My Rose

27. Rose

Chapter 27

Rose

“Rule your mind or it will rule you.” ― Horace

T wo more days passed—two more agonizingly long days where all my thoughts gravitated back to Briggs. The one positive step I took was towards moving out—signing the rental papers for the house my grandfather found—but it couldn’t distract me fully. Reminders of him were everywhere—in my garage, in the shower, in my bedroom, where I kept his jackets whenever I wasn’t actively wearing one. To make matters worse, my grandmother loved to make the house smell like citrus during the wintertime. Of all the things she could choose, she chose the one thing that reminded me of who I longed for the most.

The one smell that was making my senses go mad.

So I left the house, and that’s how I ended up walking along the edge of the same park Briggs took me to, effectively exchanging one aching reminder of him for another. I didn’t set out to go to the place where he went to ‘not be an asshole.’ Turns out, my mind wasn’t the only thing consumed by him. It was my entire body, too—possessed by the gnawing thoughts of him and where we’d been together.

How we’d been together.

We were good . He was good.

Or that’s what I believed.

I’d been so wrong, and now I was kicking up snow along the edges of that same park without the one-and-only asshole in sight, unable to move from the spot.

Until I heard a familiar voice, along with the sounds of a car screeching to a stop in the parking lot.

A car door slammed, and the voice got louder, but the thing that made a bone-chilling shiver pierce down my back was my name .

Kind of.

“Rosie Toesie!” August all but slurred as he made a less-than-poised exit from his car and walked over to me. Also, kind of. He was blasted—his car was parked diagonally, and his legs were crossing over the other in a way that made me think he was about to fall right on his face.

I briefly pinched my eyes shut, wishing he would have.

“Shit,” I muttered to myself, turning on my heels and picking up my pace to walk away. From where I was standing, the beginning of the path leading to where Briggs took me once wasn’t that far. If I could just—

“Rose, wait up!”

Double shit.

I don’t know why I stopped or gave him an ounce of my attention and turned my head over my shoulder, but I did. I so stupidly did. Maybe it was because he used my actual name for once in his life. As he got closer, my arms instinctively wrapped around my body, squeezing out enough citrus to keep me calm because, yes, I was wearing one of Briggs’ jackets. It was the only thing keeping me sane as my former best friend, who never truly deserved the title, strode up to say whatever crap would spew from the mouth he believed was on par with David Bowie.

As if.

“Rosie.” August’s hazy, bloodshot eyes roamed my body as he approached. I stepped back, recoiling into myself as he got closer, his eyes catching on to my jacket before darting back up. “I’m so glad I found you.”

“You can have your mother call my house to ask for a new guitar but can’t figure out how to find me?”

“Listen, about that—I told her it wasn’t you and I had lied.” He rubbed along his jaw, where purple and yellow marks sprawled over and up, covering his eye. As I squinted, he tapped on it, wincing. “So, no harm, no foul, right Rosebud?”

“No.” I widened my stance, hoping it would make me feel taller compared to him.

His fingers stroked the bruise as he dipped his chin down. “Not going to ask me what happened? I thought you, of all people, would care.”

I scoffed. “Why should I care what happens to you anymore? You ruined whatever fucked-up friendship we had.” His hand fell, and as he loomed in closer, I stepped back. Swallowing past the large lump forming in my throat, I gave in. “Fine. What happened?”

“Your fucking dog bit me is what happened.”

My brows furrowed. “I don’t have a—” Oh. Warmth spread over my chest, followed by a cold shudder because that dog wasn’t mine anymore. August was someone I grew weak around and thought it was love’s doing, but now I was certain my weak state was because of the way he was standing, looking down at me like I could be so easily taken over. And for years, he’d been right in that assumption. For most of my life, really. My back straightened, my sneakers grinding down into the snowy grass as I bit out, “What do you want?”

Now it was time for confusion to dawn on his once-pretty face, yet all I saw when I looked at him now was a tattered boy who would never grow up—someone I feared more as he took another step closer. Two feet between us used to feel like a pit I wanted to jump over. Now, all I wanted was to run away, to claw myself out, even if it left my fingertips bloody and raw .

