Above & Beyond ✔

9. The Boy Was Late

Dean was late. It was eight-thirty in the evening, and the darn boy hadn't yet shown up. Even though he wasn't the most punctual person in the world, two hours late without a heads up was just not okay. He didn't even pick up my calls!

In the first hour, I was just slightly annoyed. I snuggled on the couch with the remote control in my hand, switching from one TV channel to another. By eight o'clock on the dot, anger began to crawl in me, and that my tummy had been screaming for food didn't help my situation.

After a few attempts to call him, which went straight to his voicemail, worry started to creep in. I considered calling Susie to find out what was the deal with Dean, but I decided to wait a bit more while nuking the leftover pasta from last night. At this point, I was not going to wait for him. I needed to feed myself.

It was past nine when my phone rang. As big as life and twice as ugly, Dean's name blinked on my screen, and I was so tempted to ignore it, but my curiosity won.

"Jen..." He sounded breathless. "I'm so sorry. I left my phone in my car."

"I see."

"I was, I-uh," he stammered, "I got caught in a situation."

"Of course."

"Okay. You're mad."

"Wow, very observant of you."

"Wait. I'm almost there."

"Oh, don't bother! Just go home, Dean. It's late."

"Jen–"

And I hung up before he finished his line and switched my phone off. He'd better not come if he knew what was good for him, but of course, he didn't. Five minutes later, the banging on the front door rattled my whole flat.

"Jen! Open the door!"

He had no idea how much noise he was making in the hall this late. And how the hell did he get into the building to begin with? I swear this boy was going to give me gray hair before I turned twenty-two. I stormed to the door and yanked it open.

"Are you out of your damn–" My mouth hung open once my eyes were on him.

Dean's hair was disheveled while his left jaw was bruised and began to swell. The white shirt that clung to his torso was partly torn and covered with dirt. Or was it blood stains? As my eyes trailed down, I saw his ruined knuckles, and dry blood all over. "What the hell, Dean?"

"Can I come in?" he pleaded.

I stood aside to let him in but was still too speechless to say anything. Without saying anything, he headed to the bathroom with me marching behind him. He stopped at the basin and turned on the faucet before starting to wash his hair, his face, and his hands. Since he knew perfectly where I put my stuff, without hesitation, he opened the cabinet under the basin to retract the first aid box. He groaned when he poured an antiseptic wash over his knuckles.

Dean glanced at me. "I owe you an apology."

I'd been quietly watching him while leaning on the door frame with my arms crossing over my chest. "Save it," I said. "Now I want to know what happened, and whose blood is that on your hand?"

He looked down at his knuckles. "It's just a little incident at work."

"That's it?" I narrowed my eyes at him. "Almost three hours late and it's just a little incident at work is all you've got?"

Dean flinched, not sure if it was from the pain or because of my bark. "Let's go talk on the couch?"

"Fine. Let me get you some water." I sighed before heading to the kitchen. No matter how pissed I was at him, he scared the hell out of me, especially when he showed up like this.