by Tijan
But I didn’t waver from my story, and after a second, he’d continued assessing me.
I didn’t think the cops would be involved, but a part of me wondered if that was bad or good. The concussion they’d informed me I had was making my head a little dizzy. They told me I’d have clear thoughts in a week or two. Until then, it was supposed to be dark and boring rest.
Channing never left my side, even though I knew he was probably itching to go find Richter. I told him once he could, and he’d only grunted, “Payback can wait.”
I was relieved. I didn’t want him to leave. It hurt to admit, but I barely handled it when he stepped outside of the room, for whatever reason—if a nurse had to check on something, or if he had to talk to one of the crew. All those times, he moved so I could see him through a window or I could hear his voice, and then he’d return to his spot beside me.
Brandon had promised to check on me at Channing’s tonight, then left to take care of Manny’s.
Now we were in Channing’s truck, heading to his house. He was behind the wheel with Rebecca beside me in the back, and Congo in the front seat.
The guys remained silent on the drive back, until Rebecca spoke up. “If only I’d put the brooch on you after all, and not that other guy.” She cradled her head in her hand. “I thought the guys would want to keep tabs on him, and I gave you my phone to show you since I was helping Congo. When I pinged my phone and found it on the street, I knew something was wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong.”
“Becca,” I grunted, giving her preferred name a try for once. “Nothing’s your fault. I only got away because of you.”
She flicked a hand over her face, wiping away tears. She sniffled. “Really?”
I nodded, or tried to. The painkillers were kicking in. I was starting to feel like I was strapped in to a roller coaster.
“When I was out there, and Richter’s guys were climbing up to get me, I thought I’d have to go higher than them. And I couldn’t do it. I started to slip, and I thought I was going to die, but then I thought to myself, What would Becca do?” I grinned. “WWBD, man.”
She smiled back. “You’re messing with me.”
“I’m not. I’m really not.” It hurt to laugh. Well, that and it felt like the roller coaster had just tipped upside down. “I realized you wouldn’t climb. You’d think of some other way to get out of the situation, so I broke it down. I wanted them to leave, and I thought about what would make them leave. You guys weren’t going to get there in time, so I needed something else. And I thought: the police. Cops would make them run ASAP.”
“Yeah?”
“So I pulled my phone out, put on that police siren alarm, and hit a timer so it’d go off in a minute and get louder. Then I chucked my phone.”
I remembered worrying that the phone might break, that it wouldn’t work.
I worried the alarm wouldn’t work.
That minute was the longest—well, not in my life, but it took forever.
I felt myself grinning again. “When that alarm went off, I almost started crying. I slipped on the tree and fell a little bit, but they didn’t even notice.”
The alarm had been soft at first.
“They didn’t hear it at first. Then it got louder and they started hearing it.”
“Wait! What was that?”
“Oh fuck.”
“Cops!”
“That alarm got louder and louder, and they bolted out of there.”
“Hey!” One of the climbers had begun swearing. “Wait for us!”
“They left the two guys who were climbing for me.”
“You’re not far up. Just cut the rope and bolt,” the first had said as he did just that.
Both dropped almost at the same time.
“They took off after the rest. I’ve never heard more guys squealing.”
“What about Richter?” Congo asked, turning around to look at me.
I shook my head, still smiling. “He was the first to go.”
45
Channing
I smelled the cigarette before even nearing the front door.
Heather was on the porch, the screen door open, and it was three in the morning. She had wanted to come back to her house, so after dealing with some business at the warehouse, we’d headed here.
Richter was back.
The Peter was back.
It seemed like nothing had changed.
Manny’s parking lot was bare, for once, and all the lights were off. They usually kept one light on for the lot, in case anybody had to return for a car, but all of it was dark now. I knew that was Heather’s doing.
I stopped just inside the screen door before going outside.
I didn’t make a sound. I never did, but it didn’t matter. She knew I was there. She remained quiet, just like me. There was no specific reason except maybe to take a breath, to prepare myself.
They’d taken her. And the they was interchangeable—could’ve been Richter, could’ve been the Peter, could’ve been the con man. They could’ve been any other enemies we had or would have.
But she was here.
She was safe.
She was pissed, wounded, and exhausted, but she was here.
Moment done.
I felt ready to do this, and pushing open the door, I looked to the side.
Heather sat in her rocking chair, one foot propped up on the bench beside her, a blanket wrapped around her so one shoulder was exposed. Her tiny tank top strap was hanging off her shoulder, her clavicle a bit more pronounced than normal, giving me a nice shot to the goods. If it was possible, she looked tinier to me. Smaller. More vulnerable. But I knew most of that was a mirage. If Heather went up against a cliff, it wouldn’t land her on her ass. She’d figure a way to scale the bitch and then proclaim it was hers at the top.
Her hair was pulled up in a loose ponytail, some free strands framing her face, and she had a cigarette between two of her fingers.
“Don’t judge. I was kidnapped. That warrants a smoke.”
