That hollow that made the world feel too big and too small at the same time.
He eased the truck forward, steering one-handed while keeping Breakneck in his peripheral vision. “You bleeding anywhere?” Boomer asked quietly.
Breakneck’s gaze didn’t shift. “No.”
“You hit your head?”
“No.”
“You gonna puke in my truck?”
A faint, almost imperceptible twitch of the jaw.
“…maybe.”
Boomer exhaled. Not quite a laugh. “Give me a warning and I’ll pull over.”
Breakneck swallowed hard, the motion slow, tight, like even that hurt. Seconds passed. Then a minute. Then two. Streetlight after streetlight washed over the cab in a rhythm that felt like breathing lessons. Boomer’s hand tightened on the wheel. “Kelly,” he said finally, voice low but steady. “Talk to me.”
Breakneck blinked, once, like the name barely reached him.
“I can’t,” he whispered. It wasn’t defiance. It wasn’t even resistance. It was the sound of someone drowning.
Boomer’s throat thickened. He turned down a side street, one quieter, darker, closer to home. He kept his eyes forward, his voice even.
“Okay,” he said. “Then just…sit. I’m here.”
Breakneck dragged in a breath that didn’t sound like it filled his lungs. His fingers curled into fists where they rested on his thighs. Boomer didn’t miss the tremor. He’d been here. Different bar. Different grief. Same feeling, like the inside of his ribcage had shattered and he was trying to hold it together with his bare goddamn hands.
“You ever…” Breakneck started, then stopped. His jaw flexed. “You ever feel like you’re not you anymore?”
Boomer’s grip tightened on the wheel. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I have.”
“Feels like something’s…wrong with me.” Breakneck’s voice cracked on the last word, barely audible. “Like I’m built wrong.”
Boomer’s heart dropped. Hard. He swallowed. Forced calm into his voice even though nothing about this felt calm. “Kid,” he said softly, “there is nothing wrong with you.” Breakneck flinched, a full-body, silent jolt, like the words hurt. Boomer didn’t let him run from it. “You hear me? There is nothing wrong with you.” He shook his head once, fiercely. “You’re hurting. That’s different.”
Breakneck pressed a shaking hand to his forehead like he was trying to hold his skull together.
Boomer pulled into his driveway. Shifted the truck into park. He turned fully toward Breakneck. The kid looked wrecked. Eyes too bright. Lips pressed tight. Chest rising too fast. Like he was fighting something inside him fists first.
He got out of the truck, but Breakneck didn’t move. Boomer walked back to the passenger side door and opened it.
“Break. Come on.”
He slid out of the seat, stumbled, and Boomer caught him. Suddenly, the kid’s chest was heaving. He wrapped his arms around Boomer, holding on like he was Break’s only lifeline.
“I’ve got you, Kelly.”
Harsh sobs broke from him, and he tightened his arms around Boomer. For a moment, he stood there and let the wave of pain wash over Break. “I’m sorry, Boom Boom. Don’t hate me. Don’t think I’m worthless. I haven’t done that in years…I swear. I fucked her, and it meant nothing. I didn’t even realize I…almost killed that guy. Fuck.”
Boomer gripped the back of Breakneck’s neck, firm, grounding, the same way Break had steadied him once in a barracks in Lisbon. “You’re coming inside,” Boomer said quietly. “You’re gonna drink water, lie down, and you’re not gonna face this alone.”
Breakneck closed his eyes and breathed, a broken, jagged sound, but he breathed.
Boomer kept his hand where it was, the way a brother did. The way Breakneck had once done for him when he’d spiraled deep enough to forget the shape of his own name.
“Come on,” Boomer murmured. “Let’s go.”
