What?
And then, that fucking pole hit me across the face. I went down to my knees, blood pooling in my mouth. My vision tunneled, and vomit rose up my esophagus. I retched, spewing my breakfast and my preworkout drink. And then, I fell forward into my own vomit, my vision going black.
Chapter 24
Preston
“Chocolate chip cookies are the best fucking cookies known to mankind, and I’ll die on that goddamn hill,” Zeppelin told Miranda, looking at her like he was contemplating why she even existed. They’d been arguing about cookies for five minutes now. Miranda thought lemon cookies were the best—specifically the Oreo ones, which she was currently munching on—and Zeppelin thought she’d been born under a rock, if his face was anything to go by.
“Then go die on it,” Miranda deadpanned, rolling her eyes. And if I hadn’t been around her enough times to know she was only joking, I’d have thought she was seriously telling Zeppelin to go unalive himself.
Zeppelin looked at me. “Tell her chocolate chip cookies are the best,” he ordered.
“Uh…” My cheeks warmed. “Actually…”
“No,” he gasped dramatically, pressing his hand to his heart as if I’d personally wounded him. “Do not tell me you side with her.” He rudely pointed a finger at Miranda like she was mere scum and he no longer considered as a human being.
I was coming to learn Zeppelin was just… overdramatic like that. About everything.
I shook my head, rolling my lips into my mouth to contain my laugh. When I’d first laid my eyes on Zeppelin, I thought he was a bad ass with a mouth he was quick to run, and I was almost certain he might have loved to throw hands as much as my boyfriend. But come to find out, while Zeppelin was definitely protective of his family, he was also chill and quite funny.
“Well, spit it out then,” Miranda said, leaning on the counter with a cookie in her hand, watching me like I held the secrets to becoming a billionaire overnight. “Tell us what the best cookie is.”
“Red velvet with white macadamia nuts.”
They both looked horrified. Zeppelin looked at Shane, who seemed to be ignoring all three of us, but I knew he was taking in every single thing happening. His head was bent over his iPad as he worked on a tattoo design, but I knew if I questioned him about anything that’d happened since he started working, he’d be able to recall it word for literal word.
“He’s not welcome here anymore,” Zeppelin deadpanned.
Shane grunted, not saying a word. Zeppelin looked at me. “I thought you were a decent guy, Preston, but red velvet?”
I shrugged. “What? It’s good.” And it was the first dessert X had ever made for me. I’d had a rough day at work that day and had called him on my lunch break ranting about wanting cookies and how I was tired and just wanted to crash and sleep. When I got home, he had on one of my favorite BL shows, dinner was set up for us to eat—Mexican takeout—and he’d made cookies from a recipe he found online.
He was the definition that if he wanted to, he would. And I loved X to pieces for the effort he put in. Because I knew things like that weren’t second nature for him. He didn’t feel a need to take care of anyone. At his core, he was selfish and self-centered. But he wanted me, and he put in the effort to keep me.
“Red velvet is an abomination,” Zeppelin disagreed. My phone began vibrating on the counter, and I tuned out whatever he was saying after that. Grabbing it up, my stomach dropped at the sight of Denzel’s name on my screen. He was X’s trainer, and he never called me. X made us exchange numbers for cases of emergencies, so I knew whatever Denzel was calling me for wasn’t going to be good.
I was going to puke.
Quickly, I swiped my thumb across the screen and lifted my phone to my ear. “Denzel?” I asked. My voice sounded strangled to my own ears. He and I both knew I already knew why he was calling. Something had happened to X.
“He was attacked, Preston,” Denzel told me, not bothering to beat around the bush, which I was thankful for. I couldn’t handle pleasantries. “I’m rushing him to the emergency room right now. The doctor on call doesn’t have the equipment to help him.”
“No,” I croaked, a tremor starting to wrack through my body. But then, Shane was there, taking my phone from me while pulling me against him. He pressed my ear to his chest, right above his heartbeat, which was sure and steady. Grounding.
“This is Shane.” His voice was eerily calm. Empty. “Give me the facts.”
I could hear Denzel talking, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. Zeppelin appeared beside us, and he grabbed my hand, placing a shot glass in it. Dark liquor stared back at me. “Drink it,” he ordered. “You’re too fucking pale, Preston. I’m not a fan of people passing out in my shop.”
I lifted the glass to my lips and threw the liquor back, coughing and gagging immediately after. Holy fuck, what the fuck was that? Zeppelin’s lips quirked with an aborted smile as he took the glass back from me. “Burn?” he asked.
“What the fuck is that?” I choked out, my eyes watering.
“Crown Royal,” Zeppelin told me. “You’re getting some color back to your cheeks.” He nodded approvingly. “Good.”
Shane hung up my phone, then tugged me up from my barstool. His fingers laced through mine. “We need to go,” he told Zeppelin. “X is in the hospital. It’s fucking bad.”
I swallowed down the vomit in my esophagus. Zeppelin’s jaw tightened the slightest bit as he stared at Shane for a moment. Finally, he nodded once. Shane spun, pulling me toward the door with him. “Shane,” Zeppelin called after us. Shane paused, but he didn’t turn to look at Zeppelin. I did though, and something in my chest loosened at the worry in his expression. He truly did care for Shane like family. “If you need help, I’m only a phone call away, you hear me? My family and I will help—legally or illegally.”