by Ella James
BARRETT
That fucker came into my house and went into my drawers and stole my ACE camo. He had my .338, I think—the one I pawned. The case looked dinged up in the same spots mine was.
I watched him walk up, dressed in dark clothes, waited patiently as he fumbled through the trusty bobby pin routine on my deadbolt. When he stepped inside the house, I hid, so I could see what that fucker would do next.
He went right upstairs. I followed. He’s so unobservant, he had no idea I was right there, looking over his shoulder as he put my clothes on, went down to the den and put my gun together. I’m surprised he managed to get ammo into it.
Now that he’s striding through the woods, I’m fucking terrified. I’ve got a stun gun and a throwing star—two weapons that survived my self-harm purge.
Jesus Christ, why did I sell my guns?
I know Gwenna is at the top of the hill, and that’s where he’s going. My whole body is ice cold. I’m shaking like I never did before this. Jesus, I’m an Operator, but I just can’t stop shivering. I’m such a fucking wreck that it’s a struggle to stay quiet behind him. As I stalk him, I can feel my phone vibrating in my pocket: call after call. And I know why now. Too bad for Dove and Blue: I can’t answer.
I tell myself, in desperation, that he’s trying to impress her. Mimic me or something. I don’t fucking know.
But I can’t stop shaking. I can’t fucking breathe as I gain on him just a little. Up, up, up the hill. I hear her footfall on the leaves. She’s coming down. Oh God, I fucking see her.
My reflexes are still fast, so even though my right hand sucks, I throw the star before he gets the gun’s nose pointed at her. It flies fast and far—but hits his shoulder, not his spine.
Niccolo whirls: eyes wide, face twisted, gun raised.
TWENTY NINE
GWENNA
February 14, 2016
OH MY GOD, THAT’S BARRETT!
He’s so thin it takes a second to be sure, but I can feel him before my eyes identify his face and body. My heart swells to twice its size, surging so hard and fast, I almost fall right over.
I’m alight. Alive.
My mouth opens—I want to scream and run to him—but Barrett’s eyes are not on me. His arm jerks up. I see the man in camo flinch, and then whirl. He’s clumsy, teeters on his heel. He holds the giant gun clumsily, but it’s pointed at Barrett.
Time stops as Bear holds his hands up. I can see him walking slowly toward the masked man. I can see his face go white. Just one time, his eyes flick to mine. I can read him like a book: RUN, GWEN!
I don’t. I can’t.
“It’s okay,” he says loudly to the gunman. He waves, as if nothing is the matter. “Hunting?”
“You—” The masked man shakes his head. His back is facing me now, as he’s turned toward Barrett, lower down the hill. I see a crimson stain seep through his camo, near the shoulder blade, and realize Barrett must have…I don’t know. Bear doesn’t have a gun, does he?
The masked man laughs, wielding his own long rifle. “Did you throw a knife at me?”
I know that voice.
I hear it laugh.
“How many times have you played checkers? Dammit, woman. I can never win.”
My stomach bottoms out.
It’s Nic.
I hold my arms out, desperate to convey this to Barrett somehow. My mind spins. What is going on here?
Again, Bear’s gaze hits mine. Go!
“It was a throwing star,” he says calmly. His voice ignites my blood. “Sorry, man. Is that you, Nic? I wasn’t sure. I just got home and saw someone head up this way. Guess I panicked.”
Barrett shrugs, and if my brain weren’t pealing with alarm bells from the strangeness of the situation, I would believe what he is saying.
“Hunting?” Bear repeats. He shakes his head and brings a hand up to his temple, like he has a headache. “Really sorry, man. I’ll—”
“Quiet!” Still brandishing the gun, Nic steps closer to Bear. Then, abruptly, he whirls back around toward me. Using both arms, he raises the gun. I can see his finger fumble for the trigger. At the same time, I note the blur that is Barrett rushing toward us.
It happens so fast.
Nic fires the gun, and I can hear and feel the bullet—hitting me? I guess I drop down to the ground, because that’s where I am when I see Barrett straddle Nic and wrench the gun out of his hands. He slams his hand down on Nic’s throat and squeezes as his face twists violently.
