Chapter Eleven
Brantley
T he shot of whiskey in front of me on the bar is screaming my name. I want to pick it up and slam it back, and then call for another one. But…I don't. Because all I see is her face. All I hear is her, making me promise that I'll reach for a lifeline.
And even if she never forgives me, I've disappointed her enough. I've hurt her enough. I want to drink…but I want to make her proud more. So I leave the whiskey sitting there and reach for a lifeline.
Priest Alcalde and Dalton Grady blow through the doors an hour after I sit my ass down, swarming me with lines of worry etched onto their faces.
Truth is, I probably should have called Daniel. But I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to be talked down when I called Priest. Didn't expect the fucker to bring Dalton with him, though.
"Hey, man," Dalton says as they pull up stools on either side of me. "You good?"
"Perfect," I lie. "On top of the motherfucking world."
Dalton sighs.
"Is that why you've got a shot of whiskey in front of you, brother?" Priest asks.
I don't say anything.
"What are you doing, man?" Dalton asks, concern etched in his deep voice. "You shouldn't be here."
Isn't that the million-dollar question? What the fuck am I doing here?
"I fucked everything up," I rasp, my eyes locked on the shot in front of me like it's really going to fix this shit. "And Isla left."
"Jesus," Priest says. "What happened, Brantley?"
I don't even know where the fuck to begin. I've kept so much shit to myself for so long, trying to keep his secrets. Not even Memphis knows everything. Daniel doesn't. Hell, no one really does. Because it was easier not to talk about it than it was to admit just how fucked up I really am.
"They found her sister. Tried to kill her." I scrub a hand through my hair, trying to figure out how to put it together for them. "It's my goddamn fault, Priest."
"And you think this shit is going to help?" he growls. "You're supposed to be sober, brother."
I laugh, the painful sound scraping my throat. "So everyone keeps telling me. Christ, I'm so fucking tired of this."
"Of what?" Dalton asks.
"The whole goddamn thing," I mutter. "Half the fucking world blames me for what happened, and I let them because I want to protect his memory. I owe him that much. But goddamn. I didn't know it'd cost me everything that mattered."
"Brant, you can't listen to the shit they say, man."
I tug on strands of my hair, trying to think. "I'm fucking lying right now. Jesus Christ. It's like I've said it so much, it just rolls off my tongue. I don't give a shit about his memory."
"What are you saying?" Dalton asks.
"I'm saying I hated the prick. He was an addict who got off on beating me and my mom," I murmur quietly. "And I'm saying I saw the men who killed him in the parking garage. I didn't fucking know what they were there for, and I didn't really care. I drove off without trying to figure out what they wanted." I swallow hard. "When I got the call that he was dead, I fucking smiled."
"Jesus, Brantley," Priest rasps.
"The only thing I regret is the fact that Isla's sister was there." My brows furrow. "That's not true. I regret not telling Isla the truth. The way she found out… it's fucked. I don't know how the fuck I'm supposed to fix it. I'm tired of keeping his secrets."
That's the real truth. Keeping his secrets is killing me. I'm tired of the world thinking he was something he wasn't. I'm tired of being the one who pays for his crimes. I'm goddamn tired of trying to hold it all up and failing.
His secrets are poisoning me because the longer I keep them, the longer all this shit keeps building up inside. And the longer I keep them, the more I fuck up, trying to hide from what it's doing to me. If I'm ever going to have a chance of fixing things with Isla…I can't keep doing that. I can't carry the burden of his shame and my own.
But I don't know how the fuck to stop, either. My mother has sacrificed enough. She's survived enough. I can't ask her for more just to set myself free. And yet…it's what I need to do. I don't think either of us will ever really move on until it's done.
"You don't fix it this way, brother," Priest says, clamping a hand down on my shoulder.
I immediately jerk away, my heart pounding as anxiety shoots through me in a cold wave. "Don't touch me," I snap. No one is allowed to do that but Isla. Her hands are the only ones that don't hurt.
"Shit." Priest grimaces, his expression full of apology. "I'm sorry, brother. I forgot."
I jerk my chin in a nod, inhaling a deep breath. Trying to calm myself back down and quiet the anxiety. It's…not as bad as usual. It's not screaming at me, demanding I fight or flee. It's just uncomfortably there, sitting in my chest like a knot of fear.
"That shot isn't going to solve a single goddamn one of your problems," Priest says after a moment. "You know it won't."
"Yeah," I sigh. "Why the fuck do you think I called you? You're my intervention."
