"What? No one wants to give me a hug?" Brandon seemed to be enjoying himself as his eyes scanned the room. "Nice little party you've got going on here."

"It is," Silas sneered. "One you weren't invited to."

"Oh pipe down, princess," he said, waving him off dismissively. "Since when are you the brooding one? You've been stuck behind your sister's shadow for so long you're now stealing Weston's thing."

If there was one thing you could count on Brandon for, it would be dressing up in his sleaze-attire and instantly bringing down the mood of everyone around him.

"I heard the band I used to manage was putting out their first album. I just wanted to come by and send my best wishes." His attention quickly moved on to another person in the room. "Oh, and who are you?" Brandon's eyes narrowed on Gwen. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting before."

Gwen stayed silent, leaning closer into Patrick's side.

"Patty finally got a girl? Now, that's adorable," his eyes remained on Gwen as he added, "You know he plays for both sides, right?"

The grip I had on TJ's waist instinctively tightened as Brandon moved onto her. "You look good. Skip a meal today?"

I tensed beside her and opened my mouth to speak. I dropped my grip on her waist and went to step forward. It was as if she predicted my reaction, as I felt her tug on my hand. "Don't," she whispered. "He just wants you to react. Don't give in."

"Aw, now isn't that adorable," Brandon snickered. "Always knew you two would end up together. Well, I mean, I'm sure she's just the one you're fucking behind closed doors, cause we both know she's a bit," he lifted his index finger to the side of his head and spun it in a quick circle.

My shoulders tensed as my eyes narrowed down on him. He was testing my fucking patience, and he knew it.

TJ's nails dug into my skin. "Don't," she gritted through her teeth.

I looked down at her and nodded, doing my best to not think about how good it would feel to physically shut that fucker up.

"Damn, she really has you whipped." Brandon turned to Weston. "Must be hard for you. Having some guy walk in and steal the attention of the girl you have been so pathetically in love with for years."

Weston remained silent on the couch, fighting back the same urge the rest of us were. I could see his fist tighten, the veins on his neck beginning to bulge as Brandon continued with his taunting. I was beginning to think this sack of crap enjoyed getting punched; it was like he was asking for it every time he opened his mouth.

"Are you done?" TJ snapped, speaking to him directly for the first time. "We'd all like to go back to enjoying our night without you being here."

He cocked his head to the side, stepping forward with an amused grin. "Of course. One more question," he looked at me. "Have you ever been to London?"

My heart sank to the bottom of my stomach.

TJ scoffed. "Is that honestly what you wanted to ask?"

"What? He seems like a well-travelled guy." If I had any glimmer of hope that his question was a mere coincidence, it was instantly diminished when he added, "I've been thinking of staying at The Historian Hotel. Ever been there before?"

"No, I haven't."

Brandon raised a brow. "Really? I'm surprised. It seems just like the type of place a guy like you would want to stay at."

"You've had your fun," Weston snapped from the couch. "Alright? Get out."

"Oh, come on, Wes. Now you've got me reminiscing about the good ol' days." Brandon placed his hand on his heart. "Now that I'm thinking about it... I used to know a girl that lived in London. Oh, she was fucking something. She could have been a model if she wanted - tall, leggy, blonde, big blue eyes. The whole package really. God, what was her name..."

He pretended to ponder, tapping his index finger against his chin. "I think it started with a C... No... K? Maybe it was an A... Yes, it was definitely an A." Brandon grinned at the six pairs of eyes that were watching him with bated breaths, worried for what he would say next. "I'm sure she would have been your type. In fact, maybe everyone's type," he looked over at Patrick. "Well, maybe not yours. Are you even sure if your girlfriend is your type? Or are you still a bit confused, Patty?"

Shrugging off TJ's grip on my arm, I walked forward. Ignoring his continued taunting, I stood in front of him and blocked his view from the rest of the group. "I think it's time you go."

