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looked like he'd been to hell and back. Which he had. His hair was in complete disarray, he was ghostly pale, and he had dark shadows under his eyes. " Are you?"
    That seemed to hit a nerve. "You can stop being a goddamn mother," Cam replied with a glare as a puppy appeared at his feet. Oh yeah, Riley would go nuts over that little thing. "I know I'm not n-normal, but I'm not fucking stupid."
    Austin merely smirked, though it wasn’t cocky or self-assured. It was wry and small.
    "Define normal," he countered quietly, meeting Cam in the doorway. "And for not being normal, you're the only person in the world who makes sense right now. What does that say about me?" That said, he passed Cam and entered the house. He half-regretted admitting those words, but they were still true.
    "It tells me you should be shipped off to the funny farm," Cam said behind him, but his voice had lost all its hostility. When they reached the living room, he asked, "Dude, are you free-ballin' under there?" He jerked his chin at Austin's sweatpants.
    "Why are your eyes anywhere near to notice?" Austin fired back and sat down on the bed. "So, this is the little guy." He reached down to pet Bourbon, who hadn't been trained to guard yet. He seemed to love any sign of life, and he soaked up the attention Austin gave him. "He can't be very old, can he?"
    "Twelve weeks." Cam sat down next to him. "Can't believe you actually drove all the way over."
    "I can leave," Austin chuckled.
    Cam shook his head no, keeping his eyes on Bourbon.
    *
    For about half an hour, Cam tried to distract Austin with trivial bullshit, but then he gave up. They didn’t only see Gale Peters one-on-one; they saw her in group therapy, too—Cam and the other six who had survived. And he knew Austin wanted him to get all this out. It was one of Gale's most repeated words of advice: "Tell someone what you're feeling—someone who will listen and just let you talk."
    "Come on, Cam," Austin groaned and fell back against the bed. His feet still touched the light hardwood floor, but he was lying down, one of Cam's pillows under his head. "Take your time—I'm here for you, but get started. Gun or no gun, remember?"
    Well, Cam needed a strong drink for this shit. Standing up, he padded over to the entertainment center and opened one of the cabinets that held his small stash of booze. "Drink?" He took a few glasses and a bottle of vodka for himself. He had to buy more soon; it was barely half-full.
    "Bourbon if you have it—and no dog jokes."
    Cam smirked to himself and grabbed a bottle of Jim Beam. "Ice?" He started toward the kitchen.
    "No, thank you."
    In the kitchen, he emptied an ice tray into a bowl, snatched up a bag of peanuts, then returned to the living room. Austin got his glass of bourbon, and Cam downed one shot of vodka before pouring another. In the meantime, Austin held his glass on his stomach, only lifting his head every now and then to take slow sips.
    "Okay. Talk to me."
    "Fuck, you don’t waste time." Cam made a face and threw back the second shot. Next he poured a bigger glass and topped it off with ice. Why didn’t he just keep the booze in the freezer like normal people? "I don’t even know what I'm supposed to say."
    He just hated remembering it all.
    *
    Cam swallowed then exhaled shakily as he was led past wooden beams toward a narrow staircase in the basement.
    Psycho had checked his cuffs already, making sure they were on tight behind Cam's back. Austin had been the recipient of a gun aimed at him, and Cam had been promised that his cellmate would get a bullet if either tried anything.
    It was Austin's pointed look that left Cam confused. The two men didn’t know each other for shit, but Cam had the distinct feeling that Austin wanted him to overpower Psycho anyway, regardless of threats.
    With a gun pressed to his lower spine, Cam climbed the concrete steps leading to the ground floor, his mind spinning so fast it almost left him dizzy.
    "Stop right there,"