"Then let's get the fuck out of here. We'll call Daniel and figure this shit out somewhere without a shot in front of you," Priest says.
"What the fuck?" Dalton growls suddenly, jumping to his feet.
"What?" Priest asks.
"That motherfucker has his hands on my fiancée."
Priest and I both turn, confused as hell, as Dalton growls, storming across the bar with pure murder stamped on his face.
"He has a fiancée?" I mutter.
Priest just shrugs.
We watch as he charges toward a cowboy who has a petite, curvy brunette backed into a corner. The cowboy raises his hand like he's going to hit her, and she cowers.
"Oh, fuck that," Priest growls, climbing off his stool.
"Hell no," I snap at the same time, jumping to my feet.
Dalton reaches the girl—his fiancée—and grabs her around the waist, hauling her out of the way.
"You motherfucker!" he roars, plowing into the cowboy.
Priest and I don't say a word, already heading that way. This isn't what I came here for but fuck it. No one tries to hit a woman and walks away from it without earning a few bruises. And the mood I'm in? Well, I'm more than willing to help Dalton teach this motherfucker some manners.
By the time the police break up the fight, Dalton's in cuffs. So is the cowboy and several of his friends. But I feel calmer than I've felt all damn day. My head is clear for once.
And I know exactly what I need to do. While Priest takes Dalton's girl home, I go to see my mother. She isn't surprised to see me when I step over the threshold. It's almost like she was waiting for me.
"Took you long enough to get here," she says quietly, motioning me toward her chair.
I blink at her, caught off guard. "Daniel called?"
"He didn't have to call, Brant. I know you." She points at the chair across from her. "Come sit down."
I drop into the armchair, frowning. Not sure where to start. Asking her for the shit I'm about to ask is…fucked up. But I think I have to ask anyway, not just for my sake but for hers. Because we've carried this shit for long enough. As much as I want to protect her, I'm not sure that's what I'm doing. I'm not sure I've ever done that by keeping his secrets.
"You aren't okay, son."
"You talked to Daniel."
She shakes her head, huffing. "I didn't have to talk to him. I saw it when you were here last week. I saw it at your office the other day, too. You looked at that sweet girl like she hung the moon, but you still don't believe you deserve happiness."
Jesus Christ. Am I that fucking easy to read? Seems like everyone is reading me like a book lately.
"I'm trying to believe it," I mutter, staring down at my hands. "But I still hear his fucking voice in my head." I swallow. "A lot more since he died."
"Because of the rumors," she says.
I swallow hard, nodding. "I can't fucking shut them out. I thought I could, but…"
She sighs quietly. "I never wanted any of this for you, Brant. When you told me that you didn't want to release the truth, I should have pushed harder."
"It wasn't just about you, Ma. I…fuck." I rake a hand through my hair, exhaling a shaking breath. "I was in the parking garage that day when they slipped in. I saw them, and I fucking drove away anyway. I figured they were lost or there to rob the damn place, and I just didn't give a shit."
"Brantley," she says, her face falling. "Do the police know?"
I nod. "They've always known. I didn't lie to them about it."
"They know he was an addict?"
I jerk my chin in a nod again. "They haven't released the autopsy results because he didn't come back clean. I did when they tested me. They know the truth."
"Why haven't they cleared you if they…?"
I stare at the floor.
She gasps quietly. "You asked them not release a statement clearing you, didn't you?"
"At the time, I thought it was for the best." I grimace, pinching the bridge of my nose. "We'd decided that we weren't going to tell the truth. There was no reason to open that can of worms."
"Brantley," she sighs, shaking her head. "There was every reason."
"I'm realizing that now," I mutter.
"What happened?"
"Isla left." I swallow, trying to push down the ache in the center of my chest. "She… Christ, Ma. I lied to her. I won't blame her if she never forgives me for it. She deserved the truth."
My mother sighs again, her disappointment obvious. "Sometimes, Brantley Eugene, I think you're hellbent on destroying every good thing in your life."
"Sometimes, I wonder the same damn thing."
"So, what are you going to do about it?" she asks bluntly. "You can't keep on this way. I won't allow it. And that sweet girl isn't going to allow it either. It's gone on for long enough already."
"I know." I scrub my hands over my face. "That's why I'm here, Ma. I'm fucking tired of hearing his voice. I'm tired of carrying his secrets. I…" I pause, searching for words. "I think it's time to tell the truth about who and what he really was, Ma. It's the only way either of us will ever truly be able to move on."
