Fists and Knives (A Harry Styles Fanfiction)

Chapter 27

I locked my fingers around Harry’s and squeezed.  What the hell was going on?  Not once in the short amount of time that I had known him had I seen Louis so animated, but this was the kind of animation I would hope to never see.  Something bad had happened.

Louis’ wide, blue eyes flickered from mine to Harry’s, sending Harry some kind of best-friend signal, a silent message, that I couldn’t immediately decipher.

“Maybe we’ll take a look at home?” Harry suggested, dropping my hand and hurrying to pack up his things.  He slipped into the jeans and tee he left the house in this morning.  Louis eyed me cautiously and turned the screen of his iPhone off before tucking the device into his pocket.

“At home.  Yeah.”

I frowned. God dammit, I wanted to know what it was, but apparently this just wasn’t the right place.  My knee bounced as I rode home silently with Harry, Louis and Liam driving in front of us.  Harry didn’t hold my hand and didn’t look at me.  I tried not to act as paranoid as I was feeling, but it was hard to hold it in. 

“I’m sure everything is okay.  Probably just more stupid publicity.  Louis I overdramatic sometimes,” Harry tried to reassure me, but the tone of his voice didn’t have me convinced.

The instant we arrived at the house, Louis jumped out of the car and sent Liam away.  He hurried into the house ahead of Harry and myself, and when we walked into the living room, was pacing back and forth across the white tiled floor.

“What the hell is it?” Harry asked, dropping his bags to the floor.

Louis stared at me again. “Kennedy, why don’t you make something for all of us to eat?  What’s Harry’s favorite?  Biscuits maybe?”

I ground my teeth together and sighed. “What is going on, Louis?”

“I really think I should talk to Harry first.  Alone.”

I scowled. “If this is about me then I want to know.  I have a right to know.”

“It’s not really about you…” Louis said slowly, shifting his gaze to Harry.

“Not really?  So is it or is it not???” I asked impatiently, raising my voice and clenching my fists.  This was like some kind of high school drama bullshit.  I was struggling to drag the truth from between Louis’ teeth.

My entire body tensed when Harry placed his hand on the small of my back. “Kennedy, please, just let me see what it is and I’ll tell you after.”

I glared up at him but reluctantly walked to the kitchen.  The boys passed me to go to the gym and into Harry’s bedroom, but Harry first said, “I’m not really feeling biscuits tonight.  Maybe some of that beef-barley soup you made once?”

The creases on my forehead deepened as the guys disappeared to Harry’s room.  The only reason Harry switched from biscuits to soup was because he knew it took a long time for me to make.  He wanted to keep me away while they discussed whatever the problem was.  It was driving me crazy.

I chopped up the tomatoes and made the beef to go into the soup, slamming my knife into the cutting board as I went.  I was furious and I wanted them to know that, even from upstairs as they talked.  When I wasn’t trying to slice my anger out, I was as quiet as I could be, straining my ears to see if I could hear what Harry and Louis might be discussing above me, but I heard nothing.  Finally, I had an idea.  I snatched my phone up off of the counter and pulled up Google.  In the search box, I typed Kennedy Davenport.  Nothing except old reviews about my food at restaurants that I used to work at came up, along with articles about Harry and I dating and an occasional page about my style.  I sighed heavily and went back to the top of the page.  In the search bar, I typed Harry Styles.