“You fucking piece of shit!”
His body trembles and his face reddens. I think I make some sort of sound because Bear’s eyes, again, fly to mine. Once his gaze hits mine, it softens.
And that’s when it happens. That’s when Nic, who’s writhing under Barrett, reaches up and…I don’t know what. Barrett recoils, his hand at his throat, and I can see the shock on his face. Then I hear a horrible gasp. His hand and his neck go red. His eyes widen. His mouth opens. A strange sound comes out. Blood is spilling out his throat and down his chest.
Run!
I read his lips, but I don’t understand. I look from Nic to Barrett. Everything has slowed down. I feel like I’m in a movie. Or a dream.
The hollow gasping starts again. Barrett falls over, bracing himself with one palm against the ground as Nic rises, holding the gun weirdly now—weirdly meaning the wrong way…because he slams the butt of it into Barrett’s head.
Barrett sprawls out in the leaves, but wobbles up. I hear his raspy, gurgling breaths and see the blood pour from a cut along his throat. As Barrett lunges for Nic, Nic whacks Barrett with the gun again. Bear blocks him, but the impact of the gun against his shoulder sends him rolling downhill.
Nic turns my way. “Put your head down, Gwen! Eyes on the ground!” His face tightens as he moves toward me. “EYES ON THE GROUND!”
I do, for a split second. And then I notice: Barrett isn’t moving. He’s lying on his side in the leaves. Abject terror tumbles through me.
My brain kicks into motion. I go for Nic with a hand move Bear taught me, striking at his jugular. Nic staggers. I kick him in the stomach. He falls. He rolls downhill, not stopping until he’s lying right beside Bear.
I wrest the gun away from Nic and knock him in the face.
I see Barrett bleeding from the corner of my eye; I can hear his awful, gasping breaths.
“What are you doing? What is wrong with you?” I’m shrieking.
Nic grabs my fucked up ankle and yanks it out from under me. I land on his lap. Barrett’s on us just a second later, tossing me aside and going for Nic’s eyes. He gouges one of them, and blood spurts. Oh my God, the sound of Barrett breathing… He is lightning with the gun. It’s in Nic’s face so fast, for a second my eyes don’t believe it.
“It was you,” Bear wheezes. The words sound hollow, breathy, but I understand them.
Nic laughs.
“It was you, you piece of shit!”
Bear drops the gun and grabs Nic by the throat. “Why are you here…wearing my clothes…” he gasps, and I can see his body quiver, “with…my gun?”
“Hunting,” Nic sneers.
Barrett’s big hand squeezes his throat.
I realize belatedly that I should get the gun.
That’s how, when Barrett passes out, and Nic springs up, it’s me who shoots him. He takes one step toward me, and I squeeze the trigger. The gun kicks back so hard, I fall down. Nic does too.
I scramble up: numb, deaf, and blazing with adrenaline. I look down at Nic’s maimed torso, at all the blood.
He’s dead, I think. I think I killed him!
I’m sobbing as I drop down in the leaves by Barrett. His eyes flutter open. They’re wide at first, and blinking blindly, like a fish; but then they focus on my face. His mouth moves. Blood spills from his lips. His eyes squeeze shut, and I see tears drip from the corners.
“Pig.”
He blinks several times, squeezing his eyes shut, wheezes, choking on his own blood.
I’ve got him in my lap, my arms around him. Oh my God, he’s going to die…
“I love you, Bear. I love you so much.”
His eyes open, leaking tears.
“I love you!”
His eyes seem hazy. Not focused.
I feel his body go heavy a split second before his head falls back. His eyes roll.
“Barrett?! BARRETT, wake up!” I’m shaking him when I hear the sound of footsteps crunching leaves.
Then there’s a red-haired guy. Tall. Did I see him in the moccasin shop? That’s all I have time to think before he’s shoving me aside. Another guy comes, too. They’re on Barrett so fast at first I’m scared. I try to force them off.
“Stay back,” the black-haired man barks.
