"I..." Teige started to say, and then he was back there: a horse, bunched up and petrified on the ledge in the night, braced as though the ground would tip and slough him off. "...couldn't. I couldn't."

Back again in the bathroom, he gripped the front of his shirt over his left shoulder.

"Ever since Leigh, it's changed. S'pose I'm just...scared."

Hawk removed the rag on his knuckles briefly and winced at the sight underneath. "So--so lemme git this straight," he said. "You almost died in Leigh an' it fuckin' traumatized you. An' you want me to be mad at ya for that? Me." He gave Teige an unsteady, wry grin. "Fuck, d'ya know how much a' my life revolves around tryin' t' keep a lid on my own shit?"