Closer to the Edge

Martin let out an exasperated sigh. “Fuck,” he mumbled.

Rowan didn’t panic like she thought she would have. She simply checked his pulse and let out the breath she hadn’t been aware that she was holding before sitting down next to him.

“Is he okay?” Ash asked, peering over Martin’s shoulder.

“He’s alive; I can’t say much else,” Rowan said softly, running her hands over her hair. “We gotta get him back to my house.”

“Why your house?” Martin asked quickly.

Rowan rolled her eyes. “Are we really going to do this again, Martin? That was the plan.”

“I never liked the plan.”

“Well, it’s Paul’s plan, so—“

“Well, Paul is unconscious, and I vote for a new plan,” Martin said, holding up a hand as if he were still in junior high.

“You are an infant,” Rowan told him with a frown. “We’re not going to think of another plan.”

Martin shrugged. “Well, Plan A on escaping didn’t work either, so I think we need new plans all around.”

“Guys—“ Ash attempted to interject, but she was cut off quickly.

“I think you need to shut the hell up, Martin,” Rowan snapped. “You’re giving me a migraine.”

“You’ve given me a migraine since the moment I saw you,” Martin told her.

Rowan scoffed, clearly unimpressed. “Wow. Witty retort there. I’m very proud of you.”

“Both of you, shut up,” Ash said, annoyance evident in her tone. “You guys are ridiculous. Weren’t you just having a heart-to-heart about ten minutes ago?”

“Moment’s over,” Rowan mumbled.

“For once, I agree with her,” Martin said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the table.

Ash rolled her eyes. “I don’t really care if the moment is over or not. We have more important things to worry about. How in the hell are we going to get back to Rowan’s house when Paul is unconscious?”

Rowan paused. Okay, Paul wasn’t fat—not at all. In fact, he was pretty thin, well, for a guy. She was almost positive that he was only a little bigger than she was. But he was taller; he had at least six inches on her. So, yeah, that was going to make it a little bit harder. And while she knew Martin was decently strong (or at least, claimed to be) she didn’t know if he could carry him seven miles back to her house. “Good point,” she said softly.

Martin frowned. “I can carry him.”

“For seven miles? I doubt it,” Rowan said with a scoff.

“I can carry him further than you can!”

“I don’t doubt that, babe,” Ash said, patting him on the shoulder. “But not that far.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “Then I can carry him as far as I can, then we’ll take a break,” he told him.

Rowan sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “You’re giving me a migraine,” she repeated. “But that might be the only way. We really only need to get him two miles to the woods that go behind my house. The important thing is to get out of sight right now. Anthony could be trailing behind us for all we know. We have to get out of sight first.”

“I can get him that far,” Martin said confidently. “I know I can.”

Rowan shook her head. She didn’t know if he could or not, but they really didn’t have any other choice. She glanced back down at Paul, who looked rather peaceful just lying there, and she looked back up at Martin. “Alright,” she agreed. “Just be careful, yeah?”

Martin rolled his blue eyes. “No. I planned on dragging him behind me like a Neanderthal.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me,” Rowan muttered under her breath.

And even though Martin was severely annoyed, it wasn’t with Rowan; it was the situation. His best friend could’ve died and that didn’t sit well with him. It only made him resent Paul’s father even more. If Anthony DiGiovanni wasn’t so selfish, so ruthless, they would’ve never been put in a situation to kidnap some innocent girl (and he couldn’t believe he actually wanted to use that word to describe Rowan) and then they wouldn’t have been involved in a shoot-out and Paul wouldn’t have gotten hurt. While he knew Paul had unfinished business with his father, he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he had some of his own as well.

“Guys,” Ash said softly, shaking her head. “Let’s not bitch fight until we’re back at Rowan’s and Paul is awake, okay?”

Rowan was stubborn, but she knew that Ash was right. “Alright,” she agreed.

