CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Brett
One Year Ago
I’m starting to wonder if I’m going to wake up every day just to remember something horrible that happened the day before. It’s what happened yesterday, when I opened my puffy, red eyes and remembered that my book is gone— my entire book is gone.
I should’ve been pleasantly surprised when Bowen sat down on the edge of the bed and started brushing my hair out of my face like we didn’t just have the weirdest argument ever the night before.
“Dad needs my trailer, then I’m running over to Jay’s,” he murmurs as I blink sleep out of my eyes, “I’m taking your laptop. One of his coworkers is in IT and said he can take a look at it.”
But it didn’t matter.
Even Jay’s friend couldn’t salvage my files, inexplicably lost in the ether.
Some people lose receipts or calendar invites or confirmation emails. I lose a 150,000-word labor of love.
Sunday isn’t much better, because today I woke up and remembered that Jay’s friend couldn’t salvage my book and it’s still gone. And, on top of that, I don’t know how to process any of this. Because the one person—my best friend—who would know how to help me, is no longer my best friend.
A small shred of me wonders if I should just text Barrett. Can I overlook her tits being on Bowen’s phone for just a little bit while I try to navigate the utter pain and devastation of this loss?
What the hell am I saying?
She also told Bowen about Colson, that I’m trauma-bonded to him and I always will be. Then she walked downstairs in nothing but her underwear and asked my fiancé to go upstairs to her room with her. The more I think about it, the more I remember tiny details spread out over our entire friendship, and I get angry all over again.
Were there signs? There are always signs.
No, I can’t just text Barrett. Even about this.
Bowen’s gone for most of the day again with Jay, because it’s always with Jay. But I don’t think he’s avoiding me; I think he’s just trying to give me some space because he’s otherwise acting relatively normal. But I can’t concentrate on reading and there are only so many times I can walk around the house aimlessly before I feel like I’m going insane.
But I’m already going insane…
When Hildy texts me and asks if I want to go to dinner with her and Leona, I immediately welcome the distraction. I don’t even change, just grab my purse and head out the door in flops, running shorts, and baggy off-shoulder t-shirt.
It’s hot, but sitting creek side with a breeze coming off the water while drinking margaritas and eating tacos and ceviche isn’t a bad start to the evening.
“So, what did you think about Bo’s plan for the wedding?” Hildy grins at me over the edge of her margarita glass, teasing the straw between her teeth.
“ Oh, so you were in on it, I take it?” I chuckle, “I think it’s a really good choice. The views are amazing, obviously, but the food and the drinks were stellar, too. Was it his idea or yours?”
“It was actually his,” Hildy reluctantly admits.
“ Shocking , I know,” Leona breaks a tortilla chip in half with her pastel pink acrylic nails and shoots me a side-eye, “but he’s gotten good at these kinds of things.”
“Did he not used to be?” I lick some flaky salt off my fingertip and take a swig of my own margarita, thankful they seem to give decent pours here, too.
Leona gazes up in thought, “Bo’s always been good at reading people. He can tell when things get to be too overwhelming and he knows when to take charge of situations. I guess he got used to it after last time.”
I give pause at her response and the unsettling way she says, last time . Looking down at my drink, I inconspicuously lift my eyes in time to see Hildy shoot Leona a sharp look across the table. Leona brushes her off with a shrug and Hildy turns back to her tacos with a roll of her eyes.
“What do you mean, last time? ” I ask nonchalantly as I take another sip of my drink.
“Oh, well,” Leona stammers, “you know…”
No, I don’t, Leona. Why don’t you tell me?
Suddenly, Hildy cuts her off, “Bo told us about what happened to your book,” she says sympathetically, “and how devastating it was.”
I stare down at my half-eaten tacos, my appetite suddenly gone. So much for a welcome distraction …
“Yeah?” I don’t look up, focusing on tracing my finger over the condensation on my glass.
“And,” Hildy continues, “he told us what happened with your best friend.”
Oh my god…
I take a deep breath and smile down at the table sardonically. I can’t believe this is happening right now. I don’t want to think about the last week, or even the last month. When did all of this madness start, anyway? It doesn’t matter, though, because I don’t want to talk about any of it. And I can’t believe Bowen told both his mom and sister about all of this.
