“Actually”—Esther steps forward, standing even taller—“I have grocery shopping to do, so now works better for me.”
“Someone want to help me?” Brad calls, looking to everyone in the room. We all ignore him. “Okay. Looks like I’m staying.” He slumps back down. “I can’t watch.” He takes the pillow from behind his head and covers his face.
Tilting his head, Danny’s eyes pass over all of our awkward forms, his face straight, but his eyes blazing with realization tell me he’s grasped what’s about to go down. “And you have to leave this moment?” he asks.
“I do.”
“You can’t wait five minutes for me to finish?” He’s being difficult now. Plain difficult, because he’s worried. I might join Brad under that pillow.
“Like I said,” Esther says. “I have things to do, and I would like to get on and do them.”
Danny looks at Otto briefly. Briefly but with enough of a sneer for me to be concerned. “I never appreciated your schedule was so regimented, Mum.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Otto mutters, rising from his chair, prompting Ringo, Goldie, and me to jump up sharpish and announce our departure.
“Take me!” Brad sings, flinging the pillow on the floor.
“Sit down,” Danny barks, rising and slamming his fist on the table.
“Yes, sit down!” Esther yells, and Danny flinches like he’s been shot.
We all lower, except Danny and Otto, who remain poised and growling at each other over the desk.
Esther looks a little red in the face, like she could be holding on to her temper. I will her to let it go, release the pressure and let Danny have it. I might not be sure about Otto and Esther, but they’re fucking grown-ups. This is not Danny’s call.
Breathing heavy, fists clenched and white where they’re wedged into the wood of his desk, Danny shakes. Whether that be with anger or restraint, I don’t know. It takes everything in me not to fall apart when I see Brad stretching for the pillow, grappling at thin air, unable to reach it.
“Sit down!” Esther snaps again, and Danny drops to his chair with eyes like saucers and his mouth slightly agape. I’d laugh if I knew he wouldn’t shoot me. I peek at Goldie and Ringo. Both of them look red in the face from holding their breath and their amusement in check.
“Right.” Esther plants her hands on her hips, meaning business. “Let us get this out in the open, shall we?”
“No,” Danny grunts.
“Please, no,” Brad says quietly.
“Shut the fuck up, Brad,” Esther, Otto, and Danny all yell in unison, and he retreats quickly, covering his face with his hands. He should watch, because The Brit is about to be put in his place, and it’s going to be entertaining.
“I’m seeing someone,” she declares.
I smile, brushing the side of my index finger across my mouth to try and hide it.
“No, you’re not,” Danny grates.
“Yes, she is.” Otto pipes up. “Me.” As if he needed to say it. Goldie is now sucking her cheeks in, Ringo looks more worried than amused at this point, and Brad is shaking his head in his darkness.
“I beg to differ.”
“Come on, Danny,” I say gently.
He points at me. “Shut the fuck up.”
I’m letting that slide, but only because he’s emotional.
“No, Mum. No. You’re better than-than-than”—his pointed finger turns to Otto—“that.”
I’ve known Otto for many years. He has the patience of a saint. It’s about to snap and I’d rather not be here for it. What the fuck, Danny? Back the fuck down. “Are you saying you’re a better man than I am, Black?” Otto rumbles, his chest seeming to expand, his breathing deepening.
“I’m saying nothing about me.”
“Boys!” Esther cries.
“You’re saying you deserve Rose?” Otto muses menacingly. “But I don’t deserve a woman like your mother?”
Jesus, if Danny’s nostrils flare anymore, Otto’s fists will disappear up them when he punches him. I glance at my oldest friend, silently urging him to look at me so I can will him to take a few deep, calming breaths and not do anything stupid. It’s the whole fucking point Esther is here, to try and appeal to Danny’s reasonable side, since no one else can. And she’s one of the only people in this world who Black wouldn’t hurt. Fucking hell. But Otto doesn’t look at me, his bearded, pierced face becoming more menacing by the second.
“Well?” he prompts.
“Leave my wife out of it.” Danny stands again, and I reluctantly accept that shit is about to go down, and no one can stop it, not even Danny’s mother. I doubt Rose could either, if she was here. It’s just a matter of who launches first.
“Is it safe to come out yet?” Brad asks, peeking out from under his arm, just as Danny flies across his desk and takes Otto off his feet.
“That’s a no, then.” Brad retreats back into his darkness, and Goldie gets up, looking at me, palms up, asking what the fuck we should do. Honestly, I don’t know.
“Leave them,” Ringo says, holding an arm out in front of Goldie, as if holding her back. I take his stance. I’m not getting in between them either.
“Oh God,” Esther says, as Otto rolls them, getting the upper hand, straddling Danny. He launches a fist right into his face, and everyone winces at the sound. Blood sprays, Esther puts her face in her hands, and Danny roars, flying up, blood spread over every inch of his scarred face. He looks like a fucking psycho. An absolute, raving, psycho, his teeth bared, his cold eyes wild. Otto’s got a few years on Danny, he’s sturdier, heavier, but I’m worried for him.
I step back when they come toward me, Danny throwing Otto on the desk and returning the favor, making a mess of his nose too. More blood. And Otto, the crazy fuck, laughs dementedly. It’s the worst thing he could do. And all of a sudden, both men are a blur of swinging fists, deafening bellows and downright craziness.
Punch after punch, kick after kick, yell after yell, they go at each other like rabid cavemen, smacking into walls, knocking the glasses over on the drinks cabinet, knocking fucking pictures off walls. This has been brewing for weeks. The small altercation in St. Lucia and at the boatyard didn’t cut the mustard. They need to get this out of their systems. Again.
We all move out of their way, me pulling Esther from the path of their wild, flying limbs more than once, but there is nothing I can do for Brad, who’s a sitting duck on the couch, hiding from the ugly.
“I’ll fucking kill you!” Danny yells.
“Fucking try it,” Otto roars. “You fucking brat.”
Then they land on Brad and his scream is ear-piercing, his face draining of blood in an instant. Danny and Otto snap out of their fits immediately, scrambling up, and look at Brad, who is in absolute agony on the couch, holding his shoulder. “Fuck!” he shrieks, as I hurry over, barging the two idiot kids out of my way to get to him. His dressing is drenched in blood, the wound open beneath. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“Someone get Doc,” I order, pushing Brad’s knees down, stopping him from curling into a protective ball so I can get to his wound.