Martin was actually surprised that Rowan agreed so quickly, but he knew it wasn’t for his sake. He nodded himself in agreement before he slowly (and carefully, as Rowan reminded him about four times) hoisted Paul onto his shoulders in a pseudo-fireman carry.

Rowan shouldn’t have lacked any sort of faith in Martin; he had never given her any reason to. Sure, he had an attitude, and he was an asshole to her on more than one occasion. But it was because of the situation, not necessarily his personality. And even if it was because of his personality, it wouldn’t have changed anything. Because in that moment, his personality didn’t matter—not when it came to Paul’s safety, because that was the only thing on her mind.

+

It wasn’t the pain that brought Paul back into consciousness. It wasn’t the dull ache against his ribs (that he was pretty sure were broken, due to tackling one of his father’s henchmen out the window on the second floor stairwell), it wasn’t the ache in his head (from getting his head slammed into the wall more than one time), and it wasn’t even the ache in his wrist (that got slammed into a door when he was running—that one hadn’t been fun). It was the bickering. The constant bickering that he instantly recognized as Rowan and Martin, which wasn’t exactly a surprise.

“I thought you guys were going to stop arguing,” Ash muttered, running her hands over her hair.

“We would if he would shut the hell up,” Rowan snapped.

Martin scoffed. “Why should I be the one to shut up? I think you should shut up.”

“And let you have the last word? I think not,” Rowan told him.

“You’re such a fucking—“

“Oh, shut up,” Paul groaned. “You guys are making my head hurt even worse.”

Martin froze, his hands falling from where he had been holding Paul, causing his best friend to slide down his back and slam into the cold, dirt-covered ground of the woods.

“Fuck,” Paul groaned, reaching up to rub at his head.

“I am so sorry,” Martin said, kneeling down next to him.

Rowan rolled her eyes and pushed Martin, causing him to fall himself, and she kneeled next to Paul. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not fucking okay,” he grumbled. “Fucking butterfingers here dropped me and I’m pretty sure my ribs are broken.”

“Fucking butterfingers here is trying to apologize,” Martin said.

Paul sighed. “Bro, I’m not mad at you. I just,” he sighed and shook his head.

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Rowan told him. “Fucking butterfingers here is a jerk and I’ll whip him into shape for you.”

Paul smiled at the thought, not because it was funny, but because he really did believe Rowan could do so.

“Yeah, go ahead and try it,” Martin grumbled.

“Shut up, butterfingers,” Rowan snapped.

“Both of you, just stop,” Paul said, eyes drifting shut again.

Rowan ran her hand over the side of her face. “You gotta stay awake, Paul; we can’t have you unconscious again.”

Paul’s eyes slowly drifted open, meeting Rowan’s. “Lay next to me for a minute. I need to rest.”

“You need to rest?!” Martin asked. “I just carried your fat ass three miles!”

Ash slapped her boyfriend upside the head. “Shut up, Martin. Let’s give them a moment, yeah?”

Martin frowned but took his girlfriend’s hand, standing up. “Fine. But I’m not happy about it.”

“You don’t have to be,” Ash told him, before leading him off in the other direction so they could rest for a few minutes as well.

Rowan frowned at their bickering and briefly wondered if that’s how she sounded when she fought with Martin. But she really didn’t care. Instead, she allowed Paul to grab her arm and pull her down on the grass and dirt next to him. She rested her head on his shoulder, careful not to use too much pressure.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Paul whispered.

“I won’t leave you next time, Paul,” Rowan told him.

“Yes, you will. I’m not putting your life on the line because of my petty fights with my father,” Paul told her.

“I don’t care why you’re fighting; I’m going to stay. Do you have any idea how fucking worried I was?”

Paul smiled. “Probably just as worried as I was about you.”

Rowan sighed in exasperation. “What happened when we left?”

“Nothing important,” he told her, turning his head so he could kiss her temple. “Just don’t worry about it.”

Rowan looked up at him, turning onto her side. “Paul—“

“I’m fine, I promise,” he said, cutting her off.