He laughed at the question. “What do I want?” He swiped his thumb along his bottom lip, where a cut sliced down to his pointed chin. “What the fuck do I want?” He laughed again, the coldness of it making a shiver roll down my spine. “I want what was supposed to be mine.”

I took a step back. “I gave your guitar back in the condition you deserved to get it back. I have nothing else of yours.” August’s face twisted, and I faltered before retreating yet another step. I wanted nothing more than to punch him, which was odd for me because I wasn’t a physically violent person. But yelling and arguing wasn’t going to get me far—not with that crazed look on his face. Neither outcome played out in my mind well, so I stood there, feeling less than confident that I could take him on. The smirk he was giving me let me know he could sense my discomfort, and he didn’t give a damn. He never had.

“Forget about the fucking guitar, Rosie.” Black spread to cover his blueberry irises as his gaze roamed over my chest. “This isn’t. About. The. Guitar.”

I shuddered, my fists curling in over my torso. “Then w-what is it that you want from me?” Another step back, which was quickly eaten up by the three sloppy steps he took right after.

His shadow made the snow and grass beneath my feet appear like a dark pit, ready to swallow me whole. “C’mon, Rosie. Don’t act like you don’t remember that phone call.” My brows pinched, then flew up. I had forgotten. I forgot all about August being on the phone, hearing my voice, my intense cries of pleasure responding to all the things Briggs had said and done. And then it clicked—the way August was reacting and finally seeking my attention, seeing the shiner on August’s face, and calling Briggs my dog instead of a dog in general…

For whatever reason, which I was sure was valid as hell, Briggs beat the shit out of August—and that had been for me . I smiled, forgetting August was waiting for me to reply about a phone call I really wished I didn’t have to talk about. It wasn’t any of his business what I chose to do to my body and who I chose to do that with. But beyond that, it made me think of Briggs—being in his arms and feeling secure and safe.

It hurt.

So I snapped and pivoted. “You’re drunk, August. Go home.”

“Rosie.” August’s hand lunged for my arm, his fingers curling in too harshly around my bicep. “I want you. Don’t you want me, too?”

“You’re drunk and high, aren’t you?”

His thumb dug into my arm. “I’ve been a wreck without you.”

“You’ve been without me for longer than you are willing to admit to yourself.” I tried to rip my arm back. His hand tightened. “We haven’t been real friends in years. You prioritized everyone else in your life and only sought me out when you needed your ego stroked.”

“I thought—” His voice lowered, a deep groove forming between his brows. “I thought you loved me.” His sudden shift did nothing to hide his cruel intentions—the narcissistic tendencies that I’d somehow missed all those years. Perhaps if he could feel love, his words may have been convincing .

“Loved you?” I sneered at him, trying again to jerk my arm free. Not that it worked. My eyes darted around the parking lot, my gut sinking as I realized it was empty. There was no one to help me—to see me trying to break free and run.

I think whether he knows or not isn’t important. What’s important is that he’s an idiot for either one of those being true. Clearly, he had known exactly how I believed I felt about him. But I’d been wrong. So, so wrong.

My blood boiled.

“The fact that you’re holding that over my head like you just knew I felt something for you makes me feel ten times stupider for ever having those feelings in the first place.” Briggs was right. August was an idiot. “Let go of me before I scream.”

August pouted, yet his hand didn’t leave my body. He yanked me sloppily towards him, making me shriek. His eyes lit up at the sound—two beady little blueberries that I wanted to gauge out with a fork. Or my house key.

