The Runaway Boy

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX

TOMMY DIDN'T SLEEP much throughout the night, and it wasn't because he had Mason in the house or that he flinched every time he heard him change sleep position in the bed just down the hall. For some reason it brought an odd sort of comfort to know that he was there — he didn't trust him, but he knows that he wouldn't turn on him and that was enough for now. Instead, Tommy spent the night like he did most nights after an attack. Whether it be an attack from Jonathan himself, the people who worked for his brother, and or a complete stranger trying to rob him...

Tommy always spent the nights following it the same. Ever since his mother died, he had still been stuck with vivid flashbacks of the trauma he endured. There are days like this where Tommy's head just doesn't work, where focusing is as hard as running through water. His thoughts crisscross and become a jumbled and confusing mess. He's always thought that it's out of his control, that it's his mind doing anything to numb the pain, to wipe out the trauma. Then there are the times of clarity, sudden moments when he can see every detail and feel every feeling.

He hears every footstep, every word, every punch or kicks from the most recent event, but then he hears that single gunshot, can feel the choke of a sob in the back of his throat, can taste the blood that had splattered into his mouth. It all echoes through his mind, a constant reminder that he would never escape the pain, that no matter what anybody else can do to him, the worst of it will always be that day. The day where he became genuinely alone.

The truth is, Tommy hated it more than anything, the loneliness... And that was the worst truth of all. Everyone that he ended up letting in, even in the slightest, ended up dead or hurt. Or the people he trusted most ended up hurting or leaving him. It was a vicious cycle, one that would never end, one that would haunt him until he was found again.

Tommy has been pacing the length of the room for an hour now, teeth sinking deep into his bottom lip, blood lathing over his tongue and down his throat. He checks the windows, the doors, and checks again and again until he can be sure they are well and truly locked. He considers moving the couch to the other window that looks out to the backyard, but his body still aches in protest at just the pacing.

He's in no condition to run if someone comes for him, so he has to keep this place standing, locked and secured until he's not as broken. Paranoia has always been apart of his life since Jonathan's abuse escalated, Tommy had always needed to keep the upper hand if it meant his survival. It was always worse when he was injured because Jonathan would always win that way and god how he loathed that.

He paced down the hall and peeked through the door for the fifth time to see that Mason was still asleep, curled up under the blankets. How could he possibly sleep so peacefully? Tommy tugged at Mason's sweatshirt that he was still wearing nervously as he moved back to the living room, running his fingertips through the curtains to take a look outside at the still-empty street. His head was spinning with alcohol; he had continued to drink after Mason had gone to sleep. Usually, it was enough to subdue his anxiousness, but sometimes it just made it worse, like tonight.

He hates this, god, does he hate this. He didn't want to wait to be found anymore, he hated feeling so useless like all he could do was run and be found. He was nothing but a runaway boy, waiting to be captured and hurt again. Panic rose in his throat, and he gripped the neck of the whiskey bottle as his life depended on it, like it was the only thing that anchored him to the ground beneath his feet.

An invisible hand clasps over his mouth; adrenaline pierces through his heart, unloading in an instant. His ribs are heaving as if they are bound by ropes, straining to inflate his lungs. His mind is a constant, never-ending loop of fears spinning out of control, each one pushing his mind into blackness. And he can't stop it, no matter how hard he tries - he knows it's too late, that he let his mind and fear get the upper hand again and he wants to run; but all he hears is the gunshot. All he feels is the blood as his body is slashed.

"Stop!" He cries out, throwing the bottle as hard as he can against the nearest wall.

He doesn't even hear the sound of the glass shattering as he slaps his hands over his ears, trying to block out the gunshot, the sound of his mother's body falling, her final gasping breaths, you are so strong, such a smart boy. "Please stop!" He cries out again, searching around the room for her, but he knows she's not there, of course, she is not there. You are no longer my brother. Tommy whips his head around at the voice, "Where is he?" but it sounds as though they are coming from all around him.

He could feel the hard, painful lump in the back of his throat as the tears began to form. Slowly his breathing continued to hallow itself, and a small but intense pain struck the top nerve in his head. Before he knew it there was shouting, it was them, no, it was his voice, yet it sounded so distant. Hot tears streaked his face as time speed up and slowed down all at once. Suddenly the living room lights were blinding him, burning reality into his mind, and all he could hear was his own voice repeating, "I can't take it anymore."

