by Mazzy King
Then my gut churns.
It’s from Gary.
I swallow and, despite my inner voice screaming at me to stop, I open the message. It just came in, but the time stamp is from almost two hours ago.
You think you can run and I won’t find you?
Then another message—a video file. I press play with shaking hands and watch as Gary’s angry face fills the screen.
“This is where you ran to?” he says in the clip, panning around the bar. It’s already been destroyed. And now I know by who. “You didn’t run far enough. And did you forget we’re still linked on the GPS app?”
Before full horror can register, I hear his voice again. Only it’s not through the phone.
It’s behind me.
“It was almost too easy to find you.”
I whirl around, dropping my phone. Gary looms in the pantry doorway.
He never left.
He found me, he tracked me here, he destroyed this place, and now…
His fists clench at his sides as he stares down at me. “All I wanted was to have a civil conversation about the money. Then you disrespected and assaulted me.”
“So stalking me is the answer?” I reply, hating the shrillness of my voice. “That’s a crime too!”
“Had to track you down for the cops to press charges,” he says coolly. He takes a step closer to me. “I think you underestimate the people I know. The friends I have. What they’re willing to do for me.”
“This isn’t about me kneeing you in the dick,” I say, backing up. “Why do you want the money so bad, Gary? Who do you owe now?”
He pauses, and the way his nostrils flare tells me I’ve hit the proverbial nail on the head. He’s got a massive gambling debt, as I suspected.
His other arm, which was tucked behind the doorway, now falls to his side, and the large metal pipe in his hand gleams malevolently at me.
“You don’t get it,” he says in a low voice, taking a step toward me. “I need to pay them now. They took me for everything in Vegas and they know where I live.”
“That’s your problem!” I shout.
“Now it’s yours.” He swings the pipe at the shelf just above my head. It sounds like a gunshot, it’s so loud, and the wood immediately splinters. I cover my head as large, heavy cans of food tumble down around me. “Would you really let me die?”
Trembling, I reach for another shelf to brace myself. “I don’t wish death upon anyone,” I mutter. “But I do think people need to be held accountable for their own actions, no matter what.”
“You fucking bitch,” he roars. “I’m taking that money!” He lifts the pipe in the air.
But before he can bring it down on me, I grab the cutting board I rested my hand on a second ago and with lightning speed, slam it into the side of his head.
With a grunt he staggers to the side, out of the way just long enough for me to squeeze past him and run out of the pantry.
I race out of the kitchen, already hearing Gary start to come after me. I hit him as hard as I could, and it still wasn’t enough to stop him.
“Leila!”
The sound of Forrest shouting for me is music to my ears. I vault over turned-over tables and chairs in my rush to get to him just as he runs inside.
“He’s in here,” I gasp. “Gary, he’s here!”
Just as I say this, Gary lurches out of the kitchen, still holding the steel pipe in his hand. His crazed stare lands on Forrest. “Oh, you think she’s yours?” he sneers.
“I’d never speak for her,” Forrest says with a calmness that makes me gape at him. He moves me behind him. “But I know for damn certain she’s not yours.”
“She’ll always belong to me, deep down,” Gary says, stepping toward Forrest. “Now get the fuck out of my way. She and I aren’t done talking.”
“I say you are.” Forrest puts his shoulders back. He’s nothing to sniff at, but Gary has at least a good fifty pounds on him.
Gary points the pipe at him. “You think I’m scared of you?” Suddenly he lunges at Forrest, swinging the pipe.
Forrest leaps back, the pipe just missing his ribs. He spares me a glance over his shoulder. “Leila, run!”
“She can run, but she’ll never be able to hide from me.” Gary takes another swing at Forrest, and he ducks. The pipe slices the air where his head was.
“I’m not going to leave you!” I yell. I cast around for something, anything, and grab a bar stool from the floor. It’s heavy, but somehow, I can’t even feel the weight as I rush toward Gary, the legs of the stool pointed at him.
