The Last Man Standing

Chapter 12 ~ Fractures

Billy groaned as he shifted on the long velvet couch in the Sinclairs’ lavish sitting room. His lip was split, one cheek already swelling into an ugly bruise, and his knuckles were scraped raw. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving behind a dull throbbing pain that spread across his jaw and ribs. Beside him, Riri dabbed gently at the cut above his eyebrow with a cotton pad soaked in antiseptic.

“Hold still,” she murmured, leaning in close as her braids brushed his shoulder.

“I am holding still,” Billy muttered, though his leg twitched restlessly. The sting from the antiseptic made him flinch, and she swatted his arm with mock irritation.

“You’re worse than a child,” she scolded softly. “Always quick to throw punches, then ending up not winning any, when will you man up Billy?.”

Before Billy could retort, a voice cut through the air like a knife. “Well, well, look at this scene.”

Clara Sinclair stood at the doorway, arms folded neatly across her chest, her silk blouse catching the golden light of the chandelier. A sly smile tugged at her lips as she took in the picture of her son bruised and his girlfriend bent over him like a makeshift nurse.

“Do you even realize, young lady,” Clara began, her tone dripping with sarcasm, “that you are the reason my sons nearly killed each other in this house?”

Riri froze mid-motion, her hand still holding the cotton pad. She blinked at Clara, flustered, then shook her head. “Mrs. Sinclair, I didn’t—”

“Oh, don’t bother denying it,” Clara interrupted sharply. “I don’t need a courtroom confession. It’s obvious. One minute my sons are fine, and the next they’re brawling like rabid dogs, and who’s at the center? You. Always the pretty face in the middle of chaos.” Billy clenched his jaw. “Mom, that’s enough please”

Clara arched an eyebrow, taking a slow step into the room. “Enough? I’m only stating the truth, Billy. You bring a girl into this house, parade her around, and suddenly Jason can’t keep his hands to himself? You should have known better.”

“Mom!” Billy barked, sitting upright despite the pain. “This isn’t her fault. Jason’s the problem, not her. He’s always been reckless, always pushing boundaries. Don’t put this on Riri.”

Riri’s eyes darted between mother and son, her cheeks hot with embarrassment. She opened her mouth to speak but Billy placed a hand over hers.

Clara’s eyes softened for half a second at her son’s defensive stance, but the steel quickly returned. “All I’m saying is—if you’d kept your personal life out of this family’s affairs, maybe we wouldn’t be mopping up blood from the tiles today.”

Billy shook his head in frustration. “You always do this. You always blame the wrong people.”

“Because I can see patterns you can’t,” Clara shot back. “I’ve lived longer, Billy. I know how this game goes.”

The room grew tense, the only sound Riri’s quiet rustling as she packed away the bloody cotton. Billy leaned his head back against the couch, muttering under his breath, “Unbelievable.”

Just then, footsteps echoed from the hall, light and unhurried. Nathan strolled in, humming to himself, phone in hand. His round glasses caught the light as he adjusted them on his nose.

“Whoa,” he exclaimed, freezing when his eyes landed on Billy’s battered face. “What on earth happened to you? Did a bus run you over, or did you finally lose that boxing match you’ve been fantasizing about?” Billy groaned. “Not now, Nathan.”

“No, no, don’t brush me off.” Nathan walked over, peering at his brother like a scientist examining a specimen. “Seriously, what happened? You look like you wrestled a tiger and lost.”

Riri glanced at Billy, hesitant. Billy pressed his lips together, refusing to answer.

Nathan smirked knowingly. “Oh, I get it. This has Jason written all over it.” He sat on the arm of the couch, adjusting his posture like a gossiping neighbor ready for tea. “So what was it this time? Money? Women? Probably women. Jason can’t go ten minutes without making a fool of himself around one.” Billy’s silence spoke louder than words. Nathan chuckled, satisfied.

