Chapter 17 #2
“Because Lennon chose you,” I say, holding his gaze.
“And I have learned, fairly recently, that her judgment is extraordinary. Also…” I glance toward the staircase, listening as Ridge continues to loudly protest my mistreatment of him,“… you appear to be stuck with us now. I’d make your peace with it. ”
Nevan looks at me for a long moment, and then he falls to pieces again.
I pull him into a hug, and his head drops heavily to my shoulder. I have to rearrange us to make it work, because he is enormous and awkward, but then my hand is holding steady on the back of his head as he cries into my shirt.
I don’t try to stop it. I hold him there below the window he nearly left this world out of and pat his hair, saying nothing.
His shaking eventually slows, and his breathing evens out by degrees as he comes back down. When he’s still and quiet, I pull away enough to look at him.
He looks terrible, which is expected, but I don’t tell him so.
“Let’s go downstairs, grab some water for you. Then you can prove to Ridge you’re not dead.”
Nevan nods and drags a hand across his face as we both stand. When we make our way back down, Ridge is sitting at the base of it, arms crossed, ready for a fight.
“Paul,” he spits out. “I am simply saying that if there were a stairlift, which there is not, due to an as of yet unresolved promise.”
A choked sound comes from behind me, almost a laugh, and I smile over my shoulder at Nevan.
“See? This asshole was very worried about you.”
“As if you weren’t, dickhead,” Ridge grumbles. “What the hell happened?”
Ridge goes quiet when Nevan comes to a stop beside me. He sweeps his gaze over him, assessing, and when he gets to Nevan’s face, his expression has lost its sharpness.
“You okay, Nevan?”
When Nevan doesn’t answer, I step in. “His subconscious decided jumping out the third-floor window was a reasonable idea.”
Nevan cringes, and Ridge’s jaw tightens.
“That has to be This Man’s doing.”
“There was a man,” Nevan says, his voice still a little unsteady.
“In the dream. I got lucid, thanks to Lennon, but then he was just there, and he made me walk up the stairs, and I couldn’t stop it, I couldn’t.
Lennon tried to stop me. She kept trying, but she couldn’t, and then he…
” He exhales a long breath. “He told me to jump.”
“I will beat his fucking ass,” Ridge mutters, his hands balling into fists. “Was Lennon okay?”
“Yeah.” Nevan nods. “I don’t think he would do something to her. It sounded like he needed her.”
“He does.” I know he does.
“That was him?” Nevan looks between us. “The one keeping Tessa asleep?”
We nod.
He takes that in. “Scary motherfucker.”
“Yeah,” Ridge agrees. “He is.”
I squeeze Nevan’s shoulder, then go to the kitchen to fill a glass of water for him.
I take it back to Ridge’s room, which has somehow turned into the place we stay.
Sitting on the edge of the mattress beside Lennon, I hand the water to Nevan, who wraps both hands around it, but doesn’t drink it yet.
He’s still trembling. Not the full crash-shaking of before, but still. I put my arm around his shoulders without announcing it, and he goes still, like he’s not sure what to do with that before he exhales, leaning into it.
Ridge watches us with an expression I would describe as neutral. “Did you grow up without a positive male influence, kid?”
Nevan frowns. “Doesn’t everyone?”
Ridge huffs what might be a laugh. “I had one.”
“I didn’t,” I say with a shrug.
Nevan is quiet for a moment, then he puts the glass down on the floor before he starts wiggling his fingers. I can see the thought moving through him, the restlessness, and hands that need something to do.
Ridge has been watching the same thing, apparently, because he leans over, picks up Nevan’s sketchbook and pen from the nightstand, and throws them at him. Nevan catches them on instinct.
“Go ahead,” Ridge says. “Doodle something. It’ll help your nerves.”
Nevan frowns at him. “Why would you…”
“We pay attention,” I say with my gaze on Ridge, who smirks at me.
