“Then, before he freezes or vomits or manages to hurt himself worse. Shit, Tobias. Come on.”
That was a better argument.
Together, we lifted him.
Cove struggled the moment his feet left the ground, his bound ankles jerking, his shoulders twisting as if he could somehow wriggle free from the two of us through will alone. Ben took his legs. I held his upper body because I would never allow anyone else to do it.
It was undignified and terrible.
Cove kept pleading. Not continuously, which might have been easier to endure, but in broken intervals that arrived between sobs and frantic breaths.
“Please don’t.”
“Tobias, please.”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
“I swear I won’t.”
By the time we reached the front door, my clothes were wet with the combination of the tank water, the ocean mist, and Cove’s tears. The house opened to us with warm light and controlled air, so violently civilized after the cliffside that the scene became unbearable in its absurdity.
Ben kicked the door shut behind us, causing Cove to flinch.
“Where are we putting him?” Ben asked.
“His bedroom,” I said at once.
Ben’s gaze saddened. “Tobias…”
“He will be comfortable there.”
“The door locks from the inside.”
“I can override it.”
“Not without damaging the frame, and you know that. It was designed as a guest suite, not containment.”
The wordcontainmentmade Cove go rigid.
Ben realized his mistake a fraction too late.
I looked down at Cove, but his eyes had squeezed shut, his face turned away from me as though sight itself had become too much.
The house seemed to narrow around us, every hallway suddenly a decision. The guest room he’d stayed in that stormy night was prepared. His room, in every way that mattered, though he didn’t understand that yet. There was soft bedding, a full bath, clothing that fit, and windows facing the water. It wasa space where he might calm, eventually, if he could be made to understand that none of this was meant as punishment.
But Ben was right.
The door locked from the inside.
The windows were reinforced but not sealed against someone determined and terrified. There were objects in that room he could break, use, throw, or shatter. There was a bathroom, a mirror, fixtures, too many variables. Too many ways for panic to turn the space against him.
Against himself.
I hated the conclusion before it had even finished forming.
Ben said softly, “You know where he has to go.”
Cove opened his eyes then, his gaze moving between us, scared and unfocused, but understanding enough to fear the silence.