Tommy's remaining thread of strength frayed before breaking completely, sending him plummeting over the edge. Hysterical sobs shook his thin frame, threatening to tear him apart from the inside, out. He fought to reclaim control over his own body, too shocked by the sounds escaping from deep within his chest, but every effort was wasted. He was too exhausted, it was all too painful, and it finally felt as though it was all crashing down around him as he could no longer deal with it anymore. 

Tommy tried so desperately to sift through his thoughts, but he couldn't find one logical one - his mind-warping his surroundings. He began clawing at his throat for air, but none went through to his lungs. He was in the living room, in Ben's summer home, in Winchester, the lights were suddenly turned on, but there was a flicker of a warm red glow somewhere. The fireplace? Where am I? He spun around, looking, looking for the fireplace, his brother, where was he? He pulled up the sleeves of his hoodie to see the scars where was the blood?

The thoughts were accelerating inside his head. He wanted them to slow so he could just breathe, but they kept fighting his every attempt. His breaths came in hard, choked gasps, and he thought he might pass out soon if he didn't figure out how to use his lungs again. His heart was a tyrant of force, hammering inside his chest as if it belonged at the end of a power drill.

The room was spinning at an uncontrollable speed, and Tommy tried to crouch on the floor, tried to make everything slow to something his brain and body could cope with. He felt so sick. He wanted to get to Christian, but he was too far away, he wouldn't even know that Tommy was in trouble, that he was dying. Maybe call an ambulance, where was his phone? He needed help. The hospital, he hated the hospital. He'd die in there. Jonathan could get to him in there. But didn't he do this every time? This wasn't real, this wasn't real.

He wasn't safe. Breathe. He wasn't okay. Can't breathe. He was going to die. Will never breathe again. "Help..." Tommy coughed out.

"Tommy?" A voice to his left said, it was soft, and he could hear where it was coming from, it wasn't something in his head but something real, something he as able to locate. He followed the sound and found Mason standing in the doorway, his hand still on the light switch.

"I can't... I... I don't want to fight it any-anymore," Tommy hardly manages to get the words through his trembling lips, the air choked out of him like hands clasped around his throat. Admitting it felt as though he was signing his death sentence, that he was handing his life back over to Jonathan to do as he pleased with it.

"He's going to find me," Tommy whispered, eyes widened, breaths ragged and harsh.

His hands trembled at his sides, and he jammed his fist into his mouth to stifle the sob. Tommy knew that he wasn't going to make it out of this alive, yet he so desperately wanted to live, he wanted to know what it felt like to live. His legs were frozen into place, he couldn't bring himself to move, gasping and choking in place. He was all too aware of what this must look like to someone like Mason, how crazy he must look, like a deer caught in headlights. Yet, here was Mason, standing completely still in the doorway, observing him with that look in his eyes, that same one from a few days ago when he first walked through Tommy's door.

Unable to let Mason keep looking at him like that, he swallowed the lump in his throat and pushed forward. "I'm sorry for waking you, I have to check the locks then I'll clean up the glass, just go back to sleep. I can manage," Tommy tried so desperately to build himself back up, admitting loss was not something that he wanted to feel comfortable with, he didn't want it to become inevitable.

He pried his eyes away from Mason who still stood in the doorway staring back at him with an unreadable expression, his hair dishevelled and dark bags under his eyes, an indication of restless sleep. Tommy could feel his eyes following him as he did another lap of the living room, checking the locks and windows, his fingers numb and shaking as they touched every entry point.

"Tommy, enough, I'll clean it up in the morning," Mason said as soon as he attempted it pick up the shards of glass from the carpet.

"It's okay, I can do it," Tommy replied, tears continued to stream down his cheeks as the glass sliced open his fingertips.

Arms locked around his waist from behind and pulled him back, the glass he had managed to pick up - scattered across the floor. Tommy stumbled, his back pressed hard against Mason's chest and he tries to break free, he wanted to escape, but Mason wouldn't give him up that easily, instead, he deliberately falls back to the ground with Tommy still in his arms, hugging him tighter.

"No, no, no please," Tommy begged, trying to kick free of his restraints. His fingers digging into Mason's arms as if it could ground him when the whiskey bottle couldn't.

"Tommy, you have to calm down! You're having a panic attack," Mason said, his breath caressing over his ear and neck, it sent a shiver down his spine, it made him want to kick free even more. He'd felt someone's breath on him like that right before the knife sunk into his skin. But this was Mason, he was trying to help right? If so, then why couldn't he breathe still? What was happening to him?

