CHAPTER 3
Noah pulled at the chains around his wrists, desperation to get free, to help Boone, tearing at his insides. Every thud of a fist hitting his friend felt like a punch driving into Noah’s own body. Bruising him. Killing him. Making him want to claw his way out of his own skin.
“Leave him the fuck alone!”
But Noah’s shouts did nothing, and his throat was so dry his voice was coarse and ragged.
They were going to kill Boone, and he could do nothing to stop them.
Noah shot up in bed, his heart thrashing against his ribs.
It was just a nightmare.
But it wasn’t. It was a memory. One that felt like a chain around his neck, choking him. Holding him hostage to that day.
He dropped his head into his hands and scrubbed them over his face. His fingers shook. Hell, all of him shook. He could still smell the dampness of that room. Could still feel the helplessness coursing through him.
When would it end? Or maybe it wouldn’t end. Maybe this was his new reality. His new life. One where he was forced torelive his worst moments again and again, forever waking in a pool of sweat, feeling like he was trapped.
He threw the covers off and climbed out of bed. It was early. Even with the curtains closed, he could see it was pitch black outside. Most of Amber Ridge would still be sleeping.
How much sleep had he gotten? Two, maybe three hours? He was used to it.
In the early days, he’d tried to get back to sleep after a nightmare. Bad fucking ideathathad been. The sleep rarely came. And all lying in a dark room had ever done was make the memories play over in his head again and again. Boone’s pain…Noah’s rage.
In the bathroom, he turned the shower on hot before stepping under the stream, then he closed his eyes.
He was drowning. Yet he hadn’t told anyone. Not a single soul. How could he? Indie was pregnant after years of infertility, and she and Colt had just gone through a hell of their own. He didn’t want to dump this on his cousins or his aunt Pam. He’d only just reconnected with his youngest sister, Bonnie, and there was no way he’d share this shit with her.
Would he have talked to his parents about everything if they were still alive?
He’d never fucking know.
He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to push the heaviness of everything down.
Once he was clean and dry, he pulled on a white park shirt, black shorts, and a hoodie.
It was when he stepped into the kitchen that his phone rang. The first small smile of the morning pulled at his lips.
“Hey, Bon-Bon,” he answered on the second ring.
There was a small pause. “You answered.”
“You thought I wouldn’t?”
“Uh, yeah, it’s freaking early. What is it? Four, five a.m. there?”
He wasn’t sure. He hadn’t checked. But yeah, it was probably around that time. “It’s early for you in San Francisco too. You’re an hour behind us. Can’t sleep?”
“No, I can’t. I’ve been thinking a lot. Stuck in my own head. You?”
“Same.” Although, not so much stuck in his head as stuck in the past. “Want to talk about it?”
“Not really. You?”
“Absolutely not.”
Her laugh was soft and familiar. “Guess we’ll stick with the weather.”