Unfortunately he sees me coming and slams the pipe down on the stool, shattering the legs. Then he snatches it out of my hands and shoves me backward.
“You brought this on yourself,” he hisses at me.
Suddenly his eyes go wide as Forrest jumps onto his back and winds a sinewy forearm around his throat, yanking him back.
I scream as Gary starts swinging the pipe wildly. I hear the sickening crunch and Forrest’s shout of pain as the pipe finally connects with his knee.
“Gary, no!” I yell.
The sudden sound of a gunshot—a real one this time—makes all of us stop.
A young, burly man stands in the doorway, pointing a black handgun at Forrest and Gary. “Step away, big guy,” he says to Gary in a deadly voice, stepping forward.
I gasp. Who the fuck is this?
Forrest shoves Gary hard and backs up—toward the gunman.
Gary, panting hard and coughing, eyes watering, staggers back.
“Drop the fucking pipe too,” the gunman adds. He levels his handgun at Gary’s face, and I cover my mouth in terror. “Don’t make me do this. I will if I have to, but I’d prefer not to.”
Gary finally tosses the pipe.
“Thanks. Now put your hands behind your head, get down on your knees, and don’t fucking move.”
I stare at the gunman, then glance at Forrest. “Is this…the sheriff?”
The guy chuckles. “No. I’m a friend of Forrest’s. My name is Loch.”
“How’d you know to come down here?” Forrest asks. “I’m thrilled to see you, by the way.”
“As you should be. Didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out some bad shit was going down.”
The sheriff arrives a few moments later with a couple of deputies with him. They immediately put Gary in handcuffs. Apparently, they know Loch too, because they shake hands with him after he holsters his weapon.
With relief, I watch as Gary is pushed out the door, handcuffed. I don’t know what the next steps will be to get him out of my life, but I have a feeling this is a great start.
When we’re alone in the bar, Forrest wraps an arm around me. “You all right?” he says, kissing my temple.
“I am.” But I can’t hold back the tears anyway. “You’re hurt.”
He’s not putting any weight on the leg Gary hit, and he’s wincing, but he forces a smile. “I’ll be all right.”
I shake my head. “I led him here to you. You never would’ve had to go through any of this if it weren’t for me.” I wave a hand around the room, then at his leg. “I feel so awful.”
“Hey.” Forrest tips my chin up until I’m looking him in the eye. “All of this stuff can be replaced. I have insurance and a lawyer for a reason. Does it suck? Yeah. Is it the end of the world? Hell no. As for my leg…well, yeah, I could use a doctor. But it doesn’t matter, Leila. Because if all of this was the price to meet you, to get to know you…to fall for you, then I’d go through it a hundred times.”
I bury my head against his chest. “I never thought someone like you could exist for me.”
His lips are warm on my forehead. “Well, baby, here I am. And I don’t know about you, but I’m not going anywhere.” He winces again. “Except maybe to the hospital.”
“Come on. Let’s go. Lean on me, Forrest.”
He does, hopping on his good leg. “I hope you know you can always lean on me too.”
I smile up at him as we slowly make our way to the door. Outside, red and blue lights flash, promising the help of the sheriff and the deputies. It’s a scary sight, but it’s also one that relieves me. Something changed tonight. For the better.
And as Forrest Thornton leans against me, his arm supporting me as much as mine supports him, I know he’s a huge part of the reason.
Epilogue
Leila
Six months later
“A little to the right,” I instruct the man on the ladder who’s placing our new sign above the awning.
He complies, then glances down at me for approval.
I nod, satisfied. “Perfect.”
He hops down, and we exchange pleasantries before he shakes my hand and leaves. With a contented sigh, I gaze up at the sign.
Auntie M’s Babycakes & Brews.
It makes me smile every single time I see it.