"Let go, please, I need to go, I need to—" he tried to fight back, but Mason just tightened his grasp, his head pressed to the side of Tommy's.

"I can't do that Tommy," he replied, "you need to calm down, there is nobody else here, open your eyes and take a look for yourself, it's just us."

"I can't—I can't breathe," Tommy gasped out, pressing the back of his head against Mason's shoulder, his face pressed against the side of his as he attempted to slow down his choking sobs.

"Here, concentrate on my pulse, do nothing else but focus," Mason hardly penetrated the loud buzzing in Tommy's ears, and he must've realized this because he grabbed his jaw and forced his face to turn in his direction. Tommy finally opened his eyes and saw that Mason had his hand in his, holding Tommy's index and middle finger against his own throat. Mason didn't look away, his hazel eyes holding onto Tommy like hooks under his flesh.

"Tommy, you're with me," Mason's words were the gravity that Tommy had been searching for all this time. The steady beating under his fingertips replaced the echo of the gunshot, replaced the pain in his scars. All he could concentrate on, all he could think of was the pulse.

Tommy could finally feel how his body was in complete shock, how he shook violently, how his chest stuttered for breath, he could feel the tears warm his cheeks, and the blood... Why was there blood? He could taste it... he could taste it like he could when Jonathan hit him. With his other hand, pressing his shaking fingers to his bottom lip which was burning with the metallic taste of blood and he winced, not in pain but another wave of overriding fear.

"You were biting your lip, it's just us, okay I swear it's just us," Mason whispered, his hand sliding against his jaw, to the side of Tommy's neck, his own two fingers finding his pulse.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Tommy recited, the words shaking and slick with tears.

Mason tightened his arms around him, nestling his head against the side of Tommy's face. It was the first time that Tommy had ever felt comfortable being held like this, being comforted in such a tangible way. He didn't want Mason to let him go as if the thought if it meant that he would lose himself again to the fear. He opened his eyes again, looking up at Mason who was looking straight ahead, but as if he could sense his gaze on him, looked down too.

"You have nothing to be sorry about," Mason answered. "Come on, you need to try and get some sleep," Mason added as he began to stand, still holding Tommy as he did.

Tommy took a reluctant step back, looking around the room as if expecting to see that he really was back in his brother's office. All he saw was the living room, the couch pulled oddly to the window, the broken whiskey bottle in the corner by the front door and Mason, his hand still locked around Tommy's bicep as if waiting to catch him the moment he fell. Mason tugged him towards the couch and practically forced him to sit, and he stayed and watched as he curled up under the blanket, unable to hide the trembling.

"I'll keep watch for you," Mason said as he sat down in front of the couch, leaning back against it with his arm resting up alongside Tommy who hummed in reply.

He no longer had the energy to reply, to do anything else but lie there, staring at the side of Mason's face. He watched him as he stared out the window at the street and beach as if determined to indeed keep watch over him as he slept. Tommy knew he just said it to put him at ease, but he didn't expect it to actually have the effect that it did. Tommy moved his eyes to Mason's hand, which rested just in front of his face. He had long and slender fingers, they were obviously calloused from all the work he did on the cars that came into the shop. His knuckles were scarred over, and he had scars in the webbings of his fingers which Tommy knew were obviously from various knife wounds.

Despite that, Tommy reached out from under the blanket and intertwined his own bony and scarred hands with Mason's, his fingers sliding in alongside his. Mason flinched slightly at the touch, looking only just over his shoulder as if to see if Tommy had really just taken his hand. His eyes flicked from their linked fingers and up to Tommy's face, but still, with that unreadable expression — he tightens the hold and turns his attention back to the window.

Tommy slept a little easier after that.

MASON HELD ONTO his hand well into the morning. He kept his word and kept watch as Tommy slept, knowing full well what it would mean for him, how much it would put him to ease knowing that someone was there to keep him safe when he was his most vulnerable. Mason knew this because he used to be the same, sometimes it still was like that, but at least he knew that his family was also in the house and that they would protect him if it came to it.