But Hildy’s not finished, “It’s understandable you’d be so distracted and not even know what happened to the book. It’s like adding insult to injury.”
I finally glance up at her, “How’s that?”
“ Because, Brett,” Hildy scoffs, “I can’t imagine if I had to go to work every day with a stalker that tried to murder me. I can’t believe you’ve been living with that for so long!”
I just stare back at her, not breathing.
“Bo said it’s been driving you crazy. You’re distracted, forgetting things, and then you accidentally delete your book—”
“ I didn’t delete my book, ” I suddenly snap, making Hildy jump.
Leona’s eyes dart between us as she stirs the ice in her margarita.
Hildy shakes her head, “Sorry, I know you didn’t delete your book, what I mean is with all of this going on at once, it’s no surprise you’re getting so stressed out about getting married. It should be the happiest time in your life and, instead, your best friend betrays you in the worst way possible while you’re also dealing with some psycho at work.”
I want to die.
Leona turns to me, “We just want you to know we’re here for you, sweetheart. Bad things happen to good people, but it doesn’t mean you have to deal with it on your own,” she points one of her long, acrylic nails at me, “you’re family now—don’t forget it. I know the rest of yours is far away, and I can’t imagine what it’s like to live in a different country than your parents and sister, but we’re here for you, no questions asked.”
I stare back at them as the realization sets in. This isn’t dinner, it’s an intervention.
My skin starts to crawl as my muscles tremble with agitation. I’m stunned and mortified that Bowen thought it was a good idea to tell Hildy and Leona any of this. And I don’t like either of them talking about who did what and how I should feel about it. Maybe Barrett’s been a rotten best friend, but she’s still my rotten best friend and I’m the only one who can say shit about it. And, as for Colson…
“Mom’s right, Bo’s a really good guy and he would do anything for you, Brett. If you have a problem, he’ll do whatever it takes to fix it… ”
Hildy’s voice begins to fade until it’s a muted hum in my ears. The tingling over my skin gets more intense, like someone poking me in the arm, trying to get my attention. My leg starts jiggling and I feel like I’m preparing to jump up and run off the deck any moment. I can feel the adrenaline pumping, but I don’t know why. Finally, I shake it off as much as I can before meeting Hildy’s eyes again.
“Brett, you know I’m always here for you,” Hildy continues, “you’re already like a sister and I’ll help you with whatever you need—wedding-related or otherwise.”
I don’t know why, but suddenly everyone at this table is acting like I’m one enchilada away from a nervous breakdown. And I don’t appreciate my entire dumpster fire of a life being laid out across the table between the two-for-one margaritas and carnitas.
“That’s really nice of you—to help me, I mean.” I let my eyes wander over the trees before settling back on Hildy, “Did Emily also go crazy after Bowen proposed to her?”
Hildy opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Leona drops her glass back onto the table with clang.
“Proposed?” Leona whips around to Hildy, “To Emily? ”
“Did you try to help her, too?” I spit, rolling my eyes as I look away.
Leona ignores me and stares at Hildy, “And you knew about this?”
“ Jesus, Mom…” Hildy groans with a roll of her eyes, “No, I didn’t know.”
I let out a scoff and stare across the creek in astonishment.
God, I’m so tired of all your family secrets and keeping track of who knows what.
Leona turns away from Hildy and grabs her glass, tilting it back and gulping down the second half of her margarita in one go. Then she sits in irate silence, tapping her nail on the wrought iron table and shaking her head at Hildy every few seconds as she tries to calm down.
Maybe the reason Emily ghosted Bowen is because you all can’t mind your own goddamn business!
I turn back to Hildy, holding her panicked stare as my jaw tightens and I slowly scoot my chair away from the table. Leona doesn’t seem to notice me leave as she begins interrogating Hildy about Bowen’s secret engagement that fell through. But I don’t care.
If all my secrets can be laid bare for all to see, so can one of Hildy’s.
●●●
I can’t bring myself to go home yet.
Whether it’s highway hypnosis or muscle memory, I take a sharp right turn when I see the familiar green sign marking the entrance to Black Ridge Metro Park, where I usually take bike rides. Except, this time, I don’t have my bike .
I wish I did because I still would jump on, in flip flops and sans helmet, and take off down the trail to find some shred of relief. Instead, I drag myself out of the SUV, slam the door, and start walking down the nearest paved trail. The sun is still above the trees, so it’ll be light for a while.
