A Deep and Dark December

  Erin knelt beside him. He still couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

  “He can’t die,” she said on a sob. “He has to release my aunt and my dad.”

  Graham checked Ham’s pulse, his own battering out a hard rhythm. It was weak, but there. He let out a relieved breath. It was sick, but no matter what the man had done Graham couldn’t bring himself to wish for his death. He pulled out his cell phone to call an ambulance. Erin put a hand on his arm. Her touch felt wrong. He stood and moved away to make the call, not wanting her to see how much it killed him to have her near and not be able to touch her.

  Ending the call, he looked out over the ocean, everything in him churning and crashing like the waves below. He bent over, gripping his knees, trying to catch his breath. He’d pulled his gun on his own father, so close to pulling the trigger, he could almost hear the gunshot, imagine Ham’s head jerking back, and the acrid smell of gunpowder and death.

  Erin laid her hand on his back. He shrugged her off and moved away, out of reach. He wished she’d stop doing that. It hurt too much.

  ~*~

  Erin didn’t know how to reach Graham. Every attempt she made, he rejected. She knew a little something about what he was going through. She’d been through it herself when she’d first come into her ability and her father explained how everyone in their family had some kind of ability. She’d never imagined there could be another family like hers in San Rey.

  Graham kept his distance, his gaze moving past her to his father, then back out at the ocean. He wouldn’t look at her or acknowledge her. She ached for him.

  “It’s not your fault,” she said, trying to reach him. “He fooled all of us.”

  “Go home, Erin.”

  His rejection stung. She reached out to touch him, then pulled the gesture. He’d only shrug it off. Again.

  “I’m not leaving you like this.”

  “Go home. I don’t want you here.” His words didn’t match his tone.

  She moved in front of him, forcing him to look at her. “I’m not leaving you. You need me.”

  “What I need is for you to go home. Now.”

  “I’m not leaving. I care about you, Graham.”

  “Do you? How can you be sure?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “How can you be sure about anything with me?”

  “What?” Her confusion slowly morphed into understanding. His ability. He thought… Oh, my god.

  He broke into her thoughts. “Did you want to tell me about your ability?”

  “No, not at first, but you convinced—”

  “I convinced you to tell me,” he finished for her. “And when you kissed me that first time, was it because you wanted to?”

  “Of course.”

  “Really? Because I really wanted you to kiss me. That’s all I could think about that night when I came up here and found you. You kissing me. And then you did.”

  “Graham—”

  “And when we had sex—” he broke off and rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. “Did you really want to?”

  “You can’t… Yes. God, yes. I wanted you so bad.”

  “Really? Because I wanted you. I really, really wanted you. But most of all, I wanted you to want me. More than Keith, more than anyone you’d ever been with.”

  The anguish in his voice broke her heart. She couldn’t help the tears that fell, couldn’t stop the need to go to him and wrap her arms around him. He stiffened in her embrace, turning his head away, his jaw clenched.

  “I wanted you more than anything,” she whispered fiercely, clinging harder to him even as he held his arms tight at his sides. “I want you now. I can’t imagine a day going by when I wouldn’t want you, when I wouldn’t love you.”

  He finally looked at her, his gaze hot and searching. He started to say something.

  Her body jolted.

  A sharp pain punctured her shoulder, spinning her away from him.

  The firecracker sound came late, just as he reached for her. The pain hit again, this time in her hip. The ground flew up towards her. Graham caught her, hanging her back over his arm. She heard another shot, this one not for her.

  “Graham!” she shouted as the sky went black.

  Graham expected to feel something. Anything. But the void that had punctured his chest when Erin was shot radiated out, spreading through every cell in his body, as though he could not only feel nothing, he was nothing. Watching the medical team work over Ham’s body, making a valiant effort at keeping the old man alive, he stood at the foot of the hospital bed and tried with every part of him to think nothing.

  If Ham died, it would be from the bullets Graham had put in him and not because Graham had inadvertently used his ability wishing for Ham’s heart to just…stop.