For the most part, he kept his eyes on the street and beach as the sun rose, though, he couldn't help but glance over his shoulder to see the boy sleeping restlessly on the couch at his back. Mason knew to keep as still as possible, that right now, Tommy was just like a cornered animal, prepared to flee at the smallest of movements. Mason hated how much he saw himself in him, that it was only a couple of years ago he had been the same. Tommy was in bad shape, more than Mason thought he knew himself. He knew from the moment he saw him walk through the shop doors, trailing behind his sister, scoping out every exit, moving with the possibility of running in the opposite direction. His predictions were made correct when Christian sent him to get him from the house a few days after his arrival. Tommy had looked extremely ill, obviously from being curled up on the couch for those days, hidden in the darkness.

Mason understood then that he was lying about who he truly was and where he came from and that Christian was lying for him too. No kid whose parents were going through something as trivial as a divorce nowadays was this hidden away, this fearful of opening the front door. Mason did not expect him to really be Hughe Tomas Sinclair, the second son to the man that took his own life for two years. He was thankful that Tommy obviously took after his mother's looks and it was in those looks that he could see - even under the state he was currently in - that he is handsome. He got glimpses of it over the past week at the shop, Mason noticed that he had started eating correctly and despite obviously not sleeping well, he seemed to be getting into a better mood which brought life into his face. Either way, Mason found him captivating and he wasn't sure whether that was a comforting notion or not.

It took him every last scrap of self-control and every last bit of convincing from Nicky not to run straight for the mines and beat Sam where he stood for what he did to Tommy. He'd get his revenge, but he at least wanted Tommy to be apart of that too. Mason thought that his attitude problem might come in handy, after all, Sam did hate when someone taunted him, and he had a feeling that is why the beating Tommy got was so severe for 'just a warning.'

Despite everything, Tommy did well at hiding his emotions at the shop, so much so that even Mason was becoming persuaded that he might be somewhat okay with what happened in his past, that it hadn't bothered him as much as it might do someone else. But what Mason saw just hours ago meant that the attack dredged up too much of the past for Tommy to handle, it broke him down and even if he could deal with the attack itself - the past wouldn't be as easy to manage.

Mason didn't want to leave his side, even after he finally got him to calm down, and he thought that maybe after Tommy caught his breath that Mason might receive some witty sarcasm out of him like usual. What he didn't expect was for him to take his hand... Mason had noticed how Tommy hated to be touched, how every time someone reached for him he would wince or evade it, so when he made the first move for comfort, it took Mason by surprise.

Sasha had told him that Tommy didn't like her like it had appeared to all of them because he was gay. Christian even clarified it, saying that it had never been a secret nor had it been an open secret, that it just was. So, naturally, Nicky and Harry turned the teasing to Mason who of course, ignored them. He didn't think that it was something either he or Tommy needed right now, but he did believe that Tommy was leaning on him for support even if he didn't realize it himself and he didn't mind that so much. So, he did what he thought Tommy needed him to do and kept watch, even though he knew that Sam wouldn't attack again until he was provoked. Tommy, who lay soundless on the couch, - jerking and flinching every so often in his sleep, but never letting go of his hand, - slept without waking, he slept more than Mason thought he must've in years.

His pale blond hair clung to his forehead with cold sweat. His blond eyelashes closed over those intense and always alert ocean green eyes, eyes that Mason found himself wanting to look at all the time as if they held secrets that were screaming to be heard. His dark bags under his eyes - now mixed in with the purple and black bruises on his cheekbone and temple. His pink and slightly blue lips, swollen from where he had been chewing on them in his blind panic. He was skinny, lean in a way that meant he was an expert at fleeing, but thin in a way that showed how he didn't care much to take care of himself. Mason wanted to help bring life back to these features, but he didn't know if he could be the one to do it.

At around 8:30, a key turned in the lock of the front door, meaning that Christian got Mason's text saying that Tommy was in a bad way. Mason watched him slip through, holding bags filled with breakfast from his mother's diner, shutting the door carefully behind him. He carefully toed out of his shoes and went for the kitchen first, giving Mason a grim smile as he passed. When he returned, he crouched down beside him, facing Tommy. Mason hated this look in his eyes, it showed that he was unable to mask how broken he was when it came to his Nephew. He'd always believed that Christian had been so strong and in control, but seeing Tommy again proved to be his most vulnerable spot of all.

Christian sighed softly through his parted lips and grazed his fingers across Tommy's forehead, pushing back his fringe that fluttered over his eyes. He looked at his Nephew with the same strain as he did when he thought about going back for him over the years. Mason despised it, but he was relieved that, now at least, Tommy was here and Christian no longer had to question if he was alive or not. A silent tear worked down his cheek as his thumb brushed over Tommy's eyebrow. Neither of them looked up when Sasha, Harry, and Nicky gingerly slipped in through the door.

