“Talking about me?” Vas asked, stepping into the doorway.
Yeah.
He’d been in a fight, alright.
His eye was black and blue and so swollen it was almost closed. He had a fat lip, a nose that wasn’t as straight as it had been when I’d left, and busted-open knuckles.
“You clean all that shit out before you went to bed?” I asked, gesturing between the injuries.
“Spike cleaned him up,” Croft said.
“Did anyone tell Fallon about this yet?”
“That was on today’s agenda,” Croft said.
I turned to Vas. “You gotta do it.”
“I’m not even a pros—”
“No, you’re not. All the more reason you need to be a man, go see Fallon, and tell him what went down at the club. You let me or Croft do the talking for you, and Fallon’s not gonna look at you the same. Get dressed and get over there before he hears it through the grapevine.”
Vas gave me a nod and turned to walk away.
“Vas?”
“Yeah?” he asked, turning back.
“You alright?”
“Yeah, I’m alright.”
“Good.” I waited for him to disappear before turning back to Croft. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“We had it handled.” He shrugged. “I figured you were… busy.”
“Never so busy that I don’t want an update on shit like that.”
“Want some help cleaning? Or are you working through some shit?”
There was no lying to him.
“Working through some shit.”
“Then I’ll put on the coffee.” It wasn’t until he finished the task that I felt his gaze on me again. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Not really, no.”
“Are you in some sort of trouble?”
“No.”
“A danger to yourself?”
To that, I snorted. “No.”
“Then I won’t bug you. But get your energy out here. It’s gonna be hot as the devil’s balls today. Don’t go running.”
“Got it.”