9. Willow
CHAPTER 9
WILLOW
PLEASE DON’T BE - HAZLETT
Sitting in one of the wicker armchairs that rest on Lola’s wraparound porch, I watch the blazing sun sink on the horizon in a riot of fire-tinged colour. The sunsets here are so beautiful, illuminating the snow-capped mountain peaks and ridges.
It’s the most incredible panoramic view, offering untouched beauty in every direction. Sheer rock faces, towering pine trees and the sharp, inclining slopes of Mount Helena surround the valley on all sides.
“Willow? You okay?”
Lola pokes her head out of the front door to catch my attention. She’s dressed in her usual floral dress, another ingredient-speckled apron tied into place.
“I’m good. Is Arianna still asleep?”
“Passed out like a light,” she confirms. “I must’ve tuckered her out with all that baking earlier on. Are you hungry?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Nonsense. I’ll cook something for you to eat.”
She disappears back inside before I can argue. It’s taken me a few days to get used to her constant fussing, but in truth, I love being cared for by her. She seems determined to fulfil our every need, no matter how small.
Stretching my legs out, I take a deep breath of fresh forest air. It even tastes different from the raw humidity of Mexico. I didn’t mind the heat, but something about this crisp coldness feels like home.
It’s been a tiring day of introductions and explanations. Several different families from across the town have come to say hello as news of our arrival spread over the weekend. Briar Valley is more than I ever imagined.
There are so many generous people offering their counsel and support. Miranda let me look through her wardrobe and she organised more clothing for Arianna this morning, no questions asked.
The little devil has already ripped a hole in her borrowed jeans from chasing a butterfly until she tripped over. I chose the comfiest leggings she had and a loose linen shirt for my healing body. Everything is still pretty tender and sore.
Rachel appeared too, finding me buried in her sister’s wardrobe, and organised several more outfits for me to take from her own clothing stash. I had to suppress tears as they sent me packing with a stuffed bag.
“Willow!” Lola’s voice calls. “Come inside, poppet.”
“Be right there.”
As I stretch my limbs, the sun ducks behind the mountains and the few remaining people milling about disappear. I can imagine families sitting down, trading stories over platefuls of homemade food and surrounded by their smiling children.
It’s so far from the life I’ve come to know. There’s no violence here, no rules or punishments that threaten bitter consequences. Everyone is happy. Not necessarily all of the time, but they’ve found contentment. Maybe we could too.
“Thank you.” I stare up at the stars becoming visible in the rising darkness. “Thank you for getting us here. Thank you for keeping me and my baby alive long enough to escape that hell.”
The wedding band around my finger weighs heavily, strangling those first glimmers of hope. No matter how peaceful this slice of heaven is, the person Mr Sanchez made me into remains—a malleable puppet, shaped by his will and fists.
Darkness falls, and storm clouds begin to bubble on the horizon, growing heavy with thunderous intent. The weather is so volatile at this altitude, it can be blazing sunshine in one moment and a torrential downpour in the next.
The first fat raindrops hit the porch, then more follow. Fascinated, I toe off my shoes and walk barefoot down the grass. The rain is falling faster in thick sheets, soaking through my clothes and perfusing the soil to release a sweet, heady fragrance.
Overcome with emotion, I twirl in the wet grass, my head tilted back. Rain is drenching me, and the droplets burst on my tongue. It feels like some almighty force is peering down, granting me this moment of realisation amidst the growing storm.
“I’m free now,” I whisper, smiling to myself like a madwoman. “We’re safe. We never have to go back.”
The screaming wind answers me—howling in its own celebration. Even something as simple as standing fully clothed amidst a rainstorm is proof of the precious freedom I’ve gained. Never again will I take such a small luxury for granted.
Footsteps slap through the rain, interrupting my peace. I crash back into my body, realising how insane I must look. A figure has emerged from the nearby trees, shivering as he tightens his coat against the rain.
He’s heading straight for me, his face concealed by the hood of his black puffer jacket. Short, stocky and built with hard-earned lines of muscle that bulge through his loose, blue jeans, his heavy gait betrays him.
I nearly collapse with relief when he comes close enough for me to recognise his light-brown hair, unshaved stubble and gentle, rounded features softened by two perfect dimples that match his moss-green eyes.
“Zach? What are you doing?”
His eyes dart about furtively. There’s something about him that’s different. Rather than the flirtatious confidence that usually accompanies his presence, now he seems strangely timid and afraid to even make eye contact.
“I’m not Zach,” his treacle-like voice explains, rasping with disuse. “Wrong brother.”
