Pregnant Pause [H.S]

Chapter 15

"Harry, come on," came Niall's voice.

My head whipped to my left, where he stood beside me. "Shut up!" I snapped, turning back to Jamer to ensure he was moving along down the hall.

"It's my flat, too," Niall pointed out, grumbling under his breath as the doors to the lift were closed on Jamer.

Not the time, Niall. Not the time.

I whirled to face him, nostrils flaring, and was even more infuriated at the sight of him in his ridiculous spandex get-up.

"It's your flat when you pay the goddamn rent!" I shouted. "I'm sick of covering you and having your wanker friends around!"

That shut him up. Lips pursed, he glared at me. His blue eyes were icy, but they cracked – just for a second – as they flickered worriedly to Finley across the hall.

I'd promised I wouldn't say anything about the loans in her presence, and I remembered as soon as I caught that worried glance.

Frankly, I didn't care.

"Haz..." Louis trailed, placing a hand on my shoulder that I quickly shrugged off.

"It's fine," Niall said, his voice hard. "He's just drunk."

With that, he brushed past me and headed inside without another glance at Finley. His cape flowed behind him, snagging on the doorframe, but he violently ripped it away and continued on.

I had a right mind to call after him that I wasn't drunk, I was fucking livid – but something about his defeated stance held me back.

Slowly, the crowd moved inside. Despite the blasting music, it seemed the party was over. People began to gather their things and say their goodbyes as I shuffled the largest shards of glass into a pile with my feet. I righted a couple of bottles that had been knocked over on the counter before I realized I was still clutching my injured hand in a fist.

After retrieving a bandage and ointment from the bathroom, I was back at the kitchen sink, holding my palm under running water and trying not to wince in pain. It was a fairly deep cut and it stung like hell.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Fitz materialize by my side. She said nothing, but her face was scrunched up in second-hand pain as she took in the sight of my hand.

My teeth were clenched when I turned off the tap. I dabbed my hand dry with a towel, fumbling with the cap on the ointment.

"Let me," she said after a prolonged struggle. I continued with my fruitless efforts until, finally, she snatched it out of my hand to do it herself.

I didn't protest. The line of my jaw was set as she applied the ointment to my palm. I blinked away the pain as she moved onto the bandage, which she wrapped tightly, but gently around my hand, pinning it in place.

When she was finished, I let my hand fall to my side, our eyes locking. I held her gaze as people moved around us, seeing nothing and no one but her as my heart rate slowed.

"Thank you," I said, my lips barely moving as I spoke. "How's your brother?"

"Fine," she answered, "though he doesn't deserve to be. How are you?"

"Jolly as hell."

"I heard you shouting," she said. Her concern didn't escape me – I knew it wasn't often that I raised my voice. Nevertheless, I had no comforting response for her.

She didn't press on. Instead, she glanced at my bandaged hand. "You might need stitches, Harry."

I nodded grimly.