Page 43 of Hurt

“So what? I could get hit by a bus, or a plane could fall on me. A million bad thingscouldhappen, but it doesn’t mean they will.” She finished wiping the blood off her face and tossed the rag down. “But you know what I know for sure?”

Willow tugged the jacket closer around her. “I know the way he makes me feel—he makes me feel safe. And I know it’s insane. We just met, and I hardly know him. But I refuse to lie to myself or pretend like I don’t feel things I do.”

She stood up and sighed. “He…he makes me feel the way playing does. Do you remember that, Kurt?”

Her words hurt. They were laced with accusation, and Kurt flinched.

Willow left, and Kurt couldn’t watch her go. He was staring at the floor where she had been. Willow’s words weren’t meant to hurt, but they did.

Noah looked between the floor and his uncle. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Kurt heard himself answer automatically.

He was fine. So, what if he didn’t feel the music anymore, or he didn’t understand whatever the hell Willow was talking about? She was thinking with her body. Roland is good-looking, and his sister apparently has a violence fetish. It had nothing to do with music in her soul or whatever romantic bullshit she was justifying it with.

Kurt breathed through his nose.

A sense of bitterness rose up inside of him. He didn’t lose his joy or his love of music—it was stolen from him. His parents had never missed an opportunity to tear him down—why wasn’t he as good as Willow? He had Beckett blood! Why couldn’t he play like Willow could? Why couldn’t he sing like Hazel? Why wasn’t he nicer to people? Then they died and left him with a debt he could never repay, a debt that was his fault. They tore into his soul, and when they left, the Vegas took their share.

Death by a thousand cuts, and Kurt didn’t have enough of himself left to go around.

It wasn’t fair that Willow lectured him about feelings. Kurt couldn’t afford that luxury. If he started feeling some things, he would start feeling everything. And he would never survive that.

“How do you do it?” Noah asked as he watched his uncle try to avoid a complete meltdown.

“What?”

“Pretend that everything is fine when it’s not?”

Kurt shot him a look out of the corner of his eye. “I’m not pretending.”

“Yes. You are. Terribly, but you are. And it would break her heart to see it.”

He didn’t say who he meant, but they both knew who he was referring to.

Noah watched him for a long moment before sighing, reaching for him, and then letting his hand drop.

“You know you saved my life, right?” He couldn’t look at his uncle. “Back when mom and dad died, and I had nothing, I always had you. You protected me from all that shit. And I know that’s the reason you sent me away, so don’t give me your crappy excuses. I can see right through it.”

Kurt clenched his jaw and said nothing.

“No one likes a martyr, Kurt.” His words were harder now, trembling with emotion. “You’re trying to fight a war by yourself when we’re right here. Say the word, and we’ll fight with you.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He knew not to expect one.

Kurt’s hands shook, and he almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of being lectured by his nephew.

Of course, they would fight with him. He never doubted it.

Which is why he would never ask them to.

Grant handed over a wad of bills and gave his thanks to Molly. She had patched up the patron Roland assaulted and then sent him off with Sid to the hospital. With enough money, the whole incident would be washed away. Still, it was draining. Roland had never lost control before.

He remembered Ezra’s unpleasant words:Can you control your brother?

Grant had never had to before.

Rubbing his eyes, he wondered if this is what love did to the Weaver men. Made them lose all reason and act rashly. Maybe that was why his forebears had made so many strict rules for Weavers to abide by—left to their own devices, the Weavers couldn’t be trusted to behave.