#the bandages and gauze never stay in place and it makes me fuckin anxious that he's gonna get an infection and DIE bc it's right on his neck

[karmaphone]

they should invent bandages that stay where you put them

[sheepsandcattle]

Chapter 27

It only takes a day or two for Jordan to get over what happened. It’s not even a week later, all of them sat around a table on the roof of Hoax, that Jeff tries to get him talking about it. It goes the same as just about every time Curly’s tried to do the same thing:

“You’re weirdly chill about the whole thing,” he’s saying now.

Jordan shrugs. “It’s done.”

“Like… Weirdly chill,” Dean seconds, but he’s shrugged off too.

Jeff huffs, dissatisfied. “It’s been less than a week and you’re back at work, are you dumb?”

Nothing.

“I can see the thing weeping from here.”

“Jeff,” Curly groans, but Jordan doesn’t even react, just begins to stand. “That’s fucking minging.”

“Break’s up,” Jordan grunts and, just like that, he grabs his beer and leaves the scene; back towards the bar where he’s scheduled to keep pouring drinks ‘til two.

It started with him laughing it off. Curls had driven him home, decided to stay a night or two in case he bled out or plotted to kill the bloke who stabbed him or summet equally stupid. Jordan had said “you’re mothering me,” as Curly ran about making coffee and moving pillows and replacing gauze. “I ain’t dying, Curls. Give it a fuckin’ rest,” he’d told him, and laughed as he said it. He’d winced right after, loud enough for Curly to hear it with his back to him (still working on that coffee) even after he tried to cover it with a sniff and a cough. “We’ve got bigger shit to worry about, like if I should cover it with a tattoo of your face, or Joe Strummer’s.”

Curls had snorted, shaking his head. “You aren’t funny,” he’d said. “Sit down, will you? And stop taking before you hurt yourself.”

“Nobody’s ever told me I talk too much before,” Jordan mused.

“I’m serious, Jordan. Stop acting like you’ve scraped your bloody knee and sit down.”

“Stop acting like I’m a fucking bitch,” Jordan has snapped, shutting him up.

“How’s he been?” Dean’s whispering, like Jordan could somehow hear them from all the way over there. He leans over the table, engaged, and it gives Curly a better view of the man in question, working way over Dean’s shoulder. “Normal?”

“Arsey,” Curls tells him in a grunt. “Just wanted to laugh it off at first, then he started playing it down. Now he’s always in a mood and rips my head off every time I mention it. I just feel so fucking guilty, and I know I should. The bloke was trying to buy from me, but. God, I wish he’d make it a bit easier on me.”

Jeff shrugs to Curly’s right and leans over the small circular table in a similar way to Dean. “He’s not mad at you. Probably embarrassed,” he suggests. “You know what he’s like: stubborn as fuck. Probably plotting how to fuck the guy up.”

“That’s not funny,” Dean scolds.

“I’m not kidding.” The man lifts his drink to take a short sip. “He’s as prideful as he is angry, you’ve seen it yourself.”

This has Curly’s attention returning from Jordan at the bar, to Jeff at the table. “What do you mean?”

“Well done,” Dean huffs. “Get him freaked out about one more thing, why don’t you, Jeff?”

Truthfully, he could have guessed that Jordan has a taste for revenge. He remembers how Jordan had told him in a round-about way that some of his past rivals were still in the picture. Curly has never dared ask any more about it. All he knows is that Jordan’s a product of his past and he’s not the type to let shit slide because of it. Just a week ago they spotted Jules in the bottom bar and Curly had to talk J down for forty minutes before they could get on with their night – and that only worked out because Jules had left by then. All that over a slur – go knows how far he’d go to get back at the asshole that sent him to the ER.

“I know he has history,” Curly confirms. “He told me about the gang shit-" Sort of. “-but he left it all in New York. Isn’t that proof that he knows how to leave shit in the past? That was ages ago – before you pair even knew him.” His friends exchange a look. “What?”