None of them knew who Tommy was, and they all knew he wasn't prepared to let them all the way in. But one thing was for sure... They would help him, and they would protect him from his family as if he was apart of their own. Everybody got to work as if they lived there, Harry and Sasha cleaned the broken whiskey bottle, and Nicky set all the breakfast on the kitchen bench. Christian and Mason stayed by Tommy's side as he began to rouse from his sleep, his fingers tightening their grasp on Mason's, unconsciously tugging his hand into his chest and under the blanket. Christian glanced up at Mason and smirked softly at that as if he knew something that neither of them did. Though, Mason had a pretty good idea what they were all thinking when they noticed their interlocked fingers.

Tommy's eyes began to flutter open, he seemed dazed and confused, and it wasn't because he was just waking up. It was the same look he had hours before when he eventually understood that he was having a breakdown. His eyes flickered to his Uncle first, and to both Christian and Mason's surprise - he huffed in exasperation and leaned into Christian's fingers which were now frozen against his temple. He didn't let go of his hand, but Mason assumed that it might be that he didn't even realize he was holding it, that was until he closed his eyes again and curled into it as if cocooning their locked fingers.

"If I ask again, will you tell me the truth?" Christian spoke softly, and although the softness of his tone still came out gruff like usual, it sounded as though he was trying not to spook a cornered animal. Tommy lifted his gaze up at him momentarily, considering his Uncle's face like he did when he was obviously searching for trust or looking for the lies.

"Yes," Tommy responded, his voice was barely there, it was weak and diluted with the tears from last night.

"Are you going to be okay?" Christian repeated himself.

Tommy watched his Uncle as if the question was a knife, driven just centimetres from his heart. Not knowing why, Mason started rubbing his thumb gently over the back of his hand in a subtle encouragement, and oh, how Tommy melted into it. His eyes briefly moved to Mason, giving him the same sceptical look that he had given Christian just moments prior and as if deciding that there was no ill intention in the touch, yet he squeezed Mason's hand back.

"I'm going to die, aren't I?" Tommy whispered, and everyone in the room froze. He sounded as though he never thought of it as a possibility, or maybe had not been at peace with it before.

"We aren't going to let Jonathan -" Christian started, but Tommy instantly cut him off, an unreadable expression crossing his face as if he realized that he gave away too much.

"In the box, top shelf in the closet," Was all he said but it was enough for Christian to not question it and nod to Nicky, indicating for him to go look.

They all sat in silence, waiting for whatever Nicky was going to bring back. Tommy sat up carefully, groaning from the effort and obvious pain in his body. Mason wouldn't be surprised if he had a decent hangover to add to his already beaten body. The bruises were much dark and bluer today than they were yesterday and he was sure that they would be stiffening Tommy's muscles. Tommy reluctantly let go of Mason's hand as Nicky came back with a thin rectangle box, the length no more significant than an average sheet of paper.

"Here, you want your revenge, take it and leave," Tommy's words cut through the silence, and still, Mason found himself taken aback by the solid form that Tommy portrayed. When he looked over at Christian, he could see the blatant shock on his face as Tommy opened the box and pulled out a binder. Christian, no doubt recognizing it. Tommy dropped it into Mason's lap and waited for him to open it, a dull and apathetic stare replacing whatever emotion he had moments ago.

"What is it?" Mason asked bluntly, his eyes staying on Tommy despite knowing that he wouldn't be the one to answer.

"Proof," Christian whispered, his eyes hard on the brown binder. "This is why he's after you, you stole the business records, are you insane?" Christian's fear was replaced by anger, he turned to Tommy, and that sympathetic look he had before was now gone.

"I've said it before, you don't get an opinion when it comes to Jonathan. Your brother didn't cut you up like some dead pig in the meatworks," Tommy sounded void, his voice hollow and empty. Mason had to bite back the urge to shake him, to shout at him for purposely loading the guilt on Christian who flinched at his words.

"You stole the one thing that could bring the Sinclair's down, I have a f*****g say Hughe," Tommy instantly looked a lot more awake then he had since being in Winchester, using his first name struck the chord that Christian wanted and Mason saw the punch before Tommy even lifted his fist.

