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“Now, I’m sorry I hijacked the conversation. Did you need something or were you just calling to chat?”

“I…” My throat gets tight again, but she’s patient, giving me a long time to get my words together.

When I don’t manage to, her question is gentle, “Is this about the crap in the news? Atlas and Madeline are pissed, and them being pissed means that things are going to get done. This is all going to be over soon.”

That’s nice.

Really nice she’s saying that. Really nice she’s taking the time to reassure me.

And it unsticks me.

“I messed up.”

“It’s not your fault your ex?—”

“With Hudson.”

There’s a moment of surprised silence then Briar gently asks, “How?”

I explain how we went back to my house, the confrontation with Dylan, Hudson’s sour mood. “And then he reached for me and I flinched.”

“Oh, honey,” she whispers.

“I hurt him,” I whisper back. “I didn’t mean to. I just…everything was fresh and I haven’t seen him mad like that. And it’s my fault.”

“Honey,” she says again, still gentle. “None of this is your fault. Dash is…” She sighs. “Did he talk to you about Colt?”

I nod, though she can’t see me. “Yes,” I say. “I’m sorry you guys lost him. He sounded like a really great guy.”

There’s another moment of silence and this time it’s tinged with sadness.

“Yes,” she finally says. “It was a hard loss for all of us.” She exhales and seems to snap out of that melancholy. “But it was hardest for Dash. He and Colt were tighter than the rest, part of it was because they were deployed together, but part of it is because they just…gelled, you know?”

“Yeah,” I murmur.

“So, when Colt enlisted for a final tour without talking to Dash—even though they’d agreed they were done—Dash was hurt. But when Colt didn’t come back…” Her voice breaks. “I thought we’d lose him too. He was undone. He wasn’t there to watch Colt’s back. If he had been…then things would have been different. What he thinks,” she adds. “Not any of us. Colt was stubborn and proud and what happened was a terrible tragedy. But none of that was my brother’s fault.”

My eyes burn.

Because he shared.

But not that.

“No,” I agree, “it wasn’t.”

“Unfortunately, my brother isn’t exactly known for being flexible.”

My mouth curves up at that.

But she’s still talking and the next words take my breath away. “The man I saw at Sunday Dinner wasn’t the Dash of the last four years,” she says softly, and my pulse begins to pick up its pace. “He’s been lost, honey. Lost and alone and sometimes so impenetrable I feared I’d never get my brother back.”

That makes my heart hurt, so freaking much. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Briar whispers. “But you need to know that you brought him back, sweetheart. He was our Dash again, and that’s because of you. The way he looked at you, the jokes he made, the laughter and care and lightness in him—even though all that you’re both dealing with is so heavy—that’s not the closed-off man who’s been here the last few years. God, that mess you two made in the kitchen alone was enough proof of that?—”

“He started it,” I blurt.

She laughs, which was my intention. Because her voice was watery and it was making my throat go tight again and…