Chapter Thirty-five – We Don’t Run #2
“Fuck,” he breathed, taking in Maisey’s cuts and the smolder still emanating from the barn. He jerked his phone out and texted out a message as he said, “Fallon stayed with the kids.”
“Stayed, or you tied her up and forced her to stay?” Maisey said, and when her lips turned upward ever so slightly, the heaviness in my chest eased slightly.
“She stayed. Just until Lauren could get over to the house,” he replied. He took in the scene again before settling his glare on Cleaver. “I thought you weren’t letting Maisey out of your sight. You promised that was your only job.”
“And I thought you had people and cameras searching for Chelsea,” I grunted out. “And yet she still got in. Got her hands on Maisey.”
“Stop!” Maisey yelled, and the three of us went silent, anger and frustration and regret spreading in the air between us. “It isn’t Parker or his team’s fault. Chelsea was wearing a mask.”
“A mask?” Cleaver repeated.
“Yeah, it’s somewhere in that mess,” Maisey said, nodding toward the barn.
“Shit. With her acting career, we should have expected that,” Parker swore, remorse clear in his tone, his face grim.
“What’s your excuse?” I demanded of Cleaver.
“Wylee texted me. Said he’d apprehended a suspect in the barn and Sweeney would be watching Maisey so I could assist. I’d barely gotten into my car when I got hit from behind.
” He shuffled the ice pack around and then grimaced.
“Idiots didn’t take my key when they handcuffed me though.
Once I woke up, I got here as fast as I could. ”
Irritation bled through me. Everyone had fallen right into Chelsea’s hands.
“I shouldn’t have left the grandstands.” Maisey’s voice drew my eyes to her.
To the cuts that still hadn’t been treated.
To the sadness that still hadn’t faded from her face.
“I knew better, Beckett. I knew the texts yesterday were faked. Every part of me was telling me it wasn’t you who’d messaged me, but I couldn’t find you anywhere…
and I thought maybe they had you…that they were actually using your phone, and that they’d drugged you like they had Dad… that you might die…”
Her voice cracked, and her whole body shook as emotions poured out of her.
I wrapped my arms around her, squeezing tight.
Any frustration I’d felt at her leaving the bleachers and the lake vanished.
How could I accuse her of breaking her promise when I would have done the same?
Had done the same. She’d come because she thought they had me, just like I’d come when I’d realized she was in danger.
Instead, I focused on the relief that came from knowing we were all alive. That we’d survived. This was over. Chelsea would never hurt her again.
The ambulance had shown up while we’d all been pointing fingers at each other, and when Bugsy started to load Chelsea into it, Maisey pulled away from me. I tried to grab her hand and stop her, but she just jerked away, stalking over to her sister.
Seeing Maisey approach, Chelsea started screaming. “Get away from me. Get the hell away! I lied before. I do hate you. Hate you and your ugly face and the way everything in your life was handed to you on a silver platter.”
I was right behind Maisey and started to say something, but one scowl from her had me biting my tongue.
She turned back to Chelsea and said, “I just want you to know that you didn’t just fail at killing me tonight.
You failed yesterday too. Dad isn’t dead.
He’s alive. He’s awake and asking for me.
Not you. Me. Because you’ve never really been part of our family.
You always made me feel like I was broken.
” She stopped, swallowed hard, and then continued.
“But the truth is, you’re the broken one, Chelsea.
Broken inside in ways far more twisted, more ugly, than my jaw ever was.
In hindsight, fixing me was easy. Fixing you…
” She shook her head. “That will be a different kind of pain, and I’m not sure you’ll survive it. ”
Then, my girl turned on her heel and walked away from her sister.
My dog leaped after her, running in ecstatic circles, as if the last few minutes of terror had never happened.
As if he hadn’t been snarling and howling, ready to kill someone just moments ago.
I wanted to be able to do the same, to forget.
To leap around Maisey like an idiot, proving my love.
And I would. I’d be just what Delilah had said—a lovesick fool.
