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His words wash over me, fading as I lean over Tyler and cup his cheek. “Can you hear me? I’m right here, with you. Just breathe, Tyler. You’ll be okay.”
His dark eyes open to slits, and he lifts his hand. I clasp it in both of mine. “Erin?”
God, the hoarseness of his voice brings tears to my eyes. Sucking a sharp breath, I fight to hold them back, because he needs me to be strong and help him, not break down like a child.
“Breathe,” I whisper. “Inhale, hold it and count to five, then let it out. Can you do that?”
His hand twitches between my palms, but then he does try. Doesn’t manage the five seconds, but then he tries again, and again. That’s how I remember him: stubborn, determined, never giving up.
I lift his hand and kiss his fingertips. “You can do it.”
I count for him as he holds the air in his lungs and then exhales, again and again. The faces of the others have faded. My world has narrowed down to his sweet face, the rise and fall of his chest. He’s breathing more easily now, and the awful blue tinge on his lips is receding.
His hand is heavy in mine, and I lower it to his chest. He looks up at me, and his eyes widen for a second.
“Erin,” he whispers, as if he can’t quite believe it.
Our gazes lock, and he sucks a huge lungful of air before lifting his other hand to my face. It shakes, and his finger pads are rough. They send lightning skittering over my skin, raising goose bumps.
“Goddammit, Ty, are you okay now?” That’s Asher, whose scowl would be intimidating if not for the worry etched at the corners of his eyes.
Audrey takes Asher’s hand and puts her arm around his back. “Is he all right now?”
“Benzo withdrawal is a bitch,” Rafe says, sitting back, leaning ag
ainst the desk. “Sometimes it’s worse than the issue it was meant to treat. The symptoms can be anything from panic attacks, insomnia, dizziness, and seizures to confusion, lack of concentration, loss of appetite and nausea. Damn, it never crossed my mind.”
“What?” Asher finally tears his gaze from his brother to glance at Rafe. He rubs a hand over his dark, spiky hair. “What are you talking about?”
“He had all these withdrawal symptoms, and I never connected the dots.”
“So he’s addicted to these pills?”
“They are highly addictive. Three months are enough to get your body hooked. He was probably prescribed Valium or Xanax for insomnia and anxiety attacks, and then couldn’t stop. If this Uncle Jerry was an addict, it’s no surprise he got his nephew hooked as well.”
Tyler makes a small noise in the back of his throat. He’s still struggling to breathe. “I stopped,” he wheezes. “I’m sorry.”
I cast a questioning look at Rafe—I’m still wary of Asher, as I have no clue as to whether he hates me or not—and he frowns.
“It’s a long story,” he says. “And not mine to tell.”
Tyler clenches his jaw, his gaze hard. “You came here,” he rasps. “For me.”
He really didn’t think I would? “Of course I did.”
Silence stretches. Rafe shoots me a questioning glance, and I don’t know what to say.
Then Tyler sucks a shaky breath and turns his face away. “S’okay,” he rasps. “You can tell her.”
Rafe bows his head until his chin rests on his chest. “Okay.”
Scooting next to Rafe, I lean my back against the desk and lift Tyler’s dark head onto my lap. I tangle my fingers in his wild hair, and his eyes flutter closed.
A thought hits me out of the blue—that I’m right where I want to be.
***
Tyler’s story is a nightmare. As Rafe talks, horror fills me, and I can see on his face that he’s horrified, too. Across from us, Asher has bent his head, hiding his expression, but Audrey’s large eyes are dark with anger.