“I don’t want to let you go, Rosie. I already did that once, and then you ran to him , didn’t you?” He leaned in toward my ear, making my body freeze. “You ran to him, and you let him fuck you. You were supposed to wait for me, but you didn’t do that, did you?” His fingers went rigid, the tips of them digging in deeper. “You were mine . Mine to fuck and own. Mine to do whatever I wanted with as long as I played my part, and I fucking played it.” He pointed a finger at himself with his free hand. “I played it, Rose. No one else was going to dare touch you. But me? I was your friend. You ate from the palm of my hand. You should have been with me! ”

“Stop, you’re hurting me, August,” I whispered, hoping the friend I once thought I knew was somewhere in there, buried deep down, waiting to be coaxed out, even if temporarily. But that August had never been there, to begin with. That person was as made-up as the sense of security I placed in my two-inch key in my pocket.

“You hurt me when you rejected me! Instead, you spread your legs for a man who doesn’t give a fuck about you!” He shook his head, freeing his golden blond hair from behind his ears as a sick sort of laughter erupted from him. “I knew you couldn’t handle being wanted by a man like me—”

I snapped. “A man like you!?” My lip trembled as fear seized my insides. Briggs had said something similar, but when he said it, it made me turn to goo in the best way possible. All August’s words did was seep into my skin like the threat they were. My free hand started working down to my pocket, reaching for those keys. “Get your hands off me, August, or I swear to god, I’ll hurt you.” My fingers clamped around the cold metal, turning the key over and over. My palm grew damp as I fit the key between my fingers, notching it up by my knuckles. I didn’t know how to fight, but I was sure I could figure out how to jab him with the pointier side.

He cocked his head, blinking like the crazy just snapped from his body. “You wouldn’t ever hurt me, Rosie.” He seemed unfazed and wholly unaware of where my other hand had gone. “You love me too much to—”

A clicking sound reverberated behind August, and I released the key in my hand as I heard the man standing behind him growl out, “Get your fucking hands off of her. ”

Briggs.

My chest swelled as he came into view, his frame towering over August’s the same vicious way August kept trying to tower over mine. My eyes darted to the gun in Briggs’ hand briefly as August’s head began to turn. But instead of wanting to run away from the gun, knowing the sound brought me back to that night, I wanted nothing more than for the man holding it to take me up into his arms, gun and all.

It was conflicting, but the adrenaline coursing through me didn’t care so much about the weapon. I knew with Briggs here, I was going to be safe. He was going to save me from whatever August had intended to do.

“Oh, fuck off, dude,” August slurred and rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to me. “She chose who she wanted, and she wants me. Don’t you, Rosebud?” I wasn’t sure August realized there was a gun pressed to the back of his head. Perhaps he thought it was fake. I was positive it wasn’t.

I went to open my mouth, but when nothing but silence came out, Briggs spoke up for me. “She said to let her the fuck go. Doesn’t sound like she wants you at all.” He stepped to the side behind August, looking me over. His eyes darkened as they moved between my face and where August kept his hand on my arm. I jerked my arm as hard as I could, this time breaking his hold.

Briggs’ jaw worked as he pressed the barrel to the back of August’s head gruffly, causing his head to jerk forward with the force. August’s face paled over, that alcohol and drug-induced haze he was trapped in finally snapping under the pressure of the gun—of knowing who was holding it. Briggs wasn’t someone who fucked around.

“Rose, get in the car,” Briggs ordered. I tried moving, but my feet were glued to the spot like I was trapped in Jim’s store all over again. I wasn’t afraid of Briggs—it was August who made this insane level of fear course through me. The maniacal, crazed look he’d given me and the way he gripped my arm had frozen me to the spot.

“Get. In. The. Car.” Briggs’ finger on the trigger wasn’t even shaking, his face a calm storm promising to leave nothing behind. His dark green eyes locked on mine. “Please, Rose,” he begged softly. Where his body was hard, ready to defend me at great lengths, his gaze told another story as they darted between me and his car. I held back the sob that threatened to leave my throat while I thawed on the spot.

He came for me.

“Please, man, I’m sorry.” August’s hands were slowly rising in the air as I took a step back.

“I told you to stay away from this side of town and to stay the fuck away from her. What part of either one of those did you not get?” August started to cry, his shoulders shaking as Briggs kept the gun pressed to August’s head. “Rose. Now.”

