Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Reese
I f there’s one thing I learned as a nurse, it’s how to answer the questions correctly. Give them the responses they want to hear.
The doctors knew I was lying when I brushed off the “fall.” The nurse’s eyes lingered too long, her pen hesitated too often. She saw me for what I was—just another woman too stubborn, too scared, to tell the truth.
They ran the tests anyway. Scans, prods, too many questions. They told me to wait a week before flying. I lasted forty-eight hours.
Just long enough to stop seeing stars every time I stood. Long enough to scrub the blood out of my hair. Long enough to realize I couldn’t stay in that apartment another second.
Every slam of a door in the hallway, every creak of the floorboards above me felt like Vander’s men had come to finish the job. So I slipped out with cash, ducked into a drugstore for supplies, and checked into a seedy motel under an assumed name.
I knew it wouldn’t keep me safe if he truly wanted to find me. But at least it bought me time.
And then I realized, Vander wasn’t coming.
Mrs. Hale had kept her word and kept her monster at bay.
Now I needed to get the hell out of here.
Back to Tangled Vines.
Back to my spoiled tabby cat and his obnoxiously loud purrs.
Back to Griffin. My heart and soul.
If he ever speaks to me again.
The pain in my body is nothing compared to the pain on his face the day I shattered us. The way he looked at me, gutted and betrayed, never knowing the truth.
I thought about calling—Griffin, Piper, my parents. But the only number I can remember is my parent’s landline, which they disconnected a few years back. And landing on their doorstep is not an option.
My mother will break down if she sees me like this, and Dad will no doubt fly into a rage that could end up killing him.
So I book the flight instead. Because home is the only call left to make.
The plane touches down with a shudder, and my chest aches with relief. I keep my sunglasses firmly in place, shielding more than just my eyes. At baggage claim, I move on autopilot, and by the time I slip into the airport bathroom, it’s blessedly empty.
I brace myself against the counter and peel the sunglasses off.
The cut near my eye has faded to a thin line, but the bruise beneath it is an angry purple, spreading wide and uneven across the bone.
My reflection stares back at me, a woman I barely recognize.
I angle my head, gingerly touching the tender spot where Vander tossed me into the bookcase.
The contusion pulses, a steady throb, a reminder of the moment the world went black.
My gaze drifts lower. The sweater hides most of it, but I know what’s there—fingerprints along my ribs, mottled bruises scattered like a map of violence across my skin.
And then there’s my throat.
Even now, faint purple shadows circle my neck. The marks don’t line up cleanly—just blurred ovals, patches of pressure where his hands had been. I don’t remember him doing it. Not clearly.
My mind blanks when I try. But my body hasn’t forgotten.
Sometimes the problem with a surprise is that no one’s waiting on the other side.
I drive straight from the airport to Griffin’s cabin, heart pounding the whole way. But his truck isn’t there. I knock anyway, praying he’ll fling the door open, gather me against his chest, make all of this vanish, even for a breath.
Silence answers.
My throat tightens, but I force myself back into the car. Okay. The ranch. Piper. Chowder. Somebody has to be there.
When I step inside, Sabine’s the first person I see. She lifts her head, brows rising. “Oh. You’re back.”
“Yep.”
Please God, not right now. I don’t have the strength for her sharp tongue or sly remarks.
Her gaze drifts to the scarf knotted around my throat, then up to the oversized sunglasses. She tilts her head. “New look?”
“Something like that.”
My weight shifts awkwardly onto my good leg. The other still aches, my knee stiff from the fall, and the rug burns sting every time the fabric brushes them.
Before I can retreat, Sabine closes the distance and engulfs me in a gentle hug, careful not to squeeze too tight.
“Yeah,” she murmurs, her voice oddly soft. “I’ve had to adopt that kind of look once or twice myself. Are you okay?”
I swallow hard. “I will be.”
“It takes time. Fucking bastard. Let’s hope karma catches up with him.”
“Doubtful. Money buys protection.” I point out the window. “Where’s Griffin?”
Sabine shrugs. “He’s been in Portland for the last couple of days. That’s all I know.” She squeezes my hand, lingering. “Your sister’s out with a client, but she should be back in a few hours. In the meantime—if you need anything, let me know.”
“Thanks.” I force a nod, but inside my chest, panic climbs.
Griffin is in Portland.
The only person he knows in Portland is Lauren. The day Vander showed up, Griffin had gone to pick her up.
My thoughts spiral, wild and relentless.
Has he been with her all this time? Staying in her bed while I was trapped in hell? Did he believe I’d chosen Vander, that I’d used him, that I was nothing more than another warm body? Did he go back to the woman who always wanted to marry him, the one who was steady and unbroken?
I press a shaking hand to my chest, drag in a breath.
Even if he did, Reese, you can’t begrudge him happiness. He deserves it. He’s always deserved it. Even if it’s not with you.
I repeat the words on a loop. Like maybe if I say them enough times, they’ll stop tearing me apart.
An hour later, I’m curled up on the sun porch with Chowder.
He’s sprawled on the top perch of his cat tree like some spoiled sultan, orange fur glowing in the late afternoon sun. I drag the brush through his coat, each stroke a small comfort, the steady rhythm soothing the frayed edges of my nerves.