“You’ve only seen his best side, buddy,” Dean says.

“I’ve seen him stab a bloke.”

“Protecting you,” Jeff corrects. “He’s done the same thing for less.”

He gets a hard shove from Dean then. “Alright, that’s enough, Jeff,” he says with a glance towards Curly. “Ignore him. J’s not half as pissy as he used to be. He’s probably just trying to move on.”

Curly’s scowling though, looking between the pair as he asks, “what do you mean ‘same for less?’ In Brockton, you mean?” Maybe it was naive to think his boyfriend stabbing a bloke was a one-off.

Just as Dean exclaims, “no!” Jeff insists, “Of course,” before he adds, “stop sheltering him, Dean, he’s not a kid and he’s fuckin’ dating the guy,” with a roll of his eyes before he turns slightly to give Curly his full focus.

Dean seems to back down, slouching back in his chair and Jeff continues; “Listen, I don’t need to tell you that Jord’s a damn fucking good guy. He’s one of my best friends and if I thought there was a secret of his worth keeping, I’d do it – even from you. But it’s no secret that he acts on anger. He was protecting you when he hurt that guy and you know he’d do it again to any motherfucker that laid a bad hand on you.” He doesn’t continue until Curly nods and he’s confident that he’s being understood. “-But he was also settling a score. They didn’t come out of nowhere. There’s this guy--”

“Nick,” Curly recalls. Tell Nick that if I see any of you again, I’ll fuckin’ kill you. He remembers how Jordan’s face had changed into something terrifying when he spat that out. How he wiped the knife clean on his pants like it was nothing. “I knew that already.”

“Did you know he’s dead?”

He forgets to respond. Curly’s stomach suddenly feels heavy; his head light, as the implications in Dean’s question ring clear. He didn’t know that. He attempts to remain passive, leaning back into his seat again and reaching with a shaky hand for his drink. Curly takes a long sip whilst he waits for Jeff to go on, but he doesn’t. He’s glancing at Dean now like he’s only just realising that maybe it wasn’t his place after all.

“Well done,” Dean says again, quieter than he had last time. “I asked him about it, Curly,” he tells him, now that their friend’s gone quiet. Jeff doesn’t look remorseful – he looks satisfied if anything, as he sits back and watches Dean speak. “He damn near ripped my head off. It killed him to hear that we thought even for a second that he could kill somebody. I believe him.”

“Dead since when?” He forgets to sound passive this time.

Dean shrugs. “Since... Brandon was here – that’s when he told us, anyway.”

“Look,” Jeff cuts in. “I’m not saying it was him. I’m just saying that he knew how and when it happened.”

“Fucking hell, Jeff, you’re not very bloody convincing,” Curly points.

“Fucking right he isn’t,” Dean confirms. “Curly, listen. Jordan knows a lot of people. That’s all. He doesn’t know how to let shit go. He gets the wrong people involved with his shit. You think we’d have sat there with him just now, thinking he’d m—” he drops to a hissed whisper. “—Thinking he’d murdered someone? We’re fucking clean. You know we’re not like that. And I know you know he isn’t either.”

“All I was tryna say is that he acts before he thinks,” Dean reason. “He’s got beef with a dead guy in a gang – do you get that? That shit follows you.”

“Bit of feedback mate,” Curly begins, hissing back. “Maybe next time, open with summet like ‘Jordan’s never killed anyone but..’ yeah? Put me at ease a bit.”

By this point, all three of them are leant in, talking snappily – not that any of them notice until Jordan’s voice is pulling them out of the tight triangle.

“Fuck’s up with you guys?”

They all jump back, reaching for their drinks at the same time as they mumble “nothing” and “nowt” like it isn’t too late to act casual. His neck feels hot, worked up from the conversation and anxious from having been caught.

“… Right,” Jordan nods slowly, rounding the table to stand at Curly’s side, where he leans a hand on the back of his chair. “These assholes grillin’ you?”