Without another word, I headed straight for the passenger side door left open no more than ten feet behind where Briggs stood. I wondered if he planned to run over August before parking and getting out like he did to his jacket that night at the bonfire. Seeing him hold a gun, I wouldn’t put it past him .

But a jacket and a life were two very different things. And I had just decided to walk away with mine as another possibly hung in the balance.

The second I got in, the door closed, and I was stuck watching through the window as August turned around with the gun still pointed at him, the tip now digging into his forehead. I could hear them talking but not enough to decipher exactly what was being said. With bated breath, I watched as August’s hands trembled at his sides, his eyes wide in terror or shock at being caught. It was hard to tell because I guess I never truly knew him. The friend I thought I knew wouldn’t have left bruises along my arm.

Suddenly, their voices stopped, and August jumped back. Briggs turned and casually tucked his gun into the back of his waistband, and then he reached into his pocket. The sounds of his driver-side door opening eased me back into my seat. I pressed my face into my palms, my breathing finally evening out as Briggs entered the car.

It’s over. I’m safe.

I raised my head as the car shifted, and I saw a completely unharmed August Coleman jumping back as the front of Briggs’ car almost clipped his legs, sending him to his ass in the snow, a large and undeniable wet stain covering the front of his jeans. Weeks ago, I would have wanted to protect August from Briggs’ aggression. But seeing no red on the ground and hearing no bullet leaving the gun—I just wanted to forget all of that had just happened. My once best friend had been so close to doing things to me that would have sent me right back to therapy.

I angled myself on the seat to face Briggs, my mind a whirlwind of the things I wanted to say and ask, but the first thing that came out was, “Where have you been?” Like I hadn’t been ignoring him, too. I immediately silently scorned myself. I was a grown woman, and I should have been able to talk to him about what his father said they did like civil adults who had a relationship of some kind, whatever that was now. But that day was like a harsh slap of reality to the face—hearing what was probably only a small part of what he did for his father’s business.

“You owe me two questions, first.” I paused, my forehead pinching as I tried to think— “The movie theater room. You asked me why I couldn’t leave and what I was waiting for, and because I’m pretty sure I answered both, it’s my turn now.”

I crossed my arms, trying not to instantly melt at the reminder that he said he’d been waiting for me. “Fine.”

His face softened as he looked me over. “Did he hurt you?”

Pushing the sleeve of my jacket down, I traced the few dots of fresh bruises along my skin. “A little. But I’m okay.”

His knuckles turned pale, and his jaw did that wildly attractive thing it did when he was frustrated or downright pissed as he cursed.

“What’s your last question so I can get an answer to mine?”

“Are you hurt in ways I can’t see?” His voice cracked a fraction.

I pulled the sleeve of my jacket back into place, fixating on the ridges of the zipper. Briggs Andrews, the guy who took out a gun like it was nothing and was covered in marks and tattoos, was asking about my mental state. “No.” I leaned my head back against the seat. “I’m stronger than that. It was just really…eye-opening, I guess you could say. Now, answer mine—where have you been, Briggs?”

His brow arched as his eyes slid to the side to take me in. “Waiting.”

More waiting? “Waiting for what?”

“For you to need me. To want to talk to me. When I saw that you were at the park I took you to, I—”

“Wait—have you been watching me or something?” I interrupted, my voice shrill.

He was quick to respond. “I’m going to need a clearer question, Rose.”

I scoffed. That’s a yes. “How long have you been watching me for using whatever methods you use, Briggs?”

“Longer than I should have been.” He moved one hand down to shift, then slid that hand right onto my thigh. The warmth in his touch instantly calmed me, and a soft whimper escaped my lips.

I forced down the dryness in my throat—the knowledge that he’d been watching me for who knows how long with that vague answer was unsettling. Anger overwhelmed me, and I slapped his hand. “You don’t get to touch me or follow me around. We broke up, remember?”

“Yet you got in my car and haven’t even bothered to ask where I’m taking you.” The gentle squeeze of his hand was anything but bruising, and I had to bite down on my lip to not think about how those hands could make me feel. “You’re mine, Rose. Even if you don’t want to admit it to yourself right now.”

