When they hit the damp grass, the leaves that had fallen from the trees crunched under their feet and teardrops formed on the tops of their shoes. Nick stopped in front of a wooden bench and took a seat. He pulled the collar of his black pea coat tighter as Hudson shoved his hands into the pockets of his gray wool pants.

More silence.

But the noise couldn’t get any louder for Hudson. He pinched the bridge of his nose and debated what to say to his brother other than that he was proud of him for sticking with rehab.

In the end it was Nick who finally spoke. “The whole reason for this family stuff is to talk. You didn’t say but two words in there, Hudson. You’ve put up with a fuck-ton of my crap for, like, ever, man. This is our chance to work that out so we can toss our shit hand over our shoulders.”

Hudson rubbed the back of his neck and took in a deep breath, smelling the dried leaves. “That session is for you to . . .” He wanted to say unload, dump on, play the blame game. “Tell me what I can do to help you stay clean, not for me to pontificate to a room full of strangers.”

“It’s supposed to educate you, bro, on all this rehab stuff. The counselor is there to keep my ass from justifying why I feel the need to choke down a handful of drugs with a beer chaser.”

“I’m aware of that session’s intent,” Hudson said tightly.

“It only works if you work it.”

Sweet hell, his brother was talking in goddamn bumper stickers.

The truth was, that little family group session brought up everything from their past that was straight-up out of a horror flick. Hudson wasn’t interested in some peace-is-love-let’s-hug-it-out asshole holding him accountable for his failures. He knew he was responsible for Nick’s joyride that read like a scene from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

God, he sounded like a bastard. The program was saving his little brother’s life, better than any attempt he had made. For that, Hudson thanked his lucky-fucking-stars.

But that didn’t mean he wanted to talk about it.

“We went through a lot of the same shit. You’ve been cleaning up my messes for too long.” Nick looked up at Hudson, his boyish face grimly set. “Hear anything about, you know?”

“The body was found. And as I predicted, there have been no questions with regards to another junkie taking a dirt nap in an alley. Case closed.”

“You sure?”

“You’re off the hook, Nicky. Focus on . . .”

“My skill building? Making that arts and crafts shit out of twigs and feathers?”

“Yeah, what the fuck is this?” Hudson picked up the willow loop he’d set on the bench between them. On top of it a loose network of thread was woven into a web.

“Yo, bro, there is deep meaning to all that.”

“By all means, enlighten me.”

Hudson’s grin broadened as Nick cleared his throat, preparing to give some thorough lecture on Native American art.

“The design is to allow only the good dreams to filter through. It catches the bad dreams like a badass, and they disappear in the day. The kick-ass dreams, maybe even some sex dreams—not that you need those—slide down these feathers.” Nick ticked the tendrils with his fingers. “Into your pretty little head.”

“And where do I put this magnificent work of art?” There was more than a hint of sarcasm in Hudson’s voice.

“Nice, real appreciative of all my hard work. I think I have carpal tunnel from weaving that shit. Put the thing over your bed, dude.”

Hudson’s brow shot up. “Over my bed?”

“Yup, then the magic happens.” Nick’s mouth curved into a shit-eating grin.

The only thing Hudson could do was laugh. “If you say so.” He examined the matrix of threads. If only this thing could really put an end to the nightmares that cleaved into his subconscious on a nightly rotation. “Thanks, Nicky,” he said, standing and tucking the loop into his leather jacket. “I’ll hang it up.”

Nick stood up, nearly eye-to-eye with Hudson. “Thanks for coming. It means a lot to me that you’re taking this seriously.”

“I’m proud of you.” Hudson pulled Nick into a hug. “So damn proud. Keep it up.” As he released his little brother, they both got their manly back-slapping routine on.

“Uh, I’d ask you to stay for dinner but the food in this joint sucks. Couldn’t you have hooked me up with some place in Malibu with a celebrity chef?”

Hudson threw his head back and laughed. “That’s not rehab, its vacation.”

“Well then, for fuck’s sake, help your little brother out and bring me some Al’s Beef.”

“Speaking of food, can I spring you for Thanksgiving?”

“Nah, not a chance. I’m not done with my thirty-day sentence. And holidays supposedly cause an itchy trigger finger or something. Sends us addicts into relapse. So it’s lockdown with turkey rolls and mashed potato paste.”

“I’ll catch you next week then.” Hudson zipped up his jacket and pulled his keys from the pocket.

“Hey, Hudson, don’t spend the holiday working. Call Allie, make amends.”

It had been nearly two weeks since Allie put the final nail in that coffin. She’d let him say his piece, but hell if it had made any difference. And now just hearing her name was like a knife to the heart.

Hudson looked down at the ground and exhaled a sharp breath before looking back up at Nick. “Yeah, I tried that, Nicky. It wasn’t enough. We’re done. For good this time.”

Chapter Twelve

Reality twisted and the nightmare seized him, tunneling through his subconscious with a silent domination. Every moment became impossible, a sense of “this can’t be happening.” Yet the convenience store became more distinct, the pungent smell of copper infiltrating his nose. The slick sensation of being wet made his skin itch as blood soaked his jeans, and the screams that peeled out of his mother’s mouth morphed into the screeching sirens that ricocheted inside his eardrums.

The dream tantalized him with the false idea that he could roll back the clock sixty seconds earlier. When Hudson tried to hit rewind, the nightmare took control and made him relive the tragedy as it flickered through his psyche. But none of it was enough to snap him out of the replay.

Blood was everywhere, glistening and crimson under the fluorescent lights that hung low on the ceiling. The man who lay bleeding on the cheap linoleum with a gaping wound to the chest wasn’t a stranger to him, he was the man he looked up to. Now his blue stare, slowly losing its color, penetrated Hudson and paralyzed him with a death grip on his father’s soaked shirt. He willed him to say something, to reassure him that everything was going to be okay. But all Hudson heard were gurgling sounds from his father, and the hard burst of his own breath as he stared down at the eyes that were losing their focus.

More strained breaths and gurgling.

Between one blink and the next, he was being torn away from his father. He looked back at him. The skin that had once been golden tan was now going gray.

A scream came out of his mother’s mouth at the same time one was ripped from his.

Hudson jackknifed off the bed. With his breath coming sharp and fast out of his mouth, he swung his feet over the side of the bed and flipped on the bedside lamp. He closed his eyes and tried to reboot, but the bright bouquet of red stained the backs of his lids.

“Fuck,” he muttered. It was the same horror show the past four nights in a row. The repeats were inevitable since Nick decided to open the door with C-4 and rattle the skeletons he’d locked up in the darkest place of his mind. Now his subconscious was burping that shit up like a bad trip through the Haunted Mansion.