“Well,” Nathan said, leaning back with exaggerated ease, “whoever gave you that bruise is doing the Lord’s work. Honestly, it’s about time someone put you in your place.”

Billy’s head snapped up. “Shut up, sissy.”

Riri’s hand flew to her mouth to hide a small laugh, though she quickly pretended to cough when Billy glared at her.

Nathan grinned. “Oh—rage bait? come on, Billy don’t be so sensitive. You get beat up, I point it out—that’s sibling love. You’re welcome.”

Billy shook his head, muttering curses under his breath, while Nathan looked absolutely pleased with himself.

Clara, who had been watching the exchange with her usual sharp eye, cut in suddenly. “Nathan.”

He straightened. “Yes, Mom?”

“Where have you been all day? Don’t tell me you were hiding just to avoid this chaos.”

Nathan adjusted his glasses again and cleared his throat. “Actually, I was working. Unlike some people.” His eyes flicked pointedly at Billy before continuing. “I was selecting and editing content from the women’s empowerment initiative. Social media posts, highlight reels from the program, that kind of thing. You know—things that make this family look respectable.”

Clara nodded slowly, her expression softening ever so slightly. “Good. At least one of my sons is doing something useful.” Billy scoffed. “Wow, thanks, Mom. Love you too.” Billy lifted his head from the couch, his tone sharp despite the bandage Riri was pressing against his cheek.

“Since when did the family business become so important to you, Nathan?” he asked, his voice tinged with sarcasm. “Aren't you always the quiet one?—with imaginary dreams, not worrying about anything beyond your little headphones”

Nathan adjusted his glasses, unbothered by the jab. “It’s called doing something useful, Billy. You should try it sometime, unlike you getting into fistfights like a drunk in a bar.”

Billy laughed, shaking his head. “Please. You’re talking about respectable? Since when do they even take you seriously? Last I checked, the only thing you ever cared about was your little music career. Oh wait—Father and Mother shut that down, didn’t they? Too embarrassing for the mighty Sinclair name.”

Nathan’s lips tightened, but he forced a calm tone. “That doesn’t concern you. Not everything I do needs your approval.”

Billy leaned forward, eyes glinting. “Come on, don’t act like it doesn’t sting. You want the stage, the songs, the freedom. But you’ll never get it, Nathan. Not in this family. They’ve got you boxed in tighter than anyone—pretending to be their perfect little son while you hide half of who you really are.”

Nathan’s jaw clenched. “Better boxed in than washed up like you. At least I’m not starting fights and f*****g women just to feel alive.”

Billy chuckled, though the sound was bitter. “Say what you want, but at least I’m living my truth. You? You’ll die suffocating under theirs.”

Nathan shot him a glare, his voice clipped. “Then maybe one day I’ll prove you wrong. Until then, keep nursing your wounds, Billy.”

Riri tried to stifle another laugh, and Billy groaned loudly. Clara shook her head at the childishness of it all.

After a long pause, Clara sighed and muttered almost to herself, “My house has turned into a circus. Every corner—fights and drama. Sometimes I wonder if all of you will ever grow up.”

Her eyes lingered on Billy, then shifted toward Nathan, and finally settled somewhere distant—maybe thinking of Jason, maybe of Timothy upstairs. She didn’t say more.

The silence stretched until Billy finally muttered, “You could at least ask how I’m feeling, Mom.”

Clara’s gaze snapped back to him, her voice sharp but laced with an undercurrent of concern. “You’re alive, aren’t you? That’s enough.”

Billy smirked bitterly. “Thanks for the compassion.” Nathan snorted. “She has a point, though. You’re not dead. That’s something to celebrate.”

Billy groaned again, throwing his head back against the couch cushion. “I swear, this family’s going to drive me insane.”

“You were insane long before us,” Nathan said cheerfully while making his way to his room. "brother"

Riri rolled her eyes but smiled faintly, dabbing one last time at Billy’s wound. Clara turned and left the room without another word, her heels clicking against the marble floor until the sound faded.