As much as I wanted to lash out at him, I couldn’t deny that he was right. I didn’t want to admit it—how many times I’d been thinking about him, how I’d been unable to eat right or sleep since he took me home that day. He had single-handedly consumed all of me, and hearing him say I was his had never felt so right.

Still, defiance rang through to the surface. “What if I don’t want to be yours?” I ground my feet down as my voice quavered, hoping the way my thigh flexed would make him pull away from me.

Instead, his fingers started making languid circles along the sensitive parts of my inner thigh, one finger at a time, like my body had become an instrument humming only to his tune. “If you didn’t want to be mine, you would have started walking home from that park. We both know you’re capable of making your own decisions and how equally capable you are of telling me exactly where to shove it.”

I blinked as I looked at his knowing smirk, then scowled more, because—damn him. If I didn’t feel what I did for him, what I kept trying to tell myself I didn’t feel, then yes, I would have walked away and headed straight for my grandparents’ house while cursing his name the entire time.

But I hadn’t even considered it.

I saw Briggs and became weak yet powerful all at the same time. August tried to take that from me. He tried to weaken me and make me feel small. Briggs never made me feel small or less. He made me feel so much more.

The corner of his mouth tilted at my silence. “There’s my good girl,” he whispered. After working so hard to relearn how to use my voice after the fire, I was certainly failing at doing just that lately. My actions, however, were speaking loudly enough to compensate.

“Where are you taking me this time, then?”

“Somewhere safe.” He sighed as I turned my attention to the window, though I wasn’t looking beyond it. Truthfully, I didn’t care where he was taking me. An odd sort of adrenaline was pumping through me. I’d been so close to becoming a victim, but now I was safe. In his car. Yet again.

But I couldn’t just let it all go. Those words had swirled in my brain for far too many hours to let it all slip under the rug. Thinking about it was making the angry beast within me rise uncontrollably again. And it was too hard, too conflicting, being angry at him with his hand on me.

I moved my leg, crossing it over the other to get his hand away from me. When he still didn’t let go, I grabbed his hand and pushed it back towards him. He quickly captured my hand and twined our fingers over the shifter, his covering mine from the back of my hand.

“Why do you have to be so infuriating!” I shouted, flexing my fingers against his, trying to wriggle out from his hold. He didn’t budge. “What makes you think I can just get over everything that happened?”

“Rose, you can’t understand everything in my life right now, and I don’t expect you to. You have every right to be mad at me. Look, I know you didn’t deserve to hear about any of that from my father—the things about the club and…everything.” He took a deep breath, and on his exhale, he continued, “But you aren’t nothing. You have never been nothing to me. And knowing that you probably believed I thought you were exactly that has been tearing me apart.”

His admission was making my insides twist. It was hard to deny that Briggs’ actions hadn’t proven that to me already. He made me feel seen, appreciated, and valued in ways I’d never experienced before. And although he was so obviously violent, I wasn’t scared of him.

My lips rolled in as my eyes drifted to the back of his seat like I could still see the gun that was concealed behind him. Those thoughts, the undeniable way I cared about him, made a new fear rise within me—Briggs could have been the one in danger. He could have gone to prison for trying to protect me with a weapon I’d had a fear of for most of my life. Seeing him in control of one wasn’t terrifying. It was the thought of what could have been if he decided to use it.

Something was seriously wrong with me that that fear surpassed the fear I had for August when the gun was pointed at his head.

I rubbed my palm down my jeans. “I thought you were going to shoot him,” I finally let out.

His eyes didn’t leave the road this time. “What would you have done if I did?” My hand loosened beneath his as I considered. August was ready to do things to me. He was going to hurt me. There was no light at the end of that long, dark tunnel. If Briggs didn’t show up and threaten him, I would be at August’s mercy right now. And he didn’t look like he had any mercy in him to give .

“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “I thought you hadn’t…I thought whatever you did for your father didn’t go anywhere close to that. I didn’t even know you had a gun, Briggs.”