We stare at each other in the middle of the rainfall. I realise that his caramel hair is actually a bit longer, curling around the base of his skull and ears. Instead of smiling with open curiosity and warmth, the look on his face is one of apprehension.
Even his clothes are different now that I’m paying attention. His blue jeans are straight cut, and his t-shirt is splattered with paint. There’s also a shining silver ring pierced through his strong nose, matching his rougher, edgier persona.
“You’re not?”
“I’m Micah,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “We haven’t met.”
“Micah?”
His green eyes barely meet mine before darting away again. “Twins.”
Standing in front of him, it’s now completely obvious to me. This person couldn’t look less like Zach even if he tried, despite their matching exteriors. I can see the darkness swirling amidst his malachite irises, unlike his brother’s motiveless warmth.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“And you are?” he asks awkwardly.
“Uh, I’m Willow. New around here.”
He looks longingly into the distance, like he can’t wait to get far away from me. I inch backwards, feeling totally embarrassed.
“I have to get back inside.”
Micah nods and turns on his heel without saying goodbye. I watch him stalk away, his short, powerful legs teetering in the rising winds. He cuts a stark figure, alone in the night and shrouded in a cloak of sadness.
Shaking off the weird encounter, I head back inside. Rain falls from my long, raven-coloured hair as I sneak upstairs to dry off and check on Arianna. She’s right where I left her, curled up in a tight ball in the middle of our double bed, snoring her little head off.
I stroke her hair back. “Sleep tight.”
Swapping out my wet clothes for a comfortable pair of Miranda’s sweats and a loose, blue t-shirt that covers my bruises, I leave Arianna to sleep and decide to poke around while Lola cooks. I haven’t had much of a chance to explore yet.
On this floor, there are a total of four generous bedrooms. Lola sleeps next door—she insisted on having us close by. There are three bathrooms, one shared and two ensuite, all lined with oak units and slate tiles that contrast the gleaming, clawfoot bathtubs.
Trailing my fingers along the wall, I inspect the rows of framed photographs. Lola is featured in many, gardening or helping paint cabins, surrounded by smiling adopted family and friends. She looks younger in most of them, but her radiant smile hasn’t changed over the years.
It’s clear her happiness comes from one thing—Briar Valley and its colourful collection of residents seeking refuge in the mountains. Pausing at the final photograph, my heart drops to my stomach. I recognise this person.
Lola is posing with another man, their arms wrapped around each other. They wear loving smiles and between them, a small, slim boy with a shock of black hair refuses to play along. His mouth is pulled down with visible boredom.
It’s my dad.
It hurts to see his younger self with a perfect family surrounding him. The man I knew never talked of his parents, let alone their lives here in Briar Valley. He had parents. A loving family. A whole life. I don’t need Lola to tell me what happened.
Drugs.
He was an addict.
Instead of telling me about my grandparents and raising me as a father should, he chose to bring me up in a world of pain and disappointment. I grew up around discarded needles and tarnished spoons, our meagre money fettered away on more narcotics.
Where other kids my age had parents who picked them up from school and loved the very bones of them, I had nothing. For my father, I didn’t exist. All he wanted was to get high and forget that Mum had left us, destitute and heartbroken.
If it weren’t for him and the debts he accumulated over years of drug abuse, I never would’ve started stripping at sixteen. The mounting bills he left behind fell on my shoulders to pay. His death was mine too, in so many ways.
My future died with him.
Fleeing the bad memories, I head up to the third floor where Lola’s home office resides. It’s spacious and light, with a gabled roof and warm sconces built into the beams. She has lots of gardening books and a filing system for the town’s paperwork, neatly organised into the attic space.
There’s a computer too. Heart racing, I sit down and wiggle the mouse. It powers up on a cooking website that she must’ve been looking at for recipes. Anticipation thrums beneath my skin as I open up a new search tab.
Mr Sanchez’s high-profile reputation in the real estate business grants him certain privileges. Most of his work takes place in the States, but he prefers to live in the freedom of Mexico. It’s easier to conceal his crimes that way, far from any public scrutiny.
He sells luxurious properties for extortionate fees. Many of his clients are celebrities, looking for a slice of heaven to expend their hideous wealth on. As a result, he’s become a pseudo-celebrity himself. The estate agent and property developer for the stars.
With shaking hands, I type his name and hit enter before I can talk myself out of it. His website floods the screen, and I almost swallow my tongue from fright. It’s a slick, glossy marketing campaign that matches his spotless image.
Sanchez Real Estate is a flawless brand, covering properties from Los Angeles to New York, San Francisco to Seattle. He caters to some of the most illustrious clients in the world and banks every drop of money, wealth and power that it provides him.
