The Boy I Grew Up With

by Tijan

  He was almost to my tree. It looked like the early morning light was starting to stretch over the horizon. There were a few breaks from the trees, enough to let some light in eventually, but it was still dark.

  How much time had passed?

  My head spun.

  I wasn’t sure.

  I could make him out, the shape of his head.

  He was almost beneath me.

  He cupped a hand by his mouth and yelled, “My men showed me the bloody rock. You hit your head, Heather. There was a lot of blood. Wherever you are, I know you’re hurting.”

  Goddamn, shut up, you fucking Peter.

  I was talking to him in my head, and I knew I was probably forming the words with my mouth. I should’ve stopped myself, in case I accidentally let the words slip out, but I couldn’t. I was barely holding on.

  I eyed the tree underneath me and added, Literally.

  He was right beneath me now. He paused at the base of the trunk and scanned the area.

  They thought I was still on the ground.

  Fuck.

  The head wound. That’s why.

  They didn’t think I was stupid enough to climb a tree.

  I almost snorted. Little did they know.

  I started laughing, silently, jostling myself.

  Shit. Maybe they were right.

  I began sliding to the right, but the tied jacket kept me in place. I didn’t dare move, not an inch. Bark would fall down and land on his head.

  Why does the bad guy always have to be right on top of the heroine? Why? Or in this case, right below?

  Ooooh! OH! Oh fuck.

  I started to slip farther to the right.

  If I fell, I was done—cracked neck and everything.

  Richter needed to move, and on a seismic level.

  Move, dumbass!

  I began inching again. More. More. Another inch.

  Holy shit.

  I was too close to the edge. If I kept going, I’d fall.

  I was nearing a precipice, pardon the pun. Either fall and die or move and risk being found?

  I had to move.

  If I waited any longer, I wouldn’t be able to make a choice.

  I did it. I jerked back to the left, made sure my body was resting heavily on the branch, and held my breath.

  Bark fell, scraping down, and I froze. I could see a little bit better, and as I watched, the bark moved right toward his head. This is the time in the movies where the bad guy moves and the bark falls within inches of his head.

  This wasn’t the movies.

  The bark landed smack on his head, and he looked up, a hand raised to brush whatever had fallen off him. As he did, his eyes moved up…and up…and up—until they landed right on me.

  They almost bulged out of his head.

  “Get down from there!” he yelled, the veins on his neck sticking out. “Holy shit.”

  I was pretty sure the blood drained from his face, but I wasn’t completely certain. He jerked back a few steps to get a better view.

  “How did you get up there? You have a death wish?!”

  When he put it like that…

  The game was up. I could officially move again, so I grabbed my phone from my pocket.

  “SHE’S OVER HERE!”

  He was yelling as I checked for a cell signal, and bam! I had one. I clicked through to my GPS and hit Find My Location.

  The guys were yelling, scrambling toward us. A dog barked wildly. As they got to the base of my tree, I saw it was an Italian greyhound.

  “Way to bring out the bloodhounds, huh?” I kept talking as I screen-shot my location and sent it to Channing. I waited a second, rethought, and sent it to Rebecca too. Who knew when having a personal stalker would come in handy?

  The dog pulled at his leash, going every way except my tree. The guy kept cursing and yanking him back, until Richter waved his hand and the guy stepped away. I swore I heard a “Thank God” come from him.

  “Heather.”

  Richter was back at it. I wanted to say something snappy, but I wasn’t feeling it. I was saving my strength. I needed to muster enough sass for my last line, and just thinking about it made me smile. Here came some of that strength again, like a small trickle.

  “Come down from there.”

  “Wait.” One of his guys jerked forward. “What if she falls?”

  Richter paused, then shrugged. “We catch her?”

  Another guy asked, “What if we don’t catch her?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?!” Richter barked, glaring.

  The two lowered their heads, and the others fell in line.

  “Heather! Get down from there before you slip and fall. If you die, well, that will suck for everyone at hand. Just…” He softened. “Come down. Please.”

  Oooh. Please. He was really trying to turn it on.

  I tried to speak, but only a rasping sound came out. Coughing, I cleared my throat enough to hoarsely call back, “Only if you get on your knees, Richter.”

  “Heather.” A warning growl.

  My phone beeped, and I saw the texts coming through, one after another.

  Channing: We’re coming.

  Channing: Hold on.

  Channing: Woman, I love you. Don’t do anything stupid.

  Too late.

  Rebecca: The cavalry is assembled. We’re riding your way.

  I groaned.

  Channing: Are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance?

  Whoa. He really was worried. An ambulance usually meant cops, and we didn’t do cops here.

  Me: No. Just come.

  I pushed send, then rethought it and sent another one.

  Me: Maybe a lift? I’m in a tree.

  I was about to be rescued, and that thought had my ovaries on hyperdrive.

  Richter was still trying to get me down. I must’ve tuned him out, but I could hear him rambling on about something, sounding more and more mad.

  “Heather!”

  I heard that from him a few more times before I figured it was time to say my piece.

  “Richter,” I called down.