I head back inside my new bakery. It’s small and cozy, but full of the scent of the baking I’ve been doing. We’re not officially open for business, but…we are. We haven’t done the ribbon-cutting ceremony yet, but I keep the display cases full of cupcakes—or babycakes, as Aunt Melissa used to call them—cookies, and other pastries, we always have delicious artisan coffee brewing, and we have our other brew—six-packs of Forrest’s bottled beer stored in the big refrigerator against the wall by the window. And all of it flies out the door, every day.
Because of my aunt, I had the ability to open this place. But because of my own courage, I actually did.
And because of the sexy, silly man in my brand-new commercial kitchen, wearing a frilly Auntie M’s apron, decorating a cookie and bopping his hips to Lizzo’s latest hit, I found a home for this place. Right here in Hawk Valley. And I found my own home too—in Forrest’s cabin.
I lean against the doorway, fighting a smile as I watch him. He’s busily working and singing “Truth Hurts” in a falsetto voice.
“Am I interrupting?” I ask, smothering a laugh.
He whips around. There’s white icing in his beard. He grins widely at me. “I got somethin’ for you, beautiful.”
“What you got is frosting all over your face,” I tease, walking toward him.
“Job hazard,” he tells me, then leans in for a sweet, icing-flavored kiss. “I borrowed one of your big chocolate chip cookies.”
“Borrowed?” I giggled. “I’m pretty sure it’s yours at this point.”
He reaches behind him to grab a small cardboard pastry pad. There’s one of our giant cookies on it, and it’s covered in white and yellow frosting. It’s writing, I realize, looking closer at the messy scrawling.
It says—
“Oh,” I breathe, lifting my gaze to his.
In crookedly applied frosting, the words “Marry me?” are written out.
“I never claimed to be a good decorator,” he says softly, “but I’d love to spend the rest of my life learning from the best. In between doing everything I can to make her as happy as she can be.”
I gulp loudly as tears burn my eyes.
Forrest sets the cookie aside and cups my face tenderly. “Leila, will you marry me?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“I love you,” he tells me, looking me in the eyes. “And I don’t want you to ever forget that.”
“I love you too,” I reply, and let the tears flow when his lips meet mine. After a moment, I lean back. “I actually have something for you too.”
I walk to the fridge and retrieve a white pastry box that’s sized for a small cake. I hand it to him.
He casts a curious smile at me and sets the box on the table, then opens it, pulling the sides down.
I baked it this morning. It’s his favorite—yellow cake with chocolate filling. The frosting is a white buttercream I swiped on in a scalloped pattern. And then on the top, I carefully drew a baby rattle and wrote out in cursive script, “Congrats, Daddy.”
The smile drops off Forrest’s face and he lifts wide, shocked eyes to me. “For real?”
I nod, more tears spilling forth.
He sweeps me up into his arms and kisses me fiercely.
I laugh breathlessly. “My heart is so full. It’s almost too much.”
“No,” Forrest murmurs, nuzzling my cheek. “It’s exactly enough. Forever.”
4 | LOCH
Chapter 1
Ava Hedrick
“Never had a spring breaker here before,” the older woman with gray-streaked brown hair tells me as she peers at me over her shoulder, unlocking the door to a guest room.
I lift a shoulder and offer a smile. “Well, I guess I’m different then.”
“Most young gals your age like to head to the beach and party. That’s where I’d go m’self, but when you’re married to an old codger who can’t get his own medication, well.” She swings her hands up as if to say, What the hell do I do?
How do I tell a stranger I’m here to prove something to myself? That I’m here because trauma doesn’t and will not fucking define me?
Instead I force a smile. “Getting away to the mountains in a quiet town with all this beautiful wildlife to photograph seemed like a much more appealing idea.”
Satisfied, the woman who introduced herself to me downstairs at the door to the inn as Mrs. Morris—or Mrs. M, as she insisted I call her—nods and pushes open the door to a spacious room with a little fireplace, a comfy-looking queen bed, and a small walkout balcony that faces the famous Hawk Valley mountains.
