Page 102 of Beat of Love
Rafferty looked away. Swallowed hard. But this time, he didn’t shut down.
And that, maybe, was something.
“And remember Rafferty, you came here today. You didn’t run. You didn’t numb it out. You weathered whatever storm put those abrasions on your knuckles. That counts.”
He sat back, remaining quiet, letting Trent’s words sink in.
And something inside him shifted a fraction, a glimmer of light sneaking into a place that had been dark for far too long.
29
Close to the edge
Rafferty didn’t have to go looking for his twin. Sullivan was waiting on the veranda of the Main House when he returned.
“Where’ve you been?”
The wariness in Sullivan’s voice hit like a slap. That familiar, searching stare — identical to Aidan’s — made his stomach churn.
No one fucking trusted him.
How the hell was he supposed to trust himself?
“Why?” he snapped.
“I’ve been on edge all night,” Sullivan said. “My life’s solid, which means yours is in chaos. And since you’ve shut down our connection, here I am, asking you — what the hell’s going on?”
Rafferty rubbed a hand down his face, bone-deep exhausted — not just from lack of sleep, but soul tired. “You’ve got no right digging around in my mind.”
Sullivan cocked his head, eyes narrowing. “Something’s off. If it’s not drugs, then what the fuck is it?”
Rafferty held his ground, even as that piercing gaze threatened to peel him open. “Counseling,” he said. “Fucking therapy. Baring my soul to a stranger to glue my shit back together. Like fucking Humpty Dumpty.”
For a beat, Sullivan just stared at him. Then his shoulders eased, and he let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped for weeks.
“Therapy,” he said quietly. “That’s … good. That’s really fucking good.”
Rafferty didn’t answer, eyes fixed on the veranda floorboards like they might crack open and swallow him.
Sullivan stepped closer, voice softer now. “You don’t have to say anything else. I’m just … relieved you’re doing something.”
Rafferty gave a humorless laugh. “Not like I had a line of better options.”
They stood there in silence for a moment, the air thick around them.
Then Sullivan said, “You know, even with the wall up, I still hear you.”
Rafferty’s gaze lifted sharply. “What do you mean, hear me?”
Sullivan tapped a finger against his temple. “In here. It’s not words. It’s … pressure. Static. Like a storm building. I know when you're close to the edge, even when you don’t want me to.”
Rafferty swallowed hard, throat tight. “Then you must’ve been deafened lately.”
“Yeah,” Sullivan said, his voice rough. “Yeah, I have.”
Rafferty leaned against the railing, arms crossed. “I’ve been spending time with Brandy-Lyn.”
Sullivan blinked. “Brandy-Lyn?MyBrandy-Lyn?”