  He quieted and stepped closer to the tree, his head at a ninety-degree angle with his body. “What?”

  I smiled. “I just called in backup.”

  His eyes went flat. “What?” His nostrils flared. “You don’t have a phone.”

  One of the guys swore. “She dropped it. I swear.”

  I shook my head, laughing like a maniac. “That wasn’t my phone. I was returning it to someone when they snatched me. I’ve had my phone this whole time.” I paused, savoring this. “The cavalry is coming. They’re on their way now.”

  “I don’t believe you. There’s no cell signal out here.”

  I took my phone out and waved it, just a tiny bit. “You’re right, unless you’re up here.” I pointed toward an opening in the tree line. “And you know there’s a tower not far.”

  He stared at me.

  I stared back, felt myself leaning backward, and jerked forward again.

  He smiled. “I don’t believe you. I’m calling your bluff.”

  At that moment, two guys rushed in with large bags over their shoulders. He waved at them. “Do you know what that is?” The guys unzipped the bags and pulled out climbing ropes.

  My heart sank.

  “That’s the end of this stupidity. They’re coming up to get you.”

  “It’s too late,” I yelled. “I really do have a signal.” To prove it, I clicked on the sound and dialed. It took a second. I held the phone in the air. Richter smirked at me, and those two guys were really moving fast. They had grips and everything.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  They’d get to me before Channing.

  And then, my phone started ringing.

  That smirk moved from his face to mine. “Better go, because I told them to bring an ambulance.”

  He paused, then came to a decision. “Move faster, guys!”

  My heart was officially in my feet now.
/>   Channing wouldn’t get here in time.

  I had to move, and looking up, I decided I’d have to go higher.

  “Heather, don’t you dare. Don’t!”

  My decision was made. He wasn’t the only moron here.

  “Suck my dick,” I growled as I prepared to move.

  I was going to die.

  43

  Channing

  Heather walking down the side of the gravel road, covered in blood from head to toe, was not a sight I expected to see. I almost hit the brakes, thinking she was an apparition, then hit the gas pedal.

  Richter was going to die.

  I didn’t care the consequences. He was going to hurt, over and over again, before he fell six feet under.

  “Holy shit!” Brandon exclaimed before a hush came over the vehicle.

  We were one of eight trucks, all full, all ready to battle. And yes, I’d brought her brother to a crew fight.

  As we got closer, Heather came into focus. She was covered in so much—I saw fresh blood, dried blood. Dirt. Mud. She looked like something coming out of the swamp.

  I slammed to a stop a few yards away from her. I didn’t want more dirt to spew at her, and I didn’t trust myself to go slowly, so I parked and was out the door the next instant.

  I felt Brandon hot on my heels, and I was ready to tear him up if he grabbed her too roughly.

  She limped toward us, her clothes torn and her jean jacket hanging from her hand, dragging on the ground behind her.

  As we got to her, we both reined ourselves in, but she kept limping forward. One hop, a half drag, a second hop, the other foot behind her, the jacket last. There was a glaze in her eyes, but I saw fire underneath, and I could’ve pissed myself in relief.

  She was fine.

  I knew it.

  She was furious. She was hurting, but she had the same fire she’d had before. If anything, it was rooted even deeper, and as she met my gaze, her top lip curved up.

  She stopped, her eyes boring into mine, and she said, “I am going to take a hammer to Richter’s knees. Both of them. One at a time. I’m going to knock them out. Then I’m going to take the hammer to his dick. After that, I’ll start knocking out pieces of his limbs. His elbows. His throat. His fingers. His toes. I’ll rip off his balls last and make him eat them. He’ll throw them up, and I’ll make him swallow them all over again.”

  Her fire wasn’t stamped down. It was a full blaze, and it was simmering over.

  She dropped her jean jacket to the ground. “I am going to kill him. Slowly. With as much torture as possible, and I’m going to enjoy every goddamn second I hear his screams.”

  Brandon moved back a step. He coughed out. “Well, then…”

  Oh yeah. Heather was just fine.

  I began nodding, slowly, and edged closer to her. “Other than that, are you okay?”

  She didn’t answer, just stared at me.

  She was an animal right now. Feral. Dangerous.

  I wasn’t the only one sensing it. Brandon grew quiet, letting me take over. The others got out of their vehicles. The doors slammed shut, but as they got to us, an eerie hush came over them. They stopped short, and soon, we could hear a bird calling from a mile away.

  No one said a word. We were waiting for Heather.

  “Heather?” Concern crept up in me. I wanted to touch her, but not if it was going to hurt her. Still, I couldn’t help myself. I reached up and touched her elbow, just gently.

  At my touch, she seemed to dissolve.

  Her head fell down. She choked out, “Channing.”

  She crumbled.

  I caught her. “Whoa. Whoa.”

  That’s when she began to sob.

  It sounded like it was coming from her gut. She balled my shirt into her fist, pressing her forehead to my chest. “Channing.” It was a whisper this time.

  I smoothed a hand over her hair and carried her away from the group.

  Heather had cried six times in her life—three of them over Naly. This was her seventh. She wouldn’t want the others to see her like this, beaten and exposed.

