Chapter Forty-Two
I turn on Wyhtt. Before I can even speak or form a solid thought, Wyhtt is ready and anticipating my next move. “S, I am begging you, please don’t start. I know you probably have a thousand questions but?—”
“But? But what?” I cut him off, sick of being left in the dark. “What the fuck just happened? Are you seriously going to keep secrets for him? Defend him? He just attacked you, and apparently not for the first time.” I scoff. Pity and rage fight within me, but pity wins this battle. Pity for the man who has obviously been silently fighting a battle that was never his to fight. I take in a deep breath, then another as I attempt to compose myself. Knowing this man—broken, bloody, and distraught—is not the man who deserves my wrath tonight.
His bright green eyes—a color that mirrors the brightest shade of freshly cut spring grass—are rimmed with tears. Not from the pain of the punches he took, but for me and for his brother, for what he thought was all about to come to a halting and horrific end. I turn to him and embrace him.
His head rests atop mine, his body is tense as I wrap my arms around him.
“I am so sorry, I tried so hard to protect you from this mess. From who he is when he isn’t sober. From the moment I found out . . . I fought for him. I begged, I drove him to meetings, I refused to drink. I sat with him through detox after detox. Every night he spent with his head in the toilet—I stood by and just took all the harsh words he threw at me. But I am fucking exhausted, S. He didn’t just leave you.” My heart aches for my friend. I inhale deeply as he continues. “The Jensen we knew—the one we grew up with—has been gone for so long. I’ve caught glimpses of him lately though, I honestly thought maybe you would be the one to save him. I know that isn’t fair to put on a person. I fucking know, because I put that on myself. For so long, I thought I could save him. But goddamn it, I know now none of us can. He has to do it himself. He has to want to be saved.”
Wyhtt holds me so tightly I can hardly breath. All these years this man has been fighting not one war, but two. I look up to see tears streaming down his cheeks and dried blood smeared across his pale skin. I place both hands on his face, wiping the tears with my thumbs before forcing him to look me in the eyes.
“It was never your job to protect me and it was never your job to save him. You have been a good and loyal friend to both of us. You have served your country, your family, and hometown well. You do not deserve what just happened. You have not deserved one second of what he has put you through. It doesn’t matter how much we love him, we don’t deserve this, Wyhtt.” He sniffles as I go on. “We can offer to help him, I will be here to help him if he allows it. I will help you both, but this is not on you, my sweet Wyhtt.”
A solid nod was all that he could offer, his broken spirit evident. The love and worry is etched into his frown, making the lines on his face more visible than before.
“Let’s go home.” I offer, stepping back and taking his hand. He responds with another nod before we do just that, opting not to walk and deciding to hail a taxi from downtown. We’d both had enough adventure for the night.