by Abby Brooks
I do a little mental count. At one time, my Nana had more than just a few animals. But as money dwindled, I slowly sold them off. “Five chickens. A rooster. Two goats.”
Ethan nods as if everything is settled. “That’s easy enough. We’ll bring them here. You can all move in with me and Bay. We’ll be one big happy, homestead family in the mountains.” He laughs wryly. “My dad would be so proud.”
“Where would we keep them? You don’t have a chicken coop or a barn. No fences. They’ll all just wander off.”
Ethan stands and offers me his hand. “You leave all of that to me. Right now, I want you to grab that faucet I bought you and get your ass in the truck. We have a lot to do and not much daylight left to do it in.”
And that’s that. I do what he says because frankly, I’m scared of this Joe Sylvio. Just like the cat I watched play with the mouse all those years ago, he could be anywhere, watching us, just waiting for the perfect time to pounce.
Chapter Ten
And just like that, Skye knows all of me. She knows who I am and who I was. She knows why I’m here and where I’m going. I thought it would be awful, admitting to her the darkest parts of myself. I thought she’d balk. Run away. I thought she’d call me a monster. Tell me I wasn’t worthy of being with her. That she found me disgusting and terrifying and that she couldn’t be with someone who has blood on his hands like I do.
Instead, she called me Batman.
Fucking Batman.
Just when I think I’ve got Skye figured out, she does something else to surprise me. She’s the kind of girl who sees shit that would scare anyone else and instead of running away, she just walks right up to it and starts asking questions. I don’t know if it’s just that she takes things in stride or if it’s because she has a darker streak that she keeps hidden under that sweet exterior. Either way, she’s quickly becoming the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to her.
Having Joe here in Wistful is bad news. He’s dumb as a box, but he’s also a murderous bastard. He’d be just as happy to kill us both as he would be to drag my ass back to LA and collect whatever reward they’ll give him. He’s as crazy as he is dumb and that’s never a good situation. A much as I hate to think about it, I’ll kill him before I let him do anything to Skye. Hell, I’ll go back to LA and face my consequences if that’s what needs to happen, but no matter what, my sweet Skye will come out of this unharmed.
We spend the trip out to her homestead talking. I keep waiting for her to be weird around me. Waiting for her to flinch when I reach for her. Waiting for everything I’ve told her about me to finally sink in and then she’ll start screaming and calling me all sorts of names. It never happens. She just sits next to me, asking questions about my past and nodding at the answers like they make perfect sense.
“Your dad was a SEAL?” she asks, resting an elbow on the back of the seat so she can play with the hair at the nape of my neck.
I nod and try to ignore my instant reaction, a desire to retreat into myself and avoid this conversation. Openness never has been one of my strong suits. Secrecy has always served me better. But I want to share myself with Skye.
“He was honorably discharged when I was two, after an injury to his knee. A piece of equipment fell on him and shattered his kneecap. I think the fact that it was an accident that ended his career rather than a battle wound or something is what started him down the path towards crazy.”
I glance at Skye, who’s still playing with my hair. “I can see that,” she says. “A warrior craves a warrior’s death and all that.”
“Exactly. He didn’t know what to do with himself. A man needs a purpose or he just starts to fester. He started devoting himself to me and my mom, making sure we had all the things we needed. And that’s where things got twisted.”
Skye looks at me, her brows drawn together, her sweet lips pursed and parted. She looks so concerned. It touches me. “What happened?” she asks.
I shrug and give my attention to the road. “His need to protect us got all tangled up and turned in on itself. He started seeing conspiracy theories everywhere, signs that things were about to go bad. Fast. Even that started out innocently enough. He started just storing food in the basement. Then, he started collecting guns and ammo. I was young enough that it all just seemed normal, it’s only in retrospect that I can see how things ended up the way they did.”
