They’re in the middle of cooking something, which seems to really bring out their old married couple routine. “Smells good,” I observe, walking into the storm for a kiss. Chase’s lips are pillow soft and taste like home. It’s an effort to pull away.
“What are you two lunatics fighting about now?” Blake asks, dropping the shopping bags and pulling up a seat at the island.
Brady scoffs. “Name calling is not nice, Blake, and I’ll have you know that I was defending your honor. Chase is under the impression that you knew that redhead kid was gay and made everyone think you guys were messing around to make Landon mad. I’m telling him that you were friends and people just got the wrong impression.”
“How did this even come up in conversation to be argued about?”
My brother shoots her an unimpressed look. “Because Chase said that if you didn’t find Landon, you’d probably just do something like that and opt for lavender marriage.” Whatever obvious connection Brady assumes there is here, neither one of us are catching on. “So obviously, I told him that wasn’t what you did, and we got kind of off track from there.”
She rolls her eyes affectionately. “I did know he was gay. He told me, like, one of the first times I tutored him. But he was terrified of it getting out, especially to the team, so he asked ifI would help him maintain his cover. It wasn’t about Landon. It just wasn’t my place to out anyone. Jeremiah wasn’t ready then, and he needed someone to have his back.”
Chase frowns. “Ew. I hate it when we’re both wrong. You couldn’t manipulate people for my benefit just this once?”
Brady dishes up the plates and passes them out. I don’t waste a second before digging in. Our mom would be so disappointed in how domestic her precious son is these days. She wouldn’t have felt like a good mother unless he was kicked back in a recliner, having his plate served to him in front of the TV so he could ignore his family more. I love her failures.
“Thanks for the food. It’s really good,” I tell him.
He shrugs. “I had a feeling y’all would come back hungry. Blake never shops and eats real food in the same outing. It’s either one or the other.”
“Hey!” Blakely interjects. “That’s rude. We ate!”
Chase gives her a flat look. “Coffee isn’t food.”
That surprises a laugh out of me. Good to know that I’m not the only one he’s on about regular meals. “I had a danish for breakfast. That’s food.”
“And you were hungry twenty minutes later, but waited until midafternoon when you got home to eat because—and say it with me, kids—eating has to be its own outing for you.”
She glares between them, trying to decide her next move when there’s a knock on the door. The atmosphere transforms from light and playful to ominous from one breath to the next. Brady clears his throat. “You expecting anything today, Blakely?”
Her eyes are on the ceiling, trying to find a way to set the fear aside and face another thing. “No. I’m not.”
Chase told me recently that when I was in the hospital unconscious, Blake handled everything for them. Called Chase’s family, sent emails to their boss to make arrangements for themto miss work, kept track of every single thing they did to me with the memory of an elephant, and when they talked about it, she was taking her turn being the strong one so they didn’t have to be. She did it well just like she does everything else, and refused their gratitude because they’ve given her the same courtesy when she needed it.
Right now, it seems to be her turn again, because with as much as they argued about who was dealing with the last unexpected surprise, Brady silently rises from his barstool, squeezes her shoulder, and walks towards the door. What shocks me the most is how I follow him. It’s not like I’ve suddenly become brave and capable, but I need to know what it is this time, and it’s better to see it for myself. When I look back at Chase, he gives me a nod of encouragement and understanding, arm around Blakely’s thin shoulders.
She needs her friend, and I need to do this. This is my demon to face, after all. The one I brought into the lives of the people who are most precious to me.
Brady holds out a hand to stop my approach as he cracks open the door, looking around for signs of the person who left it here. When he deems it safe—well, as safe as it can be—he drops his hand so we can both stare at the doormat. “What is all this shit?”
My stomach flips as an invisible hand grabs ahold of my insides and strangles the life out of them. “Proof that he followed us all day.”
My voice sounds unusual to my ears, tinny and hollow. My entire day is laid out on the front porch, and there isn’t a shred of doubt in my mind that checking the cameras would leave us disappointed. If he didn’t do it himself and jam the phone and internet signals for a couple of minutes, he probably paid a stranger enough to not ask any questions and do it for him. Both are equally likely and equally frustrating. Neither changesthe facts laid out bare for us to see. Our takeout coffee cups and the paper wrappers that held our pastries, the bags we trashed outside the jewelry store when we combined them so we’d have less to carry, the water bottles we recycled in a bin outside the clothing store, all the receipts. Everything. He was there the entire fucking time and wanted me to know it.
I amtrying. Trying like hell to not fall into the bottomless pit of despair, depression and panic attacks nipping at my heels as I balance on a tightrope. But everyone has limits, and I don’t know at what point I’m going to hit mine, much less when I have no fucking option except to continue on when I do. What would that even look like? It’s not like I can try to kill myself again, not that I want to when I’m in a decent state of mind. But the last time I was unable to handle another second of this, that was what I chose.
So if it’s not that, then what?
Develop a habit I don’t want? I’ve avoided drugs and alcohol because Aaron liked me loopy and gave me plenty of that stuff when we were together. I don’t like how it makes me feel, but I can’t say that the idea of some escape from the inner workings of my brain is unappealing. Fall into Chase in a way that would destroy both of us?
What the fuck do people do when they can’t cope anymore but don’t want to die?
“You train,” Brady says suddenly.
“What?”
He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall. “I know that look, Koda. It’s been my job for your entire life to watch out for that and try to steer you out of it if you get too close. Well, this is what you’re going to do to get by for now, and you’re going to listen to me because I’ve always done right by you in this. When none of the things you rely on are working, day or night, you drag your ass down to that basement and takeit all out on the bag. I can’t take the idea of you being physically defenseless anymore, but most importantly, you need a strategy that will exhaust you without being a danger to your health. Then you sleep and try again the next day. If it goes to shit again, you’re going to do the exact same thing. I know you need to funnel everything you can into your art, but if it’s not that, it’s this until further notice. Got it?”
Somewhere buried deep inside, my heart cracks thinking of what it must have been like for him to have carried this burden for so long. He was only a kid too, but one that felt responsible for something he didn’t even understand. I still have a lot to learn about managing my mental health, but Brady has it down to a science because he had no other choice. He had to have been so scared back then, with no one he could talk to about this. It’s no wonder he is just as attached to Chase as Chase is to him. He needed someone who could be there for him like he was for me.
