Page 50 of Save Me

Daniel's waiting on my front porch when I get home. He pushes away from the wall, striding toward me with his hat pulled down low over his eyes and his arms crossed.

"Who called you?" I ask, meeting him halfway down the sidewalk. I'm not mad that someone called him. I planned to call him as soon as I got inside. Just curious who beat me to it. "Priest or my mother?"

"A better question is why didn't you call me?" He cocks a brow. "That's what you're supposed to do when you're spiralin'. You call me so I can talk you down."

"That's why I didn't call you. I didn't want to be talked down."

He doesn't seem surprised by the confession. Honestly, he looks like he expected it. "So…what? Shit gets complicated and you give up?" he asks. "What's the plan now, Brant? You forget about her by drinkin' yourself into an early grave?"

"Thought about it for about an hour," I admit, slipping my hands into my pocket. "Figured that's what I deserved. But then I came up with a new plan."

"Jesus Christ," he groans, tipping his head back to curse up at the sky. "What kind of self-destruction are we talkin' now? More fights? Gamblin'? Maybe you'll add whorin' to the list this time?"

"I was actually thinking about going to a meeting."

He tips his head down so fast his hat damn near tumbles from his head.

I smirk at him. "Maybe a few of them. And then I was thinking you can find me a psychiatrist, someone who can figure out what the fuck I should be taking for whatever the fuck this shit is."

"It's PTSD, Brantley. It's called PTSD."

"For that," I agree. "And after that…well, I don't fucking know what comes after that. I've never been able to see beyond this shit to think that far into the future. But I'm thinking about it now, brother. I'm seeing glimpses of it." I swallow, glancing away. "I think I like what I see."

"Jesus, Brant," he rasps, a thread of emotion in his voice I've never heard. "It's about goddamn time."

"I know." I meet his gaze, gratitude in mine. "Thank you."

He swallows convulsively, his jaw pulsing. "You don't owe me thanks, brother. It's what you pay me for."

"It isn't," I disagree. "You can't pay someone to give a shit, not the way you do."

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm a carin' motherfucker." He flashes a grin at me and then nods toward the truck. "Get in. We've got a meetin' to attend."

It's nearly one in the morning when I hear a soft tap on my front door. I quickly cross to it, peering out through the peephole. My heart skips a beat before slamming against my ribcage when I see Isla on the other side, her arms wrapped around herself.

I practically rip the door off the hinges trying to open it.

"Isla," I breathe, beyond grateful she's here. My silent phone taunted me all evening. I damn near drove to her parents' place six or seven different times, only to stop myself because I told her that I'd be waiting for her to come to me. Trying to hold myself to that damn near killed me, but I owe her the right to decide for herself when she's ready to talk.

She glances up at me, her eyes rimmed in red and full of anxiety. The sadness lingering in the depths kills me a little. I should have told her the truth from the very beginning. I've been thinking about that all goddamn day. Thinking I could wait and put everything back to rights before I told her was idiotic. Securing Bella's safety doesn't change the fact that she wasn'tsafe to begin with. It doesn't undo what was done. It doesn't change what she went through or erase what she saw. Nothing will ever do that.

I know because I've been there, done that. I live with the fucking scars. You can't unbreak what's broken. All you can do is glue it back together and hope for the best. I've been held together with glue and rubber bands for years, trying to keep the broken shards from slipping free.

"Did you know they were there for Bellamy?" she asks me, a quiver in her voice as she steps inside. "I need to know that much, Brantley. Because I've tried to see a future without you all day and it didn't work. So, I at least deserve to know what kind of man I love."

"You tried to see a future without me?"

She shrugs, glancing away from me. And fuck if that doesn't hurt like hell. But…I can't say I blame her either. Not after what she heard today.

"I didn't know they were there for him," I say quietly. "I didn't know who they were or what they wanted. I swear to you, little bird, I didn't fucking know."

She swallows hard, nodding. "But you blame yourself anyway, don't you?"

"I…"

"Please don't lie to me."

"Yeah, I blame myself anyway," I rasp. "I saw two men sneaking into the garage, and I just drove off because I didn't want to fucking deal. An hour later, my father was dead, and your sister saw it happen. It's hard not to blame myself when I could have stopped it."

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