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Be nice to him. He loves you.
Jesus Christ.
I toss my phone back to the nightstand and take a deep breath. It’s okay. I’m not going to let this ruin my day. Perry visits too often lately. I wonder if everything is all right at home… He couldn’t possibly be getting worse. It’s not like my mother will tell me either way. She only ever says the same three things.He’s coming. Be nice. He loves you.
She might be fucking crazy, but she’s my mom. That has to mean something, doesn’t it?
I sit up and stretch, remembering I’m not alone in bed, and look down at Wynn. She’s wrapped up in the blanket and still fast asleep. We had a late night. I shouldn’t wake her. We still have plenty of time before our appointment in Bakersville.
My shoes are still wet, so I slip on the rehab-issued slippers and throw on sweats and a hoodie before heading out of the room. I check my phone again; it’s only seven a.m. I’m never the early bird around here. Doesanyoneget up at this hour?
I head toward Lanston’s room. He’s one of the few people here that isn’t required to have a roommate, probably because he’s basically done with his program. I don’t want him to leave though. He’s my only friend besides Wynn.
The light under his door is on. I quirk a brow and knock a few times. It takes him a few seconds before the door cracks open and he peers out. He smiles with surprise.
“Hey, man, get in here,” he whisper-shouts cheerfully like he’s already fully awake.
I step in and the aroma of coffee hits me like a brick wall. I take a seat at his small bistro table and point at the pot of bitter, black soul nectar.
“Please and thank you.”
Lanston laughs and pats me on the back. He scoops his baseball cap up off his bed and puts it on backward as he grabs two mugs.
“Are you always up this early? You look like shit,” he says more seriously as he looks over at me, worry tugging in his eyes.
I run my hand over my face and shake my head. “No, I’m usually deceased until about noon on Saturdays.” I give him a weary grin. “You know that.”
Lanston chuckles and nods. “Yeah, that’s why we made the appointment for late afternoon. God forbid someone wakes you on a Saturday morning.”
He sets both mugs on the table with a bottle of creamer on the side. I take the mug and drink my coffee straight black. I hate bitter coffee, but it eases the itch in my mind having it this way.
“Okay, so are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” He stares at me with that knowing look of his.
Part of me really doesn’t want to talk about it, but I wouldn’t have walked my sorry ass here if I didn’t intend to. Still… I can’t bring myself to do it.
I set the mug back down. “You think me and Wynn could work out? Like after we get out of this place?”
Everything is controlled here. The environment, our schedules, our food. The real world isn’t like that. And that scares the fucking shit out of me.
Lanston’s eyes widen and he sets his mug down too. “Like as a couple?”
It’s weird to talk about it with him, with anyone, but if there’s anything I’ve learned from counseling, it’s that you have to talk shit out. “Yeah.”
“I mean… maybe. You two are so different though. She’s like the girl version of me—sad, hopeless, and pretty.” I scowl at him and he shrugs innocently. “I’m just pointing out the obvious. You’re always so callous and broody. Have you asked her what she thinks?”
Fear dips deep into my chest. No, I haven’t. I can’t handle rejection. I’d rather ignore things and avoid them than ever deal with them outright. “Of course not.”
Lanston smirks, takes a long sip of coffee, and exhales slowly. “She’s special, Liam. I know you like her, but be careful. Her mind is her worst enemy and love might be too overbearing on fabric as thin as hers.”
My brows pull together. “Fabric as thin as hers?”
“Yeah, her soul is like chiffon, with plenty of tattered rips and tears. The fabric of our souls is thin and worn. We must be gentle and love tirelessly.” He leans back in his chair and threads his fingers together. A warm smile spreads across his face and I know then that he loves her too. “Hers is so beautifully torn that even wolves like us are drawn to it.”
His hazel eyes stare distantly at his mug. I’m not sure how to respond—not sure if I should.
“Anyway, just be careful with her, okay?” He grabs both mugs and sets them in the sink. His shoulders slump with his thoughts.
“I know how you feel about her,” I murmur, my eyes low.
