I shudder, still picturing the thing that’s haunted me for fifteen years.
Four inches to the left and his head would’ve hit the corner of a platform.
He would’ve been dead.
The imaginary blood that wasn’t there haunted me every night for the first two years after the band broke up.
That’s the part I still can’t say out loud.
“But he didn’t,” she whispers, like she knows.
Of course she knows.
She worked in an emergency room. She knows it can always get worse. She’s seen worse.
“We paid all of his medical bills. Set his kids up for college. Him for retirement. He kept blaming himself for not tethering right, but—it was me. It was my fault. Tripp knew it. He was always the dad. He called it. Took one look at me, one look at my computer, and it was over. He smashed the computer. Only time I’ve ever seen him do anything remotely violent, and it wasn’t enough. Beck knew. Levi knew. Cash—he was half hot mess, but he knew too. And we all just—we did what we needed to do. Moved on how we needed to move on. And I don’t—I don’t tell people because how the fuck do you trust people when your own flesh and blood are the people who betray you? And the guys who have everything to gain from spilling your secrets are the only ones who protect you? The guys who’d go down with you for being accomplices when they didn’t fucking do it. How do you find people who’ll do that for you?”
My cheeks are wet. Eyes too.
I can’t catch my breath.
Can’t find it.
It’s gone.
Sloane sucks in a breath, and I follow.
There. There’s my oxygen.
She sucks in another breath, and I find more air.
“My tattoo. Three triangles and a coin. Mountains. Money. Problems. Change. That’s what it means. Behind me where I’m most vulnerable. Because it’s—it’s what can break me.”
“I won’t let it.”
“Don’t tell,” I force out.
“You’re safe,” she whispers back. “You’re safe here.”
“I haven’t—no one else?—”
“Shh. Breathe. No one else will ever know unless you want them to.” She strokes my back and breathes for me.
When I should be breathing for her.
My body quakes.
I need to be strong for her.
Fucking assholes invaded her safe space again.
And she’s here holding me.
Telling me I’m okay.
“The first step,” she whispers, “is accepting that you’re human. And you are. A very good human, but still human.”
“I should be doing this for you.”
