“I just…” He shrugs, his brows drawn together. “I hope it wasn’t so bad.”
Fuck, I want to shrug too and tell him it wasn’t. Lie—for a good cause. I didn’t live in this city as a child, and I didn’t know Ash. There’s nothing he could’ve done anyway.
I settle for silence.
Ash breaks it when he says, “I hope you’ll trust me enough to tell me one day.”
Dammit. “Ash. I’d trust you with my life. You know that. I just don’t like talking about the past.”
He shakes his head, chews on the inside of his cheek. There’s something more there, something bothering him.
“You know you talked in your sleep? Coma, whatever. The doctors said you can still dream when you’re in a coma, go figure. You said some things…”
I talked? Hell. This is news to me. “What sort of things?”
Ash punches a cushion, then bends forward, letting his hands hang between his knees. His gaze shifts around the room. He doesn’t look at me.
“You were pleading with someone to let you go,” he finally says. “To stop. You were in pain. Said your back hurt. You pleaded, Zane. Begged. You sounded scared out of your fucking mind.” He sighs and rubs his eyes. “And you wouldn’t wake up.”
I stare at him unblinking. Shit. Holy fucking shit.
“I know you have burn scars on your back. I’ve seen them under the ink. I know you won’t let girls touch you when you hook up.” His hands curl into fists, and he nails me with his pale eyes. “So will you trust me enough to tell me what happened to you?”
Hell to the no. “Fuck off.”
He grunts and gets to his feet. “Fine, asshole. Forget I ever cared.”
I watch him stride across the living room, heading for the door. Fuck this. He can’t bully me into telling him about my worst nightmares, my memories from hell.
But he’s my friend. My brother. If anyone deserves to know, it’s him.
I can’t. Fear wars with shame, a deep-rooted horror that twists my guts. Not ready. Telling Dakota was… different. No idea why.
But he needs something from me. A kind of reassurance.
“Ash!” I call just as he opens the door to go. I struggle to my feet, cursing my body for taking so long to recover. “Wait.”
He stills. “What?”
“Those are some damn scary memories,” I say through gritted teeth. I stand there, face bowed, hands fisted by my sides. This is like chewing nails. “I hate them. Don’t ask me to talk about them. Please, fucker.”
“You should tell someone what happened.” He still doesn’t turn, but his back has relaxed a fraction. “It might help, man.”
“I’ve…” The truth wants out. “I’ve told Dakota what I remember.”
I fully expect him to stomp out and go, maybe not talk to me for a year. I talked to Dakota that I only just met recently instead of to him, my old friend.
But he doesn’t. Slowly, he turns around. “It’s easier, isn’t it? Talking to the girls?”
I sink back into the armchair, totally wiped out. “Yeah,” I croak. “Sometimes.”
“Okay.” He nods. “Do you… Do you mind if I ask her?”
I open my mouth to curse, but find myself nodding. “It’s okay.”
It is, I realize. Talking about the memories is like opening new wounds on the old ones. But if I don’t have to talk about them, I’m okay with Ash knowing.
He tips his head. “Thanks, man.”