Chapter 20 Anoint Me in Ashes
Chapter twenty
Anoint Me in Ashes
The sun’s barely up, but the market’s already alive—wooden stalls creaking under baskets of produce, warm bread scent floating like a promise, kids tugging at parents with sticky fingers. Cain sticks out like sin in Sunday school.
Six-foot-three of tattoos, scars, and menace. He’s wearing all black like he’s allergic to joy, glowering at a bucket of sunflowers like it just insulted his dead grandmother.
I love him so much it hurts.
They stare. Of course they do.
Because Cain looks like a walking felony—tall as hell, black tee stretched over broad shoulders, tattoos creeping up his throat like a storm warning. Scars you can see, and the kind you can’t. A face made for mugshots and midnight confessions.
And then there’s me.
Five-four. Blonde. Curvy in the way that used to make me apologize.
Now? Now I stand taller beside him. In my sundress, jean jacket, and boots, sunglasses pushed up into my hair like I’m just another girl buying peaches.
We don’t match. Not at all. He looks like the devil himself crawled out of purgatory to shop for organic produce.
I look like I run a mildly chaotic book club.
But it works.
He glances down at me as I pluck a tomato from a basket, holding it up like I’m asking his professional opinion on produce murder.
“This one’s cute,” I say.
“It’s a tomato.”
“It’s a plump tomato. Don’t be rude.”
He huffs, but the corner of his mouth twitches. That’s the closest Cain gets to smiling in public.
I hook my arm through his. “C’mon, big bad wolf. Let’s go home before you scare the jam lady again.”
We pull into the lot behind the bar, arms full of tomatoes, local jam, and a wedge of sharp cheddar Cain insisted on sampling four times before buying. He’s got his usual scowl softened by the morning sun, and I’m already planning how to convince him to make grilled cheese for dinner.
And then I see her.
My mother, standing prim and pressed in front of the bar’s door like she owns the damn place.
Pearl earrings, blazer, and a purse that probably cost more than Cain’s entire wardrobe.
She looks like she stepped out of a country club and into a crime scene.
Her expression sours the air. Judgment radiates from her like secondhand smoke.
Cain’s jaw ticks. I feel him shift beside me.
“You want me to handle that?” he asks, voice low and steady. Not angry—yet. Just… ready.
I swallow, nod to myself first, then shake my head.
“No,” I say. “I will.”
My boots hit the pavement with quiet resolve. She launches into it before I’m even fully facing her.
“What were you thinking, Magdalena? Do you have any idea what you’ve done to Warren’s reputation? To mine? You humiliated a man who mentored you, gave you opportunities. You’ve always had such dramatic tendencies, but this?” She huffs. “This was vindictive. Uncalled for.”
I don’t flinch. Not this time. I wait. Hands steady. Breathing even.
She doesn’t pause long. Just enough to suck in another breath before doubling down.
“Warren cares about you, Magdalena. He’s always looked out for you—wanted the best for you. You think Cain is it? That brute you’re running around with? Warren treated you like a daughter. He helped you grow into someone people respected—not pitied.”
I say nothing.
“You think this man loves you? What could he possibly offer that Warren couldn’t? You’ve thrown away everything for a phase. This isn’t real. This is rebellion. Hormones. Trauma. Whatever label you want to slap on it.”
Still, I wait. Let her dig her grave with every word. She’s sputtering now, barely able to hide the edge of desperation behind her spit-shined disapproval. But I just stand there, arms loose at my sides, like the calm eye in her storm.
“Are you quite finished?” I ask, voice low. Calm. Not biting, not cruel—just done.
She blinks at me like she’s only just realized I haven’t flinched once. That I haven’t shrunk. That I’m not the girl she used to mold in her own image.
“This is my life now,” I say. “Not a phase. Not a rebellion. A choice. My choice.”
Her lips press together, but I don’t stop.
“I love Cain. I wake up and feel safe. I go to bed and feel wanted. I laugh more than I cry. I’m not waiting to be good enough or quiet enough or less of myself just to survive the day. I’m happy here.”
I let it settle. Let the words do their job.
“And I won’t apologize for it.”
Her mouth twists like she’s tasted something sour. “How can you be happy here?” She gestures around like the bar is some godforsaken hellhole. “Look at this place.”
I do.
And I smile.
“Exactly. Look at this place.”
I take a breath, let it swell in my chest before I speak.
“I have a man who worships the ground I walk on. Who would raze the world if it meant keeping me safe. I have Hank, who treats me like the daughter he never had. I have regulars who remember my coffee order, who ask about my day and actually care.”
I meet her eyes, steady. “I’m finally happy.”
Her face flushes red, jaw clenched so tight it looks like it might crack.
“You’re not happy; you’re delusional! This—this whole thing is a cry for help! You’re not thinking clearly, Magdalena. You never do. You find the first lowlife who shows you attention, and suddenly, you think this is love? That this is safety? This isn’t a life; it’s a mess!”
She jabs a finger toward Cain without even looking at him. “He’s a criminal. A brute. He’s beneath you.”
Cain’s shadow shifts behind me. I don’t move. I don’t break. Because I feel him behind me like a wall made of flesh and bone and fire. And I know exactly what he’s about to say.
Cain’s voice cuts through her tirade like a blade. “Get the fuck off my property.” Low. Unshaken. Final.
My mother flinches like she’s been slapped. Her mouth opens, ready to unleash more venom, but I lift a hand. Just one. Steady.
“No more,” I say. “I meant what I said. I’m happy. And you need to leave me alone.”
She stares at me like I’ve just renounced God in front of the pulpit. Her heels snap against the pavement as she spins on them, storming off without another word— but not before hurling one last barb over her shoulder.
“This isn’t over, Magdalena.”
I don’t answer. I won’t give her that power.
Cain doesn’t move until she’s gone—until the sound of her heels fades like the end of a storm. Then he turns to me. Eyes burning, but not with anger.
With concern. With something sacred.
“You okay?” he murmurs, stepping close. His voice is quiet now, just for me.
I nod softly. Then stronger. “I truly am.”
He exhales like he’s been holding it the whole time. One tattooed hand lifts to my face, rough and reverent all at once. His thumb strokes my cheek like he’s checking I’m real. That I’m still here. His.
He kisses me. Hard. Devastating. Full of pride and promise and fucking awe.
“My strong little rabbit,” he whispers against my lips.
And God help me, I’ve never felt stronger.