But before I did, I needed to get something off my chest.
So, I stepped closer to Chelsea, her beautiful face twisted with agony and hatred and just a flicker of fear that I rejoiced in.
“You’re going to jail, Chelsea. For life.
” My voice lowered, deepening with emotions as the truth of the vow I made ripped through me.
“You wanted fortune and fame? Well, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure your name and your story never see the light of day.
That you don’t get one ounce of infamy out of what you did to her, to your family.
You’re going to die, and no one is going to care.
No one will remember who the hell Chelsea Campbell was.
I’m going to make it my life’s mission to make sure not even Maisey spares you a thought.
I’m going to fill her life with so many happy memories she won’t have time to even wonder about you. Enjoy your stay in a federal prison.”
As I walked away, Chelsea gave a horrific scream, and my mood lightened, pleased I’d done exactly what I’d intended—given her a dose of pain that wouldn’t disappear anytime soon.
? ? ?
Maisey was exhausted and hurting by the time we were able to leave the ranch—bone tired, swaddled in bandages, and still smelling of gasoline, even though Fallon had brought her a change of clothes when she’d finally made it down to the barn.
In addition, Maisey’s throat had become raw and scratchy the longer she’d been forced to repeat what had happened and answer stupid questions.
I wasn’t sure if the rawness was from the smoke, the stress, or if the combination of everything had weakened her immune system and allowed that virus that had been running through Swift Rivers to finally claim her.
All I wanted to do was to take her home, tuck her into bed, and keep her there for a week.
But instead, she’d demanded I drive to the county hospital so she could see her dad.
It was well past visiting hours, and our smoky, dusty appearance coated with the smell of gas didn’t bode well for the nurses letting us into Lewis’s room. But after a call from Cleaver and the doctor, they reluctantly relented.
The television was on, and Lewis had his eyes on the screen, but his mind seemed elsewhere.
“Dad,” Maisey called.
His focus shifted to her, and he started to smile until he really took her in. “What happened?!” he demanded.
She ran to him, sat in the chair beside him, and brought his hand to her bandaged face. “I’m okay. I’m okay, Dad. Better than you. These are just some scrapes that’ll heal in no time.”
She’d needed stitches for the cut on her biceps, but leave it to Maisey to downgrade her own injuries so she wouldn’t worry anyone.
“Why do you smell like gasoline?” he demanded, the worry on his face growing.
“It’s a long story…but I swear I’m okay,” Maisey told him, fiddling with his blankets.
Because I knew she needed a minute to get her emotions in check and decide exactly how much she was going to tell her father, I intervened by asking, “How are you feeling, Lewis?”
“Fine, fine. I’ve been telling the doctors and nurses for hours.
I was just worried when no one would let me even talk to you.
” He patted Maisey’s cheek, tears pooling.
“I thought… I thought something bad had happened, and they just didn’t want to tell me.
” He scanned her again, his sorrow increasing.
“I should have been with you, Maisey. Whatever happened, I should have been there.”
“Dad…” Her throat bobbed, and the look she shot me was full of helplessness. She was going to hurt him by telling him what had happened, and it went against everything in her nature to do so.
I squatted down next to her, hooking her free hand with mine as I faced her dad. “Lewis, they’ve caught the person who did this to you. It’s the same person who attacked Maisey outside the house and tried to hurt her again tonight.”
Lewis’s face turned dark. “Thank God, they caught them.” He shook his head.
“I don’t remember anything about what happened to me.
The doctors said you found me at the old watchtower at the ranch, but I have no clue how I got there.
” His eyes landed on Maisey, taking in her obvious distress, and his face turned even grimmer.
After several long seconds, he let out a resigned sigh. “Was it Chelsea?”
The surprise that rolled through me was reflected on Maisey’s face.
“Wh-why would you think that?” she stammered out.
“All of this started after she showed up unexpectedly with that slick actor at her side. The timing of it just felt off.” He looked away, toward the television screen, deep in thought.