Mason caught his hand, driving him back down against the couch, wrapping his arms around Tommy's small frame to keep him there even as he struggled to get free. Tommy's nails dig deep into Mason's arm even over his jersey, and he had to grit his teeth together to force out the pain. Tommy pulled at his collar, trying to pry him away but Mason held onto him, held him back from Christian who sat, complacent and unmoving. The thing is, Mason couldn't fault Tommy for the hatred he had towards his Uncle, no matter how much he wanted to - he understood this reaction

"Stop it, it won't make you feel better," Mason said, pressing Tommy back for a final time, his hand staying on his shoulder even when he stopped fighting.

"Listen to me, I promised your mother I would look out for you-"

"Don't talk about her, you don't get to talk about her!" Tommy instantly choked up, his words getting stuck in his throat. Mason could feel him trembling against his body, and he moved his hand to the back of Tommy's neck when he felt him grab hold of his arm for blind support as if he needed something to grasp onto so that he didn't disappear.

"I took that folder because our family is what got her killed, the Ortega family may have orchestrated it, but Dad may as well have pulled the trigger," Tommy spat venomously, stunning Christian.

"Your father genuinely loved your mother, and you know it," he tried to defend it, but a sick laugh came from Tommy's throat, and Mason thought that in a few seconds he might be covered in vomit.

"And look where she ended up?! you don't get it, you weren't there!"

"Tomas that's not fair, it could've happened at any time, I was-"

"You know if Jonathan didn't slice me up as he did, I think I would be almost the same as I am now," Tommy's eyes suddenly turned dark and distant, and it made Mason freeze, watching as the boy in his arms, who had to be held back from hurting his Uncle, who had moments ago, been clinging to him for support, now turned dejected and empty. Completely void of emotion.

"Because no matter what he did to me, nothing felt worse than finding that f*****g note."

Tommy was looking at his Uncle now, watching as all the energy was sucked from him, Christian looked down as if looking at him was inequitable. Mason glanced over Tommy's shoulder at Sasha, Nicky, and Harry whose expressions were twisted into an aching pain of remembrance and although Tommy wasn't talking about their past, it awakened something that they would rather keep buried. Mason wanted to tell them not to think about it, that everything was okay now, that they were together again and all that was in the past, but he couldn't. He couldn't because right now he still had a trembling and lost guy in his arms, trying as hard as he could to hurt his friend.

"You want to skip over that, huh? Act like what you did wasn't unforgivable? You were all I had, but you already knew that didn't you? I didn't have a father or a brother, and I sure as hell didn't have a mother anymore... But I had you... and that was enough for me, and then you left me too, and all you could say was an 'I'm sorry' on a piece of paper?!" Tommy cried out, finally having enough and shoving Mason away.

"Tommy, I'll fix this," it was the first time Mason ever thought he heard Christian beg for something, it churned his stomach, made him feel ill to hear someone who built him back up from nothing - crumble right in front of his eyes.

"You can't fix this, there is nothing to fix. Everyone in my 'family' has broken me down, including you, so don't you dare think you have any means to help me," Tommy got up at that and shoved Mason's away when he started to stand too.

Mason turned and watched Tommy go down the hall to the bedroom, he had a way of continually taking him by surprise. Mason caught Harry clutching the side of the sink, trembling slightly as Sasha rubbed soothing circles against his back and guilt tugged hard in his gut. Mason knew all too well how close Tommy hit home for them all - he had been almost exactly like him after what had happened. He could see how it reminded them all of that, but Nicky had asked Mason to help him, he thought that maybe he could especially because he too had been in that hopeless mindstate before.

Moments later, Tommy came back out from his bedroom. He was still wearing Mason's hoodie with the hood up, but he had a boomer jacket over the top and was now wearing jeans and shoes. He was going somewhere in the state he was in. Mason clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shook his head in annoyance, did this kid really forget how bludgeoned his face looked and the fact that at least two of his ribs were broken?

"Tommy where are you going?" Nicky interjected carefully.

"For a walk, you don't have to hover like this, I've survived without your help my whole life," as he said the words he glanced over at his Uncle only briefly, Mason caught the look in his eyes, the way he chewed on his bottom lip. Mason understood precisely what he was doing and why he said all those things to Christian.

"I'll go with you," Mason muttered, standing up and walking towards the front door where his shoes were. Tommy didn't argue, and Mason wasn't sure if it was because he thought he wouldn't be allowed to leave the house otherwise, or if he just didn't care.

"Fine."