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“Okay, so what if you try something different?” He glances up at me. “What if you work on how youthinkabout situations? Everything that happened, that was your path, but everyone has their own path. What if Rachel is here to help you heal?”
Groaning, I turn, clasping my hands behind my neck. “It sounds like wishful thinking.”
“It’s a real type of therapy, and it works.” His tone is firm. “You’ll never stop feeling bad if you don’t change your mindset. It’s called distorted thinking. Sure, a lot of bad shit happened to us. We all lost things, but flip it around. You front-loaded the bad, and now it’s time to let good into your life.”
My shoulders are tight. My chest is tight, and I know it’s going to take more than one conversation to fix what’s wrong with me. Still, I’m willing to give anything a try if it’ll stop this cycle. “It’s a nice idea.”
“Practice it. Every time you go dark, actively stop it. Change your mind. Come back.”
It feels too simple, but I hear what he’s saying. I see the work. “When did you get so wise?”
He reaches out to grip my shoulder. “Things get broken, but you know what happens when a bone breaks? It heals back stronger. You’ve had a lot of breaks, but you’re stronger than you think, brother.”
“I think Dylan might take that prize.”
“Dylan’s a fighter, and so are you. Dylan’s path led her to Logan. Let Rachel’s path heal your wounds.”
The fist is still in my chest. “If I hurt her or let her be hurt, I wouldn’t get over it.”
“You would.” Blue eyes fix on mine. “We’re here for you, but you’ve got to own your strength. It’s in you, man. I see it every day. We all do.”
His fingers tighten on my shoulder, and he pulls me into a hug. We slap each other’s backs, and looking around, I think we’re done here. I think I’m ready to get my head out of my ass and track down my angry pixie.
I sure have given her a reason to be pissed at me this time.
24
Rachel
“Specially brewed just for you.” Allie places a mason jar of iced, bright purple liquid in front of me.
It looks like something out of a circus with a red and white striped paper straw stuck in the center of the gold, screw-top lid.
Allie’s wearing ripped, faded jeans with cowboy boots and a long-sleeved black sweater with the sleeves pushed up. Over her shoulder is a bulging cloth bag.
“What is it?” I lift the container, inspecting the drink and unscrewing the lid so I can give it a sniff.
I’m dressed in my black yoga pants and my long-sleeved gray sweater. Edward’s been playing pool nonstop to be ready for Sunday. Benji was over for a little while, and I fed them both dinner before the little guy went home.
Zane was at the radio station recording the show all day, and I left before he got back. He’s the last person I feel like seeing or even thinking about today. Or any day.
“It’s grape Jolly Rancher moonshine!” She lifts both arms overhead in aV. “The one constructive thing I did today.”
I cough, holding my hand over my nose. “Tastes like… burning!”
“It’s supposed to taste like grape.” She frowns. “Let me try it.”
I pass her the purple jar of death, and she sips. “Holy maracas—grapes on fire!”
“That does it, hand it over.” Dylan holds out her hand. She’s also in faded jeans with her green Cooters & Shooters tee and flip-flops, and when she takes a sip, her brown eyes bug out. “Jeez Louise! What is that? Everclear?”
“Maybe.” Allie jerks her chin, taking the jar from her and sipping again. “It gets better with time. I can taste the grape now.”
“Your taste buds are numb,” Dylan quips. “If you drink any more, you’ll have to spend the night here.”
“Austin can pick me up.”
“Tell him to bring the wheelbarrow!” Dylan leans forward on the bar laughing. “Okay, for our inaugural girl’s night, I made my special goat cheese toasts drizzled with ghost-pepper-infused honey and almond slivers.”