“And when I woke, I had this feeling…this thought that wouldn’t leave, telling me Chelsea was in a heap load of trouble. ”
Maisey took a deep breath and then rushed out, “It wasn’t Gavin who helped her, Dad. It was Carter Smythe.”
Her father snorted in disgust. “That weasel is even worse than the actor. How’d he hook up with her again?”
Maisey glanced up at me, a helpless look on her face that was rarely there, so I dove in to explain.
I told her dad what Maisey had told Cooper Wylee and Deputy Cleaver about the life insurance and the property deal.
I added in what Delilah had told me about Carter’s loan from the renowned mafia family, and Lewis’s face grew impossibly darker.
“That girl was money-obsessed from the time she was a toddler,” Lewis said, shaking his head.
“I told your mother that someday something bad would come of it.” He looked up at the ceiling.
“I can only be glad Marge didn’t live to see it.
It would have torn her apart.” He squeezed Maisey’s arm.
“Like it’s tearing you apart. Your sister was never your responsibility, Maisey.
Just like your mom wasn’t, and taking care of me wasn’t either.
I’m sorry. Sorry we all became your burdens at such a young age. If I had it all to do over again…”
His eyes filled as he trailed off, and the tears Maisey had been holding back rolled silently down her cheeks.
“I love you, Dad. If I had it to do all over again, there’s nothing I’d change.”
“That’s because you’ve always put others first and never done anything worthy of regret. But it’s time you concentrate on yourself now. On you and the life you’re building with Beckett.”
They both cried, and as much as I hated seeing Maisey’s tears, I knew these were ones well spent. Well earned. You had to grieve before you could move forward again. If I’d learned nothing about relationships, I’d learned that much.
Lewis was the first to gather himself. He looked down at her hand and rubbed the ring I’d given her.
“I see you picked out a good one.”
Maisey’s face softened, turning into the first real smile I’d seen in hours. “Beckett picked it out, Dad. Your words must have struck home because he chose the perfect one and surprised me with it.”
Lewis’s lips quirked upward. “I figured, with all those romance books you read, he had to have a romantic bone somewhere in that body to have won you over.”
A little laugh escaped her that turned into a yawn she tried to hide.
“Beckett, take our girl home and make sure she gets some rest.”
I pulled her up out of her seat. “Happy to.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow.” Maisey leaned in and kissed his forehead.
“Don’t you dare. I don’t want to see you back here until those bags under your eyes are gone and you’re bandage free.”
Maisey shook her head in amusement. “That could take weeks.”
He shrugged. “At least a few days, then. I’m good with staying here and letting someone other than my little girl take care of me for a while.”
“That’s not how it works, Dad. This isn’t a hotel. You don’t get to choose to stay or not.”
Lewis shrugged. “We’ll see. I think I’m feeling awfully weak. Faint, even. Definitely not sure I can get out of this bed.”
I couldn’t help the snort that escaped me.
“Go,” Lewis said, turning somber once more. “Rest.”
And finally, Maisey let me tug her out of the hospital.
I hadn’t wanted to come, but in the end, it had been the right thing.
Like always, Maisey had known what was best for her and her family.
If she’d waited, all she would have done was worry about telling Lewis what had happened with Chelsea.
Now, it was over. They still had a lot of healing to do.
But they had a chance to fix their relationship.
We all had a chance to do so.
I’d told Maisey love wasn’t a weakness, that it actually made me stronger, and I’d meant it.
But what I hadn’t said was that only real love had the power to be that strong.
My mom hadn’t known real love any more than Chelsea had.
They’d tried to weaponize it. They’d try to use the love others had for them to their advantage, but it had backfired.
Chelsea was going to prison, and my mother, the first and only time I’d checked up on her, was barely hanging on by a thread, working in some dive in New York, a step away from the street.
Both my dad and Maisey had known and given love freely, without restraint, and it had strengthened them. I wanted to be just like them. I wanted to love, to give it freely, and hope it made me even one-tenth as strong as them.