The midsummer breeze feels like heaven in my lungs and it begins to calm me the further I trudge down the deserted path. After a few minutes, I pat my shorts and realize my phone isn’t in the back pocket. I must’ve left it in the car.
I don’t even care. I normally would, always the bastion of safety, but I don’t right now. Maybe some cryptid monster will emerge from the woods and devour me in one gulp so I won’t have to wait and see what fresh hell awaits when I leave here. The oaks and the birches and the prairie grass don’t have problems like these.
It’ll be dusk soon, maybe I’ll meet another coyote along the path. Maybe they’ll whisk me away with them instead of ripping me apart. It doesn’t seem like such a terrifying thought, now. But, with my luck, a serial killer is more likely. That happens more often around this city than young women being spirited away by woodland creatures.
Whatever, same result. Just make it quick.
I’m not suicidal, just exhausted and strung out. So much so that I can crack jokes on myself about being hacked to pieces, stuffed in a duffel bag, and thrown into the Scioto.
“Sorensen.”
I give a start as a deep voice cuts through the balmy air and breaks my concentration. I spin around to see a tall figure standing in the middle of the path and immediately exhale with relief.
“What are you doing here?” I call in a weary voice.
Clearly, I no longer qualify as a bastion of safety. I’m so out of it that I don’t even notice my six-foot-four stalker walking up the path behind me. He’s standing about 50 feet away in the middle of the pavement wearing grey joggers, a black compression t-shirt, and a pair of black and red Nikes. I almost don’t recognize him when he’s not dressed all in black and loaded down with body armor.
He nods back down the path, “I saw your car in the lot.”
“Following me again?” I inquire.
“Not this time,” he strolls toward me, “you just missed Dallas. She and Alex come here to run, but he went out with his brothers tonight, so here I am.”
Clearly, Dallas has more sense than I do to never run alone.
I shoot him an unimpressed look, “So you saw my car and thought you’d follow me through the woods?”
He comes to a halt a few feet from me and nods over my shoulder, “My car’s on that end of the trail. ”
I let out a sigh and turn back around to continue walking, giving Colson a once-over once he reaches my side, “You don’t look like you’ve been running.”
“Dallas really likes talking, so there wasn’t much running. It’s 80? and I haven’t broken a sweat.”
“Too bad Dallas left, I like her more than you.”
“She likes you a lot, too,” he glances down at me, “right after she left, I texted her and told her you were here.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t come back,” I say with a chuckle.
“I know. She told me not to creep you out.”
I let out a bitter laugh, “She better get used to disappointment.”
“I told her you like the attention,” Colson replies with a glint in his eye.
“ Jesus, Colson.”
That’s exactly what Dallas needs to be chatting about to everyone at work. Between the three of them, who knows what he’s told them or what they talk about…
“So, what are you doing here?” he looks me up and down, “Don’t you usually bike instead of walk?”
“Yes,” I don’t even bother to recall whether that’s something I told him or if he found out on his own, using more insidious methods, “I wasn’t planning on coming here. I just had to—” I pause, realizing that explaining why I decided on an impromptu hike will only elicit more questions, “I just needed a walk, to sort out some things.”
“What kind of things?”
“Like…” I trail off, feeling absolutely drained, like there’s a cinderblock sitting on top of my chest.
Am I really going to tell Colson that I’ve shunned my best friend, my book is gone, I feel like I’m going insane, Bowen’s getting tired of my bullshit, he told his family all about it, and now they also think I’m insane?
I can’t believe Bowen told Hildy and Leona everything and made me sound like I’m the one going crazy. How could he do that?
At first, I don’t tell Colson anything. I continue walking in silence, staring straight ahead, and he does the same, not expecting anything more. I don’t know how much time passes in silence but eventually the pressure is too much and everything comes spilling out.
“I—I can’t do this,” my chest feels heavy and I feel like I’m walking through quicksand, “I can’t get married right now, everything’s going wrong, I feel like I’m going insane,” I say in defeat, “and I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. You’re biased anyway and you’re the last person I should be talking to.” Now I sound like I’m talking to myself, muttering regrets under my breath, “And I don’t even have Barrett anymore…” I finally manage to say her name out loud and I still have to choke back the lump creeping up my throat.