Nevan’s gaze flicks between us, then he opens the sketchbook. His shoulders immediately drop about half an inch.
“Speaking of paying attention,” I say. “Want to share with Ridge what you told me? About your mother telling you you’d die young in your sleep?”
“What the fuck?” Ridge turns so fast his chair squeaks, glaring at me. “Mr. Psychologist. Look at him. He’s still vibrating.”
Nevan glances down at himself.
He is, in fact, still vibrating.
I immediately regret everything. “Acute stress response,” I offer.
“Wonderful.” Ridge deadpans. “And your professional response to acute stress is apparently, tell me about your deepest childhood fear.”
I pull off my glasses and rub my face. Yeah, not my proudest moment, but to be fair, everything hurts, and I am almost assuredly also having an acute stress response.
Nevan shudders again.
I pull him a little more firmly against my side, and not just for his sake. I need this too. “I’m sorry.”
Nevan keeps his eyes on his sketchbook and his pen moving across it.
“Also, why would he open up to us if he knows shit about us?” Ridge questions dryly.
“True.” I put my glasses back on.
“Looks like it’s trauma-dumping time.” Ridge rolls closer to us, then pats one of the wheels. “As you know, my biggest trauma is tied to this beautiful metal chair.”
Nevan’s pen slows on the page. “I came looking for you after. First at the hospital, then at the Wells Building. I wanted to ask how you were.”
Ridge’s eyes are on Nevan, and for once, there is nothing dry or controlled about his expression. “Well. Yeah, your subconscious already told me that.” He clears his throat. “Thanks, by the way.”
I huff a quiet laugh.
Looks like the boy is getting to both of us tonight.
Ridge’s mouth twists, but he keeps his eyes on Nevan as he speaks again. “The time after what happened was, let’s say, shitty.” There’s a short pause before he adds, “I was ready to end it.” He says it like he’s describing the weather, and my throat tightens.
“Had the whole thing planned. Pills, whiskey, a note that said thanks for nothing, and then my mother showed up.”
I remember her calling me. The phone ringing at six in the morning.
“I don’t care if he hates it, Dr. Bennett. I don’t care if he hates me. He’s going.”
“She stood in my doorway like a bouncer,” Ridge says. “And told me I was going to therapy.”
He looks at me then, and a sense of knowing passes between us—what it cost him to roll into my office the first time and when he came back the second.
I nod.
I’m glad you’re still here.
Ridge looks away first.
“It helped. Paul helped. It at least made me stop wanting to die.” He examines his nails with detached interest. “And now I’m glad to be alive.
I have my literal dream woman and… friends.
” He says the words as if it surprises him on their way out.
“But even so, nothing feels the same as it did. Everything that used to feel like mine was stripped away in a second, and there’s nothing to do about that.
Things I used to love don’t feel the same.
I’m constantly having to think about access, the medical things, and how the world takes a toll that most people will never understand. ”
When Ridge doesn’t say anything else for a few breaths, Nevan says quietly, “Thank you for opening up to me.”
“I didn’t.”
“You just told me about—”
“Intellectually.” Ridge raises one finger. “I opened up intellectually. Not emotionally. I have a remarkable capacity to describe the most devastating material in a completely detached way. I felt literally nothing telling you that story. But yeah, that’s my little backpack of trauma.”
It can’t be helped. I laugh.
“Oh, and Paul has night terrors,” Ridge says, giving me a haughty look. “Can’t sleep without lights blazing. And he can’t eat anything that tastes like anything. He has…”
I roll my eyes at the fact that Ridge is now trauma-dumping my trauma for me, but when my gaze catches on Nevan’s sketchbook, I freeze.
The page is covered in spiders.
Small ones, large ones, sketched across every margin, clustered in the corners, one very detailed one in the center, taking up most of the page.
Nevan has been sitting under my arm and drawing spiders for the last four minutes.
“Fuck.” I am on my feet in an instant, backing away from him.