Chapter 8
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— Holden —
Danny’s face. That smile. That fucking smile as the light left his eyes.
I proved myself, right?
I jerk awake, gasping, reaching for something that isn’t there. My hands are shaking.
I’m in the chair. When did I sit down in the chair? I remember the bed. I remember Bea’s arms. I remember lying down.
The bottle is on the floor beside me. Empty.
The room is wrong somehow.
I’m in sweats. Not my gear. I don’t remember changing.
I close my eyes again. Too tired. Body won’t respond.
?
Voices, maybe — low, brief — somewhere near the door. I don’t open my eyes. Can’t. My body has stopped taking instructions.
Cold. My face is cold.
The door. Did someone open it?
Doesn’t matter.
Nothing matters.
Danny’s dead.
?
I jerk awake again.
Still in the chair.
My neck is wrecked. My mouth has that taste. Too much, not enough. The light at the window is gray-blue. Early. The room is very quiet.
I breathe.
In.
Out.
My hands are still shaking.
I got back to the clubhouse the way you get somewhere when you’re not entirely in your body — aware of motion, aware of the road, not really there for any of it.
Someone handed me a drink. Or I found one. The sequence stopped making sense early.
I remember Bea’s voice at some point.I love you.Quiet, like she wasn’t sure I could hear her. I could hear her.
I remember Colt sitting next to me for a while without saying anything. I remember thinking I should eat something and not being able to make myself get up.
