didn’t mean literally. Her bark was appalling enough. He took the plants and set them aside resisting the temptation to let Dean lose a little more plasma while he searched for a pot. Choosing to be generous, Jay washed his own hands, instructing Dean to do the same. Dean hissed as he exposed his wound to water. How gratifying to know the antiseptic would sting so much more. By the time Dean turned off the tap, the first-aid box lay open, all Jay needed set out on the table. He hooked a chair out with his foot—a silent order.

Not until they both sat did the position strike Jay as too close, too intimate, as well as ridiculous, not unlike the necessity to push back the too big, too baggy sleeves of his jumper.

“Toffee or Fudge?” Mrs Thompson owned two vicious Pomeranians.

“Does it matter?” Dean grunted out, and swore as Jay applied ointment. He glared while Jay carried on, enjoying a silent chuckle. “I guess I should get a tetanus jab, or maybe rabies.”

This Jay also ignored, the complaint vindictive; rabies wasn’t an issue.

“I wonder if they put poms to sleep if they bite.”

“You wouldn’t! Don’t you dare.”

A familiar spark of amusement flashed in Dean’s eyes, causing Jay to shake his head even as he finished the dressing. “You were trespassing and stealing. You got what you deserved.”

“You don’t like the flowers?”

“Irrelevant.”

“I thought you could pot them. I heard they grow okay in pots.” Jay didn’t own a garden. “With a little care they might bloom in time for Christmas.”

“Do you know the roots are poisonous?” Jay waited for a beat before looking over, Dean’s expression all he’d hoped for, and more.

“See what I go through for you,” Dean muttered.

Half wishing it was true Jay concentrated on his task.

“Horrid little things,” Dean said maybe to fill the silence. “Came out at me from under a bush. The bloody thing was asleep. I might have stepped on it. Don’t know what she sees in them.”

They did snap and growl at everyone, but…“She loves them. Anyway, you know what she’s like. Imagine what she’d be like without them.”

“Good point. And I wasn’t stealing.”

Jay paused in the act of packing away bandages and lotion. “Yes, you were.”

“I leant over the wall and took a few flowers.”

Jay barked out a laugh. “You dug them up complete with poisonous roots and either way, it’s called stealing.”

“So? If I’d asked, she would have said no, and people do stupid things for those they…”

The moment spun out. Jay flushed hot and cold. Afraid to let the hush last, he asked, “What?”

“They do stupid things when they’re asking for forgiveness.”

Jay kept busy, gaze averted. His heart took on a peculiar rhythm. His own damn fault—no way had Dean been about to say what Jay imagined. Before he was able to return the equipment to the drawer, Dean thrust a box under his nose. Belgian chocolates, Jay’s favourite, but no one ever presented him with a box quite like this one before.

“Sorry,” Dean muttered. “I put them on the wall. Knocked them off when the dog came rushing out and bit me. I sort of stepped on them.”

The dented box, with what must be squashed chocolates inside, was too much. Jay sniggered, and when Dean looked over, he laughed harder. He so wanted to stay angry with Dean, but without intending to, the big man still managed to make it damn difficult.