I take a deep breath. I don’t talk about my dad or my childhood. These words don’t come easily because the memories attached to them are sharp and painful. “It was when my mom died that things got bad.” My knuckles turn white as I clench the steering wheel. “My dad was cleaning his guns. He was tired and not paying enough attention. One was still loaded. Mom walked in and startled him. He accidentally pulled the trigger. She died before she hit the floor.”
“Oh, Ethan…” Skye’s eyes are wide as she looks over at me.
“The worst part was that he never reported it. By then we were already off-grid, living so far away from civilization that if anyone heard the gunshot, they’d just assume someone was hunting. He just took her out and buried her in the woods behind our house.”
Everyone always says it feels good to talk about the hard stuff. That it’s good to share the heavy stuff you carry around with you. I’m not so sure I agree with them. Sitting here next to Skye, waiting for her to say something, I feel exposed and itchy. I wish I could take back everything I just said.
“How old were you?” she asks, her fingers still twining in my hair.
“I was five when she died.”
“And is that the info that guy had on your dad? The one who blackmailed you into killing his daughter’s rapist?”
“Yep. Even crazy men get drunk and lonely. Dad came to LA to talk me into going home. Got pissed off when I said no and drunk himself into a stupor. Next thing I know, I’ve got an asshole waving his gun in my face, presenting me with one hell of a hard set of options.”
Skye sighs. Sucks in her lips and folds her hands into her lap. “My dad died when I was too young to remember him. It sounds like yours did, too. Sounds like the man who raised you was his ghost.” She glances at me and I am so not prepared for all the fucking compassion I see in her eyes. It hits me like a punch to the gut. She takes my hand and presses it to her lips and in that moment I know I’m falling in love with her. That she sees me and accepts me and understands me in a way no one ever has. She sees the crooked path of my life and understands how I ended up where I am.
When we get to her house, the dust and gravel on her driveway look freshly disturbed. I make her wait in the truck while I check out the property for any signs of Joe. I don’t tell her what I saw because there’s no need to make her more nervous than she already is.
Knowing that this homestead is part of her family’s legacy, I find all the home-brewed half-fixes around the place charming. Instead of seeing a dilapidated house, I see the product of a long line of people working to keep this thing going for the family. It’s touching, actually. I can imagine generations of LaRue men, sweating out here in the sun, making improvements to the home for the betterment of their family. It’s not lost on me that I’m about to step inside this place and make my own improvement by putting in this faucet for her.
It touches me. Makes me feel like I’m part of something bigger than myself and I’m not a LaRue man. Hell, I’m not even sure I’m her man…
I take that back. I very much know I’m her man in the same way I very much know she’s my woman.
“We’re all clear,” I call as I get back to the truck. “Hop on out of there and get that sweet ass in the house. Pack some clothes. Grab your birth control pills. Whatever you’re going to need for a long stay up in the mountains. I’ll work on getting the livestock in the truck and if we have some time, I’ll go ahead and peek in the kitchen and see how big of a chore I have, getting that new faucet put in.”
“Done and done,” she says before lifting
herself up on tiptoe to kiss me. “Thank you for taking such good care of me.”
The old screen door bangs shut as Skye disappears into the house and I head over to the barn to see what I can figure out with the livestock situation. Thankfully, her chicken coop is mobile and small enough to fit in the bed of the truck and still leave just enough room for the goats. They’ll be cramped, but we’ll get them home safely. While she’s packing, I Google ways to keep them from wandering off and to keep predators at bay once we get everyone back to the cabin.
As I flip through different ways to tether the goats and make sure the chickens don’t roam too far from the coop, my mind keeps drifting to Skye and this beautiful piece of land she has here. My family is scattered to the wind. I have an aunt and an uncle I’ve never met. A grandma who’s too wrapped up in her own shit to even care if I come visit for Christmas. My dad self-destructed and I pretty much raised him until he gave up and left me to clean up the mess he left behind.
