Chapter 29 Brighton
“Glow-in-the-dark stars,” she says, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear.
Every move she takes is a helpful distraction.
My mind is a war zone after midnight, and I’m still trying to talk myself off the ledge.
But Rhea doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that she found me wandering around trying to unlock doors.
Lying to her felt wrong, but I couldn’t bring myself to be honest.
The story about Sunday is true. But it’s not the worst of the PTSD, not even close.
It’s the tip of an iceberg that I lost control of a long time ago.
But Rhea is just trying to help, and I can’t fault her for that.
Tonight had been scary for everyone. I looked down at my hand, the tremor was still there, and hiding it wasn’t going to solve anything.
What if you had hurt her? My jaw tightens. I need to be more careful.
“Huh?” I say, blinking up at the ceiling.
“No, not in here,” she laughs softly. “I have a step-dad,” she explains, “Gabe.” Rhea smiles at the thought of him, and it loosens some of the knots in my chest. “Reid, my younger brother, used to get panic attacks, and one of the things he did to calm down was count things. But it’s hard in the dark when the nightmares start…
” She trails off because she’s speaking from experience.
That much is easy to read. “He needed something to count when the lights were out, so Gabe stuck hundreds of stars to his ceiling, and it kind of just became a thing. I look up, close my eyes, and no matter where I am, the stars are there to count.”
“Rhea,” I say softly. I want to ask her. I have to. “Why did you need to count them?” It’s an odd sensation drawing a line in the sand, keeping her at arm's length when she makes it so easy to want to comfort her. Enough. You can’t think about it like that. She’s Sunday’s best friend.
She stares at her hands, and she decides to tell me faster than I had about my own invisible scars.
Focus on anything but her eyes. Or the way her entire body is shaking.
“Our Dad was sick, really sick.” Her eyes are full of water, and I instantly regret asking.
“He used to…” She swallows, “see us as the enemy.”
Fuck.
I go completely still, and it feels like even my blood has stopped pumping.
Her father was one of those cases. The kind where the guys come back so messed up that day-to-day life isn’t possible anymore.
Severe PTSD that destroys lives, and it’s usually too late to help them.
Most end up homeless, or worse, taking their own life.
“When Reid was little, he was playing in the backyard with my Dad, and something snapped in him; he almost killed my brother that day. But…” I watch her sigh; whatever else she has to say is heavy.
“Dad was the kind of man to have guns in the house, even against the wishes of my mother, and he had been outside cleaning a few, watching my brother hit pucks with his hockey stick.
I picked one up, and her face scrunches up as she tries not to cry about it.
“I clipped him in the stomach. I was sixteen.”
“You shot him?” I whisper.
“At the time, it felt like I’d killed him, but I know now the bullet went through and through, he got taken to the hospital, and I never saw him again.
But Reid has never forgotten that day, and neither have I,” she says quietly, “I slept in his bed for two years after, so even though Gabe put those stars up for Reid, I grew kind of attached to them.”
And I attacked you in my sleep tonight. I swallow how I feel, unwilling to let her see it because it isn’t her guilt to carry.
What I did was out of line, normally, but Rhea waded into the deep end of her own trauma to save me from drowning, and my only thank you is lying to her about what’s really going on.
I grind my teeth together and try not to think about it.
“I’m sorry I scared you tonight,” I say after a long silence, only the sound of the city waking up as background to our breathing.
“You didn’t have control of that,” she brushes off my apology.
“Rhea,” I say her name, and she looks up at me. “I’m sorry,” I repeat myself with her looking at me, so she knows I mean it.
“Maybe I’ll get you a bell,” she teases, her eyes still sad but a soft smile forced to her full lips. The look in her eyes is the only way I know she heard me.
“Get out of my bed, Hellcat.” I kick out my foot, and she giggles but slips from the mattress to return to her own room. It’s only when I hear her door click over that my hands relax from their grip on my sheets, and I allow myself to feel the guilt.
Music plays from Daisy’s room, and I know she doesn’t have her headphones in because I can hear it, so I knock on her door and wait two seconds before pushing it open. “Hey, Squish,” I say, and she looks up from her binders on the bed.
I wander in with her grilled cheese and set it on the end before sinking to my knees beside her bed to look at what she’s doing.
“Math,” she groans.
“Ew.” I share her sentiment on the subject.
I’ve never been overly book smart, sure, intelligent enough to bust my ass through courses in the Marines and pass what I needed to become a medic, but it wouldn’t get me anywhere, and I couldn’t apply it to much besides basic first aid.
The most I’ve done is treat Rhea the last few weeks because she’s the clumsiest, most aggressive woman I know.
Every day since our conversation, my mind has wandered to her, what she was really thinking that night she found me stumbling around in a daze—but she hadn’t said anything to me, and I can’t tell if that’s better or worse.
“How are things at school?” I ask Daisy.
“Uh—” she sighs, reaching for her grilled cheese and scowling at the lack of accompaniments.
“They’re inside it,” I tell her, and watch her pull the bread apart to put eyes on the jalapenos. “Answer the question,” I poke.
“Lori skipped the last couple of days. I think she’s scared of Carly. But Garth has left me alone, so that’s good.” Daisy shrugs, “I guess it’s something.”
“Wanna know a secret?” I lean closer, and she smiles, mirroring my gesture. “They’re shipping Garth out to some private school ‘cause he’s a shithead.”
“Really?” Her smile grows, and I nod.
“Apparently, no one wants to deal with him, so school will feel safer now, and I’m sorry that you had to fight this one on your own.” I drop my tone so she hears the remorse in my voice.
“It’s just dumb boys, not war, Dad.” She tries to make me feel better. “And Auntie K taught me all the important sore spots in a fight.”
“Oh, of course she did.” I sigh, “You know you can talk to me… about this stuff? About drama and—”
“Boys?” She laughs with a mouth full of cheese and bread.
“Yeah, those things.” I roll my eyes for her amusement.
“Mom says you’re the worst boy she’s ever known,” Daisy smirks.
“Your Mom’s a liar,” I smile at her and shake my head. “All boys are the worst boys, just…” I inhale slowly. “Be safe. Protect yourself. And talk to me.” I stress the last point with an authoritative tone.
“Promise,” she nods as I push from the bed. “Hey, Dad?” I pause at her voice and turn to look at her. “Do you think you could take me to the music store?”
“Heaney’s?” I question.
“Yeah, Mom and I pass it all the time, and I want to look at the instruments,” Daisy says. She looks so much like Riona in that moment that it makes my heart slow, and I nod.
“I always knew you’d want to learn to play the Oboe one day,” I joke, and Daisy starts to laugh, disgusted by the thought of it.
“No, I want to learn to play the guitar!” She says, “Please?”
“We’ll see,” I say, but there’s no chance I don’t drive her down there the first chance I get just to see the look on her face. Anything for you.