I think I started realizing that when she stopped by the office the other day. Even though he's dead and gone, he still haunts her too. He still has his claws in her, leaving her searching through the wreckage for some little sliver of meaning in it. She was there that day, picking through the past, looking for a tiny kernel to cling to, one that might make it less painful. But there isn't one. Not in looking back, anyway. The only way she's going to find what she's looking for is to let it go. To bury him once and for all.
"I already wrote out a statement," she says, her green eyes locked on my face.
"What?"
"You think you owed me this silence, but I never asked for it, Brantley. I never wanted it. I never cared if they knew the truth. I only ever cared that you were okay." She closes her eyes, leaning back in her chair. "We've carried it long enough, dear. It's time to put it down."
"Jesus," I whisper. "Ma…"
"I made my decision the day I came to see you. I've just been waiting for you to make yours, Brant." Her eyes pop open, focusing on me. "It look you long enough to decide you've got something worth fighting for."
"I knew." I swallow hard, my throat raw with emotion. "I've always known she's worth fighting for. I just wasn't sure I was."
"What changed your mind?"
"She did," I whisper.
My mother smiles. "You better fix what you broke, Brantley Eugene. I'm not going to be very happy with you if she doesn't forgive you."
"I'm working on it, Ma."
"Work harder."
I chuckle, shaking my head. "As hard as I've gotta work to get her back. How's that sound?"
"I suppose it'll do."
I shake my head again, and then sigh. "I've got one other thing to tell you. You probably aren't going to like it."
"Are you drinking again?"
"Two things," I amend. "I went to a bar today. I didn't drink, but it was close."
"Brant," she sighs, worry filling her eyes.
"I'm going to start doing the meetings again. Let Daniel psychoanalyze the fuck out of me." I drum my fingers on the arm of the chair. "Maybe talk to a psychiatrist, too."
I've always been reluctant as hell to do that because I didn't want medication. But shit. Maybe that's what I need. And maybe it's time to admit that it's okay to need help. I'm not okay. I haven't been okay in a long goddamn time. But I can be. I will be. Because I'm not that little boy anymore. I'm not locked in a closet, listening to a fucking monster torment my mother. I get to decide what happens to me now. And I'm choosing freedom. I'm choosing healing.
I'm choosing Isla.
"What other bad tidings did you bring?" my mother asks.
"I'm paying off his dealers."
She's quiet for a moment and then she nods. "I figured you might. People like that don't just disappear until they get what they want."
"You aren't going to fight me about it?"
"Would it stop you?"
"Probably not."
"Sell the house, Brant. Pay them with the profits or recoup the costs. I don't care, but let this house be their payment."
"I'm not taking your house, Ma."
"It's not my house," she says, something flashing in her eyes. "It's his house. Every inch of it is steeped in painful memories. I want a nice apartment closer to you. One with a garden. One he's never stepped foot in. That's what I want."
"I'll make it happen," I murmur, my throat tight.
Daniel's waiting on my front porch when I get home. He pushes away from the wall, striding toward me with his hat pulled down low over his eyes and his arms crossed.
"Who called you?" I ask, meeting him halfway down the sidewalk. I'm not mad that someone called him. I planned to call him as soon as I got inside. Just curious who beat me to it. "Priest or my mother?"
"A better question is why didn't you call me?" He cocks a brow. "That's what you're supposed to do when you're spiralin'. You call me so I can talk you down."
"That's why I didn't call you. I didn't want to be talked down."
He doesn't seem surprised by the confession. Honestly, he looks like he expected it. "So…what? Shit gets complicated and you give up?" he asks. "What's the plan now, Brant? You forget about her by drinkin' yourself into an early grave?"
"Thought about it for about an hour," I admit, slipping my hands into my pocket. "Figured that's what I deserved. But then I came up with a new plan."
"Jesus Christ," he groans, tipping his head back to curse up at the sky. "What kind of self-destruction are we talkin' now? More fights? Gamblin'? Maybe you'll add whorin' to the list this time?"
"I was actually thinking about going to a meeting."
He tips his head down so fast his hat damn near tumbles from his head.
I smirk at him. "Maybe a few of them. And then I was thinking you can find me a psychiatrist, someone who can figure out what the fuck I should be taking for whatever the fuck this shit is."
"It's PTSD, Brantley. It's called PTSD."
"For that," I agree. "And after that…well, I don't fucking know what comes after that. I've never been able to see beyond this shit to think that far into the future. But I'm thinking about it now, brother. I'm seeing glimpses of it." I swallow, glancing away. "I think I like what I see."