The cat tree faces the window, and that’s when I see it—Griffin’s truck rolling up the drive.
My breath catches. “Griffin’s home,” I whisper, setting the brush aside. “I need to go talk to him, okay?”
Chowder cracks one amber eye, gives me the most judgmental side-eye a feline has ever managed, then lets out a short meow.
“Yeah, I know.” I rub his ear, my voice small. “He doesn’t like me very much right now. I said some things I shouldn’t have.”
Chowder licks his paw and goes back to ignoring me.
“Well, I’m glad you’re concerned,” I mutter, dropping a kiss on the top of his head.
I force myself to the kitchen on trembling legs and put together a basket of food. A bottle of wine. Cheese. Crackers. It’s my clumsy attempt at a peace offering, something to share while I grovel for another chance.
If another chance is a possibility at this point.
At the last minute, I duck into my room and grab the ridiculous moose pajamas I picked up in Hollow Creek, tucking them on top of the basket. A hopeful gesture. Or maybe a foolish one.
“No matter what,” I whisper to myself, the words shaky but determined. “It’s going to be okay.”
But what if it isn’t?
What if he’s married now and forever out of my grasp?
Worse, what if he can’t forgive me for the things I said?
I survived Vander. I survived being beaten until I couldn’t stand. But losing Griffin for good would be the blow I can’t come back from.
I grip the handle of the basket until my knuckles ache, then tug the scarf higher around my throat. The sunglasses go back on, my armor for the short walk ahead.
I lift my chin and step out into the cool air.
I balance the basket against my hip as I stand outside Griffin’s cabin, fingers white-knuckling the handle as I force myself to knock. My pulse is a war drum in my ears, louder than the hollow thud against the wood.
The door swings open almost before I’ve finished knocking.
And there he is.
The love of my life.
His hand grips the doorframe like he needs it to stay upright, exhaustion carved deep into every line of him.
Smudges shadow his eyes, his shoulders strung tight with tension.
For a long, breathless moment, he just stares—and then his voice scrapes low, rough around the edges.
“Oh, my God.” His lungs seize, like he’s been punched. “Reese… you’re here. You’re back.”
“Yeah.” I force out the words. “I’m here.”
He’s dressed to the nines in dark slacks, a crisp button-down, and a tie loosened at his throat. The sight knocks the breath out of me—he looks good, but wrong, too. The only times I’ve seen him dressed like this were for clients.
My mind spirals. Has he gone back to escorting? Or worse, maybe he’s dressed for something bigger. A spur-of-the-moment wedding with a woman who begged him to marry her.
The thought guts me so fast it’s like being punched.
A wedding. His wedding.
My stomach hollows out. I clutch the basket tighter, holding on like it’s the only thing keeping me from toppling over.
“I, um—” My voice cracks, and I force myself to steady it. “Look, I need to say something to you, and I need you to hear me. Please. Just let me speak. And then I promise I’ll go if you want me to. But I have to say this.”
He leans into the frame, lets out a long sigh and scrubs both hands down his face. His voice emerges flat and emotionless. “Go ahead.”
The words almost break me.
“I’m so sorry I hurt you.” The words tumble over each other, desperate to be heard.
“I’m so sorry for the things I said. I didn’t mean any of it.
You are the greatest man I’ve ever known, Griffin, and I adored every single second I had with you.
Every damn one.” My jaw wobbles, and tears spill before I can blink them back.
“That wasn’t me talking that day. My hand was forced, and I?—”
I turn away, fumbling my sunglasses higher so I can swipe at my eyes while hiding the bruises from Griffin’s sight.
The physical reminders of why I left.
I’m embarrassed by the marks, further proof of my weakness. My inability to stand up to a man like Vander.
“I just want you to be happy.” My fingers itch to touch him, but he’s so tense that I refrain. “That’s all that matters. Even if it’s not with me. You deserve it. You deserve everything. Please don’t hate me. I couldn’t bear it.”
His jaw works, and when he finally speaks, his voice sounds taut. “I don’t hate you, Reese. I’m just so damn tired. And I don’t have it in me for small talk right now.”
The words settle like stones in my chest. He doesn’t want me here.
He doesn’t want me anymore.
I caused too much damage. I was hoping for too much—for him to forgive me, to look at me like he used to, to somehow piece us back together.
But all I did was shatter us beyond repair.
Even if it was never my choice, it’s still the outcome.
Maybe it’s better this way, and perhaps one day I’ll believe that lie.
“Right. That’s fine.” A laugh fractures out of me, thin and brittle. “I’ll let you rest. I hope you sleep well.”
I thrust the bundle into his hands, retreating a step. “There’s wine, meats, and cheese in there. Crackers too. In case you want something.” The sound frays, but I push through. “And if you ever… you know, want to bake cookies, or go hiking, or just be my friend again, I’ll be there.”
God, I sound ridiculous.
“Listen to me, rambling again. I’ll just?—”
I spin, eager to bolt before I humiliate myself further.
But Griffin’s fingers close around my wrist. “Wait a damn second.”