Fight or flight detonates in my bloodstream. Adrenaline floods every nerve. The room tilts.
“Actually,” Harper says thoughtfully, “Ryan volunteered there a couple times.”
The floor disappears beneath me.
“Aunt Iris used to take him whenever he came to visit.”
No. No. No.
“Do you know her or something?”
That does it. The walls start closing in. My skin feels too tight. I can't breathe. I can't—
I drop the phone. It lands on the rug with a soft thud. Then I scramble backward. Away. Away. Away. I climb onto the sofa and bury my hands in my hair, elbows on my knees.
“Kind eyes.” The words tumble out before I even realize I'm speaking. “The kind fucking eyes.”
Then the first sob hits. Violent. Brutal. A sound tears from my throat, raw and animalistic, the kind of sound a wounded creature makes when it's dying.
The girls are surrounding me instantly. “Spence?” Cricket says. “Oh my God.”
Hands rub my arms. My shoulders. My back. Trying to anchor me. Trying to bring me back. But memories are flooding in now, a dam broken wide open. The smell of that shelter. The tiny room. The fear. My mother's tears. The bruises. The shame. God, the shame.
I hyperventilate. Everything hurts. I just keep shaking my head. Over and over.
“What do you need?” Harper asks softly. “Should we call Ryan?”
“No!” The word rips out of me, sharp, immediate, panicked.
Both women freeze. “Okay,” Cricket says gently. “Okay. Harper, go get an ice cube for the trick.”
I can’t even process her meaning before Harper is gone and back, climbing onto the couch beside me, and rubbing the ice on my wrist. “Shh.” Her voice is soft. Steady. “Shh.”
Again. And again. And again.
Oddly, somewhere inside the storm, it starts working. Little by little. The sobs become quieter. My breathing slows. The panic loosens its grip. Until all that's left are tears sliding silently down my face.
“Kind eyes,” I whisper.
“Who has kind eyes, sweetie?” Cricket asks.
I swallow. Take a shaky breath. “Ry—Ryan.”
Both sisters exchange a confused look.
Harper hands me a bottle of water she must have brought back with the ice. I grip it with both hands. “Thanks.” My voice sounds wrecked. A sip. Then another. The cool water helps. A little. I set the bottle down.
“My mom and I—” The rest catches in my throat. I stare down at the strings dangling from Ryan's hoodie, fidgeting with them, twisting them around my fingers.
“Oh my God.” Cricket's voice is so soft I barely hear her. I look up, and realization fills her eyes. “You were there as a kid.”
I nod slowly. “And it was during a time Ryan was volunteering.”
Another nod.
Harper covers her mouth. “Oh shit.”
Cricket scoots closer. “Okay.” Her voice is careful. Gentle. “Did you know him?”
