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“Okay.” A half sob escapes him. “Thank you.”

I pull him against me.

“You don’t need to thank me, Bryce. Chill out, will you?”

There is no way Bryce is going to chill out, though. His headspace is in carnage.

He stiffens for a second before his arms close around my back. His forehead drops onto my shoulder, heavy.

I hold him more tightly.

“Christ, BT.”

“I should have done something.”

“Yes.”

“I should have told her to take off the ring.”

“Probably.”

“I should have said something years ago.”

“Definitely.”

“I’ve ruined everything.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” I smile against him. “That’s my department.”

His laugh breaks against my shoulder.

I feel tears against my neck.

I keep one hand at the back of his head.

I guide him to the sofa, pour two whiskies from the kitchen and hand him one.

“To catastrophic decision-making,” I say.

A tired smile forms on his face.

I stretch an arm along the back of the sofa and Bryce leans into me, carefully at first, then breathes a sigh and settles his head on my shoulder.

I rest my hand against his arm.

The silence is a soothing curse.

“I’m sorry,” Bryce says.

“Stop apologising.”

“I took everything out on Alice.”

“Yes.”

“And then on you.”

“Your self-awareness is having a remarkable evening. I’m sure it’s giving you a whale of a time.”