I’ve never killed anyone.

His throat bobbed. “I didn’t lie to you.”

I’ve hurt people, Rose. I won’t try to lie to you and tell you I haven’t.

“But, you looked like you were going to kill him. I saw him jump back, but I-I didn’t hear anything. You just…left him.”

“Do you still trust me?”

“Yes,” I said without hesitation, shocking myself at the ease of my admission. He sighed and released my hand, then reached into his waistband, pulling out a matte black pistol. The sight of a gun usually made tiny pinpricks of fear spread through my skin, but in his hands, I felt nothing.

“I’m going to set this down on your lap. Is that okay?” I nodded, uncrossing my legs and pressing them together before he slid it into my lap. My breathing picked up as I stared down at it. “It’s not loaded.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a long, black rectangle. It was heavy as he slid it into my lap beside the gun. “But I was ready to kill him if he didn’t let you go.” The way he said it sent a shiver down my spine.

“So…you weren’t going to actually do anything as reckless as that?” I wasn’t focused on my words as much as I was on the feeling of having a gun on my lap. I was terrified of them and had told him it was one of my biggest fears—that and fires. Being trapped by both of those things had been a recurring nightmare of mine ever since the day my parents died .

“No, Rose. You aren’t listening.” He was right—I wasn’t. It was hard to listen—to process what I was hearing. He came to a stop in front of a large warehouse that looked rather abandoned, a gun and bullets in my lap, with what was potentially a more lethal weapon to my left in the driver’s seat.

Still, somehow, I wasn’t afraid of him. I trusted him entirely.

He reached over and unbuckled my seatbelt before picking up the gun and cartridge of bullets and pocketing them once more. “Let me make this very clear, Rose.” His fingers found my chin, dragging my full attention to the sharp lines of his jaw and the hardness of his eyes. “I will kill him if he tries anything like that again. If anyone ever thinks of hurting you, of putting their hands on you, I will make them beg for a swift death that they won’t receive and don’t fucking deserve. It is only because you were right there, watching me, that I chose against ending his life.”

My eyes roamed his face, trying to find the lie in his words, but there was none. “You’ll go to prison if you torture or murder someone,” I said robotically like this was all some normal conversation to have with your…whatever he was to me.

“Oh, Rose baby.” The hint of a false smile passed his lips, then faded as he shook his head. “No, I don’t think I would.” My forehead crinkled as he continued, “I’ve done bad things, Rose. I may not have killed before, but the things I’ve done aren’t exactly legal, either. Money gives power to the wrong kind of people—monsters—like me.”

“You aren’t the wrong kind of people, Briggs.” Without having to think twice about it, I knew he was good . It may have been hidden under dozens of layers he had built up around himself over the past several years or possibly his entire life. But I knew Briggs Andrews was good. Even with everything his dad said, everything Briggs did and didn’t say that day, I still believed that to my core. Which possibly made me an idiot because he just said he’d murder someone for me, but I didn’t care. “Good people can do bad things sometimes, even when they don’t want to. I think you feel the weight of the bad more than you let on.” My face turned into his hand, all of my anger towards him evaporating. “You’ve never been a monster.”

“What makes you so sure I’m not?”

“Because I see you, Briggs.”

He reached up to tuck some of my hair behind my ear, cradling my cheek in his palm. “I’ll end up apologizing to you a thousand times for the things I say and do, but none of my sorries will ever amount to me truly deserving you, Rose Fields.” His knuckles brushed under my jaw, and I inhaled sharply at how such callused and damaged hands could feel so gentle and soothing.

For a moment, we stayed there, trapped in the space between words left unspoken. I knew I felt something I never had for anyone else when it came to Briggs, but I didn’t expect it to hit me like a freight train as his forest green eyes held mine.

I broke the silence, trying to clear the chokehold he had on me from deep within my throat as if I could dislodge my own heart. “So, is this where you come when you’re also not trying to be an asshole ?”

He chuckled as he shook his head, his lips rolling in as his eyes lit up. “No, baby. This is where I come to let it all out.”