  He didn’t have to close his eyes to recall the way Erin’s body had jerked, the way her eyes had widened and her lips had parted as the first bullet hit. Something in him—training, muscle memory—recognized what was happening before his brain could wrap around it, and he was already going for his back up piece as he threw an arm out to catch her. And then the gun was in his hand, his finger pulling the trigger when the second bullet hit her.

  He didn’t remember the sound of his gun firing. Erin’s scream had filled his head, blocking every other sound out, including whatever it was his father had said in that last instant before Graham’s finger had fully depressed the trigger. Then, again. And again. Until it clicked empty and Ham lay motionless.

  Graham had had to replay everything for Pax and somehow explain to the now acting sheriff why Ham would shoot Erin and why he would empty his gun into his own father. He couldn’t exactly tell Pax what Ham had done or about Erin, the abilities, and the shit storm that was now his life. So he told a half-truth about Ham thinking Erin wasn’t good enough for Graham and about how Ham’s illness had changed him mentally.

  Graham crossed his arms over his chest and balled his fists. His shirt was stiff with Erin’s blood mixed with Ham’s. The metallic stench of it made his stomach twist into a sick knot. He swallowed to keep from gagging.

  The monitor went from blips to a scream, yanking Graham’s attention back to the bed and the man lying in it.

  “He’s crashing!”

  Graham was ignored as the team went to work restarting Ham’s heart. Again. Siphoning his focus entirely from the room, his thoughts went to Erin two floors up in surgery. She’d been covered in blood that had just kept coming. He’d held her hand in the ambulance, pressing it to his forehead and willing her to live with everything in him. He couldn’t lose her. Not now. Not like this.

  A hand on his arm wrenched him back from his thoughts. He tried to focus on the doctor’s face, thinking he should at least make an effort to remember what she looked like as she told him that the man who had once been his father was dead.

  ~*~

  God, she hurt. All over. Even her hair hurt. She lay back, absorbing the pain, trying to sift through her memories for the one that would make sense of things. And then it came at her fast and hard, slamming into her as the bullets had.

  Graham.

  Where was Graham?

  She struggled through the drugs that hazed but didn’t ease, pushing her way toward consciousness. The dark room came into focus slowly, an inch at a time and even then she wasn’t entirely sure she’d succeeded in awakening. This had to be a dream.

  Her father was slumped in a chair at the foot of her bed, his chin resting on his chest. The buzz of his snore sounded real, but she couldn’t be sure. Her gaze caught on the hand holding hers on the thin white blanket and traveled up the arm to the side of her aunt’s face illuminated by the glow of the TV playing quietly in the background. She moved her fingers, testing to see if she could touch Cerie and really be sure of what she was seeing.

  Her aunt turned her head abruptly and gasped. Clasping both of Erin’s hands in hers, Cerie stood and leaned over the bed.

  “There you are, chic
ken.” Cerie brushed her fingers across Erin’s cheek. “We’ve been waiting for you to wake up.” She turned and called out to her brother. “Donald. Donald!”

  Erin’s dad shook himself.

  “She’s awake,” Cerie informed him.

  He rushed to the other side of Erin’s bed, his face creasing into a hopeful smile as he rested his hand over hers. “Hey.”

  “H—” Erin cleared her throat and tried again. “Hey. You’re okay.” She switched her attention to her aunt and then to her father again. “Both of you.”

  Cerie lowered the guardrail on the bed and sat on the edge, careful not to bump Erin. “We are and you will be, too.”

  Erin rolled her head on the pillow, needing to see Cerie’s face. “Graham.” She pulled in a hitching breath. “Where’s Graham?”

  Cerie’s gaze flickered to Donald.

  “I heard another shot…” Erin bit her lip, unable to finish the sentence.

  “Oh, no, chicken, no. He wasn’t shot.”

  “Then what?”

  “His father died.”

