Page 56 of Hurt

Grant winced when he heard him speak. “Last time I saw you playing, it looked like you were holding onto it like a life preserver.” He clenched his jaw. “And it looks like you’re drowning.”

Kurt didn’t respond. He just kept strumming the first string, letting the vibrations echo through the bar.

Grant was sitting a distance from him. But close enough that Kurt didn’t feel alone. It was stupid, but having Grant there helped. Normally, Kurt wanted to be left alone. But now it felt like he was drawn to him, like Grant was a planet and Kurt a wayward comment that needed his gravity to hold him down.

Grant’s eyes were glued to the blood on the floor. He could see it coming from Kurt, and his fists curled so tightly his joints creaked.

“Sid went to get his sister,” he said instead of whatever he really wanted to say.

Kurt didn’t respond. He couldn’t look at him either. He twisted a tuner on his guitar, tweaking it slightly to give him the sound he wanted.

“Will you tell me what happened?”

He froze. “Why should I?”

“Because I’m asking,” Grant said earnestly.

That made Kurt look up. Grant’s normally placid face was white. His eyes burned with something Kurt recognized as anger. A seething rage at the injuries covering Kurt’s face.

His misplaced anger made him laugh.

“Because I want to know,” Grant tried again.

Kurt licked at his split lip as he turned his attention back to his guitar. He wondered how many times his lip would be split before it stopped healing. When would his body give up? Toss in the towel and recognize its healing efforts had all been in vain.

Hurt crossed Grant’s face. “You’re afraid of me.”

Kurt scoffed. “No, I’m not.”

“You should be,” Grant said with a sigh, dropping his head to his hands. Like he was ashamed. As if he was the one who had done this.

Kurt grunted in pain as he pushed himself to his feet. His legs were weak, and everything hurt. The material of his shirt stuck to the open wounds on his back and tugged at them as he moved. He winced and balanced himself on the bar.

Grant scrambled up. He reached out for Kurt but stopped himself when he saw Kurt staring at his hand.

Meeting his hazel eyes, Kurt held them. “Nothing you do to me could be worse than what I’ve done to myself.”

With the guitar in hand, he limped to the back room and left Grant behind.

He couldn’t breathe. The pain was agonizing, and he thought he might be having a heart attack. Loosening his tie, he pulled the knot down and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. It didn’t help. Bracing his hands on the bar, he dropped his head and closed his eyes to try and focus.

It was no good. Images of Kurt were burned into his brain. The blood dripping down his arms and smudging on the guitar as he played. Dark bruising around his cheek. The split in his lip that looked like it widened every time he spoke.

And those were just the injuries Grant could see.

So many questions were buzzing around his head, but he could only focus on one:

Who the hell had touched him?

His confusion shifted into rage, and he had to breathe through the unfamiliar emotion. He knew Kurt had been hurt, he knew there were secrets and reasons he didn’t trust, but he had no idea it was ongoing. Someone was hurting Kurt on his watch, and that was unacceptable.

“Boss?” Jamie came up behind him. He had been watching the entire thing silently, but now he was resting a hand on the empty shoulder holster. “Who are we going to kill?”

Grant gripped the bar so tightly he was afraid he might snap the wood off. “I don’t know yet. But we’re going to find out.”

The Sunspot didn’t have cameras, and there were no witnesses. Grant had said he would wait for Kurt to divulge his secrets on his own time. But that was when his pain was in the past where Grant couldn’t get to it. When it was just memories that haunted Kurt.

This was corporeal. This was a person.