Scanning the rest of the results, my blood chills when I spot a suggested news article. It looks like some stupid gossip site, the kind of thing I used to drool over as a nosy teenager. Clicking on the article, dated a decade ago, I want to be sick.
There were no photographs from our wedding. It was a private affair on the well-guarded grounds of Sanchez Mansion, tucked away in an expensive corner of Mexico City. I heard the whispers that day from his staff as they watched on, silent and culpable.
Another wife.
I hope this one lasts longer.
It was the single worst day of my life, even beating out the late, snow-swept night I found my father dead in a clutter of discarded drug paraphernalia. Mr Sanchez was determined to rival that slice of despair with his own personal brand of pure evil.
I can still taste the tears that soaked my cheeks as he dragged me to his playroom for the very first time. There was no point in running, even when he tore my flimsy white dress and yelled vicious curses that broke my courage before he broke the rest of me.
Sixteen years old.
A child to anyone else.
It didn’t stop him. From the conveyor belt of women he shipped in for years after our wedding, it became clear that Mr Sanchez likes them young. Trafficking me across the globe against my will wasn’t enough for him.
He grew tired of breaking me, over and over again. No amount of depravity was ever enough for him. Abandoning the computer, I try to stand and end up falling to my knees. My lungs are so tight, so constricted, that I feel like my chest is on fire.
The walls are closing in on me as Lola’s office melts away, replaced by the familiar dark-red walls of the playroom. What if he somehow tracked our movements? Or if he uses his fortune to hunt us down? I know how determined he is when it comes to inflicting misery.
As much as I fucking hate myself to admit it, I would rather take Arianna and plunge us both off a cliff before returning there. At least we’d both be safe in death. He can’t hurt my little girl if she’s dead at my side instead.
“Willow? You up here?”
Creaking footsteps ascend the steep staircase up to Lola’s office. I tighten my arms around my trembling legs, making myself small and invisible. It doesn’t stop Zach from kneeling down in front of me, his fruity scent and light voice revealing his identity.
“Open your eyes, babe.”
“Go away,” I squeeze out.
“Not happening.”
Gentle fingertips coast along my jawline, encouraging me to look up at him. When I manage to pry my eyes open, I’m looking into the green depths of Zach’s orbs. The forest stares back at me in a canopy of olive-tinged vines.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper.
“Arianna woke up,” he explains with a faint smile. “She couldn’t find you. I was talking to Lola when she came downstairs crying.”
“Is she okay? Let me up.”
“Lola’s got it under control.” His hands grip my arms, preventing me from running away. “I’m more concerned about you. What are you doing up here alone?”
Knocked off balance by the soft croon of his voice, I find no desire within me to lie. Something about Zach invites trust; he’s non-threatening in every sense of the word. In fact, there’s an almost child like lilt to his smile.
“I was making sure we’re safe.”
“How?” he asks.
“My husband hasn’t reported our absence to the authorities. The media would know by now if he had. We’d be splashed all over the news.”
“The media? Why?” Zach frowns.
“He’s kind of a big deal in the business world.”
A tangled strand of light-brown hair falls across his eyes, and I fight the urge to swipe it aside so I can drown in the warmth of his presence again. The realisation is like a cold bucket of water on my head. I can’t touch him.
I’m running from a sadistic son of a bitch with enough money and power to bend the will of God if it pleases him to do so. The last thing I need is another person up in my business, making this mess even more complicated.
“Why did you come looking for me?” I ask him instead.
Zach shrugs, flashing a cute dimple. “I wanted to make sure that you’re okay.”
“But why do you care? Any of you?”
Sitting back on his haunches, his brows furrow. “Because… why wouldn’t we? I know you’ve been relying on yourself for a long time, but here in Briar Valley, we’re a family.”
“I don’t have a family.”
“That’s not true.” His widening smile is simple and honest. “If you think Lola would let you leave now, you’ve got another thing coming.”
I don’t know this man. In fact, I don’t know any of them, but I’ve allowed myself to get comfortable already. Nothing is guaranteed in life. I can’t let my guard down. It will only hurt more when this temporary peace is ripped away from me.
“Please move out of my way.” I struggle to my feet, aiming to dodge past him. “I don’t need you to care about me.”
Zach’s eyes soften with sadness. “I think that you do.”
“Stop trying to get in my head.”
“Maybe you need some company in there, Willow. Maybe even some help. You should let someone in for once.”
I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Are you calling me crazy now?”
“I’m saying that we want to help you.”
“And I’m saying that I don’t need your help.”
