“What else do we need to talk about here?” Brock interrupts the PI but looks at me questioningly. He must know I’m on my last leg here.
“I just need to verify his identity,” the PI explains.
Fuck. No. I shake my head, feeling the bile rise in my throat. I can’t do that.
“Can’t you know what he looks like by the videos? We know what time he went in my building and you’ve got the tape….at the restaurant...” I stammer, scrambling now. Tears are threatening to spill.
Brock grabs the leg of my chair, pulling me next to him. His arm is around me, his mouth to my ear.
“Just do this, honey, and I can take care of the rest, okay?” he explains, kissing my temple. I’m shaking my head, squeezing my eyes shut, hoping this just ends. “We just need a yes on his face and we’ll leave.”
The PI is looking at his notes, trying to let us have this moment. He must see blubbering women like me all the time. What does “take care of it” mean? I already said I can’t handle going to court. Brock knows I’m not going to do that.
He’s already made it clear that he can get around the law. The moral side of me wants this to be handled correctly - by police and lawyers, making it official. But the other side of me, the side that was broken by that man, doesn’t really care at this point. He nearly ruined me. He nearly got away with it. I have a chance to stop worrying, wondering what would happen if he wasn’t out there, free.
I nod. Brock relays my cooperation to the PI and he starts laying out photos of men. The first paper he pulls out of a folder makes me tense. But as he lays it on the table, my back and shoulders relax: it’s not him. Just a random guy caught on CCTV.
The next is another stranger, someone who could be normal and good. But the angle of security cameras and the black and white of the photos makes all of them seem sinister.
The third and fourth pictures are laid out. Both men are watching me. The PI knows who he is - he’s just waiting on my confirmation. He stays stoic and places the next photo down.
My blood pumps faster, my palms become slick with sweat. I feel both their eyes on me - they already know.
Brock rubs his hand down my back. “Just say yes and we’ll go. Is that him?”
I look over at Brock. He looks almost as pained as I am. A warmth spreads through me, loosening the knot in my chest. He cares. He’s worried about me. He hates doing this to me as much as I hate being here.
“Yes,” I murmur, holding back tears. At that, Brock looks at the PI who nods his acknowledgement. It’s done.
Callie
It’s two days before Christmas and I haven’t stopped grinning in the past couple weeks. We came home from Austin, leaving all the emotional baggage behind.
On the flight back to Colorado, Brock asked me to move in with him. I laughed and reminded him that I’ve basically been living with him since we met. He agrees, and we decide to actually start moving my stuff to his place. I can’t live in his oversized flannel shirts forever.
With most of my clothes and belongings in this house now, I feel like I really belong. Cookie has a bed in our room, my makeup and hair supplies are littered across the master bath, and we’ve christened almost every surface of not only the house, but the entire ranch itself with our sex.
I’m elbow deep in cooking today. I’ve got at least a dozen things going at once, just the way my mom did for holiday meals. I already know Brock loves my food - he can’t get enough of any meal I make for him. But today is special: I’m officially meeting his family.
He’s in the kitchen, working as my sous chef, stirring this, chopping that. He can’t keep his hands off me - not that I mind, usually - but today, I’m trying to get things done. I shoo him to sit at the counter and leave me alone.
After a few minutes of watching me, I smile at him, pausing in the middle of making some pie dough. I know I’m covered in flour, hair a mess, sweater hanging off my shoulder, not a stitch of makeup on. But he looks at me like I’m beautiful. Like I’m not some broken girl anymore, but a woman. One that he adores.
He motions for me to come to his side of the island. I coyly walk over, staying just out of his arms reach to tease him. He lunges at me, grabbing me by the waist as I squeal and giggle, only half fighting him off. I love his big hands on me.
Brock pulls me onto his lap, kissing my bare shoulder.
“You know, I built this place for you.”
I almost fall off his lap at the force of my turn. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, I didn’t know you when I started, obviously,” he begins. I keep wide eyes on him. Where is he going with this?
“These renovations, the new kitchen, the big master suite… I did all this to give to my wife. Or the woman who would be my wife,” he says, looping his arms around my waist, pulling me tighter against him.
“I knew I wanted to stay on this mountain, and I wanted her to have a perfect house to make a home with me. I really started to lose hope that it would ever happen…” his voice drifts off.
“But I found you - at the feed store of all places - and I couldn’t be happier to have spent all those nights researching the perfect open floor plan or the best countertop colors. I was lonely up here. Fucking lonely, Callie. This house was just a reminder of what I failure I was at connecting with anyone - my family, friends, women, anyone.”
I’m tearing up now. I know he must be sick of my crying, but I’m emotional and he’ll just have to deal with it.
“But you’ve made this place more of a home than I ever really thought possible. Every time I look at you in here, I know this is right where you need to be - right where both of us need to be.”
He’s brushing the hair out of my face, admiring me in all my messy glory. I know my face is burning with his praise.
“I love you, Callie. I know it’s early and I know you might not be ready to say it but I love you. This is more than I ever thought I deserved and… I just thought you should know.”
I’m smiling so hard it hurts. He pulls me in for a kiss, cupping my cheek, delicately telling me just how much he loves me through every kiss. I pull away, looking into his eyes.
“I love you, Brock,” I tell him, looking deep into his eyes. “So, so much.”
He keeps cuddling me to him, my nose pressed into his neck as he rubs my back. The comfort, the security. It really does feel like home.
I finish prepping for dinner, running upstairs to get ready for his parents to arrive. Brock follows me, pulling me onto the bed for a quickie before they get here. It all goes by in a blur, my new normal: outrageous bliss.
The first few minutes after his parents arrive are a little strange - I can feel the waves of tension between Brock and his parents. But by the time we all have a few drinks, things loosen up. Dinner goes smoothly. His mom and I bond over our Texas roots, exchanging stories of the best restaurants and shopping in Austin. Even Brock has relaxed, sharing a beer with his dad on the back porch while his mom and I set the table.
I finish up the last minute cooking alone while they chat at the dining table. I feel happy - absolutely, deliriously happy. I know my mom is proud of me somewhere, for coming out of my darkness, for fighting back against the people who hurt me, even for nailing her famous chocolate pie.
As I’m serving Christmas dinner to Brock’s parents and him, I feel the surest I’ve felt in my life. Safe, cared for and loved. This is where I belong.
Hey, y’all! I hope you enjoyed Safe on the Mountain. I had so much fun writing this book and living in Brock and Callie’s relationship. If you enjoyed it too, please leave me a review! I’d love to hear your feedback on the story.
Follow me on Instagram to hear about new books, see shameless pictures of my dogs and follow me through the ups and downs of writing.
Archive.
Safe on the Mountain Page 13