Page 70 of Eight Second Hearts

Tripp struggles against Ram’s hold, but he’s weak and clumsy. He screams the entire way as Ram shoves him back into the house and slams the door shut.

“I have to. . . I need to. . . I can’t. . . It hurts!” He clutches his head again and drops to his knees. “I can’t! I can’t find it! Burnit!” Tears stream from his eyes as he kneels in the mess of snow that came inside.

Ram stares at him in horror, clearly not knowing what to do. But I do. I know.

I push away from Beau, much to his protest, and stumble over to Tripp. I drop to my knees in the cold fluff and wrap my arms around him.

“It’s okay, cowboy,” I say, my voice like gravel because of my neck. “I’ve got you. Let it out. I’ve got you.”

His sobs start to wrack his body as his arms wrap around me tightly and squeeze. He shatters in my arms, letting out his pain, letting it all out.

“I’ve got you,” I repeat. “Shh, shh, I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” Tripp sobs. “Not like this. Not like this.”

Tears spring to my eyes as I stroke his hair, his back, everything I can reach, as I hold him to me. He sinks into my touch, hopeless, wracked with body shaking sobs, and I do my best to hold him together, so he doesn’t shatter entirely.

“It hurts,” he sobs. “It hurts so bad.”

Wetness trails down my cheeks as I stroke his hair. “I know, cowboy,” I whisper. “I know.”

We stay there, on the floor where the snow melts and turns to water, as Ram and Beau look on. I hold Tripp together as he opens his wounds wide, as he bleeds his pain, and I pray to any god willing to listen that I can hold him tight enough.

That he won’t crumble to dust in my arms.

Chapter 42

Indie

We’re trapped here. There’s no leaving this house any time soon.

There’s a lull in the storm, but according to the news, it’s only going to last for a few hours so there’s no point in going out there and clearing the roads just to have to do it all over again after the next leg of the storm. Apparently, we’re to expect similar snow fall for the next few days.

At some point, Tripp had passed out and we’d moved him to the couch where Ram and Beau had doctored his feet. I’d tried to move, but his arms had stayed tight around me, refusing to let go, so I’d ended up having to lay on the couch with him. Any time I tried to move, he’d stir and start getting worked up again. Eventually, Ram told me to just stay there, so I did. It isn’t until the next layer of snow starts falling that I’m able to remove myself from his arms and stretch. My hips scream at me for the strange position I’d held for too long.

Beau had brought a bag of frozen peas over for my neck, but I know that it’s going to be sore for a while. When I’m finally able to look in the mirror, I can see the bruises beginning to ring my neck, in the very distinct shape of fingers.

“He shouldn’t have done that,” Ram rasps, his eyes on the bruises as I touch my fingers to them. “He’s never gotten that bad.”

“He needs help,” I murmur. My eyes flick to the bottles and bottles of liquor lined up in the cabinet. “Real help.”

Ram’s eyes follow mine. “If I dump those out, he’ll just go find more. I’ve tried that before.”

“If he has access to it, he’s going to keep drinking it,” I argue, but then I sigh. “I understand he won’t quit until he wants to. I. . . I’ve seen it before.”

Ram tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

Tripp sits up with a start on the couch, a horrified scream on his lips from whatever nightmare was haunting him. Beau rushes over to him, his eyes hard, his arms outstretched. Like Tripp is a dangerous animal that needs calming.

My neck throbs and reminds me that. . . he is.

Tripp’s shout cuts off as he seems to realize where he is, his eyes wide. And then he presses a hand to his forehead as the lights register. “The lights,” he groans. “They’re so fucking bright.”

Ram flicks the switch, leaving the living room lit by only the yellow glow of the table lamps rather than the bright white overhead lights.

“My head,” he groans, and then he seems to notice his feet. “Ow. What the fuck?” Beau had bandaged them up. They’d been cut to hell by the glass. We’re lucky he didn’t suffer from frostbite after being in the snow, but Ram had managed to wrestle him inside fast enough.

“What do you remember?” Beau asks, his voice vibrating with anger.

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