Her voice was hoarse, but it wasn’t the smoking.
I went over, scooped her up, and deposited her back down on my lap. She didn’t even tense. She just held her cigarette up and out the way, then waited until I was comfortable before rearranging the blanket around herself, one end laying over my leg, and relaxing against my chest. Her head rested on my shoulder, and I put a hand over her forehead, stroking her hair.
She loved that. Always had.
“I loved you when you were eight years old,” I murmured.
Her chest and shoulders moved from her laugh. “That’s not possible.” She brought the cigarette to her lips, inhaling the last bit of it.
She held it out to the side, and I took it from her, grinding it out before flicking the bud into the metal can she had on the floor. My arm went back around her, sliding under her blanket and settling on her stomach. She had her pajama shorts on, and a few of my fingers slipped underneath the waistband, resting there.
“It is.” I nipped her exposed shoulder, just a small pinch from my lips.
Heather’s throaty laugh had my dick sticking right up now.
She’d just been through a nightmare, and I was having to refrain from sliding my hand down between her legs, dipping my fingers into her, and taking it from there. But no. The doc said she needed to rest, and the sex I wanted right now wasn’t soft, gentle, or anything close to making love. I just wanted her, and I wrestled to stamp down the need to own her, claim her, and make sure nothing bad ever happened to her again.
It was primal.
I had to ball my hand into a fist, resting it tight on my leg.
“What’s wrong?” Heather was no longer relaxed. She was tense—she was responding to me.
Get yourself under fucking control, asshole.
I expelled a deep breath and forced myself to relax. Letting the fist go, I slid my arm around her from the other side, hugging her for a moment before brushing my fingers against her inner thigh.
>
“Nothing. I’m good.”
“You’re not good. You’re telling me you were in love with me when I was eight.”
I laughed, catching her ear with my lips now. I felt her shiver as I said, “I was. It was the best kind, when we were kids. I just wanted to pick on you all the time. I didn’t care about other girls.”
She snorted a laugh. “That right? What happened junior year?”
Junior year.
How could I explain that to her?
I had to. It was time, and I could only hope she didn’t hate me.
“Nothing, actually.”
She froze, then pushed out of my lap. “What do you mean? You didn’t…”
There was a half moon behind her, and how could I describe what I saw? She was beautiful. Fierce. Strong. Protective. Sassy. Smart. Witty. Ambitious. Loyal. I could see the third grader I did fall in love with. It might not have been the adult love I had for her now, but it was the beginning of this whole journey we’d been on. I could see the woman she was, the wife I hoped she’d be in the future, the mother I wanted by my side. But at this very moment, she was the girl whose heart I’d broken that year.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees and raked my hands through my hair. “I’m sorry.”
She didn’t let me say anything more. She grabbed my hair and yanked my head up. Eyes were blazing. “What the fuck are you talking about? You didn’t cheat on me?”
The truth. That was the only thing I could tell her to make this better.
So I started, “You never saw me leaving that janitor’s closet after I cheated on you.”
Her eyebrows pulled together. Her mouth turned down and she pulled back, faltering. “I… I did. You had lipstick on your face.”
“You saw me leaving after I pushed that girl away. Gus asked me to grab him a wrench—gave me his keys and everything. I went in, and that girl slipped in after me. She grabbed me, not the other way around.”
“But…” Her eyes were darting back and forth, remembering.
It was an easy enough story to check. Gus was a regular at Manny’s. He might not remember, but there was a chance he would. I had a feeling he would.
“My mom died, Heather.”
God. This was our pattern, around and around. One long fucking circle.
Something bad happened. I walked. She walked. One of us walked, and the other let ’em. We’d go our separate ways, start missing each other, and get back together. It was a goddamn cycle that had to stop. Somehow.
“Do you remember?”
Heather moved to sit beside me, her blanket still draped around her. She wasn’t looking at me, but staring off in the distance, and a tear fell down her cheek. She flicked it away, a savage and quick motion before she spoke, her voice hoarse, “Of course I remember when your mother died. I loved her.”
I nodded. “She loved you back.”
“That’s why? That’s why you did that?”
I felt an ache digging in the middle of my chest, burrowing out a hollow hole. “I was fucked up. I was hurting. I was hurting you. I was hurting myself. Bren. I was hurting anyone close to me. You were pissed at me all the time, and I couldn’t blame you, but I didn’t want to pull you down with me.”
“Channing.” She started to reach for me.
This was the other part of the cycle.
I would hurt, or she would hurt, and the other would come. I was a selfish asshole. If I was hurting, sometimes I didn’t have the strength to keep her away. I did that time. She thought I’d cheated, and I let her.
That was the first time I let her go.
I shook my head and sat forward. “No. You have to hear all of it.” I couldn’t look at her. Call me weak, but I didn’t want to see the woman I loved in tears. I didn’t want to know I’d put them there, but it was more than goddamn time the whole truth was out.
