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I only manage to get out of the line of sight of the glass doors before collapsing into the grass, drawing my knees to my chest and pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes. The door is too quiet for me to hear it open and close again, but the dying grass crunches when someone walks up behind me.
“Go,” I mumble, not sure if it’s Dr. Singh or Matt. Not caring. “Please.”
The person doesn’t go. They just sit down beside me, shoulder brushing against mine. One of my hands is pried away from my face, a piece of paper getting pressed against my open palm. I give the paper a sharp look, expecting it to be mine. But it’s not wrinkled and it’s not wet in the middle. It’s just… untouched.
It’s Bryce’s paper.
“Oh.”
“Mental safe spaces are bullshit,” Bryce says with a sneer. “You know how many times I escaped inside my mind to survive being a slave? I’m not spending a single fucking day of the rest of this life somewhere I’m not safe. If I can’t look around me and feel safe, I’m not staying there. That’s freedom.”
Bryce and I have never quite seen eye to eye. Those survivors who couldn’t wait to get out of the compound, who were willing to claw their way out even if they died in the process—those survivors were led by Bryce. I never tattled on him when he came up with his rebellious plans. I never tried to stop him from dreaming of freedom. But I think he always knew where I stood—or at least had a good suspicion.
Maybe that’s why I find myself admitting to this dark, twisted thing inside of me. “My safe place was there.”
Bryce’s eyebrows pull together, his lips parting like he’s preparing to ask a question. Then his expression softens and he looks out at the view in front of us instead. He rubs his jaw a few times before nodding. “Alright.”
“Alright?” I ask with an incredulous huff. “When I say there, I mean—”
“At the compound, yeah, I figured.” He sighs heavily before turning, not stopping until we’re shoulder to shoulder but with us facing each other instead. His eyes are intense—the kind of intensity I used to see as he whispered furiously at night to all the other slaves about freedom. “You saw them kill Armond, yes?”
I drop my chin. “Yeah, I was there that night…”
“And I know you were there when we saved Matt. You were fucking terrified.”
“Terrified doesn’t begin to describe it…”
“Exactly. There wasn’t anything safe about that compound and you’re well aware of that. Staying there was a death sentence. So, it’s not the compound that was your safe place, Nolan, it was something else. What was it?”
I want to punch him for making assumptions like that.
I want to punch him for being right.
“I don’t know.”
He studies me, probably trying to determine if I’m bullshitting him. When he realizes I’m not, he replaces the paper I’m holding with his hand. His grip is firm. Comforting. “We’ll find it. You fucking deserve that. We all do.”
I swallow past a lump in my throat, squeezing his hand tight. “Is here safe for you? I thought you would have left by now, honestly.”
“I’m here until every single one of you is okay enough to leave,” he says, that intensity back in his eyes. “That’s my safe. Taking care of all of you. Fighting off anything that gets in our way. I wasn’t able to protect everyone the way I wanted back at the compound, but I can here.”
“You know you don’t have to anymore though, right? You spent so much energy back at the compound trying to free all of us. Aren’t you tired? Just let yourself relax, Bryce. You’ve earned that.”
“No, I haven’t.” He looks down at the grass between his legs, jaw ticking. “I was going to save everyone. Travis and Jake took that from me. It feels wrong now. All of this feels so fucking wrong and I don’t know how to make it feel right. This is the next best thing. I didn’t get to be the one to save us, but I’m damn sure going to be the one to ensure that we all make it out of this shit show okay. Hell, happy, even. The ultimate goal is happy, for those of you who stick around long enough for me to make an impact on.”
“Well, I’ll definitely be sticking around, but I apologize in advance.” I let go of his hand, laying myself back on the dry grass. The sky is too cloudy for the sun to bother my eyes, but I close them anyway, enjoying the harsh wind on my cheeks. “I’m not going to make it easy for you. I might be too fucked up to ever be okay, let alone happy.”
Bryce lays himself beside me, the two of us pressed together. “We’re all fucked up, Nolan. Fucked up and happy aren’t mutually exclusive. We’ll figure it out.”
I’ve never wanted someone to be right so badly, but I’m terrified he’s not.
Chapter Nine
Maison
I manage to fall into a routine as things start to settle at the safehouse. Every morning before the sun has managed to fully rise, I hit the gym with a bottle of whiskey by my side. I work out until something is bleeding. I drink until the edges of my world feel safer. Then I shower, brush my teeth, and head to the kitchen. If I’m lucky, Nolan is there and I can watch him while I eat, soaking in every detail of his movements and expressions and words. If I’m extra lucky, Nolan is there alone and we get to talk about lighter stuff, like the difference between bleached and unbleached flour and how I’ll winterize the garden in the upcoming weeks before it starts to frost.
If it’s an unlucky morning, I grab a protein bar and a mug of coffee and hit my office.
