Page 42 of Hurt

“I’m looking at you now,” he growled.

Willow felt her knees go weak.

Those eyes she had wanted so badly to look at her were now boring down at her. Roland was covering Willow with his entire presence, holding her so close that they might be one person. He smelled like copper and sage, the two distinct scents mixing in a way that wasn’t altogether unpleasant.

Willow’s trembling hands reached up and covered the bloody ones holding her face.

Surprised pleasure flickered across Roland’s face. He lowered his face so that the tips of their noses were touching.

“Go on a date with me.”

“—and you said yes?!” Kurt yelled.

Willow was sitting on the old futon with a stupid dreamy look on her face. “Yeah, I did.”

Kurt slapped a palm to his forehead. “He beat a guy almost to death, and you were like, ‘yeah, that doesn’t scream red flag?’”

“He didn’t beat him almost to death…”

“Your face is literally covered in blood,” Kurt pointed out, exasperated.

Willow curled her legs up on the futon and shrugged. Roland had given her his jacket, and she was nestled in the expensive material. It didn’t matter that there were blood stains on it. Willow could still smell the scent of his skin and hair coming off the material.

His sister was a lunatic.

“He’s a Weaver!”

“He’s hot.”

“That’s not a good excuse!” Kurt shouted.

“Who’s hot?” Noah came into the back room with a wet rag in his hand. He held it out to Willow so she could start scrubbing the blood off her cheeks.

“My date,” Willow said with a reckless grin.

“Oh, sweet.” Noah offered her a fist bump. “Congrats.”

Kurt stared at the remaining two members of his family and was struck with the realization that he might be the only rational one among them, and it was the single most terrifying thought he had ever had.

He had to turn away from them to focus on his breathing. Behind his anger was a flicker of fear. Willow was walking into the den of monsters Kurt had tried so hard to keep her from. The Weavers were gangsters. They were every bit as monstrous as the Vega Cabal.

Except, even as he was thinking that, he pictured the way Grant talked about his music or the earnest way he answered all of Kurt’s questions. Even when he was just walking past him, he gave him space.

And not once had he demanded anything from Kurt.

Thinking back, everything had been a question. Grant had never insisted or pushed Kurt. He left it completely up to Kurt whether he even spoke to him or not. It wasn’t something he was used to, and it left him feeling strange.

He used to lump them all in one—Weavers and Vegas. They were the same.

But now, he couldn’t do that. Even after seeing the aftermath of Roland’s rampage, he still couldn’t bring himself to think of him as a monster. An idiot, maybe. Devoid of personality, sure. Insufferable? Definitely.

One conversation and his entire world was shifting, and it was too much. He couldn’t go down this rabbit hole right now, and especially not sober.

When he turned back, Noah and Willow were talking about the upcoming date.

“Willow, I’m serious,” he tried again. “Even if you think Roland won’t hurt you, he’s still a thug. Do you know what could happen to you if his enemies find out he has a weak spot?”

Wiping her face, Willow glared up at him with a stubborn look Kurt was familiar with. Her stage makeup was smeared, and there was glitter hanging off her fake eyelashes.