“You okay?” the red-haired one asks me as he stabs something into Barrett’s leg.
I start to sob. “What’s wrong with Bear?” I come closer and the black-haired one holds out his arm.
“Don’t touch him!”
“Please?” The word collapses. Sobs start coming.
It takes me some time to notice that the red-haired one has got a red tube. There’s a tube connecting him to Barrett.
The mean one—the one who said “don’t touch him”—has his hands around Bear’s throat.
Their faces are taut and furious. That’s how they look to me. I can still hear Barrett’s breathing, see him moving. Mine. I drop down beside his head.
“Barrett? I love you so much.”
I’m still sitting there, stroking his hair and forehead, when the ambulance arrives at my house.
“RUN,” one of them growls. “Tell them we need a trach, his trachea is torn and there’s a rip in his left common carotid!”
I don’t remember doing that. I don’t remember any of the details. I just see Barrett’s eyes, the way they open and shut, tears leaking the whole time they load him up. His gray cheeks, all wet, and his red lips stretched open, trying to get air into his lungs.
When the red-haired guy detaches himself from Barrett, I jump into the ambulance. Barrett’s fingers stretch out slightly and his face folds on a sob that has the paramedics scrambling around his throat.
I grab his hand. I don’t let go.
THIRTY
GWENNA
I don’t know where we are when Barrett starts struggling and moaning.
“Gwen…?” His voice is so raspy, I can barely make out my name, but I recognize the tone. He’s called for me so many times before, how could I not?
“Right here.” I squeeze his hand. It’s cold and damp in mine.
His head presses back against the top of the stretcher, and his face twists. Then, before I know what happened, someone shoves me. “Back up!”
I hit the ambulance’s wall with a hard bump. Oh my God, are those paddles?
“Stand clear!”
This weird, high-pitched noise whines. The two paramedics are messing with his chest and face. The woman starts counting, pressing on his chest; the man is at his mouth and looking down.
His face looks strange. His skin is gray, his eyes are rolling.
“What’s wrong?”
I can only watch as Barrett’s body twitches. His hand, curled up by his chest, unfurls and curls again as his back arches.
“Barrett!”
The paddles aren’t really paddles—more like soft stickers. The first time they shock him, I’m staring at his face. Please…please…please…
When no one moves or speaks, I start to sob, get up, and try to go up by his head. The man holds out his arm to keep me away.
“I love you!”
I can tell it worked that time because the EMTs spring into motion once again. I can’t even hear their words. Can only stare at Barrett’s face, his bleeding throat.
Oh God, please…
I beg someone to let me hold his hand.
“Okay, but if I tell you move, you have to move back.”
His face and body are so still. I kiss his fingers.
“It’s okay, baby. Gwen is here. I’m here. I love you. I don’t care what happened in the past. It doesn’t matter to me.”
This goes on for hours. Or minutes, maybe. I don’t know. Someone tells me to move back. The ambulance stops. The paramedics jump out, rushing off, and someone helps me down. I guess the driver.
He directs me somewhere. I don’t know. I’m numb. I just want Barrett, but they took him back.
“I’m his wife!”
The woman at the counter looks at me like she doesn’t even care, and more tears come, and then the dark-haired guy is there, the one called Dove. He takes me to some chairs and tables somewhere.
“I just went back there. He’s stable, Gwenna.”
I don’t know. The horror of it. And it’s horror. Nothing less. Dove hugs me and I start sobbing. His shirt smells like butterscotch.
The other one is here, too: Bluebell. Michael, he tells me. I remember something about his dad being in the military, something about a threat, but not specifics.
“I’m going to talk to them again,” Dove says at one point.
I look up at Michael and my stomach bottoms out.
“You’re… Fuck!”
I jump up, running through the hall until I find a door and toss it open, getting sick inside the metal sink of one of the rooms. When I wipe my face, I find Michael in the door and cry again.
Because it’s true. It’s all true…
Michael is the guy who wanted me to share a beer bowl with him that night.
That night.
Really happened.
I don’t want it to have been real—but it is.