"Jesus, Brant," he rasps, a thread of emotion in his voice I've never heard. "It's about goddamn time."
"I know." I meet his gaze, gratitude in mine. "Thank you."
He swallows convulsively, his jaw pulsing. "You don't owe me thanks, brother. It's what you pay me for."
"It isn't," I disagree. "You can't pay someone to give a shit, not the way you do."
"Yeah, well, maybe I'm a carin' motherfucker." He flashes a grin at me and then nods toward the truck. "Get in. We've got a meetin' to attend."
It's nearly one in the morning when I hear a soft tap on my front door. I quickly cross to it, peering out through the peephole. My heart skips a beat before slamming against my ribcage when I see Isla on the other side, her arms wrapped around herself.
I practically rip the door off the hinges trying to open it.
"Isla," I breathe, beyond grateful she's here. My silent phone taunted me all evening. I damn near drove to her parents' place six or seven different times, only to stop myself because I told her that I'd be waiting for her to come to me. Trying to hold myself to that damn near killed me, but I owe her the right to decide for herself when she's ready to talk.
She glances up at me, her eyes rimmed in red and full of anxiety. The sadness lingering in the depths kills me a little. I should have told her the truth from the very beginning. I've been thinking about that all goddamn day. Thinking I could wait and put everything back to rights before I told her was idiotic. Securing Bella's safety doesn't change the fact that she wasn't safe to begin with. It doesn't undo what was done. It doesn't change what she went through or erase what she saw. Nothing will ever do that.
I know because I've been there, done that. I live with the fucking scars. You can't unbreak what's broken. All you can do is glue it back together and hope for the best. I've been held together with glue and rubber bands for years, trying to keep the broken shards from slipping free.
"Did you know they were there for Bellamy?" she asks me, a quiver in her voice as she steps inside. "I need to know that much, Brantley. Because I've tried to see a future without you all day and it didn't work. So, I at least deserve to know what kind of man I love."
"You tried to see a future without me?"
She shrugs, glancing away from me. And fuck if that doesn't hurt like hell. But…I can't say I blame her either. Not after what she heard today.
"I didn't know they were there for him," I say quietly. "I didn't know who they were or what they wanted. I swear to you, little bird, I didn't fucking know."
She swallows hard, nodding. "But you blame yourself anyway, don't you?"
"I…"
"Please don't lie to me."
"Yeah, I blame myself anyway," I rasp. "I saw two men sneaking into the garage, and I just drove off because I didn't want to fucking deal. An hour later, my father was dead, and your sister saw it happen. It's hard not to blame myself when I could have stopped it."
"Would you have stopped it had you known?"
"Had I known your sister would get caught in the middle? Absolutely."
"What if she hadn't been there?" Isla asks, her eyes locked on my face, missing nothing. "If you'd known what they were there to do and you knew no one else would get hurt, would you have stopped it?"
"I don't know." I swallow hard. "I feel guilty every fucking day because I don't feel guilty, Isla, not over what happened to him. Not after everything. The only thing I felt when they told me he was dead was relief. If that makes me a terrible fucking person, so be it. For years, I'd have rather been terrible and free than spent another goddamn day working beside him, pretending we were a happy family when the only decent memories I had with him were fake—they were just for show."
"That doesn't make you terrible," she whispers, her bottom lip quivering. "It makes you human, Brantley. I was glad when Marion went away. I didn't understand prison or any of that—I'm not even sure my dad told us where she went because we were so young. But she wasn't there anymore, and I was happy about that. You don't owe grace to people who hurt you." She pauses, taking a breath. "But you do owe honesty to the people you love. That one isn't negotiable."
"I know that. And I intended to tell you everything. I just… Fuck," I whisper, my voice shaking. "I needed to fix it first, little bird. I needed to make sure she'd be safe and prove to you and Mac that I could be worthy of you. I guess I needed to prove that shit to me too."
Her face falls. "I kind of figured that's what you were doing. But you're already worthy of me, Brantley. You've always been worthy. When are you going to realize that?"
"Baby, you're afraid to even tell your dad about me," I remind her. "And I don't blame you for that because I get it. I wouldn't want to tell a man like him about a motherfucker like me, either. So, I needed to do something to make sure he knew that I've got your best interests at heart, and that I'll do whatever I have to do to make sure that you have whatever you need. You needed Bella safe, so I made sure she was."