“What?” Colson furrows his brow, “Why not? ”
How do I even tell Colson what happened since the last time I saw him? It doesn’t even sound real. These things happen to other people, but not Barrett and I. It seems too wild, too ridiculous, and even though I saw the texts, I’m still second-guessing myself. Did I really see what I saw?
“She sent a topless picture to Bowen.”
Colson’s silent for a few moments, letting my words sink in, “Does that sound like something she would do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Does that sound like something she would do?” he repeats, but slower.
“Of course not, but that doesn’t matter, does it? I saw the picture and the texts,” I shake my head, feeling worse by the second, so I change the subject, “Tell me about your tattoos. You didn’t have them back in college.”
Colson looks down at the web of stars and lines that wrap around his left wrist and stretch up his arm until they disappear beneath the sleeve of his shirt, “You might not know this, but it’s easier to find your direction by the stars than a compass. These are all the constellations you can see in the northern sky.” He stops and motions for me to come closer. When I do, he turns me so the sun is on my left and I’m facing north, “You won’t be able to see all of them here because of the light pollution, but when it gets dark,” he stretches his arm over my shoulder and raises his hand, “these are the stars that you’ll see.”
“Wouldn’t the sky be different here than it is in Alaska?” I point out.
“Yes, but it’s not the sky in Alaska,” he lets his arm sink back to his side, “it’s the sky here, so I could find you again.”
I draw in a sharp breath, staring at his tattooed arm in astonishment. How can someone be that consumed by another person, someone they haven’t seen for years because the last time they did ended so horribly? How could he dwell on something—on me—for that long?
As if I can talk…
After a few moments, a smile creeps across my face, “What if I wasn’t here?” I turn to Colson, “What if I moved away and never came back?”
“Brett,” he cracks a smile, “I’ve tracked animals that evolved to survive where people can’t, I’ve found people who are lost deep in the wilderness where humans have never been—on mountaintops, in crevasses, hidden beneath dense forests a hundred miles from civilization. You think it would be hard for me to find you? ”
“OK,” I concede, then point to his right arm, “then what do you need the compass for?”
Colson glances down at the inside of his arm where the sharp, black, four-tipped star points north toward his elbow and south toward his wrist.
His lucent eyes shift back to me, “In case it’s cloudy.”
I hesitate for a moment, dumbfounded, then a sudden whoop of laughter bursts from my mouth and echoes through the trees. It’s so loud and vibrant, it doesn’t even sound like my voice, and it doesn’t stop. I keep laughing as I stagger around the path. I don’t remember the last time I laughed like this.
When I finally catch my breath, I turn back to Colson, wiping the tears from under my eyes, “ Cloudy… ” I giggle.
He walks backward a few steps and then turns over his shoulder with a flash of his aquamarine eyes. I follow him down the path, chuckling to myself, for another quarter of a mile until the pavement reveals a small dirt pull-off in the trees only big enough for a couple of parking spaces. Colson’s blue STI is the only one there, the front bumper facing the tree line.
“Do you ever drive your Bronco anymore?” I ask, coming to a halt at his front tires.
“Sometimes,” he opens the driver’s side door and starts the ignition. When he does, the A/C kicks on as well as the radio, “but this one has better speakers.”
I meander around his open door, wandering along the edge of the car aimlessly while I bob my head back and forth, mouthing song lyrics as I go. When I reach the back bumper and turn on my heel, I realize he’s watching me from the driver’s side door.
“I like this song…” I say while averting my eyes.
With a mischievous smile, Colson reaches for my hand and pulls me close, catching me with his other arm and tossing my hand over his shoulder. His body is warm and his scent familiar, and I feel myself start swaying with him. The more I move with him, mirroring him like a shadow, the more I relax.
I remember every inch of him; the contours of his shoulders, the sweet smell of his skin, the exact place my head falls on his chest, the way his hands feel running down my back—every single movement unlocking a memory I hid away long ago. And now, I can’t help but climb back into the perfectly wrapped box I have for Colson and bask in those memories behind a wall of maples and honeysuckle.
“I think this is the most normal thing you’ve ever done,” I murmur into his shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” his lips brush my forehead, “I won’t make it a habit.”