  The cool wash of relief flooded her first, followed by the hot shame of being glad that vile, hateful man was dead. No matter what she felt about Ham, what he’d done, he’d been Graham’s father. She couldn’t imagine what Graham must be feeling.

  “Where is he?” She wanted to see for herself that he was okay, needed to touch him to be sure.

  “He was here.” Donald looked over his shoulder out into the hall as though he expected to find Graham standing in the doorway.

  Cerie filled in, “He’s been here off and on… When he could.”

  “When I wasn’t here,” Donald said, his voice hard with anger.

  “Oh, stop it,” Cerie admonished. “It’s not his fault. He shot his own father protecting your daughter. You can’t seriously blame him for Ham’s deeds.”

  Erin jerked upright, gasping at the pain slicing through her. “He what?”

  “Lie back.” Cerie gently pushed on her good shoulder. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

  “What happened? Somebody tell me what happened.”

  Donald’s mouth pressed down at the corners. She wasn’t going to get what she wanted from her dad.

  “Auntie, tell me what happened.”

  “First, lie back. I can see you’re hurting. Let me get the nurse—”

  “No.” Erin put a hand on her aunt’s arm to stop her from calling for the nurse. She settled back against the pillows to smooth the worry from between Cerie’s brows. “I’m fine. Please. Tell me.”

  “A few hours after I woke up,” Cerie began, “Graham came into my hospital room. I guess he’d asked the nurses to let him know when I was conscious.” She paused, looking down at her hands clasped with Erin’s. “He was wearing a shirt…with blood all over it. Your blood. He looked awful, chicken.” She raised her gaze to Erin’s, looking sadder than Erin had ever seen her. “Ham had passed right before your father and I came out of…whatever it was we were in.”

  Erin pressed her eyes closed. Graham shooting his own father had not only saved Erin but her aunt and dad, too. She couldn’t imagine the pain he must be in right now. And blame. He’d be blaming himself for what his father had done, just like with Patricia.

  “Donald arrived and then Graham told us what had happened to you,” Cerie continued. “You’d just come out of surgery. You were going to be okay. And then he told us what Ham had done. He—” She broke off on a sob.

  “That son of bitch nearly killed you,” Donald broke in, an edge to his voice that Erin had never heard.

  “I’m okay, Dad.”

  “You were shot. Twice.”

  “It’s not Graham’s fault.”

  “He’s the sheriff. If it’s not his fault, whose is it?”

  “Donald, stop it. You’re upsetting her.”

  “He shot his own father protecting me. And whether you like it or not, Graham and I are together. So you’re just going to have to get over it.”

  Donald’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean together?”

  “I mean it in the same way it applies to you and Mabel.”

  Cerie put a hand up to her mouth, hiding her smile.

  Donald drew back. “You know about Mabel and me?”

  “Mom’s not coming back. You should have someone in your life who makes you happy. If that’s Mabel then…that’s Mabel.” Her father continued to stare at her, but a strange expression crept over his features—relief. She decided to go for broke. “Daddy, I love him.”

  Donald looked away, his frown deepening.

  “You have to let her go sometime,” Cerie said to her brother. “If it helps, he loves her just as much. Maybe more. He’s suffering because of what his father did. You couldn’t possibly blame him as much as he blames himself. Be reasonable, Donald. He saved her at great personal cost. If you could hear him the way I do… If you knew how much pain he’s in…”

  “I need to see him. Please,” Erin begged her aunt. “Find him for me.”

  “He’s in the hospital, but he won’t come. He…” She pressed fingers to her temples and shook her head. “I don’t understand his thoughts. Something about not knowing what’s real?” Cerie looked at Erin for clarification.

  “Did you know about Graham’s family?”

  “What about them?”

  “What did Ham call them?” Erin searched her memory for the right word. “Influencers. He said they were Influencers.”

  “What does that mean?” Donald asked.

  “Oh,” Cerie breathed. “He didn’t know. That’s why.”

