Page 157 of The Spider & the Storm

Unwanted tears sprang to my eyes as I thought,Maybe he just felt helpless, knowing there was nothing he could do. Maybe he knew I was going to leave. Maybe he knew I couldn’t take it anymore. Maybe he knew the years of us being an ironclad duo were coming to an end, and he needed to air his heartbreak to the only friends he had left in this cruel, fucked-up world that had never ever, ever been kind to either of us.

Wasn’t he allowed that?

Wasn’t he allowed to feel sad in the way I had so many times before?

I rubbed my hand over my face, smearing the tears down my cheeks. I was getting ahead of myself. I knew nothing. But I could find out. I could see him.

Am I ready for that?

No. No, I’m not, but Iwantto be, and that has to count for something.

Stormy rolled over and laid her arm over my chest. I wanted to sleep. We were having lunch with Stormy’s parents. We had Ivan’s wedding later that evening. But, God, insomnia was an unforgiving bastard that would never give me grace, not even when I needed it most.

“Hey. Why are you awake?” Her whispered voice was half slurred with sleep, but I understood.

“Soldier scares the shit out of me,” I half joked, hoping she couldn't tell that I'd been crying. “I’m terrified he’s gonna come get me in my sleep.”

I felt her smile against my chest. “Soldier is one of the good guys. Don’t let him freak you out.”

“He wasn’t always a good guy,” I pointed out, almost bitterly. Alluding to knowing more than she knew I knew.

I hadn’t told her what we’d said in the graveyard. That would’ve led to more of an explanation than I was ready for.

But when will you be ready, huh?

Some secrets are meant to be told.

“He told you?”

“He told me he was the one who had killed Billy. Unintentionally, but … still.”

Her hand fell from my face and returned to its spot on my chest. She nodded. “Soldier’s situation was a bad one,” she quietly explained, the sleep fading from her voice. “Lots of us make bad choices—hardchoices—out of desperation. It doesn’t make him a bad person; it never did. It took me a long time to understand that, but I get it now. Billy just got caught up in it. Honestly, if Soldier’s mom’s pills hadn’t killed him, someoneelse’s would’ve. He was never getting out of that shit, and he was going to drag everyone else down with him. I’m not glad he’s dead, but I’m glad he’s out of my life. Does that sound terrible? I feel like it makes me terrible.”

For the first time maybe ever, I willingly allowed Tommy and Ritchie to enter my mind. “I understand. And if that makes you terrible, then so am I.” Except I knew I was—terrible, I mean.

I just didn’t want to face that she could've been too. But she wasn't, of course, despite what she’d said. She was only human, and humans were never perfect—even the ones who seemed to be.

“Yeah.” She sighed a slightly mournful sound, and I imagined she was thinking about her old friend. “But anyway, you can stop BSing me now. I know you're not afraid of Soldier slitting your throat. So, what's really going on?”

I huffed a humorless laugh. “How do you know I'm bullshitting you?”

“Because I see you, Charlie. So, what's up?”

It was funny how that happened, wasn't it? Someone could know you your entire life and never truly see who you were. But then you could only know someone else for a month, and they could know you better than you knew yourself.

“If you don't marry that woman, you're a fuckin' asshole,” I imagined Luke saying, and I couldn't have agreed more.

But I had to tell her a story first, and even though it was late at night and we had a lunch and wedding to attend, there was no time like the present.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CONNECTICUT, AGE THIRTY-THREE

After a catastrophe, time passed in a way that felt like walking through sand. The ground beneath you had too much give. You sank and tripped and kicked up the dust over and over again, just trying to reach the solidity of the boardwalk. It wasn’t far—you could see it. You watched as others walked the planks easily, coasting through life with their heads held high without a single care. You could practically feel those hot boards beneath your feet, could feel the memory of those sun-bleached knots and grooves from a time when you’d walked them too. But with every sure step closer to sturdy ground, you stumbled backward into the abyss of your grief and trouble.

I wasn’t sure anybody I'd ever known could understand this more than me. Or maybe I was just being self-centered.

The death of my parents had fucked everything up, and that was the harshest truth of them all, I thought. It wasn't their fault; I couldn't blame them for dying. As a child, I'd catch myself thinking that way without the rationale of a levelheaded adult, but I knew better now. Still, it didn't stop it from being the truth.

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