Curly scoffs, neck arched to look up towards the man. “You’ve got no idea,” he tells him, trying his best to stay loose as he smiles up at the man.

J mustn’t notice, because he gives a small smile in return. “Well you’re in luck; I’m here to save you.” Curly frowns. “Apparently I’ve gotta go home,” he then tells him, rolling his eyes, and Curly’s on his feet so quick that the blood heating his neck shoots right to his brain.

“Why, what happened?” his eyes dart to the bandage on the side of J’s neck, and it’s funny how quickly your mind can just drift from your boyfriend’s possible murderous past when his own welfare is in question. It looks clean though, despite Jeff’s earlier joke.

“Nothing.” Jordan huffs, taking a second to glance between the other two men as he confirms, “I’m fucking fine. We’re quiet. We have four managers in. They don’t need me.”

“Hey, Charlie,” Jeff calls to a woman clearing glasses off the table beside their own. “Is he ‘fine’ or is he talkin’ shit?”

“He’s talking shit,” she responds without a second thought, then points towards Curly. “Get the boy home,” she demands.

Curly gives Jordan a look, raising a brow as the man continues to look irritated. “I’m knackered anyway,” he lies. “And these pair are doing my head in. Let’s go.”

“Asshole,” Dean mutters, but Curly’s already ushering Jordan away from the table.

***

“Are you alright?”

Curly must have been doing a good job of faking sleep because Jordan jolts a little when he speaks, eyes leaving the ceiling. He’s been like that since they got into bed; just lying there on his back, breathing heavily as he stares up at the ceiling. Curly wonders what’s got his breath so erratic and his brows furrowing like he’s having a row in his head.

The man opens his mouth to respond, but Curly cuts him off before he can. “I know you are,” he amends. “I know you don’t need me to take care of you, but. Are you alright?” He reaches out to touch the man’s face, fingers sliding over his cheek when Jordan finally turns his head to look at him.

“You always seem so… Angry,” he explains, his voice dropping to a whisper as he asks, “are you angry?”

Jordan takes a deep breath before he rolls onto his side, a hand landing on Curly’s waist to pull him a little closer. Curly ends up on the edge of his pillow, but he doesn’t mind. Jordan just nods.

“At me?” Curly doesn’t mean to sound so woe. He almost hopes he says yes – better to be angry at Curly than the guy who hurt him, if his conversation with Jeff and Dean is anything to go by. “Because he thought I was dealing?” He’s almost coaxing.

“No,” Jordan mumbles. “Not you.”

He slides in a little closer, from the edge of his pillow to the edge of Jordan’s, who tickles his back with the tips of his fingers beneath the covers. It’s the most tender moment they’ve had in a week. “At that bloke? Rory?”

The man shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know.” His brows furrow like they had been as he stared up at the ceiling. “I keep replaying it in my head. I get so—” He shrugs again, his eyes cast somewhere over Curly’s shoulder, distracted by the thought.

“Tell me,” he whispers – wants to say help me understand, but he’s not sure Jordan even understands it himself.

“It was a cheap shot,” he says. “A dumb fight at a house party. He didn’t have to…” He shakes his head as he trails off.

It feels harsh, but Curly thinks maybe he might put things into perspective by saying, “isn’t it just the same as when you did it? To that guy in the street?” He gets no response. “Do you regret it?”

“No,” Jordan says quickly, the volume of his voice rising just a little with the speed of his reply. “That was different.”

“Because of Nick?” He hadn’t planned to bring him up – really, and when Jordan’s eyes return to him, it’s Curly’s turn to look off into the darkness beyond the bed. “Because of revenge?”

Jordan goes quiet again and rolls back onto his back where his breaths pick up again, just slightly. Curly’s not sure he’d have even noticed if he wasn’t listening out for it.

“I’m not trying to quiz you,” he tells him honestly, his knuckles sliding over the man’s jaw in an attempt to soothe him. “I want to understand.”

