“Please come back. I’m sorry.”
With a frustrated growl, he turns around, but he doesn’t come closer. At least he’s not running.
“There’s not a lot of crime like that here. Drug charges, sometimes. Trespassing. Traffic violations.”
Theo’s shoulders drop. “Seeing you like that… Knowing that they had all the evidence and still did nothing? Knowing he got off? That I sat in a hospital room with someone I’ve known my whole life and that he was covered in bruises much like yours in those photos…” I trail off, my throat going tight.
“It made me lose faith in the system a bit. You did all the right things. You pressed charges; you fought back. You put yourself at greater risk to do it. And still, it didn’t matter.”
“That’s what I’ve always hated,” Theo whispers. “That he still won.”
I stand up, carefully walking toward Theo.
He’s only an inch or two shorter than I am, and when he looks up at me through his dark lashes, my world tilts on its axis. Bringing my hands up slowly so he knows what I’m about to do, I gently cup his face in both hands.
Theo blinks earnest blue eyes at me. “He didn’t win,” I say slowly. “You lived. You’re here. In spite of everything, you’re here and alive. And he fucking lost.”
Theo swallows hard, his throat bobbing. “But he hurt Luca.”
“And yet he still fucking lost,” I say again. “In the end, you two won. And he fucking lost.”
Tears well up in Theo’s eyes, spilling over the second he blinks. They land on my thumbs, and I brush them away as they continue to fall.
“I won,” Theo croaks out.
Goddamn, I want to kiss him so fucking bad. “Damn right you won.”
He steps forward, and I drop my hands in time for him to crash into me, wrapping his arms tightly around me. His face disappears into my chest, and his body quakes with each sob that leaves him.
Unlike all the tears he’s shed since he got here, these don’t feel like pain. They feel like healing.
Chapter 23
Theo
IjoltawakeinHunter’s truck. Ugh, I’m pretty sure I was drooling on myself. I try to carefully wipe my mouth without drawing attention to it.
Hunter has music playing softly, and it’s dark now. We must be getting close. “I’m sorry I fell asleep again.”
“No need to be sorry,” Hunter says. “Get as much sleep as you can.”
I glance over at him. It’s really for the best we decided to take his truck. I’m not sure how many more trips my car could handlewithout an oil change. Even if I could afford to take it to a shop—I can’t—I’d be terrified. It’s probably falling apart like everything else in my life.
At any rate, it’s been nice. I drove for a little bit, but it’s mostly been Hunter.
I’ve been watching him. Not in a weird way. Well, kind of in a weird way, I suppose.
He just does everything with so much competence. Taking care of the animals, horseback riding, and driving. Even now, he’s slouched in his seat, completely at ease, with his left hand loosely gripping the steering wheel and the other resting on the seat between us.
He’s got a bench seat up front, and I seriously considered sitting in the middle and leaning against him. It would have been much more comfortable to nap that way. Instead, I just slept upright. Depression sleep knows no bounds. I could probably fall asleep standing up if my shitty brain demanded it.
It demands, and I do. It demands that I sleep, and I crawl into bed. It demands that I self-isolate, and I cut people off. It demands that I jump off a parking garage, and well… Every so often I can resist what it wants.
Fuck, I think Hunter might be right. Maybe I do deserve better than this.
I shouldn’t have to walk around feeling this way. And maybe the medicine won’t work. Maybe it won’t help at all, and maybe I’m doomed to feel this way for the rest of my life. Maybe it’s punishment for some past crimes I didn’t even realize I’d committed.
Or maybe… Maybe I don’t deserve this at all. Maybe there’s no rhyme or reason. Maybe sometimes people just get stuck with shitty mental health, and they use the tools they have available to them—therapy, medication, community—and they survive.