Barrett hit me that night. My Bear.
I sit on a rolling chair in the empty room and put my head in my hands.
“You okay?” I hear Michael murmur.
I shake my head. I use my feet to scoot my chair over to the examination table, then I put my arms on the paper-covered table and I lean against it as my mind gallops ahead of me.
My heart starts racing.
Barrett hit me.
Nic came at me with a gun.
I shot Nic.
A sob leaks out.
I shot Nic! I shot Jamie’s boyfriend! Will I get arrested?
Where is Barrett?
I want Barrett!
Someone rubs my back as I cry, hunched over the table. The hand stops. I hear someone come in and look up to see Dove. His lips are pressed together and his arms are crossed.
As his eyes move over mine and Michael’s, he uncrosses his arms. “Talked to someone. Brothers. Wife,” he waves at me, “we have a right to updates. Bear’s in surgery. They cauterized the artery right after he got here, so the bleeding’s stopped. He’s getting blood. The surgery they’re doing isn’t major. Mostly on his trachea, they told me. And they think he’s stable now.”
I see him hold Michael’s eyes, and even though Dove’s aren’t soft or emotional, I can feel that he is checking his friend over, making sure he’s okay. Michael nods, and Dove’s gaze shifts to my face.
“Gwenna, do you want to be here? One of us can take you home.”
I don’t even realize I’ve stood up until I notice how close my face is to Dove’s. “You aren’t taking me home!” My voice shakes. “You can’t make me leave. I’ve never even seen you.”
“Whoa, now—”
“I don’t know you, but I know Barrett. Maybe everything is all messed up with us. I know—” my voice breaks. “I know he might have…” I shake my head as tears fall down my cheeks. “I still want him to be okay, though. And alive.” I give a fragile little laugh, devoid of humor.
“I’m not leaving till I know he’s okay and he doesn’t want me here. I’m not going to force my presence on him—”
I hear someone chuckle and look back at Michael.
His brows wiggle. “Force.” He’s looking smirky.
“Yes, I said I wouldn’t—”
Dove’s hand closes on my arm. I look from Michael to him. “Sit do
wn, Gwenna. You’re shaking and I’m worried that you’re going to fall. Barrett would kill both of us.”
I end up on the exam table, my feet dangling off, feeling sick and leaking tears, looking out at Bear’s two good friends.
“Sorry.” I cup my face in my hands so I don’t embarrass myself further. “You can leave me in here and just give me updates. I’ll come out,” I sob, “in just a little bit—” my body quivers on another sob— “to hear…if…he’s okay.”
I can feel Dove stepping closer, his hand touch down on my back. He pulls me up against him and I can’t help it— I let him, and I cry into his flannel shirt. Bear’s friends. If they were at his house, they know him; they love him. They’re the ones he wanted with him, not me.
“It’s a shame how this went down,” I hear one of them say.
“You’re a good person, Gwenna.” That’s Dove. I can tell because he’s right beside me. “Staying here. You couldn’t force your presence on him in a million years. He’ll wake up and I know he’d love to see you. He went over there for you. He feels so sorry for what happened.”
“It’s okay. I’m okay. I’ll get over it. I understand—his feelings… All the guilt.” I lift my face and look from Dove to Michael. “I know why he came to Gatlinburg and bought the house. He got in…too far. Just like I did.”
Michael steps closer, his eyes warm on mine. “How do you feel about him, Gwenna? Do you hate him?”
I laugh. “Hate him! Barrett?” I smile sadly, wiping stray tears from my cheeks. “I still love him. I get that he—”
“He loves you.” Michael’s eyes are heavy on my face. “Barrett loves you, Gwenna, and he feels like shit. He didn’t mean to get in with you like he did. It was a group secret, and one he wasn’t supposed to ever tell. He didn’t want to tell you. He thought he could make it up to you. Make you love him and make your life good, so maybe that wouldn’t matter. Could be in the past. Do you understand that what he told you put…” He shakes his head. “He told you because he loves you. He was worried, and he knew that it would make you hate him, but he also knew he needed to protect you.”