Becoming Us (COMPLETE)

*Twenty Nine*

In the kitchen, Carey looked over from where he was washing up at the sink. "You two okay?" A joint burned in an ashtray beside him, and his expression pinched with worry.

I leaned around him to examine his busted knuckles. One fist was in awful shape. The knuckles of the other were reddened. "You're the only one bleeding."

When he moved from the sink, I got a towel from the drawer and wet it with warm water. Tre took me by the shoulders and turned me toward the counter. "And I'm the only one without an injury, so both of you sit."

Carey took his ashtray and sat on one of the high stools. I followed him, and waited for him to settle. Then, I let him get a puff before cleaning the dried blood running from the side of his forehead over his eyebrow and temple. The scrape wasn't very long, but it bled a lot. "What happened here?"

"Asshole scratched me, grabbing at my hair like a bitch."

"Gross. Gary germs." I cringed, and Carey snickered as he turned to blow his smoke away from me. He tapped the fire off the joint and pushed it aside, reaching for the glass of whiskey Tre set in front of him. "Thanks."

A strawberry drink waited for me, but I couldn't stand the thought of Gary cooties infecting Carey. I'd relax once he was clean.

"Ew. There's blood on your shirt too." I shuddered wondering who it belonged to.

He leaned up and reached back, grabbing the neck and pulling it over his head. Holding it out, he inspected it—messy with a small tear—and tossed it in the trash. I did my best to keep my eyes off his amazing body and on his face where they belonged.

Saying nothing, Tre lifted Carey's hand and set it on the counter, topping it with the same bag of frozen peas I'd used last night. Carey brushed the fingers of his free hand over Tre's forearm. "Thanks." Tre strode from the room without replying, and Carey's eyebrows drew together. "What's wrong with him?" he whispered.

I just shook my head, and a second later, Tre returned with rubbing alcohol. "Oh, good." I soaked a dry corner of the towel and dabbed over the cut with it.

Carey hissed, but didn't pull away. Instead, he glued his gaze to Tre as he slid onto the stool behind me, and they sat sideways watching each other with me in the middle. When I finished with Carey, Tre tugged me back to lean between his legs with a hug. He passed me my drink, and I relaxed into his hold, glad he was being his usual affectionate self.

After a few moments of silence, Carey sighed. "Out with it, dude. Who pissed in your Cheerios?"

I tensed and Tre's thumb rubbed my side. He set his whiskey on the bar. "I don't need anyone fighting my fights for me."

Carey's eyes raked over Tre's muscular arms, and he smirked. "I never thought you did."

"Then why was I pushed to leave while you stayed to defend Gemma?"

I scoffed. "I didn't want anyone to—"

"I tried to let it go, but I couldn't let him call you guys those things and just walk away. Especially not after what he did to Gem."

"So you were defending both of us while I was supposed to wait outside?"

"I guess so. Gem would've gotten hurt." Carey grinned at me. "Although you did almost get him with that lamp."

"If you hadn't grabbed me, I would've!"

"Yeah, and he'd have been in the hospital. It would've been pretty hard to get you out of that trouble."

Tre shifted forward so his chest brushed my back, and the scent of whiskey reached my nose. "I wouldn't have wanted Gemma in there, but I would've been fine."