I tighten my hold around his shoulders, “Maybe you should. ”
“See?” Colson slides one hand further down the small of my back, “You want to know how it feels.”
“How what feels?”
He bends down and grabs the backs of my thighs, lifting me up to his waist. I tighten my arms around his shoulders as he strolls to the front of his car, and when he reaches the front bumper, he sits down on the edge of the hood, holding me on his lap.
“You want to know how it feels to be enmeshed in my life as much as I am in yours. When I’m not busy fucking with you—figuratively and literally—you want to know what it’s like to do simple things like brushing your teeth next to me or picking out granite for our countertops I’ll bend you over whenever I want. You want to walk into a room and see me there because I’m supposed to be,” Colson tilts his head with a smirk, “and you want to enjoy it.”
“Don’t you wonder what’s wrong with me like everyone else?”
“Quite the opposite,” Colson runs his hands up over the curve of my ass and lets them rest there, “ nothing appears to be wrong with you right now.”
“No, you wouldn’t think that,” I roll my eyes, staring off into the distance as the rhythmic crescendo of cicadas ring in my ears, “I don’t know how it happened, but I feel like a hollowed-out shell that’s flaking away by the second, just like everything else.”
He reaches up and pulls my face back to his with his index and middle fingers, “You’ll never be hollow, Brett, and I’ll keep reminding you of that for the rest of your life. Because as long as you’re walking the earth, I’ll be wherever you are, and you need to square with that. But I promise,” he lowers his voice to a near whisper, “you’re never going to feel whole until you decide to come back home.”
Colson no sooner finishes the last word and I sink into him, pressing my lips to his. I feel his chest cave as the air leaves his lungs and, a second later, his arms cross over my back to pull me tighter against him. He tastes so good, like bad decisions laced with notes of pine, heat, and maddening suspense. I can’t turn away; I have to know what happens next. And the longer I hold him, the more I want to meld to him and see if I can feel a shred of what it’s like to be him.
Colson says he can never be as whole as I am, but I don’t think I can ever be as bold and unflappable as he is. The next best thing is to drink him in like I’ve been parched for days and breathe his air like I’m suffocating. And the more I do, the more his touch makes me feel like I’m coming back to life.
“Can I go home with you?” I murmur into his mouth.
Maybe I am losing it like people think. Maybe I’m getting more unhinged by the day. Every aspect of my life is twisted to the point where I’m jealous of Colson Lutz and kissing him feels like solace. Even though so much of it is his fault…
Colson nods, “I’ll take you home with me,” then he grabs my thighs and rocks forward to stand, “but if I do, you’re not leaving.” He spins and lowers me down, rolling my back flat against the hood, “It’ll be where you live, now.”
The metal feels warm against my back as he hovers over me, running his hand up my torso and pushing my shirt up past my navel.
“Or do you just want me to fuck you on the hood of my car?” his eyes remain locked on mine, “Maybe you’re finally ready to have some real fun with me again.”
Yes, I do …
“It’d be nice,” he continues, cocking his head, “the blue paint makes your hair pop and you’re at the perfect angle for me to make your tits bounce like hell. You have phenomenal skin, too…want me to pull out and come all over it or you want me dripping out of you instead?”
I fidget beneath him, my muscles trembling, “Would you fuck me the way you did last time?”
“That’s the only way I will,” he leans over me and plants one hand on the warm metal next to my chest, “or if you’re still having a crisis of conscience, you’re welcome to watch me have all the fun…”
Holding my gaze, he pulls up his shirt and slides his hand into his pants, reaching deeper until he draws in a breath and starts to slowly stroke his cock. His eyes start to move over me, staring ravenously while he pumps it faster.
“ Fuck, Colson…” I murmur, rolling my head in frustration.
“I already told you once, Honeybee,” his words become low and airy, “the next time I’m deep inside you, you’re going to tell me I’m your only,” he lets out a deep moan as he grinds against his fist with a crooked smile, “and I will be your only.”
I press my mouth together with a long blink, trying to still my hips and not focus on the fact that I can feel the liquid heat pooling between my legs.
“Until then,” he groans, “you can keep fantasizing that it’s my dick fucking you raw.” He casts me a pensive glance, “How many mornings of waking up without me until it drives you insane?”
