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RECTUS ABDOMINUS

Hugh

FEbrUARY 19, 1999

G IBS DIDN’T COME TO SCHOOL TODAY, WHICH WAS BEYOND STRANGE CONSIDERING WE got cake from the teacher on our birthdays.

In all the years I’d known him, which was literally all the years of my life, he’d never once refused cake on his birthday. Hell, he even demolished the cake given out on my birthday.

That could only mean one of two things: either he was at death’s door or had passed through it.

When I reached his front porch after school and tried to let myself inside like I’d done every day since I’d learned how to walk, I was met with resistance.

The door was locked.

Since when did we use locks?

It felt strange to ring the doorbell of a house I knew the alarm codes to, but I did it and waited impatiently.

After about twenty-five rings of the doorbell, it finally opened.

When my eyes locked on the asshole in front of me, I felt my blood run cold.

Mark Allen .

I swear, this prick set my teeth on edge.

“Where’s Gibs?” I asked, not bothering with formalities. I knew he didn’t like me, and the feeling was mutual.

Mark Allen had a god complex and couldn’t stand that someone younger than him could trump him intellectually. That someone was me, and I took great pleasure in kicking the shit out of him with my mind.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Mark seethed, standing in the doorway in a pair of low hung sweats and nothing else. “What’s with ringing the doorbell a hundred fucking times. I was trying to work out, asshole!”

“Hopefully your brain,” I shot back dryly, trying not to heave at the sight of the creature. “Because, evidently, your rectus abdominus are a lost cause.”

“Hold up.” He narrowed his eyes. “What did you say about rectum?”

I smirked, feeling amused. “Case in point.”

“Biggs, you better tell me what you want right now or get the fuck off my doorstep,” he snarled, taking a menacing step toward me. “Because I am in no mood for your hotshot lingo.”

Instead of flinching, I laughed. “You really are thick as shit, aren’t you?”

“Just you wait.” He pointed at my face and nodded grimly. “Another couple of years and I’m going to kick the living shit out of your smart ass.”

“I’m right here,” I laughed back. “Give it your best shot.”

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t ya?” he sneered. “Clever little bastard like you would probably have a camera filming.”

I grinned. “Why don’t you try it and see if you’re right?”

“Why don’t you climb back up the hole you came out of,” he roared before unceremoniously slamming the door in my face.

“Actually, I’m the product of a caesarean section, asshole,” I goaded. “So your attempt to insult me is a futile one.”

The sound of the lock clicking filled my ears.

The fucker .

“I hate that guy,” I muttered to myself, glaring at the closed door.

Well, he couldn’t keep me out that easily.

Skulking around the side of the house, I scaled the old oak tree outside Mark’s open window, the room that used to be Beth’s, before launching myself at the window.

Easy peasy.

Climbing through the window, I landed lightly on my feet, only to scowl at the absolute pigsty that was his room.

Graphically explicit posters of naked girls adorned the walls, and he had a bunch of instant photos littered on his nightstand. I didn’t bother investigating those because whatever piqued Mark’s interest would be of zero interest to me.

He clearly used the floor as his waste bin because there was more rubbish scattered over it than inside our wheelie bin. He didn’t even have a sheet on his mattress, and there was an obvious—and very large—urine stain in the middle.

This asshole was feral.

Abandoning his room before the fumes altered the chemicals in my brain, I headed straight for Gibsie’s room and let myself inside.

I didn’t bother to knock because we didn’t do that kind of thing. I strolled over to his bed and inspected his limp body, huddled under the duvet. “Are ya dead, Gibs?”

Startled by the sound of my voice, Gibs shot straight up, only to hiss out a pained breath and gingerly settle back down on his side. “I am, lad.”

“Is it catching?” I asked, sitting down beside him. “You do look like you’re halfway dead all right.” I reached out a hand and touched his clammy forehead. “Jesus, you’re burning up, lad.” Concern roared to life inside of me. “You’re drenched in sweat, Gibs.”

“I’m okay, Hugh,” he whispered, trembling beneath the covers, as he curled up in the fetal position. “I’m always okay.”

“Where’s your mam?”

“Work.”

“Keith?”

“Work.”

“Mark’s babysitting you?”

He nodded stiffly.

Frowning in concern, I touched his brow again, feeling unhappy about leaving him here. “Can you get up?”

“Why?”

“Because it’s your birthday and I’m not going to leave you here on your own,” I explained, standing up. “Come over to our house, and we’ll look after you until your mam gets home from work.” Smiling, I added, “Claire’s baking you a cake—although, fair warning, I caught her drooling all over the spoon.”

“But I’m supposed to stay here with him.”

“Yeah, fat lot of good Mark is,” I grumbled. “He’s too busy ‘working out’ to bother checking on you. You should have heard the way he roared at me when I knocked on the door. He was raging that I disturbed him.” Shaking my head, I reached for his hand and helped him into a sitting position. “Nah, you’re coming home with me.” Draping his duvet over his shoulders, I wrapped an arm around my oldest friend and led him out of his room.

“And where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Mark demanded when we reached the landing. He stepped in front of the staircase and folded his arms across his chest. “Your mother left me in charge of you.” He turned his attention to Gibs and said, “Get back into bed now.”

A shiver racked through Gibs, and he reached for my hand, squeezing it almost as tightly as Lizzie did when this creep was around. “He’s coming with me,” I warned, taking a protective stance in front of my friend.

“I’m in charge of where he goes.” Mark’s nostrils flared with temper. “He’s my brother.”

“No, you fucking cretin,” I seethed, whacking his hand away when he tried to grab my friend. “He’s my brother. Now get out of our way.”

He smiled darkly. “Make me, egghead.”

Now, I rarely lost my temper; in fact, I was praised on my ability to keep the head, but this bully drew the worst out of me.

Mark Allen was a mean bastard. He was always goading, mocking, and tormenting Gibs, and when he wasn’t making my friend cry, he was making my babysitter cry.

Difference was, I wasn’t Gibsie or Caoimhe. I wasn’t Claire or Liz, either. I wouldn’t stand for it. Yeah, I was younger than him, but I was tall for my age, and I wasn’t afraid to throw down, even if the probability of getting my ass handed to me was high.

I had no doubt Mark could hammer the living daylights out of me, but the fact that I wasn’t afraid to go head-to-head with him, with the knowledge that I would surely get in a few shots of my own, caused him to pause a moment.

Yeah, because it wouldn’t be a good look for Mark to get caught battering kids. He had a reputation to uphold—one he had sold to every adult in our community.

Everyone loved this guy.

Everyone .

I tried to tell Sadhbh about the bullying, but she wouldn’t hear a word said against her precious stepson. I tried to tell Caoimhe, and she believed me even less.

“Do you really want to do this with me?” I asked him, unwilling to back down. “Right here and now?”

Mark must have realized how serious I was because he shook his head and sneered, “You’re not worth going to jail over,” before shoving past us.

Taking that as my cue to haul ass, I carted my friend down the staircase and out the front door before his bully had a change of heart.

“Thanks for that,” Gibs said when we were in my driveway.

“No bother, lad,” I replied, guiding him up the porch steps. “Anytime.”

“I might hold you to that,” he chuckled, still clutching my hand.

For some strange reason, I didn’t pull my hand from his, not even when we got inside. Instead, I let him hold my hand for a solid five minutes before he finally let go.