“Because I want to.”
“Bullshit,” I say, catching him in his lie.
He looks momentarily offended. “Because it’s the only thing I’m good at.”
“Try again,” I bark in a fierce command.
He huffs as his thick brows pinch inward. Then, with sincerity in his eyes, he says, “To feel something.”
“Archer,” I start, but the words are lost on my tongue. Before I can argue with him, he continues.
“My dad lost his first son in a helicopter crash, and my entire life, I’ve felt like I was meant to be some savior sent to heal his pain. He reminds me how much I look like Preston. Act like Preston. Sound like Preston. But what does that make me? Getting punched in the face is the only thing that distracts me from how fucked up I feel on the inside. And beating my opponents is the only way I can prove to myself that I am not completely broken. It’s something I have to actually work for. A way to show that I’m actually worth something.”
When I swallow, it feels like needles piercing my insides. Tears brim in my eyes because I don’t just hear his words. I feel them.
“So you think,” Julian adds in a solemn tone, leaning against the bathroom counter with his arms folded, “that if you ruin this perfect vision they have of you, they might actually see the real you and not the dead person you remind them of.”
Archer and I both turn to look up at Julian.
Softly, he mumbles, “My dad lost a son before I was born too.Miles. Every time my dad looks at me, I wonder if he’s searching for him.”
I see with painstaking clarity that their stories and their grief are so similar, and it makes my heart splinter with agony for them both.
“Exactly,” Archer mutters.
They are both so alone and scared and in pain, with no healthy and normal way to cope with it. Archer fights with his fists, and Julian fights with his words.
“Please don’t pity me,” he says, trying to look away and turn his face from my hands, but I don’t let him go.
“I don’t pity you,” I reply. “Iloveyou.”
I love him so intensely already it scares me.
With astonishment in his eyes, he watches me for a sign that I’m lying or playing with his emotions.
“You are not broken. Neither of you are. You’re suffering, and you don’t need to. Not anymore.”
“I know, Frey. I have been down this road before. I’ve done therapy and drugs and rehabs and all the shit my parents could pay for to fix me, and nothing ever did. But this, this fixes me.”
“It’s not a fix,” Julian says. “It’s a coping mechanism. And not a healthy one.”
“You got a better idea, fancy pants?” he asks with a hint of annoyance.
Julian’s face doesn’t reveal anything before he shrugs. “If you want to feel things that won’t possibly kill you…then yes. I have some ideas.”
Archer scoffs. “I bet there’s a few things at your club that could make me feel things.”
Julian doesn’t react, only nods. “Yes. There are.”
I pull Archer’s face to mine. His eye is still swollen shut, and the gash above his eyebrow is red and throbbing, even with the bandage over it. “But why are you so insistent on those feelings being pain? Isn’t there another outlet that could be a little less…harmful?”
“Like what, Chef?”
“Like us,” Julian replies casually.
Archer turns toward him. “What do you mean, like you?” he asks.
“I mean, there are a lot of outlets we can provide so that youcan feel something, Archer. You don’t need to get into these fights anymore. Let us fill that void.”
