She leaned over instinctively, placing her hand gently on his chest. “Kelly,” she whispered.
His eyes flashed open, disoriented, full of shame, pain, and fear. He grabbed her wrist as if he didn’t know who she was. Then his eyes cleared and he blinked. When she shifted, he said, softly, painfully, “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”
“It’s okay,” she soothed, giving in to her need to touch him. She ran her hands through that mad tousle of hair, the strands like dark silk threads beneath her fingers and palm. His skin was like velvet, that dark angel face, softening from her words, his fog-shrouded eyes like a mist she could get lost in. “You’re safe. You’re okay. I’m here.”
His breathing slowed. His hand unclenched, catching hers and pressing it over his heart, holding it beneath his big, wide palm. His whole body sank back into the mattress, muscles releasing inch by inch. Those thick lashes dropped over his glazed eyes, and he sighed, his chest rising beneath her hand.
She stayed beside him, fingers still lightly pressed to the hard muscle beneath that strong, beating heart.
As she watched him sleep, she realized with terrifying clarity that she wasn’t sure she’d ever get the pieces of her heart back. Even if she wanted them.
28
Sleeping Wind, Bear and Bailee Residence, Bonita, California
Than lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the weight in his chest refusing to ease.
Secrets did that. They pressed. They demanded air. A soft knock sounded down the hall, and his pulse jumped.
Fly’s voice followed, low and unsteady. “Shawl?” There was a pause. Another breath. “I need help.”
Concern cut through everything else.
Than swung his legs out of bed before he could think better of it. He cracked the door, just enough to hear footsteps moving away, the sound retreating down the stairs.
He padded into the hall, then stopped. Listened. The house was quiet again, but not asleep. Voices murmured below, too low to make out at first.
He moved without deciding to.
Halfway down the stairs, he sat, back against the wall, elbows on his knees. The wood was cool beneath him. Grounding.
Fly was talking, but he didn’t hear every word, but he heard enough.
The way Fly’s voice shook like he was bracing himself against something heavy. Than caught fragments, sleep, water, her voice. A pause that went too long. Then Fly again, quieter now. “I can’t get it out of my head.”
Than closed his eyes.
He didn’t need details. He could feel it. The way Fly carried things. The way he always tried to shoulder the weight alone if he thought it would spare someone else.
Shawl spoke then. Calm. Measured. No judgment in his tone. Than leaned forward, straining to hear. “I’m not saying you need answers tonight,” Shawl said. “You need space. Distance from the walls.” A soft breath. “Time to let the question exist without it crushing you.”
Than’s stomach dropped.
Fly didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was steadier. Resolved. “Okay.” Just that. Okay.
Than’s breath caught. Something in him shifted out of alignment.
“I could take a retreat. I used to do that when I was a teenager and the memory of my parents’ death got too strong. It helped.”
Shawl spoke again, softer this time. “Nature can do that, calming peace and quiet. No judgment, no pat answers. To carry the weight somewhere bigger than your own head.”
Silence followed.
Than stayed where he was, heart hammering, the truth settling in his bones.
Fly wasn’t running. He was choosing a path, and Than…Than was still sitting on the stairs, holding onto secrets that suddenly felt unbearable.
When Fly started for his room, Than retreated just long enough to be sure he hadn’t been seen, then turned and went back downstairs, all the way this time. Shawl was still at the table, hands folded loosely in front of him, his attention turned inward in a way that made Than bristle. He didn’t like the idea, hated it, actually, that Shawl might have helped Fly. The man had driven all the way from Pine Ridge and Than had met him with nothing but defensiveness and ducking.
