“I was there, Reid. He’s made of blood and bone just like you and me,” I remind him, and don’t break eye contact. “Look.” I climb to my feet, turn off the light, and close the door so he can see. “I still need them.”
The old glow-in-the-dark stars I put up the day I moved in are faded and peeling, but they glow all the same. Reid chuckles, the sound defeated and sad, but it’s better than the silence. I stare at them, and even though I put them up in random patterns, my eyes trace the Little Dipper in a cluster near the left corner above my bed.
Of course, I find you when I don’t want you here.
“Brighton left,” I blurt, and Reid’s expression shifts in the dim light. “He uh—”
“You don’t have to say it,” he says, “I looked him up after dinner that night because I wanted to know more about the guy that had my sister all tangled up.”
“I wasn’t tangled,” I scoff, but the smile that slips out is small and pathetic.
“I could hear you giggling from my room. All through dinner,” he argues and stares at me. “I know he’s ex-military. Like Dad.”
“He’s not like Dad.” I’m quick to stop him.
“Okay, then why are you so sad?” he challenges.
“Some things happened, and Brighton took off. We can’t find him, and I’m worried.” I chew on my lip and sink to the mattress across from him on the floor still.
“You think he…” Reid trails off.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I think he just needed to clear his head, but it’s scary all the same.”
“You really like him?” Reid asks.
“I really do.” I nod.
“Then fight for it.” He stares at me with those glassy green eyes that remind me so much of our Dad; it’s scary, and I can’t breathe.
“When did you become a Brighton advocate?” I laugh because it’s all I can do to keep from crying.
“He makes my sister smile,” Reid says, “and he’s not so bad… I guess. But if he doesn’t figure himself out soon, I’m going to kick his ass.”
“I’d pay to see that,” I laugh. “Now let's fill these bins and get out of here before the black mold kills us both.”
Ibang on the apartment door and wait. I drove around Harbor for three hours before the vibrations started—mostly Riona and Boone. I turned my phone off after the third call and chucked it on the floor before figuring out where I needed to go.
“Major?” Landon opens the door, half-awake, and I glance down at my watch.
“It’s four in the afternoon. Why are you asleep?” I snap.
“It’s four in the morning, Black,” he says back with a scowl. I check my watch again—he’s right.
“Where the hell have you been?” I ask him, and he sighs. “What’s more important than Harvey dying?”
“Hey now,” Landon warns, “you’re in the hall screaming like a lunatic.”
“Right,” I walk inside as he steps back. I’ve never actually been inside his apartment, but it’s exactly how I picture it. It looks like mine before Rhea. Neat, simple, boring, and clean. I crave the mess she brings, and it stings like papercuts in vinegar. “Now answer my question.”
“I knew you could handle it,” is what he says to me.
“That’s a load of shit, Sarge.”
“Do you want water?” he asks me, and I nod, finding a spot to sit on the couch. He doesn’t have a TV, but there’s a wall of bookshelves crammed with more books than I've ever seen.
“You read?” I ask, confused and still very pissed off at him.
“I never used to, but it helps pass the time.” He hands me a glass, but I don’t drink it. I just hold onto it like it’s going to save my life. “Why are you here, Bright?” he asks.
