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A strangled shout. And another.
Jason.
Fuck.
***
“Just a nightmare,” I tell Kayla when she appears beside the sofa, her slender brows drawn together.
I know better, of course. Nightmares are a reflection of real life, of the pain and fear of the past, or the present. Mine are never just dreams—they are a blend of memories and stress and panic.
Jason is rubbing his face with both hands. “Sorry about this, guys. I’m okay.”
But he’s not. He’s trying to hide it, but his cheeks are wet. He’s not rubbing away sleep—he’s rubbing off tears.
Fuck this. “I’m gonna call Jesse. I’ll—”
“Don’t.” He shoots up from the sofa and grabs my arm in a bone-grinding grip. His eyes are wide, red-rimmed and too bright. “Please. I’ll be fine. I’ll leave tomorrow. Please.”
Damn. Kayla is right. He does look very young with his dark eyes and thin face. There’s something haunted in his gaze that makes me want to calm him down and tell him he’ll be safe.
My head is fucked. Nobody’s ever safe. And I can’t save everyone. Anyone. Could never even save myself.
“I just want to give him a heads-up,” I explain. “You’re running a fever. He’s your friend. And I’ll be away this weekend with nobody to look after you.”
“It’s nothing,” he insists. He blinks, and for a moment it’s my brother Raine in front of me, pleading with his dark gaze.
Don’t tell Dad, Shun. I’ll be fine. Don’t tell them.
Don’t let them take me away from you. Promise you won’t.
I promised him. Big fat good it did me. Or him.
“Why don’t you want him to call Jesse?” Kayla asks.
Jason releases my arm and falls back on
the pillow. He shivers, and I pull the blanket over him. “He’ll want me to stay with him and Amber. Can’t fucking do that to him.” His eyes are closing, his lids heavy. “I’m fine.”
There’s a weight on my chest that won’t lift.
“I won’t call Jesse,” I say, and I don’t even know if Jason heard me. His eyes flicker under his pale lids.
“How about we make that soup?” Kayla whispers and puts her hand in mine. “Come on, let’s wash up.”
This time she’s the one who drags me off to the bathroom to wash our hands, and as her thumb traces over the lines in my palm, I can’t find it in me to care what she can read in them about me, or my past.
Exhaustion drops over me suddenly, and I stumble. She slides an arm around my hips, steadying me, and I struggle to breathe.
Don’t know why the fuck I feel as if everything is crashing down around me. Mom is sick, but it’s been a while coming, and my old man’s refusal to face the truth or help out isn’t new, either. Raine’s hatred has been a constant in my life for the last couple of years, and yeah it’s worse than ever, but that’s my own private hell.
I’m king of that hell, and there’s no reason for me to break down now.
***
I should feel bad for asking Kayla to cook a soup for Jason, but I’ve no clue about cooking, and the idea is to help Jason get better, not fucking poison him.
But that’s the first thing that popped into my mind after she gave me the muffin back at Damage Control. And she said yes. She’s a kind girl. Kind and pretty. I’m sure soon she’ll find a great guy to be with, a guy who can give her all she needs—stability, promises of a future.
