Page 17 of Breakaway

“Damn,” he whistles, just as flummoxed as I am.

Atley borders Chaplain, but it’s a good six miles from the closest point to the firehouse, so it’s no wonder he looked like shit. I can’t say I’m not surprised to learn that he’s been crashing at a homeless encampment, but I trust Rita’s word. She’s Royce’s favorite success story, and one of the first people he was able to help off the streets. She works a nine-to-five now at the nonprofit they formed together, but still makes time to visit the bigger settlements, passing out supplies and food vouchers. As much as I’d love to understand Briggs’ thought process, I’m convinced it’s a mystery to him as well. There’s no telling what led him there, but I’m sick to death of his reckless attitude.

“Give Rita my thanks,” I state, climbing to my feet so I can head back out. “And don’t forget about our dinner plans on Friday.”

“We’ve been doing this every other week since I met you. Why the hell would I suddenly forget?” Royce scoffs.

“You’re getting old. Forgetfulness comes with the territory,” I jest, barely making it through the door before he launches a stapler at my head. Laughing, I think back to the time when he was a bit more spry and threw a hammer at me because I fucked up some measurements. Thankfully, my ability to dodge and weave is one of my finer attributes.

As usual, I’m the last one to leave at the end of the day. I’m exhausted, covered in dirt and sweat, so naturally, there’s a voicemail waiting for me from Briggs’ therapist. He never showed for his appointment, and even though I should be used to his shit by now, I’m still disappointed. Sometimes, I think the morals Dayton’s grandad, William, instilled in us as kids took a little too well for me. It’s easier for Dayton to let things go, but I fixate. I care too much and obsess over problems that aren’t mine.

On more than one occasion, I’ve been dumped for being too emotionally available. I didn’t think that was a thing, but turns out it is. I wish I could wash my hands of Briggs, but I don’t have it in me to be that callous. This sense of responsibility I feel might be something I’ve chosen to saddle myself with, but if he doesn’t have me in his corner, then who? Someone has to keep him in check, or these disappearing acts will become a permanent issue. Dayton was helpful at the start, but he’s gotten so fed up that he refuses to waste his time trying to help someone that doesn’t want to be helped.

I’m fuming when I make it home, determined to say my piece and let the cards fall where they may. I hate the idea of giving Briggs an ultimatum, but I’ve tried everything else, and nothing seems to work. It’s fucked that he continues to put me in this position, sending us on wild goose chases and taking time from my already hectic workdays. Meanwhile, he’s too high to function. It must be nice to care so little about what your actions are doing to the people around you. His door smacks the wall from the force of me throwing it open, but just as my mouth opens to cuss his ass out, my brain registers what my eyes are seeing.

Briggs is passed out, the noise from my entrance not stirring him in the slightest. I gaze at the nightstand, noting his phone is plugged into the charging cable. A quick tap of the screen reveals several missed calls and texts. There’s a good chance he didn’t skip his therapy session on purpose. After knowing how far he walked this morning while battling one hell of a hangover, it’s no wonder he’s sleeping like the dead. I drop my head, closing my eyes as I weigh the options he’s left me with.

I can close the door, excusing myself from being his self-appointed keeper, and take a page out of Dayton’s book. No one can say I haven’t tried. I’ve given it my fucking all, and the only person who continues to be left with the shit end of the stick is me. Or I could force his hand, take the option of no out of the equation entirely. He’ll hate me, but I’m not convinced he doesn’t already. At the very least, he loathes the constant reminder my presence brings, but no one forced him to come here, much less stay. Squaring my shoulders, I head to the kitchen and grab a trash bag.

I rummage through his drawers, tossing anything he might try to harm himself with. Next, I pocket the meds he’s prescribed. I leave a single dose on his nightstand, along with a fresh bottle of water, but from this point forward, I’m the fucking pharmacy. Thankfully, his phone doesn’t have a passcode. Likely because he’d forget it the second he self-medicates with half his monthly prescription. I download the tracking app Dayton and I use so we always have each other’s locations, then stash it in a random folder he won’t think to open.

