Page 49 of The Good Vampire’s Guide to Blood & Boyfriends

Brennan paused in thought. Show him. Show him that he loved him and trusted him, that he wanted Cole to know and see him as a whole, vampire and human. He wanted Cole to see his mistakes and flaws and think, Yep, that’s the one for me.

That was an even more terrifying prospect than the lingering threat of Travis.

The idea of being known, of being loved, of loving in return and having to trust that day in and day out they might continue to keep loving each other—or they might not.

But being willing to take the risk anyway.

And really, what’s more human than that?

“You’re being surprisingly chill about this,” said Brennan.

“Oh, I was not chill the other night. Cole had to talk me down from putting out a hit on you.” Brennan hoped that was a joke. “And if you ever bite him again, nonconsensually or in a way that causes real damage, I know where you live, and I think it would suck to spend an eternity without a dick.”

Brennan blinked.

“Because I would cut yours off.”

Brennan gulped and crossed his legs unconsciously under the table. “Got it.”

Mari eyed him.

“Now go home and take a shower, you look like shit.”

Brennan went home. Brennan took a shower. Brennan drank blood.

Then he went for a run.

Muscle memory led the way, but he knew where it led. The bridge beckoned.

It felt appropriately symbolic. The bridge was where he turned. The bridge was where, almost a year ago now, he had tried to kill himself.

His shoes pounded against the path until he was there, at the center of the little stone bridge, and he slunk down to sit with his back against the rail. Looked at his scar-free wrists.

Dying would be objectively easier than dealing with all this alone, Brennan thought, not for the first time. But the familiar dark blanket of depression wasn’t comforting like it used to be. He couldn’t sink into a murky spiral anymore. He didn’t want to die.

But he was so fucking ashamed.

Almost a year ago, he’d hurt people like this. He’d distanced himself from the few half friends he had freshman year, his family, the teachers who were concerned about him. He didn’t even know when he’d last called his mom, and he felt so tired.

When he’d attempted suicide, he hurt the people who cared about him. It was an objective fact. His mom still couldn’t look at him without crying.

He couldn’t do that again—not to anyone, not to his mom or his friends, and not to Cole.

He’d been so sure Cole would be afraid of him when really, he was afraid of himself.

If he could hurt everyone close to him before, what could he do with those same self-destructive tendencies plus fangs and eternal life?

He thought, after his attempt, after his hospitalization, after so much therapy, he’d be fine. He thought he was good now.

But maybe there wasn’t good. Maybe there was just better. Maybe there was just trying.

He wanted to talk to Cole.

When he was a kid, he’d perfected the art of being alone. It was almost unfair that Cole could undo all that in such a short time.

Brennan looked around at the bridge, looked at the place on his wrists where his scars used to be, and he called the one person he wanted to talk to least but needed to talk to most.

Before he could organize his thoughts, the ringing stopped and his mom’s voice filled Brennan’s ears.

“Hello?”

That didn’t give Brennan much to work with, tonally.

“Mom,” Brennan said.

“Brennan,” she said. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, you know.” Now that he had her on the line, this was starting to feel like a terrible idea.

“No. Not really. I kind of thought you might be dying when I saw your number.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” Brennan said. “I wanted to talk to you. Do you… have time?”

A beat of quiet, something crinkling. Then, “For you? Always.”

Brennan didn’t tell her everything. He didn’t know if he’d ever tell her everything, even though he couldn’t imagine disappearing from her life the way Nellie had with her family.

But he told her what he could. That balancing everything at school was a lot.

That he was having a difficult transition, to say the least. That he’d been hating himself more than usual lately.

He told her he had a fight with Cole, and he didn’t know what to do.

But more important—

“I don’t think I ever apologized to you.”

“For what?”

“You know what. March.”

She hesitated a moment, then said, “That’s not something you have to apologize for.”

“No, I don’t have to. I want to.” Brennan swallowed hard. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you and tell you what I was going through before it was too late and I’m sorry I did the same thing again this time.”

“Brennan. I’m sorry I wasn’t there like a mom should be. You were so smart and so independent and… that’s not an excuse. You’re my son. You can always, always talk to me. I just want you here. Alive. Okay. That’s what matters.”

Silence crackled over the line and Brennan wanted to believe it. Or at least, wanted to try.

“Do you remember when we used to listen to music in the kitchen and do homework together?” she said. “When you were still in elementary school, we used to be closer. What happened?”

Short answer: Brennan got sad.

He was the saddest fucking kid ever. Brennan couldn’t remember himself not being curious, morbid, depressed, exhausted. Sometimes he wondered how people didn’t realize sooner, didn’t get him into therapy simply for radiating sadness.

“I knew that what I was feeling wasn’t good, but I thought it was my fault.” He still thought that, sometimes. “And it was easier to hide than accept I wasn’t perfect.”

“Is that what you’re doing now?”

“I think so.”

“Well. What are we going to do about that?”

That was one of the things he freaking loved about his mom. You can’t be an environmental activist in the face of a climate apocalypse without a recklessly can-do attitude.

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

brENNAN’S PHONE

Brennan

we need to talk.

Dom

agreed.

Dom was outside Brennan’s window by the time he got home, sitting on the ledge and knocking impatiently.

He pushed the window up and she gave him a look.

“Was warding the place really necessary?”

“Yes,” Brennan said. “You can come in.”

With his permission, she ducked through the window and brushed off her black jeans, tossing her black hair back out of her eyes.

“How long did you know Travis’s plan?” Brennan asked.

Dom pressed her lips together and nodded, like she expected an interrogation. “He told me after I unbound him from the forest. That’s when I left town.”

“Why did you come back?”

Dom shrugged. “I thought being somewhere else would make me feel better. But I felt just as bad, and I was letting him win. Like, I was already screwed, but I didn’t have to let him screw everyone else over, too.

” Her nails tapped nervous circles against her thighs.

“I thought I could stop him, but I only saved one cache before it was too late.”

They said the enemy of your enemy is your friend. But Dom had been his friend before, too. That wasn’t nothing.

Brennan crossed to his dresser and dug out two small items he’d tucked away, then stopped in front of Dom.

“Tell me if I’m overstepping, but I thought you might want these,” Brennan said.

His hands, outstretched toward Dom in offering, held a photo of a smiling Evelyn that Dom had left in her apartment, and the pink scrunchie from the scene of the crash.

He half expected Dom to scoff or snarl. He didn’t expect her eyes to fill with tears or her hands to tremble as she reached for them both.

But she stopped short of taking them from him, her hands hovering over his.

“It’s my fault all this is happening,” she said. Her hands withdrew further. “I messed up, and people got hurt. And more people will get hurt. I freed Travis. I turned people. I killed Evelyn. ”

“But you’re trying to fix it, right?” Brennan asked. “Can’t that be enough?”

Dom was stock-still except for a quiver in her lips. Then, slowly, she took the photo and the scrunchie from his hands, holding them like they were precious.

“It’s a start,” Dom said. She stared at the photo for a long moment, then her eyes cut back to Brennan. “But I don’t know what happens next.”

Brennan offered a grin. “About that… Do you happen to know anything about thralls, vampire blood, or grand romantic gestures?”