Chapter 4: What happened
The basement throbbed. The music was a physical thing, bass notes vibrating up through the worn wooden floorboards and into the soles of Bella’s feet. Strings of warm Edison bulbs cast a golden, dancing light over everything, making the sweating keg in the corner gleam and throwing long, twisting shadows from the crowd of sixteen, maybe twenty people. The fire crackled in the hearth, its heat lost to the press of bodies.
Bella leaned against the brick wall near the bookshelf, a solo cup of lukewarm beer in her hand. She’d worn the black outfit without much thought—the tank top, the skirt that hit mid-thigh—but now she felt exposed. Every laugh from Sam’s circle of friends by the beer pong table felt a beat too loud. Her eyes kept finding Joseph.
He was across the room, talking to some guy from across the street. He held a bottle of water, not beer. He’d nod, say something short, his eyes scanning the room every few seconds. A sentry. He hadn’t looked at her once since she came down. The memory of the kitchen, of his thumb on her lip and his shattered expression, was a live wire tucked behind her ribs.
Sam was already drunk. She’d watched him do four shots of tequila in the first ten minuets, his laughter getting looser, his gestures wider. He was telling a story now, sloshing his beer as he gestured, his arm around his friend Mike’s shoulder.
A guy she vaguely recognized—a plus-one of Sam’s friend Lisa—squeezed past her to get to the cooler. He was tall, lanky, with a friendly smile. As he passed, his gaze flickered to her. “Hey, great skirt,” he said, his voice casual, complimentary without being sleazy. He kept moving.
“Thank you,” she said automatically, giving a small smile before looking back at her cup.
But Sam’s head had snapped around. His arm dropped from Mike’s shoulder. “What the fuck did you just say?” His voice cut through the layered hum of conversation and music. It was too loud, too sharp.
The guy turned around, hands up in a peaceful gesture. “Whoa, man. Just said I liked her skirt. No big deal.”
Joseph looked over at the sound of Sam’s voice. He set his water bottle down on the mantel.
“The fuck it isn’t,” Sam slurred, taking a stumbling step forward. His face was flushed, his brows drawn tight. “You don’t talk to her. You don’t look at her.” This was the insecurity, the quick temper, boiling over in a public, ugly way. It was meant to be possessive, but it just felt small.
Bella felt a hot wash of embarrassment. “Sam, it’s fine. He was just being nice.”
Sam didn’t even hear her. His focus was a laser on the other guy, his chest puffed out. “He has a girlfriend, why aren’t you complimenting her?” He asked him, jabbing a finger toward Lisa, who looked mortified.
“It was just a compliment, man,” the guy said, his own patience starting to fray. He glanced at his girlfriend, then back at Sam. “Seriously, relax.”
“I’ll show you a compliment,” Sam said.
The words were still in the air when he swung. His fist connected with the guy’s jaw with a sick, wet crack. The music swallowed the sound, but not the sight. Bella flinched as if struck herself.
The guy staggered back, hand flying to his face. Shock melted into rage. “You fucking psycho!” He swung back, a wild haymaker that caught Sam square on the cheekbone.
Then they were just two animals, taking shots at each other. Beer cups went flying. Someone yelled, “Whoa, break it up!” but no one moved. The circle around them widened into a jagged ring.
Joseph was already moving. He pushed through the gawking crowd, his expression flat and focused. He grabbed the guy’s shoulder, fingers digging in, only meant to pull him back and pin him. “Alright, that’s enough—”
The guy turned fast, instinct taking over, and hit Joseph straight on the nose.
Joseph’s head snapped back. A collective gasp rippled through their friends. The guy looked at him, his anger dissolving into instant horror. “Shit, I’m sorry, man.”
Joseph wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Blood, shockingly bright, smeared across his skin and stained the grey cotton of his long sleeve. He blinked, his eyes watering from the impact. “It’s fine,” Joseph said, his voice eerily calm.
Sam saw the blood. His brother’s blood. “You hit my brother?” he roared, lunging past Joseph. He went to swing at the guy for hitting Joseph. The guy ducked.
Sam’s fist sailed through empty air and caught Joseph straight on the lip.
Joseph grunted, stumbling back a step. Fresh blood welled from a split in his lower lip. The guy, seeing an opening, punched Sam again in the stomach, doubling him over.
Joseph moved before anyone could breathe. He stepped directly between them, one palm flat on Sam’s heaving chest, the other arm barred against the other guy. He was a wall. He looked at the guy, his blue eyes hard. “Outside. Now.”
He didn’t wait. He just took the guy by the arm and steered him firmly through the stunned silence, up the basement steps, and out the front door. The cold night air hit them. “I’m sorry, man, he swung at me,” the guy stammered, his bravado gone.
“It’s fine,” Joseph said again, the same flat tone. “Just go home.” He watched the guy hurry to his car before turning back to the house.
Inside, the party was dead. Music still played, but no one was talking. Sam was standing in the kitchen, leaning against the fridge, holding a bag of frozen peas to his cheek. Bella stood a few feet away, arms wrapped tightly around herself. She looked at Joseph as he entered, her eyes widening at the blood on his face, his sleeve.
Joseph walked straight to Sam. “Come on,” he said, his voice low. “You’re done.”
“That asshole—” Sam started, slurring.
“Now, Sam.”