Rowan lifted herself up, resting her weight on her elbows. “But what if you’re not? What if you have a concussion? Then it’s my fault. I’ll pay for all your medical bills, I promise,” she told him. “Well, my dad will. But once we explain what happened, he can help us. He won’t mind. Hell, he’ll probably even let you all stay with us. I mean, you’re really going to have to anyway to keep you safe, but—“

“Rowan, stop talking,” Paul said quietly. He slid his hand up her arm and to the back of her neck, thumb tracing over her pulse point slowly.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “I ramble when I’m nervous.”

“Are you nervous now?” Paul asked.

Rowan paused; the way he was looking at her was enough to make her nervous—it was too intense. “N-No,” she stuttered, “I just—“

“You’re nervous,” Paul said; he couldn’t help but find it adorable.

“I am not,” she repeated. “I’m never nervous.”

Paul laughed quietly before gently pulling her down to his level and pressing his lips against hers. And okay, there were no fireworks or any of that cliché shit. Hell, he couldn’t even say that his heart skipped a beat or any of that ridiculous nonsense. But it was everything he wanted. Granted, he would’ve preferred a different location, but that didn’t even change how perfect it was.

His lips moved slowly over hers and Rowan was almost positive that he could hear the way her heart was pounding against her chest. And she shouldn’t have been so happy that he was her first kiss; but she was. She was an amateur and he definitely was not; she could tell that much from the way he held her cheek and the way he didn’t rush to deepen the kiss.

“Can you guys stop making out so we can go?!”

And the moment was ruined.

Paul pulled away with a curse falling from his swollen lips and he flipped Martin off. “Sorry,” he said quietly.

Rowan sat back quickly, trying to ignore the flush that was coming over her cheeks. She could definitively say that she was not used to blushing. Of course, she wasn’t used to kissing boys in the woods either. “It’s okay,” she said quickly. “We can pretend it didn’t—“

“I meant for the interruption, not the kiss itself,” Paul told her, sitting up slowly. He grimaced but shook his head when Rowan reached out to help him. “The kiss most definitely did happen.” He smiled softly before leaning over to kiss her again quickly.

“Are you strong enough to start walking?”

“Gotta man up,” Paul said.

Rowan rolled her eyes and stood up, offering him her hand.

Paul took it and allowed her to help him stand up (though he would say that he really just needed the balance but Rowan knew he was lying). He threw an arm over her shoulder and kissed her forehead. “Are you gonna help me walk the next four miles?”

Rowan shrugged. “Maybe. I might make Martin carry your fat ass the rest of the way.”

Paul laughed loudly and then regretted it as he started coughing, his spare arm pressing against his ribs.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I will be,” he told her.

“Martin, get over here,” Rowan called.

Martin was at Paul’s side in an instant, one arm around his waist. “I can take it from here,” he told Rowan.

“I can help,” Rowan told him.

“He doesn’t need some girl who couldn’t even carry Ash to try to help him through the woods,” Martin snapped.

“Fuck you, Martin, I’m going to help,” Rowan said through gritted teeth.

“Both of you can help,” Paul said, throwing his other arm around his best friend’s shoulder. “And both of you can try to get along, starting now.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell them since they had a screaming match in the elevator that resulted in Rowan crying,” Ash told him.

Rowan scoffed. “Oh, please! I did not cry because of Martin!”

“Then why did you cry?” Paul asked, curious; he wouldn’t have pegged Rowan for the type to cry over nothing.

Rowan paused. “I didn’t cry at all.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “Of course you didn’t.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did,” Martin said, trying to mask it with a cough but it was more than a little obvious.

Rowan rolled her eyes.

“You don’t reply because you know it’s true.”

“Shut up, Martin, I’m sick of hearing your voice,” Rowan snapped.

Paul smiled and shook his head. “Let’s just get to the Delvecchio’s before we kill one another, yeah?”

“Good idea,” Ash said. “I’ll lead the way.”