I reach up with both hands, stroking the sides of his neck, “Let me make you come, Colson,” I plead, staring into his pale blue eyes so that he might change his mind.
“You are,” he smirks.
“No,” I throw my head to the side with irritation, “I mean inside me.”
“ Fuck , baby…” he slows his strokes and leans down until his face is just inches from mine, “don’t move a muscle and I’ll give you what you want.”
I take a breath and lower my arms, pressing my fingertips against the hood. I want to move against him, but he’s too tall and too far away for me to get even close. Instead, I have to do what he says and just lay there beneath him while he does exactly what he did when he followed me home years ago. Except, this time, I willingly watch him do it.
“You want to know what I was doing for the last three years?” he starts pumping harder, his mouth falling open, “I tried to forget you, like you wanted, but it didn’t work. I just thought about all the things I’d do to you when I found you again. And when I did, I decided to make you hate me for a different reason.”
Colson sinks down on top of me, brushing his nose up the side of my face as his labored breaths tickle my cheek. My mouth falls open when I feel his fist grinding against my pelvis, but his touch isn’t for me, it’s only a cruel byproduct while my own agonizing arousal goes utterly ignored .
On reflex, I lift my hand and he senses it without even seeing it, “ Don’t…move, ” he growls, giving me a start.
I go still and lay my hand back down on the hood, muscles trembling with agitation while I listen to his groans under his breath and feel each movement that brings him closer to release.
“Do you still like the pain I give you, Brett?” Colson murmurs, “because this kind is so much worse than my knife slicing through you.” He presses his forehead against mine, “But you need it like a bee needs honey. You’re so desperate for one thing that you’ll abandon the comfort of your safe life and forsake all others just to feel me inside you. Do you like when I deny you that?”
I close my eyes, pressing my mouth together as I squirm uncontrollably beneath him.
“Let me edge the fuck out of you until you can’t take it. And then leave you like that,” he growls through clenched teeth, pumping faster, “ let me see you suffer, Honeybee .”
Suddenly, his muscles go rigid and his jaw trembles as he lets out a sharp breath that slowly crescendos into a deep groan. Once it’s over, he straightens up, taking in my flustered body before he tilts his head from side to side, stretching and cracking his neck.
Colson pushes off the hood and straightens up, glancing down at his pants, “Oh, sorry,” he snickers, “I made you a promise.”
He pulls his fist out of his pants and reaches forward with his other hand, grabbing the waistband of my shorts and jerking them away from my stomach. Before I can say a word, he plunges his fist down the front of my shorts and my jaw drops as his hand splays out, landing with a wet smack between my thighs. I grab his wrist, gasping as his fingers curl around my groin and he vigorously rubs his cum over my skin, finally sliding two fingers in and out of me for good measure.
I stare up at him in shock as he retracts his hand from my shorts, letting his arm fall to his side. He stares right back, his jeweled eyes blazing with both satisfaction and contempt.
“How did it feel?”
I look away, trying to refocus, but too distracted by the fresh, sticky coat of his release he just smeared between my legs.
Finally, I turn back to him with an exasperated sigh, “Why can’t you ever just have a normal interaction with someone?”
Colson extends one hand to me and, inexplicably, I take it and let him pull me upright, “Like I said, this is our normal. And you shouldn’t derive any pleasure from leaving me, so, until you decide not to leave, it’s only going to get worse.”
I glare up at him, “So, if I am going insane and you finish the job, I’ll think you’re normal, after all? ”
“Well,” he shoots me an endearing smile, “if you didn’t want to be here, you wouldn’t have spread your legs for me, would you?” then he tosses his head to the side, “Now get the fuck off of my car—until you decide to behave.”
I still can’t get used to how similar Colson and Bowen can be—like I walked into some portal between two alternate universes. Are they each some metaphysical manifestation of good and evil? Except, depending on the day, I can’t tell which is which.
Colson rounds the bumper to the driver’s side door and throws it open. I watch him collapse into his seat and, with a weary breath and a not-so-subtle roll of my eyes, I turn and start trudging toward the entrance to the trail.
“Hey,” he calls after me, “where do you think you’re going?”
I nod down the path with a scowl, “Back to the beginning of the trail—where my car is.”
“You think I’d let my girl walk all the way back by herself?” he nods to his passenger seat, “Get in.”