“Sweater. Drake has a death wish, and I don’t think it’s of his own making,” I stated and felt stupid. Would they make fun of my feelings?
“What do you mean?” Stitch pressed.
“Drake has been through so much. Sure, the war was awful, and it’s something we’ll never forget. Rapid City and its people carry a horrible scar. But Drake isn’t one to circle the drain. He’s a fighter. Always has been. Depression isn’t like Drake. I don’t know how to convince you. Logically, I suppose you could say PTSD and depression are expected, and they are. But this is something else.”
“Try to explain more,” Belladonna said.
“It’s almost as if he’s undergone a personality transplant. Drake’s living in the past and not the future…”
“Phoe, go back to the first bit,” Stitch ordered.
“The transplant? Yeah, anyone can say that someone’s changed. But a complete overhaul. Even when things were dire, Drake’s never quit. Now he has. It’s like someone else is occupying his skin. Drake’s pushed the children away, and that is not him. Family is everything to him.”
“Umm…” Belladonna mused.
“Please help me,” I pleaded.
“Phoe, bring Drake to Portsmouth. I’ve an idea of what’s happening, but I need to see Drake in person,” Belladonna said.
“We’ll come today,” I replied. “Tell me where to bring him.”
“Girl, by the time you get a flight, it will be tomorrow at the earliest.” Stitch laughed.
“I’ve a private plane, we’ll be there in a few hours,” I promised.
“Of course you have. We’ll text the address,” Belladonna stated and cut the line.
I glanced down, feeling a little lighter as my phone beeped. There was light at the end of the tunnel. Now I needed Drake on board.
It was terrifying how much Drake had spiralled, and I’d not noticed. The fact he meekly let me bully him into the car and then onto the plane spoke volumes. Drake didn’t seem interested in anything until we began banking to land.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“Portsmouth, New Hampshire.”
“Why?”
“We’re going to see some specialists,” I said, and bit my lip.
Drake’s eyes narrowed, and I saw a spark he’d been missing. “What type of expert?”
“One that can help you.” I folded my arms and held his gaze. Annoyance flickered across Drake’s face.
“Phoe, I don’t…”
“Don’t go there, Drake Michaelson. You’re not yourself, and everyone is worried sick about you. You avoid the club, won’t attend church, disappear for hours on your own, sit outside in the freezing cold hoping to catch pneumonia. I’m done with that crap. If you love me, you’ll shut your trap and indulge me,” I snapped.
“Shut my trap?” Drake asked with a hint of amusement.
“Your mouth.”
“Whatever, Phoe. If this makes you happy—”
“Yes, it does. I can’t live like this anymore. It’s been months since you last smiled properly, and I don’t even remember your laugh,” I retorted.
Shock flickered across Drake’s face. “No.”
“Yes.”