  Once we were away from everyone, where they couldn’t hear, I found a spot on the road and sat. I cradled her in my lap. I rocked her like a baby.

  She cried. Her sobs wracked her entire body until they finally grew quiet, but even then her tears were a steady trickle.

  I banked down the murderous rage in me. It would come out again, but not until Heather was okay. She was my job now. I had to make sure she was okay, and as she quieted, I began checking her over for wounds.

  She’d been hit on the head. Bad. The lump was the size of my hand.

  I could see the scrapes over her body. Scratches. Thin cuts. Glancing at where she’d come from, I realized they might’ve been from the branches.

  I winced inside, knowing how fast she must’ve been going to get cut this deep.

  Shit.

  She’d said she was in a tree. We’d been bringing stuff to help her get out, and I couldn’t stop looking over her. Had she fallen out? Where was Richter?

  Why did this happen? Check that. I knew why.

  How could I make sure this never happened again?

  Leave? Fuck. I stopped myself. I wasn’t going to think that far ahead. Take care of Heather. That was first.

  So I just held her. I would hold her forever.

  Maybe it was a few minutes later, maybe twenty, maybe an hour. I wasn’t paying attention, but it felt like a good amount of time before I heard someone walking toward us. There was a soft crunch of gravel, and Heather stiffened. She had fallen silent in my arms, but she didn’t move an inch. I wasn’t going to make her move either, but we both looked.

  Heather sat up, but I didn’t let her go too far. I put my knees up, my feet on the ground, and I tugged her so her back rested against me. Her head moved to my chest. The person paused behind us, but I didn’t want Heather twisting around, so I motioned.

  “Come in front.”

  Brandon came around, kneeling and approaching delicately.

  There was a rapt and stark emotion burning bright in his eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was trying not to cry.

  His voice broke under the strain. “Heather.”

  Heather stiffened further. Her arm shook until I rested mine on top, still cautious of her cuts. She expelled a breath, some of her tension leaving.

  Brandon stopped, swallowed, and looked down. When he lifted his head, he was more controlled. He pressed his lips together, swallowing again. “Heather, are you okay?”

  Heather held her hand out.

  Brandon took it, and her fingers linked around his.

  “I want to kill someone,” she rasped. “Is that answer enough?”

  Relief flooded him. He closed his eyes, sitting back on his heels. “Hell yes. That answers me.” He tried to smile, but he was still pale. “We should get you to a hospital.”

  “I know.”

  But Heather didn’t move. If anything, she sank farther into me.

  Brandon got back to his feet. “Maybe you could just carry her, Channing?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.” My own throat was full. I hadn’t expected that. “Can you give us a minute?”

  “Oh. Sure.” He smiled at Heather tenderly. “Love you, sis.”

  Heather didn’t respond. She just returned the smile as Brandon moved behind us.

  Once it was the two of us again, a sniffle left her.

  I didn’t know what was going on behind us.

  It didn’t matter.

  I had the woman I loved in my arms. She was safe. She was hurting. And I could never let that happen again. That’s all. My arms tightened around her. I never wanted to let her go.

  I took another minute—we both did. Then I asked, “Are you ready?”

  “No.” She sighed, her finger tracing up and down under mine.

  She said no, but I felt the acceptance in her body. She loosened, and I knew what she needed. Moving her in my arms to cradle her onc
e again, I stood, careful not to hurt her with any sudden motion. As I straightened up, she closed her eyes, her head resting against my chest.

  Something shifted deep inside me.

  I couldn’t leave her. Ever.

  The realization blared hard and loud, and our lives together flashed in front of my eyes.

  As I proposed to her.

  As I married her.

  As we had our first kid.

  Our second kid.

  Our ninth kid, if she wanted.

  We’d move into a bigger house.

  Bren would get married, and Heather would be at my side.

  All the holidays together, birthdays together. The future fights we’d have.

  All the love making.

  As we got old.

  As we joined her dad’s retirement RV caravan or made our own. As we moved to Florida and made all our friends come with us—the ones still alive.

  As one of us moved into a nursing home.

  And as one of us left this world, but even then, I would watch over her as she got older and started hooking up with some other old dude.

  Always and forever. The words were in wedding vows for a reason.

  All of that flashed before my eyes, and as I began carrying her back to the vehicle, I knew two things.

  I was going to marry her.

  And I was going to be the first of us to die, but not for a long time—a really long time.

  44

  Heather

  I needed a new phone.

  I started to explain that after they finished checking me out at the hospital. Everything had been documented. Every inch of my body had been photographed for evidence—or it felt like every inch. I was exposed.

  I didn’t know what they would do with the photographs, if they’d be turned over to the police? I wasn’t even sure if the cops had been called. Channing brought me in under the guise of having had an accident climbing. The nurses didn’t blink, but the doctor had paused when he saw the seatbelt imprints on my body. When that had happened, I had no idea. He paused too when I told him most of the cuts were from tree branches. From falling. When he looked at me, I knew he knew the angle of those cuts came from running at a dead sprint, not falling.