He’d had another nightmare.

This was nothing new.  He’d relived those awful minutes nightly for a year after that night and would always wake screaming for Baylee.  It was only in the last several months that the dreams had died down to two or three times a week.

This was the fourth consecutive one this week.

Sitting on his back deck, staring out over the ocean, he shivered in the warm breeze.  He could still hear the screech of rending metal, the smell of rubber burning, and always, always Baylee’s screams that were always cut short.  Too short.

Cupping his hands around the mug of tea in his hands, he tried to draw warmth from the steaming liquid.  It seemed as though his bones were permanently encased in ice, and, in two years, nothing had been able to penetrate the bone-deep cold he carried inside.

His therapist had told him that he needed to forgive himself before he could ask Brian for forgiveness.  That he would never recover if he didn’t accept the events of that night and try to move forward.

What did she know? He scowled into the orange-scented steam rising from between his hands.  Had she ever killed her best friend’s child? Had she ever made such a terrible mistake, one that she would pay for throughout the rest of her miserable existence?

Yeah, right.

He was utterly alone and completely believed that he deserved to be so.

It didn’t matter what his therapist said or what Leighanne—fuck him, Baylee’s mother had forgiven him, so he was certain she was smoking something incredible these days—told him.  He tuned out whatever Kevin or Howie, even AJ, tried to say with all of their platitudes. 

Brian hadn’t looked at him since the night he’d offered to take Baylee bowling, so the kid wouldn’t be cooped up on the tour bus during the thunderstorm.  Not once had Brian come to see him in the aftermath, and Nick hadn’t been in any shape to seek him out during the funeral.

Most days, it was hard to look himself in the eyes, even in the mirror, but he wanted Brian to look at him, to scream at him, to wish him dead, to do…something.  Anything.  As long as it meant he could see Brian again.

He missed Brian the way he’d miss his arm if he’d lost it.  It throbbed in him daily, and he hated seeing the sympathetic look on everyone’s faces whenever he asked about his old friend and whether he was ever going to come see Nick.

“Nick?”

He turned his head away from the ocean to the back door and managed a grim smile.  “Hey, Kate. How’s it going?”

“You tell me,” she replied briskly as she walked to him, knelt, and looked directly into his eyes.  “You had another nightmare?” When Nick nodded, she frowned.  “They’re happening more than usual this week, aren’t they?”

Nick felt the tears burning behind his eyes but didn’t let them fall.  He didn’t deserve to cry.  “Today’s the anniversary,” he whispered.  “Two years.”

Her lips firmed into a line, and she nodded, her dark curls waving slightly in the ocean breeze.  “I see.  Well, when you’re done with your tea, we should get started for the day.” She pressed a hand to his shoulder in comfort.  “Don’t take too long, okay?”

When she disappeared back inside, he sighed.  Some days, he admitted to himself that, if it wasn’t for Kate’s daily presence, he probably would’ve slit his wrists by now.  There was something about her no-nonsense attitude that pushed him to make it through another day, even when he didn’t see a point in continuing his miserable life.

He tossed back the last of the now-cold tea, set the mug in his lap, and maneuvered his wheelchair back into the house.