Liability

Chapter 6 - Rhys

Rhys despises public transportation with a passion. The press of sweaty bodies makes his skin crawl and the noise grates on his nerves, but there's nothing to do. In the afternoon traffic it would take at least twice if not three times as more time to reach the Bronx. He just wishes all the people around him would disappear. He scowls down at his feet, then checks his watch. Ten more minutes, if nothing happens. He can do it. If only time flew faster, or at least the blasted subway train wasn't so slow.

He rubs his sweaty fingers against his jean clad thighs and takes a deep breath though his mouth. Eight more minutes. This is insane, and if the bastard digging his elbow into his ribs doesn't move away soon, Rhys will fucking murder him. Why isn't there more space in this damned carriage? Or anywhere on this fucking train?! He needs to get away, get out. Fuck being on time, James can wait a bit longer... No, he can't because James is a moron and a total wuss.

Four more minutes.

One stop.

God, when will this ride finally end?

He has to grit his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut to hold his desperate pants in. If only he didn't make a promise about being there under an hour. If only he didn't hate breaking his promises. If only... Fuck, why couldn't Thommy invite him? That whiny little bitch Mark could have taken it. And if not, no one was holding a gun to his head to go with them. It's all his fault anyway for being an idiot and getting into a totally one sided fight with the new guy, throwing a tantrum like a spoiled brat.

Rhys growls, feeling like he's about to vibrate out of his skin, but the train is finally slowing down and then the doors are opening and he is pushing his way through the crowd, not caring who he pushes away or whose feet he tramples all over. He has to get out and no one can stop him from doing so.

He pulls his phone out and dials James' number the very second he reaches the street, his trembling left hand hidden in the pocket of his light jacket.

"Rhys?" James' voice is shaky. "Where are you?"

"Just got off the subway. I'll be there in a few minutes. What about Thommy?"

"I don't know. They still haven't told me anythi—Oh."

"What?" Rhys demands, his nerves kicking up another notch. "James, what the hell is going on?"

"The new teach is here."

"Where is Thommy?"

"I have no idea, they took him away in cuffs and haven't seen him since... Oh, shiiit, he noticed me! Hurry, Rhys!" The line disconnects, and Rhys breaks into a run, checking street signs one after each other to make sure he won't get lost.

If Armand made a scene while Rhys wasn't there, who would defend James and Thommy? Especially James, who, despite all his bravado, stands no chance against authority figures. He's too soft, too weak to stand up for himself, and even if Armand had put forward an innocent face at school, Rhys just knows he wouldn't be so 'sweet' and 'caring' where no one can see him and get him into trouble. They never are.

He steels himself when he reaches the precinct building, yanking the door open and striding in with all the superiority he was spoon fed as a kid. No one tries to stop him as he walks up to the information counter doing his best to ooze all the purebred arrogance that's second nature to his family.

"Rhys?!" a voice almost yells, and Rhys turns his head, ignoring the receptionist's dark look. James is standing a few feet away from him, his skinny body shaking slightly. "Oh God, Rhys, you have to come and see this!"

"What's going on?" He leaves the counter without a second glance, even when the officer behind it calls after him.

"You won't believe this! Ohmygod, this is some seriously good shit, Rhys! Come!" James babbles and the moment Rhys is close enough, he grabs his wrist and starts dragging him towards the middle of the bullpen area.