“Come to Boone’s.”She drops the pin, and I start the Bronco.
“He’s okay,” I say as the apartment door swings open and Boone waits on the other side. Kaia shoves him aside and hauls me in. Crosby greets me—Boone’s senior German shepherd he is absolutely, illegally keeping in this apartment. But the instant my fingers dig into that wiry fur, I take a deep breath and feel my body regulating.
I don’t even speak. I just drop to the floor and let him crawl into my lap.
“Cros—”
“Don’t,” Kaia snaps. “Leave them alone.”
“Are you alright?” are the next words out of Boone’s mouth, and I nod. Physically, I’m fine; emotionally, it's a lie. “I mean, did he hurt you…”
“That’s what the nod was for,” Kaia explains, “can you make her some food?”
“I’m not hungry,” I say.
“Make her food,” she repeats, “please.”
Boone leaves the entrance of the apartment, disappearing into the kitchen and leaving Kaia and me alone in the echoes of Crosby’s metal collar shaking gently as I continue to pet him.
“What happened?” She asks after a few minutes of me staring at the wall with tears streaming down my face. Kaia senses him first, her fingers creeping across the floor as Boone appears in the doorway to listen.
“I thought he was sleepwalking but…” I trail off.
“It’s a dissociative episode,” Boone says quietly. “He has had one before,” he says, clearing his throat. Boone tugs at his collar. Kaia and I clock the long scar on his neck. “Sunday doesn’t know,” he adds quickly. “It was a few weeks after the funeral, and he wouldn’t let me go with him, but I knew the basics. He was wandering around like a shell of a human, and we got drunk because I thought whiskey would open him up. Maybe he’d talk to me about it. The bottle hit the floor, and when I looked back up, he was a totally different person.” Boone’s jaw tightens as he tells the story. “Are you sure he didn’t hurt you? You can tell us.”
“He didn’t touch me,” I say without hesitation. “I promise.”
“I’ve never seen that,” Kaia whispers, her eyes flickering from the ink-covered scar to his face.
“It’s not really one I’m proud of,” he grumbles. “I had to punch him to get him out of it.”
“There might have been some shoving,” I admit. “From my end.”
“You couldn’t hurt that brick wall even if you tried. He’ll be fine, just sore in the morning,” Boone brushes it off. “Did he say anything?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I sigh.
“That tracks,” Boone huffs.
“Can one of you fill in the gaps here? I feel left out,” Kaia grumbles.
“Brighton’s last tour ended badly; six guys died, three because he couldn’t save them. It fucked him up pretty badly; he doesn’t talk about it. Sunday doesn’t even know. He made me swear complete secrecy, and if you tell her…” Boone says.
“I won’t,” Kaia confirms.
“His buddy took his life yesterday,” Boone swallows.
“It triggered everything for the rest of the day,” I whisper.
“Him punching Lee?” Kaia asks with a small nod. “That explains his lack of control. He's a hot head but he's not a loose cannon.”
“He needs help, Boone,” I say. “Real help.”
“I’ve tried.” He shrugs, “short of dragging him to a nuthouse.”
“Drag him to the nuthouse,” I snap, and Kaia’s expression changes.
“Something else happened…” She leans forward.
