28
Into the rapids
“Want to talk about your knuckles?”
The sky pressed down like guilt. Low, heavy, and impossible to ignore.
Clouds churned in slow, angry spirals, the kind of grey that felt personal, like the weather itself held a grudge.
Sleet needled sideways through the air, whispering against the windows like it knew things he wished he’d forget.
And Rafferty couldn’t tell if the storm was outside or just following him around.
Slouching deeper on the couch, he crossed his arms tightly over his chest, the leather of his jacket pulling taut over his shoulders, and frowned at the psychologist across from him.
“Not really.”
The irony was, Rafferty had asked for this meeting.
Because he needed to talk.
He’d pounded the bag until his knuckles split — after a brutal midnight run in freezing weather — just to sweat out that hopeless urge to drown in the numb silence drugs once gave him.
Trent gave him that look taught in PSYCH 101 — the practiced stillness, eyes steady but unreadable, a slight tilt of the head that said: go on.
And yet now, sitting here, he balked at laying it all out.
Because, fuck , it was as nasty as the weather outside.
“Then tell me about Esther’s wedding.”
Rafferty’s breath hitched, caught somewhere between inhale and denial. He didn’t move. Couldn’t.
This man was good. Scarily good.
And to think this was only their third session.
“The wedding?” he rasped, the rest of the sentence swallowed by his shock.
“Figured it might stir the waters,” Trent replied.
Stir the waters?
God .
“That’s one way to put it.”
“How would you describe it?”
“Like I’d fallen off a raft into the rapids and can’t come up for air.”
Trent didn’t flinch at that. Just gave a slow nod, like he’d expected it. Maybe even counted on it.
“Tell me where the current takes you.”
Rafferty looked away, his fingers digging into the arm of the couch, the fabric rough beneath his skin, grounding him just enough.
“Backwards,” he muttered. “To Vegas. To Charlie. To our wedding.”
Trent said nothing. Just waited. That maddening, patient silence again.
Rafferty hated it.
Hated how it made the truth crawl up his throat.
“Charlie wore a white dress she bought at a secondhand shop down the street, and Elvis pronounced us husband and wife with a fake accent and a crooked wig. And it was perfect.”
He stopped. Blinked hard. The sleet tapped against the window, a steady, needling rhythm. “Until it wasn’t.
“And yesterday, when Essie said her vows … it hit me — we should’ve married here . Not there … where danger lurked.”
Trent leaned in slightly. “And you think that would’ve saved her?”
Rafferty looked up, eyes blazing with pain. “I know it would’ve saved her.”
Silence. Again.
Except now the silence felt dangerous — like standing on ice and hearing the first crack.
“If I had brought her home,” he whispered, “Oliveira wouldn’t’ve seen us in the Vegas elevator.
And he wouldn’t’ve followed us to Klamath and taken my wife from our tent.
And I wouldn’t’ve gone to Brazil and tracked him down.
” He flexed his hands, the burn from the broken skin searing his soul.
“And I wouldn’t’ve beaten the fucking life out of him. ”
Like he had with the punching bag last night — seeing his enemy’s face in the leather, beating him to death all over again.
“And I wouldn’t’ve been in that fucking bar in the fucking jungle and met Kamila fucking Carvalho. And I fucking certainly would not have become … this .”
The word sat there, filthy and final.
Trent’s voice was gentle, but it didn’t flinch. “What do you think this is, Rafferty?”
“Tainted,” he scoffed. “That’s what my brother called it. Like I’m something that leaks poison.”
“I presume by brother you mean Aidan, not Sullivan.”
“Yeah.”
Because Sullivan was at the ranch too — him and his perfect princess living their perfect life, flying in for the long weekend like royalty.
Which they were, of course. Not that Rafferty had seen much of his so-called twin.
They were holed up at Aidan and Cecelia’s place, where he — Rafferty Lawson, addict, tainted disgrace — wasn't welcome.
Persona non grata, full stop.
And as for all that twin brotherly love? Sullivan could take it and shove it right up his self-righteous ass.
“And Aidan still won’t let you interact with the boys?”
Rafferty gave a sharp humorless laugh. “Fuck no. Not allowed even within spitting distance. He looks at me like I’m toxic.
Like if I so much as speak to them, they’ll catch whatever disease he thinks I am.
” He dragged a hand over his buzzed hair, over the nape of his neck.
“And maybe he’s right. I mean … I am a fucking addict. ”
Trent didn’t argue.
He didn’t reassure either.
Just let the words hang there.
Then.
“But yesterday … the wedding made me remember … I’m the outsider.”
Trent’s brows lifted, and he wrote something on that infernal pad of his. “That feeling, being outside, that’s not new to you, is it?”
Rafferty blinked, fingers drumming a restless rhythm against his thigh. Childhood memories flickered behind his eyes like a scratched-up film reel, disjointed, grainy, impossible to pause or rewind.
His lips twitched. He stared past Trent, eyes locking on some vague point beyond the office walls. Nowhere, really. “No.”
“When did you first feel alienated from your family?”
The answer rose easily. “It started with Sinead.”
“You think your family blames you for her disappearance?”
“ I blame myself for her disappearance.”
“Why?”
“I should’ve reacted sooner.”
“How old were you?”
“Almost four.”
Trent leaned forward slightly. “A mere baby yourself.”
Rafferty flinched.. His fingers stilled. His breathing grew shallow.
“Tell me what you remember,” Trent prodded.
Rafferty was quiet for a long time. Long enough that the sleet outside began ticking louder against the windowpane.
When he spoke, his voice came low, uncertain.