I’ve been an island. A one-man show. Something about being here on this piece of land that Skye’s family has labored over for generations makes me aware of this big empty hole in my heart. I think it’s been there for as long as I can remember, I’ve just never noticed it before. Never had a reason to think it should be any other way.
Standing here, looking out at the house with the mountains lining up behind it, all majestic and proud, I find myself wondering what it would be like to settle in one place. To raise children here and watch them grow until they raise children of their own. To hand down tradition and legacy along with my name. The thought speaks to something deep inside of me, some part of my soul that’s tired of being an island.
All those years living in LA, I figured I’d live alone and die alone. That there was nothing in me worth passing on. No need to bring someone else into my life to suffer alongside me, and fuck. Why in hell would I want to bring a child into this world to struggle and fall and spend his whole life working on picking himself up only to get knocked down again?
But maybe I was wrong to feel that way. Or maybe I was living wrong in the first place. Busy chasing the wrong dreams for the wrong reasons. Maybe, being out here under the wide open sky, where all the work I do goes towards making life better for the people that matter most to me, maybe that’s the dream I should be chasing. Maybe that’s what makes life worthwhile. Worth passing on.
Or maybe I’m getting way the fuck ahead of myself, because I’ve got a woman I’ve only known a handful of days packing up all her shit because I brought a crazy mother fucker into her life. So maybe I should stop daydreaming about love and family and just get my ass in gear before something goes wrong.
Can’t look to a future when the present is still this fucked up.
Google has a few suggestions for me as far as the livestock go. They’re not pretty, and they’re definitely temporary, but I feel better knowing the animals won’t wander off or get nabbed by something bigger than them while we’re not watching. I wander into the house, pleased with myself, intent on taking a peek at the kitchen sink. Getting that new faucet put in won’t be that big of a project. As much as I resent my dad for all he’s done, the skills he taught me have served me well. I just need to know what kind of situation I’m getting myself into with the pipes.
Skye’s in her bedroom, humming to herself as she works. Her voice is low and sweet, not necessarily beautiful, but appealing nonetheless. It makes me smile. It makes me want to find more reasons to make her happy so that she spends all her days singing.
I pause, surprised to realize I’m falling in love with her. That maybe I’ve been in love with her since that very first day in LA, that brazen girl with the red hair who walked up to a man with a gun with a smile on her face. She saw what she wanted and took it. I can respect someone like that.
“Is that you, Ethan?” She pokes her head out of the bedroom, her eyebrows drawing together.
She’s afraid. She heard me moving in her house and couldn’t trust that it was me. And fuck if that isn’t my fault. Damn it, I will change that, even if it means I have to break myself a little along the way. This woman, my woman, she will feel safe in her own home. Hell, she’ll feel safe anywhere and everywhere. No matter what I have to do to make it that way.
“Yeah, baby. It’s me.” I shove my hands in my pockets and lean on the wall, just drinking her in.
“What?” she asks, blushing. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in all my life. And I can’t help but stop and stare. You put the Wyoming skyline to shame, baby girl.” I shove off the wall and head into the kitchen. “Now, you get those bags packed and let’s get home.”
A funny look darts across her face and I realize the implications of what I just said. Let’s get home. Like that little cabin in the woods is ours. Fuck it. I guess it is. As long as Joe Sylvio is out there, Skye’s staying with me.
I duck into the kitchen and poke around the sink. Just as I suspected, this little improvement won’t be that big of a job at all. As soon as things settle down, I can have it in for her in less than a day. I spin around the spacious room, taking stock of all the things I want to fix up for her around here. Given what I know about home improvement, I could turn this old homestead into one damn fine home.
My gaze falls on the dilapidated stove and my blood runs cold. There, sitting right in the middle of the range top, propped up against the wall behind it, is a playing card. The joker. Sylvio’s calling card. The dumbass leaves it behind him wherever he goes because he thinks it makes him more of a badass. Instead, it just makes him easier to track. I always said that one of these days, that calling card would be the reason he gets his ass killed.