I pressed a hand down on the porch railing and used it as an anchor. I needed it to hold me steady. “I was spiraling. Cutting classes. Vandalism. Drinking. I was already starting all of it, and I was going to make you do it with me.” I tipped my head back, closing my eyes. Jesus. This hurt. “I snuck out of your room one night, and your dad met me with a hunting rifle.”
“What?” I felt her move behind me.
“He cocked it and pointed it at me. Because, you see, he knew what was happening to me. He told me all the things I just told you—I was going down a bad path. I was taking you with me, and fuck, Heather…” I gestured around us, though there was only darkness. “It’s true, even now. You were in a gunfight. You were kidnapped. You got hurt today, and it’s my fault.”
“Shut up. Just shut up.”
I couldn’t. “He told me to leave you, and the next day when you saw me, I knew what you thought.”
It burned me. Still. I was back there in the hallway. The bitch was slipping out behind me, rubbing at her mouth. Heather was rooted in place, her eyes widening, going from my face to the girl, and back at me. I rubbed at my mouth and saw the lipstick then.
“I let you think it.”
“I switched schools because of that. Because of you. And Tate? You slept with her. The girls told me at that school.”
I shook my head. “Tate texted me, said what they told you. I asked her to let you think it.”
“Are you fucking with me?” Her forehead was wrinkling again.
I answered before she spoke again. “Tate didn’t say anything that day because she didn’t think you’d believe her. Sam started at Fallen Crest Public, and you were besties with her. Tate knew it was a losing battle. She came to me later to convince me to back her up.”
“You said no? Again?”
“We were back and forth already by then, but you were in a better school. You weren’t traveling back to Roussou anymore. You had new friends, better friends.”
“Shut up.” A small whisper.
“I spent the first part of my life trying to catch you. I’ve spent the last part trying to walk away.” My voice dropped to match hers.
I watched as her head curved down. She was trying to curl into a ball, the blanket in fistfuls on her lap.
“I was trying to let you have that better life.”
And now…
Now, I saw her walking toward me on the gravel road again. Blood all over her. Blood coming from her head. I saw myself running to her, expecting her to collapse, but she didn’t. Her eyes flashed. The fight was there. The defiance. She said her piece. She held strong until she didn’t have to any more, and I was there.
I caught her.
The second chapter of my life was over in that moment. Whether she wanted me or not, she could have me. I no longer had the strength to walk away.
That fight was gone.
I had nothing in me. I couldn’t walk, not anymore.
“You push me away every time something bad happens in your life,” she said.
My half-brother Max died. My dad went to prison. My mom died.
She was right. Every time.
“Naly,” I murmured.
She looked back up. The blood drained from her face. I saw the sheen of tears, and her eyes were so wide and wondering. “What?”
“Naly,” I said again. “When she died, you pushed me away.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
I knelt in front of her, gentling my tone. “Yes, Heather. I did it to you all those times, so I know what the signals are. I knew you were pushing me away, and I obliged that time. That time.”
Her eyes darkened. “What are you talking about?”
I reached for her hands. She started to pull them under the blanket, but I nabbed one and intertwined our fingers. “I’m done walking.”
She held my gaze, studying me, trying to decide whether to believe me or not. She swallowed. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
I was done with the distance. I’d said my piece. She was still here. That was a good enough sign for me,
so I moved forward, scooping her up. I pulled her back onto my lap and said, almost roughly, “When I carried you back to the car this morning, our life flashed in front of my eyes. I’m no psychic, but all the same, it did. I can’t explain it.” My hands tightened around her. “There’s no goddamn way I’m walking. Any bad shit that comes our way, we shoulder it together.”
She laughed, a small one. “Manny’s. Brandon. My home. All of that’s here. Suki. Cruz. Ava. Gus even. All my staff. They’re here.” Her fingers relaxed and began to rub against mine. Her thumb caressed the palm of my hand. “If you want me to have a better life, I’d have to leave, and that’s not me. I am Fallen Crest. I am Roussou. This place is who I am.” She looked up, our eyes meeting. “You are who I am.”
Nothing. No one. Not a natural disaster. Not a random crime. Not bad luck. Nothing was going to hurt her. That vow pounded in my chest, and I touched her lips, rubbing over the bottom one. “I love you so fucking much.”
A blinding smile came back at me, and she gave over, surrendering everything. I could’ve picked her up and cradled her like a child.
“I love you too, so fucking much.”
I stood up, holding her like she was nothing, and I carried her into her room.
46
Heather
I was out of commission for the next two weeks.
I was confined to my house at first, and I wanted to climb the walls, hearing the noise at Manny’s, hearing the opening and slamming of car doors, hearing people laughing, knowing they were all going to my place of business. Then hearing the music, smelling the smoke—I was in hell.
I wanted to know what was going on. I wanted to be in the chaos.
This was torture.
Brandon walked in one time, saw me holding a pack of smokes, and promptly called Channing. I’d indulged the night after I was attacked, but that was it. I’d gone back to trying to stop, and I’d stayed at Channing’s house after Brandon caught me.