A smug grin stretches across my face as I sync it with mine and Dayton’s, ensuring I turn the notifications off on his end. It won’t do me any good if he lets his phone die, but I’ll have his last known location, and that’s a starting point. Briggs has endured shit I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, but if something doesn’t change, those weeks he spent as the cartel’s prisoner are going to claim his life years after the fact. It’d be a travesty for the world to lose such a brilliant person, but at the end of the day, he has to want it. I can’t force him to live.

12

Andilyn

The sun has yet to rise, but I’m restless. I’ve tried everything I can think of to keep my mind from wandering into dangerous territory–pacing the floors, a hot shower, I even attempted to operate the television–but the quiet is too disconcerting to stay idle for very long. I keep getting these phantom waves of panic, causing me to jump at every sound. I’ve grown so accustomed to the threat of Tobias suddenly appearing that it’s become second nature to busy myself. My days were mapped precisely, filled with chores or Convocation, so I find it strange to have so much free time on my hands.

Realizing I won’t be going back to sleep anytime soon, I grab my newly acquired shoes and slip out the door. I don’t have a key, but it’s early enough that no one should be out and about. If nothing else, taking a walk should burn some of the excess energy I have. It’s amazing what a few days of not being run ragged can do for you. As I’m traversing the courtyard, the sound of hurried footsteps makes a quick approach behind me. I whirl around, flattening my back against the wrought iron fence.

“Whoa,” a deep voice cautions, their bulky form visible despite the darkness. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. I’m usually the only one awake at this hour. You been hidin’ from me, Andi Girl?” A ballcap sits atop the stranger’s head, but the hood of his sweatshirt adds a second layer of concealment. It takes me several seconds to process the sound of his voice, the pounding of my heart in my ears drowning out what should’ve been easily recognizable.

“Dayton?” I squeak out, my nerves still rattled.

”That’s the name I was given at birth, but you can call me whatever you’d like.” His flirtatious joking is so reminiscent of all the times he’d say something horribly inappropriate during one of our phone calls. I’m so happy to see him, to finally meet him properly, that I throw caution to the wind and all but leap into his arms.

“Damn, girl. This is the kind of welcome a man can get used to,” Dayton chuckles, drawing me closer, to the point that my feet leave the ground altogether and I’m dangling in the air.

I’ve dreamed about these arms, not that I’d ever confess to doing so. His ego’s big enough. The sheer volume of muscle enveloping me feels even better than I imagined it would. More than anything, I feel so incredibly safe cradled against his chest. Tears prick my eyes, the secret I’m carrying on the verge of bursting free, because I know Dayton would act as a sentry between me and the rest of the world. He wouldn’t push me to accept the truth until I was completely ready to.

“What the hell are you doing out here this early, all by yourself at that?” His heated question has me wiggling free of his grip, but then I’m forced to look him in the eye, those bright blue irises pinning me to the spot. Folding his arms across his chest, he shifts his feet so his stance appears more intimidating and lifts a brow expectantly.

“Taking a walk?” I respond, but the pitch of my voice makes it seem as if I’m asking instead of telling.

“Wrong answer,” Dayton deadpans.

“Excuse me?” Now it’s my turn to quirk a brow in question. I have to press my lips together to keep from outright laughing. “Interrogating me at the crack of dawn feels more like something Raiden would do, not you.” In fact, he’ll be facilitating the first of many in just a few short hours.

“True,” he chuckles, his stiff posture relaxing, but only marginally. “But you had no idea who I was when I first approached you. I could’ve been anyone. A slimy reporter or even a hired hitman those fucking freaks sent after you.”

My throat grows tight, but I push past the fear clogging it and ask, “Are you?”

“Not the point, and you know damn well I’d never hurt you, but that doesn’t explain what you’re doing outside alone.” His invasive questioning chafes my newfound independence in the worst way.

“Taking a walk,” I firmly state, once again, the slight bite in my tone unmissable.

Between the two of us, I’ve always been the one quick to anger, but Dayton can give as good as he gets. There’d be days when I was irritated for no other reason than I was pissed at the universe for giving me such a shitty hand in life, and without being obvious, Dayton would needle me about something mundane until my irritation boiled over and he ended up on the receiving end of my anger. He’d purposely make himself my verbal punching bag, just so I could exorcise my demons. I could say whatever I wanted, in whatever tone I wanted, and didn’t have to fear for my life for showing any sort of emotion outside of being meek and docile.