Chapter 59 Brighton
It’s not mine to fix.
The ultimatum rings in my ears as I roll over in bed. She didn’t stay. I shouldn’t have asked her to, but I couldn’t help it.
I need your help.
Sounds like you're in love.
You scared me today.
Protect her from this.
The worst of them all is that I can see Rhea, just out of reach, and with her is Landon. The rage is unbearable, but the fear it’s all-consuming. Drunk, it was easier to process the surprise. Sober, it feels like someone is taking a jackhammer to my chest.
He’s been here. He knows where she is.
I still can’t tell if he wants to approach her. I think I scared him out of it, but it feels wrong. He asked me if I would tell her, and I told him no, that much I did right. She doesn’t need to know about all of this. About the tangled connection—the sinister thread that knots us together.
Leave her out of it.
I can handle the disappointment of losing two friends at once, on my own.
Conversations all bleed together, and I can’t pinpoint exactly which one gets me out of bed, but my feet are on the ground, and I’m running the shower.
I leave it cold and let it shock my system back to life, puke twice, and leave the bathroom in better shape than I entered.
I look around the apartment for a sign of her, but find nothing.
The shoes are neatly put away, and there are no dishes in the sink or cups on the island.
The blanket on the couch she loves so much is folded the way I left it, and it feels… cold.
She was just supposed to be temporary. Here until she could get her feet on the ground. It was never long-term. So why does this feel like I’m walking on glass?
I stare at my phone with the intention to call her, the picture of us at Daisy’s dance stares up at us, and I hate how nauseous I feel staring at it.
She was a little older than Daisy is now, but everything that went down that day…
Daisy and I could very easily become Rhea and Landon—with one small misstep.
I can’t let that happen again.
I need to protect them from me.
I pull on clean clothes, calling José while I do, and then Boone. Both arrive at the apartment an hour later. José has coffee, and Boone has food.
“Eat something,” he says to me, and I nod.
“I’m sorry I took off,” I apologize to him, but Boone doesn’t look me in the eye, and I know I’ve fucked up badly. Whatever is in the sandwich he made me cures me from the inside out, the dull throb in the back of my skull fades to nothing but a tingle, and I’m ready to clean up the mess I made.
“Harvey's dying triggered an episode,” I tell José to get him up to speed. “I flipped out, couldn’t get control. I made a mess of everything, and I need your help.”
Boone looks up from his coffee like he’s shocked I even asked, but he nods.
“Whatever is going on in my head… I can’t fix it, at least not on my own. I haven’t been able to for a long time, but I can’t risk it.” I shake my head in shame. Protect her.
“What do you mean, risk it?” José asks.
“I can’t risk snapping like that again. What if next time Daisy’s home? Or Rhea? And I don’t just break a door?"
"Is she okay?" Is his next question.
"I didn’t touch her. Thank God. I can live with what I did this time—” I trail off, and both of them understand.
“So what do you need from us?” Boone interjects into my dark thoughts.
“I need you to keep this place standing,” I say to him, and his brows furrow.
“That doesn’t fix the problem, Bri,” he warns.
“Yeah, I know, it’s just for a bit. There’s a facility in Pittsburgh.”
José nods; he knows exactly what the plan is. “We talk about it sometimes in group with the guys that really need extra support. It’s an assisted living and therapy placement.”
“The program is eighteen weeks long,” I say to Boone.
“That’s a long time.” He swallows tightly.
“It is, but I’ve been gone longer for stupider reasons; this is important.” I stare at him. “I ran because the idea of hurting her, hurting them… it pushed me to a place I didn’t want to be.”
“Alright.” He agrees—without any more arguing.
“What do you need from me?” José asks.
“I need you to take over group sessions for a bit,” I say, the next breath is deep, to keep me from saying something I shouldn’t. “Sarge is taking a step back. He wanted me to do it—but you’re the only person I trust to take care of the guys. You think you can do that?”
“Of course,” he nods, watching me closely for a tell that might give away more, but I’m locked down.
No one can know about Landon. “I need to get to work, but keep me updated and email me all the shit for the church on your drive.” He slaps the island, says goodbye to Boone, and the front door slams shut.
“There’s something else,” Boone says instantly. “And don’t try that military mind voodoo shit on me. You’re hiding something, I can feel it.”
He hates this. All of it. I know that, it’s obvious enough. He’s mad that it’s something he can’t fix, something that I have to get from someone else after all these years.
He’s never been one to get jealous; it’s just not him. We used to joke that I took it all, leaving Boone to be so easygoing and carefree. But that’s not the truth either. Boone is just as dark as I am on the inside; he just hides it better.
“I need you to keep an eye on Rhea,” I say to him.
“There it is. You’re not telling her.” He narrows his eyes at me, sharp and judgmental.
"No.” I confirm. I can’t face her, not like this. I’ll call her once I’m there. The unspoken truth is that if I hear her voice, I might not go at all. Leaving her and Daisy is going to kill me.
“You know better than anyone that Rhea can take care of herself.”
“It’s not about her taking care of herself,” I sigh.
I know she can do that; she was doing it long before I came around.
“Just…” I stop to think about my words. “Make sure she’s not alone. She gets sad, and she hides it really well, but don’t let her be sad and alone with this. She’s going to hate me for it, she’ll probably make excuses for me, she’s definitely going to think it’s her fault.”
Boone chuckles darkly and nods in agreement.
“Don’t let her do that stuff alone.”
“I hear you.”
“Thank you,” I choke out. “And I’m sorry that I scared you. That I scared everyone.”
“I knew you wouldn’t do it,” Boone smirks, and I furrow my brows at him. “You’d never abandon us like that even if you thought you wanted to. The Brighton I grew up with would put up a fight.”
My nose itches, and my hands get shaky again.
“This feels like I’m running,” I say to him.
“You’re not. This is fighting.” He taps the counter with his hand. “I’ll drive you. When do we leave?” Boone asks before I can argue that I can drive myself.
“Tomorrow.”