Chapter 11 Saint #2
I can’t run. I’m exhausted, physically and mentally, and even if I did make it to town, there’s nowhere to go that he couldn’t find me. And if he doesn’t find me, his father will.
With that knowledge, I do the only thing I can do.
I pick out some clothes and get ready.
After a rough wash with mostly cold water, I’m dressed a couple of minutes later.
At least I found a spare toothbrush. My circumstances might not have changed, but at least my teeth are clean.
The clothes fit perfectly. Of course they do.
The jeans hug my hips and legs like they were made for me.
The sweater is soft cashmere, nicer than anything I own.
I’m pulling on a pair of thick wool socks when the front door opens again.
Calder stomps snow off his boots and sheds his coat, bringing cold air and some swirling snow into the cabin with him.
His eyes sweep over me, taking in the clothes with a look of satisfaction and possession.
Like seeing me in clothes he provided marks me as his somehow.
“They look good on you,” he states.
I don’t respond because what the hell is there to say? Moving toward the small table, I watch as he pulls a small velvet box out of his pocket. The sight of it makes my heart skip a beat.
No. No, he can’t be serious.
Oh, but he is. He opens the box to reveal a ring with a simple gold band and a small diamond. Nothing ostentatious or expensive, just… pretty. The kind of ring a girl might actually choose for herself if she were planning a real wedding with someone she loved.
The thoughtfulness of it makes me want to scream.
“I need you to wear this,” Calder says, holding the box out to me. “When we see your father, that way he knows this is serious.”
I shake my head, backing away from the ring like it might burn me. “I don’t want to wear that.”
“What you want and what is going to happen are very different things.” He takes a step toward me, and I take a step back.
We do this dance across the small cabin until my back hits the wall, and there’s nowhere left for me to go.
“This is real, Saint. We’re really getting married.
The ring makes it real in everyone else’s eyes too. ”
“It’s not real,” I argue desperately. “It’s a lie.”
“It’s protection.” He’s close now, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “The only kind that works in my world. We went over this. I know it’s hard for you to accept, but it’s happening. Now give me your hand.”
“No.”
“Saint.” His voice drops into that dangerous register that makes my skin prickle with awareness. “Don’t make me force this too.”
The ring box is still in his other hand. He takes my left hand, the one not bandaged from the handcuff, and I’m too tired and defeated to pull away.
“This doesn’t change anything,” I whisper as he slides the ring onto my finger.
“It changes everything.” The ring settles into place like a shackle. Like a brand. Like a promise I never made but will be held to anyway. “Now you’re mine in a way that everyone can see. That my father will have to respect.”
I look down at the ring, at the way it catches the morning light, and feel something inside me break. Not shatter, that happened days ago. This is different. This is the final surrender. The acceptance that this is my life now.
I’m going to marry Calder Bishop.
I’m going to lie to my father.
“I hate you,” I whisper, but the words lack the conviction they had before.
“I know.” He cups my face in both hands, forcing me to look at him. “But you’ll marry me anyway. You’ll stand in front of your father and tell him you love me. You’ll wear this ring and let everyone believe you chose this. Because that’s what must happen to survive this.”
“What happens after the wedding? After everyone believes the lie?”
“Then you learn to live with it.” He brushes his thumb across my cheekbone, the touch achingly gentle. “And maybe, eventually, it stops feeling like a lie.”
His response is terrifying, only because he knows there is a part of me that cares for him, that wants him.
I should be fighting harder, resisting more.
But what’s the point? I know how it’s all going to end.
Why resist? Why put any more energy into this than I need to?
I guess that’s why I stand there, letting him cradle my face in his hands, wearing the ring on my finger, letting the last bits of my fight fade to black.
So I just stand there, his hands on my face, the ring heavy on my finger, and let the last of my fight drain away.
“We should go,” Calder says after a moment, dropping his hands and stepping back. “I want to get this done with and make sure no one else sees you.”
Right. Because if anyone else sees me first, if Allie or Sheriff Tanner or any of the townspeople who must be wondering where I am get to me before this lie is established, everything falls apart.
It’s perfection or nothing.
“Ready?” Calder asks, opening the door.
No. I’ll never be ready for what’s to come, but there’s no point in fighting against it. This is happening regardless of my feelings or thoughts.
“Ready as I’m going to get,” I respond flatly.
Calder nods, and we step out of the cabin together.
The landscape is blinding white, and the snow crunches under my boots, sending shock waves of pain through my sore feet as I follow Calder to the truck.
The drive to town is silent. Which, I guess, is better than listening to him tell me what happens if I fail.
Calder keeps his eyes on the snowy road while I stare out the window at the familiar landscape transformed by the storm. Everything looks different under a blanket of snow, softer, cleaner, like the world hit a reset button and started fresh.
If only it were that simple.
The mountains rise around us, ancient and indifferent to human suffering. They’ve seen generations of Bishops rule this valley, seen countless lives destroyed and remade. What’s one more preacher’s daughter added to the tally?
“When we get there,” Calder says, breaking the silence, “you’ll explain that we’ve been seeing each other for a while. That we want to get married.”
“And if he asks questions? If he wants to know why I never told him?”
“You were scared. Knew he wouldn’t approve. Waited until you were sure before saying anything.” He glances at me. “He’ll believe it because he wants to believe his daughter is happy.”
The manipulation in that statement, the understanding of how much my father loves me, and how that love can be weaponized. It’s sick and disturbing.
We’re close to town now, and I can see the church steeple rising above the trees and all the familiar buildings of Main Street. My whole life has been lived in this valley, in this town, surrounded by these people. Strange how after today, none of it will ever be the same.
Calder turns onto my street, and my stomach clenches. There’s my house. The porch where Martin Everett died. The door I should never have opened. The life I’ll never get back.
Dad’s car is in the driveway. I can’t even imagine the amount of worry that he’s gone through. What did he think when he got home, and I wasn’t there?
“Remember,” Calder says as he parks. “We’re in love. You want this. You’re happy.”
I don’t respond. Can’t. My throat is too tight, clogged with emotions, and words that I can’t let out. My eyes brim with tears I refuse to shed.
Calder slips out of the truck first and comes around to open my door, a gesture that might seem chivalrous if I didn’t know it’s just him making sure I don’t bolt. His hand settles on the small of my back as we walk toward the house. It’s a reminder of the pressure we’re under.
The front door opens before we reach it, almost like my father was standing there waiting for me to show up. He stands in the doorway, his face lighting up when he sees me.
“Saintlyn! Thank God. I’ve been worried sick—”
He stops mid-sentence when he sees Calder standing beside me. I watch as his gaze darts over Calder’s possessive hold on me and the ring on my finger. It’s impossible not to notice.
His expression shifts from relief to confusion to fear.
“Dad,” I say, and my voice sounds strange even to my own ears. “We need to talk.”
He steps back, letting us inside, his eyes never leaving Calder. The house smells like home, coffee and old books and the lavender cleaning spray Mom used to love. It should feel safe. Should feel like a sanctuary.
Instead, it feels like I’m walking into a trap of my own making.
“What’s going on?” Dad asks, his pastor’s voice firmly in place.
This is it. The moment when I destroy any chance of him trusting me again. When I become complicit in my own captivity. When I choose survival over truth. I open my mouth, and the lies Calder scripted for me sit heavy on my tongue, ready to be spoken.
God forgive me for what I’m about to do.