He grabs my arm again when I try to squeeze past. His grip is tight enough for me to flinch as the past slams into me. I drop my eyes, making myself small and insignificant. Silent. Breakable. Just like the monster wanted.
If I didn’t fight, it would always end quicker. Mr Sanchez would grow bored of the games and crawl on top of me, his breath hot and disgusting. It felt wrong, speeding the whole process up and encouraging the inevitable violation.
Sometimes, I just wanted it all to be over. Enough to let the unthinkable happen. Does that make me at fault, somehow? Did I want it? If anyone else asked me this, I’d never allow a victim to think like that. But the same logic doesn’t always apply to ourselves.
Zach quickly releases me. “Willow?”
My body moves on instinct to assume the position that’s been ingrained in me through years of training. Kneeling on the floor with my palms facing up on my legs, I keep my head lowered and lips sealed.
The world fades away as my eyes close, preparing for the first blow. I can’t hold back a pained gasp as two big hands cup my tear-stained cheeks. It hurts to be touched, even with good intent. Zach’s thumbs softly stroke my skin, and his voice filters in.
“Who did this to you?”
All I can do is shake my head.
“Breathe for me, babe. I’ve got you.”
“Zach… I c-can’t… do this.”
“Just listen to my voice. That’s all.”
His arms wind around my shivering body, and he sinks to the floor beside me. I’m pulled into his lap, and the solid press of his built frame beneath me offers a welcome distraction from the billowing darkness trying to strangle me.
He smells so good, like the fresh pomegranates and tropical fruit I used to look forward to for breakfast. On him, the fragrance is a tantalising promise. The soothing scent drags me from the depths of my nightmare and allows me to take a deep inhale.
“You’re doing good,” he praises in a gentle croon. “Keep breathing nice and deep for me. Nobody is going to hurt you. We’re safe up here.”
“Not s-safe, n-nowhere is safe.”
Rubbing circles into my back, he begins to rock me back and forth like I’m a scared child in need of comfort. I clutch his t-shirt even tighter, dragging in ragged breaths. Arianna used to crawl into my lap like this when she was younger.
With the roles reversed, my head is spinning.
I’ve never been cared for.
It feels… good.
“There we go,” he murmurs, his hand moving up to stroke my curly hair instead. “You’re doing good. Keep breathing slowly.”
Using his words to focus, I block out everything else. The pain. The fear. Endless fears and anxieties, the never-ending line of what-if scenarios threatening to unhinge my fragile sanity. None of it matters when I’m in his arms.
“You’re here. You’re safe.”
He repeats it over and over again, a soothing mantra that combats the screaming voice telling me to pack up, grab Arianna and hightail it out of here to some place where no one knows my name.
I’m not sure how long we sit tangled on the floor for, wrapped up in each other with an unnerving amount of intimacy for people that met not long ago. It’s like Zach knows exactly what I need. My eyes grow heavy as the adrenaline rushes out of me.
I’m completely slumped against him, unable to hold my own head up with no energy left inside of me. His heartbeat is a steady roar against my ear, so loud it almost vibrates.
Buddum. Buddum. Buddum.
“Zach.”
His hand stills in my hair as he ceases massaging my scalp. “Yeah, babe? You back with me?”
“Kinda. Your heart is beating really fast.”
“You scared me for a moment there.”
“I scared myself. Sorry, things just got a bit much.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
But still, his arms don’t move to release me. He’s cuddling me so close, I can feel the rise and fall of his chest with each inhale he takes. I’ve never held someone close enough to experience their breath before. No one beyond Arianna.
“How did you know?”
“Hmm?” Zach hums.
I manage to lift my head up and meet his eyes. “How did you know how to help me?”
“Oh, that.” He unleashes a crooked smile that makes my heart rate triple. “My brother, Micah, has some issues. He suffered from pretty bad panic attacks for a long time.”
“That’s rough.”
“It was. I always knew when he needed help, though. It’s a twin thing.”
“Twin thing?” I repeat.
“We used to be close. I always knew when he was in trouble.”
Helping me to stand up, Zach places me back on my feet. My legs are still trembling, but he doesn’t release my hand as he clambers up as well. Our fingers have somehow slid together, interlinked in an unbreakable knot.
“You good?” he double-checks.
“Think so.”
“Then let’s go find your girl. She’ll be missing her mama.”
With Zach’s presence anchoring me back down, I have the strength to leave the office and my overwhelming terror behind. Who would possibly dare to hurt us with him at my side? Even sweet and sensitive, he still has the raw force of a warrior.
I feel safe with him.
Safer than I’ve ever felt in my life.