“So do I,” Jordan agrees, then goes back to gritting his teeth at the ceiling.

“Don’t try to get back at Rory.” The words tumble right out. “Please. He’s not worth it.”

Slowly, Jordan reaches up and takes Curly’s wrist in his hand. He brings his hand a little further up, to his lips where Curly thinks he will kiss him, but he instead just holds his hand there against his mouth, before he guides it away from him completely. Jordan drags his own palms over his face then, taking two long, deep before he crosses his arms over his stomach and asks point-blank, “when did you find out about Nick?”

He hadn’t realised that his request about Rory would hold such a clear connection to Nick’s death, but the fact that it quite clearly does for Jordan has his chest tightening up and his stomach hollowing right out. 

He’s done the same thing for less.

“Tonight.” There’s no sense in lying to him. In fact, the second he responds, Curly feels lighter. He hadn’t realised how wrong it felt to have made so many assumptions about his own boyfriend behind his back.

“Dean?” Jordan asks, and Curly nods. “I didn’t kill him.”

“I know,” he tells him, taking himself off-guard because, although he means it, Curly’s not sure even he realised it until just then. “I know you didn’t.”

“Th—” Jordan’s breath hitches. It’s a sight Curly’s never seen before – imagined, even – Jordan bringing a hand back up to his face to press his hand to his mouth.

“J.” He feels pathetic as he searches for something to say, because Jordan’s—He’s crying, pulling in jagged breaths beneath his palm. Curly pushes himself up, reaches out to pull the man’s hand from his face. Jordan lets him but is following his lead and sitting up, hanging his head between his shoulders before Curly can try to catch his eye. “It’s alright, whatever it—"

“They weren’t meant to fucking kill him,” he says between heaving breaths. “F-fuck, they—Nobody—” Jordan’s holding his head in his hands, shoulders shaking but he must be holding the sobs back because he barely makes a noise. Curly doesn’t either as he tries to make sense of his words – or rather find an explanation that isn’t Jordan knowing about it all.

The tendons in the man’s neck are straining and Curly dreads to think about the state of the other side, under the bandage, or the pain it must be causing him.

“Okay.” He nods as he slides a hand up to the back of his neck and into his hair. “Do you know who it was?” It’s so fucking stupid to ask – knowing that kind of information is dangerous, Curly knows that, but, as he looks at Jordan like this, doubled over and gasping for breath as he cries into his hands, it’s hard to believe there’s no explanation that excuses his involvement and makes it all make sense. He’s left in suspense though, feeling more and more desperate as he cards his fingers through the man’s hair and waits for him to catch his breath and calm himself.

“Some guys from New York,” Jordan finally says. “I paid them to… Beat him up a little. Get him off my back – the guy’s been on me since I left the city. Seven fucking years, Curly. And if I— Boyd would have killed me that night, I swear he would have. You too.”

Curly can only assume Boyd’s the guy who got stabbed – remembers what Dean had said about how Jordan was protecting him that night, but he was also settling a score. Jordan’s words are suddenly so rushed that Curly’s taking guesses at the gaps he leaves – like exactly who Boyd even is. A connection to Nick, he’d guess.

“Why?” He feels so daft and naive by asking it, but, “what’s worth going after you for that long? What is it that’s so bad but could be fixed by killing you?”

Jordan scoffs. “Nick—” He pauses to straighten up, wiping his hands over his face and glancing briefly at Curly before he looks down at his lap. He doesn’t hide his face now though, just casts his eyes to his lap. “He used to… He and my mom were together for a while, I think.”

Curly had expected drugs or gang crimes or something of the like – not an old stepdad. “You think?” 