"That's not why I didn't want to tell him about you, Brantley. I was scared he'd send me to Texas with her and I'd never see you again," she says. And then her brows furrow. "Hold on. What do you mean, you made sure she was safe? What, exactly, did you do?"
"That's why I texted you today. I wanted to tell you what I've been doing," I murmur. "I'm paying off my father's drug debt in exchange for Bella's safety. They won't come after her. They won't target your family or her friends or anyone else she cares about. She's safe."
"Brantley…you…" Isla gapes at me. "That's how you planned to fix it! You can't just pay a ridiculous amount of money to drug dealers to protect her!"
"It's worth it, little bird." I tug her into my arms, my eyes drifting close as my skin hums. Christ, I missed that today. I missed her today. When she isn't with me, I crave the feel of her skin against mine. I crave her . If she's an addiction, she's the sweetest one there is. "She never should have been in the middle in the first place. My father put her there when he hired her. He put her there again when he failed to tell her about his addiction and the people he owed. He didn't give her a choice because he wasn't up front with her about the risks. And I put her there when I drove away from that fucking parking garage. I can't undo what's already done. But I can ensure she isn't hurt further. And I can make sure you are, too."
"I want to be so mad at you right now," she whispers.
"I know." I brush my lips across her crown. "I'm hoping you'll forgive me instead. I've survived a lot. I won't survive losing you."
"Brantley."
"I mean it, little bird. You're my soul."
She rests her head against my chest with a sigh. "You're mine, too. I've been so damn worried about you. I was afraid…"
"You thought I was losing the battle."
"Yeah," she whispers.
"You weren't wrong." I tip her head back until our eyes lock. "I went to a bar today. I intended to drink until I couldn't feel anything."
"Brantley." Tears well in her eyes.
"I didn't do it. I made you a promise that I'd reach for a lifeline, so that's what I did." I swallow hard. "I went to see my mother instead and then Daniel and I went to a sobriety meeting."
"Really?"
I nod. "My mother is releasing a statement about who my father really was," I murmur, brushing my thumb across her bottom lip.
Isla's eyes widen. "What?"
"It's what needs to happen, baby." I cup her cheeks, pressing my forehead to hers. "I refuse to let him win. Not when I've got you pouring light into my life like you're made of the stuff. Not when I have something worth fighting for right here in front of me." I exhale a breath. "I can't promise it'll be easy, but I'm not going to lose the battle, baby. I'm going to keep dealing. I've got you helping me. And I've got Daniel helping me. I've got Memphis and my mother and a dozen other people who are all ready to jump in and drag me out of the water if I start going under."
"Promise?"
I hook my pinky through hers, making her smile. "Promise, baby."
She slides her arms around my waist, hugging me. I hold her for a minute, grateful as hell that she's here now before a thought occurs.
"Does Mac know you're here?"
"No. Um, I might have snuck out," she admits.
"Isla. He's going to lose his mind."
"He won't. I left a note."
I kind of doubt that'll help any at all. But when she rises up on her toes, pressing her lips to mine, I forget all about Mac.
"I'm right where I want to be, Brantley. And I'm not going anywhere. He's just going to have to learn to accept it."
My eyes flash to hers.
"I'm not going home."
"You mean tonight."
"I mean ever." She bites her lip. "I mean, so long as you still want to keep me. I made up my mind before I left that I was done hiding you. I'm tired of it, Brantley. You aren't a secret, and I'm not going to keep treating you like one just because I'm scared."
"Marry me," I blurt.
She blinks wide eyes at me. And fuck, maybe I should keep my damn mouth shut, pretend I didn't say anything. But I don't do that. Of course I don't. If she's afraid of being sent away, I'm not going to let that happen. I can protect her right here.
"Marry me, little bird," I breathe. "Your father will probably hate me for it. He'll be mad as hell. But I don't fucking care. I want you tied to me in a way that's real. I want you in our home, in our bed, wearing my ring and my last name because it's where you belong. You were meant to be mine. I felt it the day we met. I've felt it every day since."
"Yes," she says.
"What?"
A bright smile breaks on her face, wiping away every single shadow. "I said yes, Brantley. Yes, I'll marry you."
Fucking hell. She said yes.
"Right now? Tonight?"
"I mean, I doubt that's possible, but yeah, I'd marry you tonight."
I scoop her up into my arms, crushing my mouth to hers. This gorgeous, fierce, amazing little goddess just agreed to marry me. She's going to be mine permanently. If there's a heaven, there's no way it's better than this. It isn't feasibly possible. It just isn't.