“Why don’t you give us a few minutes?” Brandon asked, and that smile of his somehow grew steel teeth. It was fucking weird how he could be forceful and never appear mean.
“I’ll stay.”
“Sometimes it’s not easy to talk about certain things with someone we care about in the room. Or”—he glanced at the purpling sky—“wherever we are.”
“Okay.” I sounded pissy and felt even worse after worrying all day, but I dragged my ass inside and glared from the dining room with the glass door closed between us.
Brandon crouched in front of Peter, and I almost cried when I saw his lips actually moving. Why didn’t he talk to me? They stayed out there until it was fully dark, and when Brandon helped Peter into the house, he wouldn’t let me take his arm. My stomach nearly fell through the floor, but Brandon caught my eye and shook his head.
“Do you want me to come to bed later?” I asked when they were nearly to the hallway. Peter stilled, then nodded but didn’t look back. I collapsed onto the couch and groaned, rubbing my hands over my face. The sound of water running let me know Peter was brushing his teeth, and when the bedroom door shut, Brandon slowly walked out into the living room with a terrible look stuck on his face. His blue eyes were stricken.
“Fuck, what’s wrong?”
“How many of your pain meds are left?” he asked, apropos of nothing.
“Not many, why? Maybe a few days’ worth.” I shrugged. “I’ve been tapering down.”
“Do you need them?”
The urgency in his words rattled me. “No.”
“Get rid of them. And any alcohol.” Brandon ran his fingers through his hair and ruined the perfect side part. He collapsed beside me on the couch. “From being around him and talking to him one on one in the past, I suspect Peter has PTSD. He’s been through a lot of trauma. Depression is part of that. None of the next few days will likely be good, and the narcotics are a temptation he doesn’t need. He doesn’t want to let you down, and having them in the house is a lot to ask. He needs you.”
My heart pounded faster. “Anything. Fuck it, I won’t even keep aspirin here if you think I shouldn’t.” He pursed his lips and glanced back down the hallway, and whatever was left of my dignity disintegrated as I sniffled. “Do I need to get rid of them? Is he that bad?”
“I don’t want to sound too dire, but….” He nodded. “I might suggest you remove any medications that could do damage if overdosed.”
“He’s not planning to—”
“No.” Brandon’s eyes were far more serious than I’d ever seen them. “The trauma might be old, but he’s still dealing with it. Listen to me now and you’ll make everything easier on him later.”
Nodding, I got to my feet with a wince. I’d forgotten to take anything for my leg earlier and now it was going down the drain. I could handle some pain, though, if it meant keeping Peter on track to getting healthier.
Brandon helped me go through every cupboard and drawer in the entire house, except the bedroom, where I never kept any meds anyway. We even cleaned out the Benadryl I’d had for some spring allergies. He gave me a sad smile as he stuffed the pink pills into the paper bag that held my meds; a big bottle of ibuprofen; aspirin; mouthwash, for some reason; and a bottle of whiskey I kept around for special occasions and boring Friday nights.
When we were done, we went back out onto the deck together, and Brandon sighed his way into the chair Peter had abandoned, the bag on the boards at his feet.
“I feel bad, like I’m accusing him before he does anything,” I whispered.
“Don’t. He told on himself.”
The frogs nearby sang their song louder, and some geese honked out on the shadow-black water. For a while we just sat in the dark listening.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Brandon grunted. “It’s something I encourage. Tell on yourself. Let people know you’re feeling like you’re slipping. Trust me, we’re helping him. Addiction is addiction.”
“Should he still be going to meetings?”
Brandon nodded, and his profile seemed defeated. “I’ll email you a local list. There are meetings everywhere. You’d be surprised. I still go to them.”
The day crashed in on me. Rowdy hadn’t called. I hadn’t heard from him since he drove us around yesterday, and the radio silence worried me. I wasn’t normally emotional, but I cleared my throat around a lump. “How do I help him?”
Brandon got up, and I wasn’t surprised when he put his arms around me, a supportive warmth in the darkness. “You’re doing a good job. You are helping. I promise.”
Not long later, Brandon left with the bag in his arms, and I sat outside until I heard his vehicle start. When I went in the house, strangely I wanted a shot now that I knew the whiskey was gone. I laughed at myself, then got ready for bed. When I went to the bedroom door, I stopped. I couldn’t bring myself to shove in because Peter had been through a lot, and if he wanted to be left alone, I’d try to give that to him. I knocked and there was a laugh from inside, so I opened the door.
“It’s your room.” There wasn’t a smile to be seen on him, but at least there was some feeling behind his voice, and his eyes didn’t seem dead anymore. The lamplight on his skin cast shadows that made him seem like he had two bruised eyes.