Joseph put his arm around Sam, taking his weight as he stumbled. He walked him out of the kitchen, past the silent, watching friends, and toward the stairs. Each step was a labor. Sam mumbled incoherent protests, his body leaning heavily into his brother’s side.
Bella followed, her footsteps silent on the stairs behind them. She watched Joseph’s broad back, the deliberate strength in his movements, the dark blood stark against the grey of his shirt. He got Sam to his bedroom door, pushed it open, and guided him inside.
Sam collapsed onto his bed, the frozen peas tumbling to the floor. “He started it,” he muttered into the comforter, his eyes already closing.
Joseph stood over him for a long moment, breathing slowly through his mouth. He then turned and walked out, pulling the door shut quietly behind him.
His nose throbbed in a hot, insistent rhythm that synced with his heartbeat, and he could taste the copper-sharp tang of blood seeping from his split lip.
From the basement, a sharp noise cut through—a shout, then a girl’s voice, strained and saying “Stop it, let go!” It wasn’t playful.
Joseph moved, taking the stairs down two at a time, his footsteps too loud on the wood. The basement was hazy, half-empty now. In the far corner, near the fireplace, a big guy in a faded flannel had a blonde girl pinned against the wood paneling, his forearm across her collarbone. Her hands pushed at his chest, her face twisted in disgust. “Get off!”
“Leave her alone, man,” Joseph said.
The guy glanced over, his eyes glassy and unfocused. “I’m busy. Go find your own girl.” He turned back, leaning in closer to her.
Joseph looked at the girl. Her wide, panicked eyes found his—a silent plea, no recognition there. This wasn’t a lovers’ quarrel. He closed the distance in three strides and grabbed the guy’s shoulder, pulling him back. “I said leave her.”
The guy swung around, a wild, drunken pivot, and his fist connected hard with Joseph’s cheek and lip.
The pain was a bright, shocking flare that reignited the earlier ache in his face. He stumbled back a step, his vision swimming. He wouldn’t hit people. He hated it. But this guy, with his meaty hands and predatory stance, deserved it.
Joseph exhaled, a sharp, controlled breath. He pulled the guy’s shoulder around, breaking his balance, and swung his own fist up in a short, brutal arc. It connected cleanly with the guy’s jaw with a crack of bone on bone.
The guy’s head snapped sideways. He grunted, stumbled back, and hit the floorboards with a heavy thud, out cold.
Joseph stood over him, his knuckles screaming, his breath coming in ragged pulls. One of Sam’s friends, Derek, was suddenly there, eyes wide. “Jesus, Jo.”
“Get him out,” Joseph said, wiping his bleeding lip again.
Derek nodded, grabbing the guy’s ankles. Another friend appeared, taking the arms, and they hauled the limp form toward the stairs. Derek paused at the base. “Party’s over, guys. Let’s go. Everyone out.”
There were no arguments. The few remaining people gathered coats and cups, filing upstairs in a quiet, chastened line. The music cut off mid-song, leaving a ringing silence filled only by the pop of the fireplace embers.
Joseph waited until the last footstep faded, until the front door clicked shut. The sudden quiet was immense.
He headed upstairs, each step an effort. The hallway at the top was dim. As he reached the landing, Sam’s bedroom door opened.
Bella stepped out, closing the door softly behind her. She looked frustrated, her brows knitted, one hand rubbing her temple. Then she turned and saw him.
She froze. Her eyes widened, taking in the fresh blood dried beneath his nose, the blossoming bruise on his cheek—a sickly green and light blue already forming—and the slow trickle of crimson from the new split in his lower lip. “My God,” she whispered, the words sucked out of her.
He just stood there, letting her look. There was no hiding this.
“What happened?” She took a step toward him, her hand half-reaching out before she stopped it.
“Another drunk idiot,” he said, his voice rough. It hurt to talk. “In the basement.”
“Sam’s?”
“Some rando. Doesn’t matter.”
She was close now, close enough for him to see the flecks of gold in her green eyes. Her gaze traced the damage on his face with a horrified fascination. “You’re hurt. Really hurt.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.” Her frustration, which seemed directed at the closed door behind her a moment ago, now focused entirely on him. “You’re always… handling things. And you just get hurt.”
He didn’t have an answer for that. He was so tired. The adrenaline was leaching away, leaving a deep, cold hollow in its place. He looked past her shoulder at Sam’s door.
“He’s asleep,” she said, following his glance. “Passed out when you left his head hit the pillow. He won’t remember any of it tomorrow.” She said it like a curse.
Joseph finally met her eyes. In the dim hall light, the blue of his was almost grey, shadowed with pain and something else—a weary resignation. “He will remember hitting me,” Joseph said quietly. A simple, painful fact.
Bella’s breath caught. She remembered the awful, accidental impact, Sam’s wild swing finding his brother’s mouth. She looked at the blood there now. Her own guilt, a constant companion, twisted sharply inside her, mingling with a surge of protective anger that felt dangerously close to something else.
“You need ice,” she said, her voice firm. She turned toward the bathroom. “Come on.”
He didn’t move.
She stopped, her back to him.
“Bella, don’t.” The single word was cracked, full of a warning that was as much for himself as for her. Don’t take care of me. Don’t look at me like that. Don’t make this harder.
She turned her head, her profile sharp against the dark wood of the hallway. “Don’t what?” The challenge was soft, daring him to name the thing that hummed between them.
He couldn’t. He just shook his head, a slight movement that made him wince.