Here is Home • The Pack

Chapter One

Chapter One

Lachlan's ribs hurt. Like, they really hurt. He was sure at least three of them were broken, again, and that's why Jerome was helping him limp awkwardly down the street to the rickety piece of shit that was their house.

"Don't walk so fast," he muttered through gritted teeth and around an unlit cigarette, leaning heavily on Jerome's shoulder for support. "Jesus, it's not a race."

"It's two in the morning," He grunts in retort. "I'm tired. And if you weren't so impulsive I could be in bed by now."

Lachlan half shrugged, fumbling around in his pockets for a lighter, before grimacing and okay, no moving his shoulders, because it hurt like a bitch.

"You're also heavy," Jerome added after a moment. "I mean really, dude, you don't even eat that much."

Lachlan had just finished managing to light the cigarette between his teeth without feeling like he was going to throw up with the pain of moving his arms.

"I work out," he snapped, wincing as Jerome purposely jostled his arm. "It's muscle. Don't do that, Jerome, Christ!"

"You really shouldn't smoke so much, you'll get cancer at thirty and die."

"I'm twenty five, don't you think if I was gonna die at thirty it would show a bit more? Why are you being so pissy today?"

"If you don't want me to be mad at you, then don't phone me at two in the morning and ask me to pick you up because you've broken your ribs, again. You do this a lot and I'm getting sick of it, you're supposed to be careful! You promised me when you took the job-"

"It wasn't my fault this time, I- why have we stopped walking? Ours isn't for another two blocks."

"There's a guy in the grass over there, I just want to check if he's alright."

"Jerome," Lachlan groaned in protest, taking another long drag on the cigarette held carefully between his lips. "This happens all the time, he's probably just passed out drunk and it's not even cold out-"

Jerome pulled away from him and suddenly the weight supporting Lachlan and holding him to his feet was gone. He collapsed, hitting the floor with a loud thud.

"FUCK," he swore loudly, clutching at his ribs. "JEROME, what the HELL?!"

But Jerome was kneeling down over there on the grass, beside some poor sonofabitch who was lying on the half-collapsed fence belonging to the Anderson's.

Lachlan grunted in pain as he tried to twist himself onto his knees, grimacing. He was never doing business with Mark ever again, not if it ended like this every time. He didn't even get the goddamn money.

It wasn't like he'd intended the whole situation to backfire. It was all going fine until suddenly it wasn't, and Lachlan was lying on his side with a bloody nose and a few broken ribs, and what was almost definitely a sprained ankle. He was going to be put out of work for a week or something while it healed, because nobody would take him seriously looking as banged up as he was.

The time off was something he really couldn't afford, because the gas bill was due tomorrow, and the electricity bill was due next week and he still had to pull another $200 out of his ass. The others combined couldn't make up that much money without him, he knew it, so the whole situation rested just like it always did- on his shoulders.

Lachlan let out a deep, almost pointed sigh, which came out mostly as cigarette smoke, glaring at the back of Jerome's shirt. "Oi, I thought you said you were in a hurry to get back to bed, let's fucking get out of here."