Red Nights - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,24

down in tears on a first date. Wouldn’t that just be perfect? This is the exact reason I shouldn’t have done this. I can’t handle life. I struggle to pull in a breath, opening my eyes and revealing all of the pain I’m feeling inside, the place where my internal injuries have left a deeply embedded scar. “I have no idea how it started. I’m still waiting to hear back from the detective.” Obviously I did something stupid. “Smoke inhalation was the worst of my injuries,” I whisper.

“Was anyone else hurt?” Why that question? The one I may not be able to answer without losing it. It was not my intention to divulge the tragedy that has become my life tonight. But it’s obvious now, I can’t run away from it, or cover it up, or ignore it. I am a living tragedy.

I nod, a warning before I close the curtains on this night. “My brother, Blake, he didn’t—” I’m not crying. My chest aches and my heart is thundering, but I’m not crying. I may have run out of tears. Is that possible? He pulls me against his chest. I like being in his arms, but I hate the reason for it. “I’m so sorry. I ruined the night.”

“Hey,” he says, pulling back just enough so he can see my face. “You don’t need to be sorry. This has all been kind of crazy. I don’t just pick up girls in parks in the middle of the night.” Yeah, and this is probably why. I can’t make it through a day without breaking down. “But after running into you a few times, I kind of got the gist that I was being drawn to you. Like it or not, everything in life happens for a reason. Or at least that’s what I believe.” What does that mean for Blake? What was the reason for his death? Am I supposed to suffer from guilt and pain forever? I should have known he was home. I should have saved him. I’d rather be dead than live the rest of my life feeling this way.

“Hayes,” I croak. “This was probably a very bad idea. You don’t want this.” I gesture to myself. “I mean, I’m broken—the ripped to pieces, ugly crying every night, can’t sleep, can’t think straight, kind of broken. You may be biting off more than you can chew with me.” For every word I say, I’d expect him to back away and run from the crazy chick he found in the park. Part of me wishes he would just run so I can salvage the tiny bit of dignity I have left. Instead, his face twists with this look of compassion and understanding like he gets me. Like he gets it.

He lifts my hand, threading his fingers with mine. “If you’re broken, it’s a beautiful kind of broken.” His thumb sweeps over my knuckles before he lifts my hand to his cool lips. “I’m sorry for what you’re going through.”

I pull my hand out of his, needing space and air. Even though I’m outside, welcome to all the fresh air my lungs can handle, it still doesn’t feel like enough. “Everything is so different now. I’m trying to find a new normal through all of this, but I’m scared I won’t.”

He stands up, pulling me with him. “Come on.”

He’s probably taking me back to his truck. I‘m disappointed, but I completely understand how dumb this was. It’s like running a marathon a week after knee surgery. I set up myself up for disaster.

I follow him back to the truck, my hand gripped within his, my toes nearly on his heels.

While the car ride is eerily quiet, the second we pull into a small lot in front of the park, it’s like we’ve spoken a thousand words. He hasn’t taken me back to my car.

I look at him in the dim light, his eyes kind and full of understanding. “The park?”

“It’s your spot.”

It is.

We both step out of the truck and meet on the grass where I’ve been laying the last couple of nights. Without thinking, I lie down in my spot, folding my arms beneath my head, allowing my lungs to open and my chest to loosen.

“What’s up there?” he asks, lying down beside me.

“The stars. I think everyone we’ve lost is up there. So I feel closest to them when I’m here. But lately, I see fire in the sky, a red glow that illuminates behind the stars.