  Donald let out a frustrated breath. “Know what?”

  “That he has an ability,” Erin said.

  “What kind of ability?” Donald asked.

  “Ham said that they’re Influencers. They can influence people’s thoughts and actions.” Erin tried to recall everything Ham had said. “He called them crowd control. Protectors of some sort. I don’t understand the details except that it has something to do with getting people to do what they want them to do.”

  Cerie slowly nodded. “So that’s how they were able to be sheriff generation after generation.”

  “And why there’s been no crime in San Rey,” Donald added. “Until recently.”

  “Until Ham killed Deidre, then used his ability to influence Greg to kill himself.”

  “What?” Cerie and Donald said at the same time.

  “It started when Ham had an affair with Deidre.” Erin watched the expressions on her father’s and aunt’s faces go from disbelief to horror to shock as she pieced together everything Ham had done, including what had happened on the bluff. When she finished, she reached for her aunt’s hand and pleaded her case one more time. “I need to see Graham, Auntie. Please.”

  Cerie turned to her brother, her eyes widening as her lips parted in surprise.

  Donald bent and kissed Erin’s forehead. “We’ll leave the two of you alone.” He looked at Cerie and jerked his head toward the door.

  What did I miss? “What do you mean, the two of us?” Erin asked.

  Cerie rose from the bed and patted Erin’s hand. She smiled, her gaze on her brother’s back as she leaned down to whisper in Erin’s ear. “Be gentle with Graham, chicken. He’s going to need your strength, but most of all he’s going to need your ability to help him use and understand his own.” She smoothed the hair back from Erin’s brow. “Your father might have been a bit dramatic, putting the thought in Graham’s head that he needs to get his ass up here quick. Graham’s racing up and should be here in three, two, one…”

  Graham suddenly appeared in the doorway. He exhaled hard when his gaze found Erin.

  Cerie went to him. “Thank you for saving Erin.” She patted him on the arm. “You’re a good man, Graham.”

  ~*~

  Graham watched Cerie leave, not knowing what to say, his chest still tight and heaving with the panic that he had to get to Erin. Now.

  “My dad,” Erin said.

&nb
sp; Graham tried to focus on what Erin was saying, pretending he didn’t see how pale and small she looked in her hospital bed. Would he ever stop seeing the image of her bleeding into the dirt? “I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “What?”

  “I’m all right. On the mend.” She lifted a hand, the wires that hooked her to machines moving with the action. “I’m sorry if whatever thought my dad put into your head made you think otherwise.”

  He realized he still wasn’t quite used to abilities or powers or whatever the hell they were. Maybe because he’d been suddenly handed a membership into a club he’d hardly known existed until a couple of months ago, and one he really didn’t want to belong to. “He’s not very happy with me.”

  “He’ll get over it and come around. How are you?”

  “Me?”

  Nobody had asked him that so he didn’t have a ready answer. Or any kind of answer at all. He lifted his shoulders and hoped she didn’t see how badly he wanted to go to her, wrap his arms around her, and bury his face in the softness of her. She was the one thing that could ground him in the here and now, but he couldn’t even walk all the way into the room with her. He stood just inside the doorway, feeling hopeless and so fucking useless, wondering why he couldn’t have taken the bullets instead of her.

  “I’m sorry about your father.”

  He flinched at her sympathy. He should be the one expressing some kind of sentiment. But what was the pat response for all the wrong Ham had inflicted? What were the words you used to smooth over the way your own father had tortured the woman you love day and night? How do you make up for using your ability to take away her free will? And what in the hell do you say to get her to look at you the way she used to?

  “Come here,” she beckoned softly.

  Stuck in a strange, torturous limbo, he couldn’t get his feet to move toward her and he couldn’t leave. He’d felt nothing before, but now—here with her—he felt everything. His skin prickled hot and he resisted the overwhelming urge to scratch and scratch until he flayed the skin he was in and shed it for a new one that he could stand to live in.