It’s a far cry from the fancy Mexican resort my sorority sisters are going to. There won’t be a butler here, or in-room massages, or five-star gourmet meals. There won’t be white, sandy beaches, salty ocean air, or the crash of waves in the distance.
But staring at this room from the doorway, a sense of peace starts to creep back into my heart.
“This is perfect,” I say in a hushed voice.
Mrs. M pats my shoulder in a motherly fashion. “Thought it might be. It’s not our biggest room, but this one’s my favorite. Makes me feel like I’m home.”
That’s exactly it.
“Well, I’ll leave you to get settled,” she says. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me. Just holler.”
“Thanks,” I say with a small smile.
When I’m alone, I set about unpacking the small suitcase I brought. I saved up several thousand dollars to go to Mexico with my friends, but then New Year’s Eve happened, and the idea of being in another party atmosphere where anything could happen—again— turned my stomach. At the same time, I needed to get the hell out of Hawk City.
I’m not sure how long I’ll stay here. Maybe all week, if the first few days go well.
I pull out the clothes I packed and tuck them into the small dresser against the wall. I smirk as I survey the T-shirts, jeans, and leggings I brought. Vastly different than the bathing suits my friends packed. Bathing suit shopping was agonizing. As a curvy woman, it’s hard to find the best suit that fits just right, and I finally found one and bought it in every color. They still have the tags on them, in their shopping bag, in my dorm closet at Hawk City University.
Oh well.
I turn to my suitcase on the bed and pull out my camera. It’s a state-of-the-art Nikon with a new telescopic lens. This was where the rest of my vacation money went.
It’s early afternoon, and despite a few heavy clouds in the distance, the sun is shining. A quiet, leisurely walk on the mountain path I saw signs for sounds like a great idea. I can try out my camera and work on building my portfolio.
It doesn’t matter I’ve never actually gone on an official hike before, right?
I settle on jeans, a light tee, and a sweatshirt I can tie around my waist if I get too warm. I grab my camera and head downstairs.
In the kitchen I can hear Mrs. M on the phone, so rather than interrupt her, I slip out. It’s a small town. I can find my way around.
I’m already sweating by the time I reach the trailhead, which is on the other end of town and probably
half a mile from the inn. The wind suddenly picked up and it’s blowing against me. But the added resistance creates an invigorating feeling inside me, even though I wish I’d put on jean shorts. But there’s no way I’m turning back to change now.
I take my time up the winding path and reach a high point that offers a stunning view of the town below and the mountains around. The wind is worse up here, and those few dark clouds I saw earlier are closer now, darker, and much more ominous than they looked before. I even hear the occasional roll of thunder and see the distant flash of lightning. But on the other side, behind me, the sun is still brilliant in a blue sky. The odd juxtaposition resonates with me personally.
Sunny, smiling, and trying to be all right on the outside. And a dark, stormy mess on the inside after two masked guys decided to mug me in a bar alley on New Year’s Eve. They stole my phone and my money, but more than that, they stole my dignity. My sense of safety and security. And they stole my joy for life.
I climb a little higher, my sneakers slipping against the uneven terrain as I scramble onto a flat rock and snap the photo.
It’s been three months since the attack, and I still feel like my life is in shambles. And I know it could’ve been so much worse. But it shocked me to my core, and I can’t help but wonder what I could have—should have—done differently. It feels like my fault, even though I know it isn’t. The thing that keeps me awake most nights is how badly I wanted to scream that night. Scream for help. The words and the scream lodged in my throat and by the time I unfroze to let them out, one of the guys had his hand on my face, covering my mouth and nose until breathing became impossible.
I wish I would have screamed.
The air is much colder up here. The sweat I worked up getting to the trailhead is long gone. I untie the sweatshirt from around my waist and slide it on, shivering slightly.
The wind almost blows the camera out of my hand, then sends me stumbling back.
“Shit!” I exclaim, then glance up.
Whoa.
The dark clouds seem to have merged into a thick wall above me. I’m no meteorologist, but this can’t be good.