He was clearly amused. "Ah, so she doesn't know?" he dropped his voice to a whisper for no one else to hear but me. "My, my, my. I wonder what our dear TJ would think about poor Annabelle." He knew - it wasn't a coincidence at all. He fucking knew. And I was thankful the music was loud enough to drown our conversation out, ensuring the others behind me didn't hear. "I bet it would change her opinion of you quite a bit. You know, for being a-"

Red. That was all I saw. It was the colour his face turned as my hand gripped his neck and forced him up against the wall. It was the colour that splattered when my fist collided with his jaw. I didn't know if I wanted him dead at that moment, or just to stop talking. But the more blood that pooled from his split lip and broken nose, the better I felt.

I wasn't sure at what point I had stopped. I could have hit him twice. Or twenty times.

Unfortunately, he wasn't dead.

Brandon used the back of his hand to wipe the blood from his mouth. A twisted grin grew across his face as he let out a dark laugh. It didn't matter that he was on the ground, with a face covered in his own blood. It didn't matter at all. Because he knew he won. He pissed me off and ensured I went so far off the ledge, I couldn't see anything but a fucking colour.

As bodies came to get Brandon out of the house, I looked over my shoulder to TJ. She stood with her mouth slightly agape, her eyes flashing back from mine to the wall, where some of his blood was now splattered. I took a step towards her but Gwen had already pulled her by the arm and dragged her down the hallway before I had the chance to say something.

I was worried everyone was about to treat me like I was a loose cannon. And maybe they'd be right for it.

"Hey, there's nothing to see here. Turn the fucking music back on!" Silas called out.

His order was instantly followed and the sound blaring from the speakers resumed. Everyone returned to their conversations, acting as if the past events had not happened. This really was an interesting group of people.

"Let's get you some ice, dude!" Patrick said, leading us towards the kitchen as he swung his arm over my shoulder. "Oh, and, dude! You gotta show me how to throw a punch like that. I swear you're fucking professional at hitting a mother fucker!"

Silas pulled a bag of ice from the freezer and dumped its contents into a large mixing bowl. "Stick your hand in there," he said, pouring himself a drink. "None of us are as good at fixing cuts and scrapes and twisted limbs like TJ is... but, I do know ice works."

I let my hand sink into the bowl, feeling the cool sensation from the ice burn against the sensitive skin. It definitely wasn't as pleasant of an experience compared to the last time this had happened - when TJ had spent her time cleaning me and ensuring every step was handled with care. The painfully chilling ice was better than nothing at all.

"Here," Weston said, offering a red cup for me to take. "Something to take the edge off. Make your hand not feel like it's broken." He cleared his throat, shifting on the balls on his feet. "Brandon was just talking shit, by the way," he dropped his voice to a lower volume. "I'm not... in love with her."

"Don't worry, I have a hard time believing anything out of that guy's mouth."

However, this was something I did feel to be true. Weston clearly had some love-adjacent feelings towards her. Whether that was a romantic or platonic type of love, I wasn't quite sure. I leaned towards the former, but for the sake of this conservation and our future interactions, I chose to believe it was the latter.

I looked down at the plastic cup, taking a sniff of the foul dark liquid. "What is this, by the way? It smells..." I paused, trying to find a better word other than horrendous. "Interesting."

He clasped his hand on my back. "Special remedy. Like I said, it'll make your hand not feel like it's broken. After hitting that fucker as many times as you did, I think you could use it."

I took a sip, feeling the instant, painful burn as it ran down the back of my throat.

"Yeah, I'd suggest chugging that."

I listened, knowing there was no other way I'd possibly consume such a thing. It not only smelt horrendous, but it also tasted that way too. Tossing the empty cup onto the table, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to kill me with that."

Weston let out a rare sound for him; a laugh. "No, not trying to kill you," he said, "Well, not yet, at least."

The liquid still left an unpleasant taste in my mouth, as if it were punishment for drinking again. I realized I had broken my sobriety for the first time in three months. At least it was soothing the pain from my throbbing hand.

"Need another?"

I nodded. "Make it a double."

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