Looks like that day has finally arrived.
Chapter Eleven
Thwack.
Thwack.
THWACK.
Whatever that sound is, it can stop any minute now, thank you very much. I am so not ready to be awake. My days here at Ethan’s cabin are long and filled with backbreaking work. If we’re not building a pen for the goats, I’m working in the garden. And if I’m not working in the garden, then I’m helping Ethan fillet the fish he caught in the pond so we can have them for dinner. Or worse, prepare the game he brought in from one of his hunting sessions.
He does all the gross stuff out away from the cabin itself so I don’t have to see it, but I still struggle with knowing the bits and pieces of meat we clean and package for the freezer used to be cute little woodland creatures. I feel a little better about it all when we sit down to dinner because wow! There’s nothing like a home cooked meal made from things you pulled out of the ground yourself. And after dinner?
Well, let’s just say we go to bed tired, but it takes a long time to fall asleep. When we’re finally done exploring each other’s bodies, I cross the line into my dreams thoroughly exhausted, well-fed, and limp from my next best orgasm of all time. This life with Ethan is not at all like I imagined, but it’s fulfilling as all hell and I wake up excited to face the day.
THWACK.
Except today.
Today can just go to hell.
THWACK.
And whatever the hell that noise is, it can just go to hell, too.
I pull back the covers and stagger to my feet, every muscle in my body complaining after yesterday’s efforts. Ethan has coffee waiting for me in the kitchen, but I move past it, more curious about whatever that sound is than I am interested in the caffeine. Besides, I think I really over did it yesterday because I’m not feeling very well. Coffee sounds like it would just churn in my stomach. The front door to the cabin is open and the early morning sun is shining through, leaving a long beam of light on the floor.
A cool breeze pushes into our home, stirring up the dust motes to dance in the light stretching out across the floor. It’s beautiful, but it reminds me that I really should start cleaning up the inside of this place as well as working on the outside. My searc
h for the rhythmic sound leads me outside and I shield my eyes in order to see.
Ethan’s got his shirt off, chopping wood, his chest and arms glistening with sweat. His muscles flex and twitch as he swings the axe up over his head and hauls it down, splitting a log in two. The pieces clatter to the ground and he bends to pick them up, one in each hand, the tendons standing out in his forearms as he stacks them with the rest of the firewood he has piled up against the house. I lean against the doorframe, cross my arms over my chest, and watch him work. It’s fucking glorious.
He runs his hand through his hair, brushing it back from his forehead and catches me staring. “Well good morning, sleeping beauty.”
“How long have you been up?”
“A while. Didn’t want to wake you. You looked so peaceful in there.”
“Well let me tell you what, there’s only one way of waking up I can think of that’s better than finding you all sweaty and manly out here like this.”
Ethan rests the axe up on his shoulder and he might as well be an Instagram post. Hashtag hot lumberjack. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“You being all sweaty and manly in bed with me.” I bite my lip and raise my eyebrows.
“You’re insatiable, you know that?”
“When it comes to you, yes. I’m one hundred percent insatiable. There’s no way I’ll ever get enough of you.”
Ethan smiles. “Good. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He lowers the axe and grabs another piece of wood from the pile. “There’s coffee,” he says.
“I saw it. Have you eaten?”
He shakes his head. “Waited for you.” And with that, he goes back to splitting logs.
I wander back into the kitchen and pour myself a cup of coffee before getting stuff out to make a breakfast worthy of a man like Ethan. I hum as I work, happy to my core.
We haven’t seen or heard anything about Joe Sylvio since we left Culpepper’s Pages three weeks ago. Ethan assures me that there’s no way he could find us out here and while that’s great, I can’t help but worry about Ali. The longer I’m out here, the more my anger at her betrayal fades. All I can think about is how much trouble she must be in. Will Joe hurt her? Would he take his anger about our disappearance out on her?