“I was supposed to nap but played with my army men on the windowsill. The babies were asleep in the bassinet under a tree. And that’s when I saw the coyote” — he shot Trent a look full of raw guilt, the kind that had been eating at him for decades — “or what I thought was a coyote pick up one of the babies.” He swallowed hard.
“I didn’t even scream right away. I just watched …
frozen.” His voice cracked. “I let the coyote take her.”
Eyes on the floor, he ground out further memories.
“I’ve never forgotten the sound of Sinead’s crying.
Or Ma’s frantic screams. Or how the ranch exploded into sirens and search parties.
And they questioned me over and over. Like I’d lied, made it all up.
They kept looking at me funny.” His head shot up. “And they still look at me funny.”
“We’ll come back to that last statement. But first — what would you say to a little boy who lived through that? Who saw a coyote take his baby sister and didn’t know how to stop it?”
He thought for a beat. Then another. And with great reluctance, he admitted, “I’d tell him it wasn’t his fault.”
“Because it wasn’t.”
A long silence followed before Trent leaned in slightly. “Neither is Charlie’s death your fault.”
Rafferty flinched, her name bruising his soul. His mouth worked before any words came out. “He warned me he’d get even. I should’ve been on the lookout for him. But I’d forgotten about him,” he spat.
“Oliveira?”
He nodded.
“You’ve never mentioned his beef with you.”
“He was part of the Fantasma cartel sent to monitor the Taisechs distribution network. And an abusive bastard. His pregnant wife asked me for help escaping the compound.”
“So, you saved the life of a woman and her unborn child.”
“That’s beside the point. I didn’t keep” — he stabbed a finger into his chest — “ my wife safe.”
“By reading someone’s mind? Predicting a planned abduction from a man long forgotten?” After a small pause Trent continued, “ Could you have known, Rafferty?”
He took a moment to verbally admit the truth. “No.”
“Then how is it your fault?”
“It just is!” he yelled. “I should’ve known he’d come after me. He’d vowed revenge, always suspected I’d helped his wife. His behavior got him kicked out the Taisechs, and he disappeared. I figured he’d gone back to Brazil and put him out of my mind. Biggest mistake of my life.”
He fisted his hands, welcoming the pain as his skin stretched, cracked.
Bled.
“I forgot. About. Him,” he gritted out between clenched teeth.
Trent tilted his head. “What was the woman’s name? The wife. The one you saved.”
Rafferty frowned. “Selena.”
“Do you regret helping Selena?”
“No!” he barked. Then quieter, he repeated, “No. Saving Selena and her baby from a lifetime of abuse had been the right thing to do.”
Rafferty met Trent’s level, unblinking gaze.
The kind that didn’t push, just waited.
He sat back, breathing hard like he’d been running.
“Sinead. Charlie.” Trent said their names quietly, with care. “You weren’t to blame for either.”
Rafferty didn’t reply.
But something in his psyche shifted — just a little.
And his clenched features softened.
The tightness in his shoulders loosened a fraction.
He stared down at his hands like he barely recognized them.
“You’ve been living like it’s your penance. But maybe … it was never your sentence to carry.”
No words came. But Rafferty didn’t argue.
And that silence? It didn’t feel like drowning.
It felt like the first breath after coming up for air.
“You mentioned earlier how your family looks at you. Not just Aidan.”
And just like that, the current pulled him under.
Rafferty gave a short, dry laugh. “Yeah. The rotten egg. One bad day away from cracking open again.” He looked down, jaw tight
Scraping a hand over his head, his eyes darted to the window, seeing nothing beyond the frost-streaked glass. His voice dropped, turning guttural. “I make them nervous.”
Trent didn’t respond right away.
And the silence stretched on, and Rafferty fought his squirm.
“Maybe they don’t know how to hold space for your pain,” Trent ventured. “That’s not the same as you not belonging.”
Rafferty scoffed under his breath, but there wasn’t much weight behind it.
Trent continued, measured and calm, “People get uncomfortable around what they don’t understand. And you’ve lived through things they can’t even name.”
Except Brandy-Lyn.
I see you.
The good doctor spoke again. “Doesn’t mean you’re not part of them. Just means you’re carrying pieces they’re afraid to touch.”
That landed somewhere behind Rafferty’s ribs. He wanted to argue but couldn’t find the fight for it. Because it made sense.
“You’re not outside because you’re broken, Rafferty. You’re outside because no one’s been brave enough to meet you there.”
Rafferty sat with that. Didn’t speak.
“What would happen if you stopped waiting for them to reach for you?”
His gaze flicked up to meet Trent’s.
The man went on. “What if you made the first move — not for their approval. Not even for their comfort. Just … to let them know you’re still here.”
Rafferty frowned. “You mean, like, show up at Aidan’s door with a peace offering?”
Trent smiled faintly. “Maybe not Aidan’s. Not yet. But while Sullivan’s here, talk it out with him. And your sisters?” A pause. “Send a message. Ask to grab coffee.”
Rafferty stared at him like he’d just asked him to climb Everest barefoot. “I don’t know what I’d even say.”
“Then start with something simple.” Trent leaned forward slightly. “Start with: I miss you.”
Rafferty looked away. Swallowed hard. But this time, he didn’t shut down.
And that, maybe, was something.
“And remember Rafferty, you came here today. You didn’t run. You didn’t numb it out. You weathered whatever storm put those abrasions on your knuckles. That counts.”
He sat back, remaining quiet, letting Trent’s words sink in.
And something inside him shifted a fraction, a glimmer of light sneaking into a place that had been dark for far too long.