“He—” Jordan shakes his head, sniffs. His hysterics are fading, and it’s almost like Jordan’s accepted the rest of the story. Has disconnected himself from all the emotion attached it his past. It’s just the present that he’s having a hard time with. “It’s complicated. Nick was an asshole. I barely even remember him, ‘cause my mom’s next… Guy, Marc – he pretty much chased him off the scene. But we owed him money,” he explains, and that makes a little more sense. Curls wonders what kind of boyfriend would give a mother and her kid so much grief over money. “Nick had a lot of enemies anyway. He was a joke but Marc was the real deal and he took it personally, so we were covered. But then, when things got fucked up with Marc… Well, we didn’t have any protection anymore.”

“So you left New York to get away from Nick,” he tries to follow.

“No,” he finally looks Curly’s way, seemingly forgetting the root of the conversation as he gets lost in the story. “Marc chased us out, he—” He looks genuinely remorseful now. “It was my fault, but that’s… Somethin’ else. Difference is, Marc only wanted us gone, but Nick still wanted his money, so we left, and he didn’t bother us for a while. And then I saw these two guys at the club one night; Boyd and Rick.”

“Was that them? In the street?”

The man nods. “I paid ‘em off as much as a could, but we still owed Nick… Fuck, thousands.”

Curly wants so badly to tell Jordan that there’s no ‘we’ – that he’s got no doubt that it’s Jordan’s mother that owes the money, and that Jordan just got dragged into it all, but then the man adds, “he’d have killed me for the sake of getting my mom’s fucking attention. She don’t even know he was around – I barely know where she is half of the time, never mind them.”

“So, you paid somebody to beat him up, like a warning? Where did you get that kind of money? How much would—”

“Just—” J shakes his head again. “The point is, I didn’t fuckin’ pay to get him killed. I just—fuck.” The realisation must dawn on him again, and something tells Curly that this is the first time Jordan’s really let himself take it all in. “I haven’t heard from them since – any of them. The guys I paid, Boyd or Rick.”

“Okay, so that’s good—”

“No Curly, it’s not fucking good because they killed Nick and I paid them! I—” He stops, snaps his mouth shut and arches into himself again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I just. This shit can come back to me. So fucking easily. If they figured out who did it, they’d ask questions, it’d come right back—”

“But he has a lot of enemies,” Curls reads back. “You said that. Seven years is a long fucking time, J. I bet he’s got a lot of new enemies in New York by now.” Fuck knows if what he’s saying holds any weight, but Curly just talks and talks and hopes something sticks. “If anyone is questioning anything, I’ll bet they’re running ‘round in bloody circles. If it was them who killed him, it’s on them.” He knows rightly that Jordan has played a large part in it but— “he sounds like a fucking arsehole. He’d have killed you if you didn’t do it first. And me and your mum. You didn’t want him dead; I believe that, but he is and, love, it’s probably bloody good that he is.”

Jordan remains quiet as he lays back down. He lies on his side and Curly spots the orange-red liquid weeping through his bandage but says nothing, for now, instead lowering himself to lay beside him, pulling the sheets over them and hooking an ankle over the man’s leg.

The man nods, no longer looking away but instead directly at Curly as his fingers play with his hair. “I fucking hated him,” he tells him. “When I was a kid, he was...” Jordan huffs. “And now he’s dead, and it’s my fault, and I feel sick. I keep thinking of all the different ways I coulda fixed it instead.”

“Did he hurt you? And your mum?”

Jordan just huffs again, shifting until they’re sharing Curly’s pillow this time. “Stop tryna make me a martyr,” he tells him, hushed. “Don’t look for reasons to hate him. Let me be sorry.” Their noses touch as he closes his eyes, just a little too tight. “I am sorry.”

“I believe you,” Curly tells him.

It’s done. Jordan didn’t mean to do it. It was probably some freak accident where they guys went too hard -- if it was even them at all. J’s got a totally different life in Brockton. No visible ties at all. He pushes himself up again, eyes on the man’s neck again, too unsettled to start lying around doing nothing.

“Please let me change your bandage.”

Jordan hums as he gives a small nod. “Okay, once.”

One bloody problem at a time, he thinks.