Chapter 50
Chapter fifty
Concrete Angel
Maverick
Hollow.
I felt hollow. Cold. Empty.
Even holding Cheyenne’s hand, gripping it like it was a life preserver and I was lost at sea, I still didn’t feel anything. It’s like I was breathing, but not alive.
I don’t remember the drive back to the ranch. I think Bad and Cheyenne talked a bit, but I couldn’t be sure.
How had I let myself go like that? I’d never lost control before. Not like that. Never on a person. The punching bag, sure. But what I’d done… It’s like my control snapped.
Thank the Lord Bad stopped me. Had he not, well, I don’t think anyone could have.
“We’re home,” Cheyenne said softly, squeezing my hand. Her blue eyes swam with worry, her cheeks stained with tears.
Did she think differently of me? Did she think me a monster? Would she leave now that she’d seen this side of me? I wouldn’t blame her if she did.
A little trickle of fear ignited in my chest…and honestly, I welcomed it. It was better than feeling nothing at all. But I still couldn’t bring myself to speak as she helped me out of the truck and we headed for the house.
Brandy was there to greet us as Cheyenne opened the front door. She made sure to say hi to Chey first before coming to my side, sitting right at my feet as if she sensed my unease.
Bad shuffled just inside the doorway. “Want me to stay?” he asked, looking at Cheyenne, but it felt like the words were meant for me.
I couldn’t even bring myself to shake my head.
To look at him, even. Shame and guilt joined the fear in my heart.
I couldn’t begin to think what he thought of me now.
He’d spent the last twenty years teaching me how to control my anger, my rage.
He’d taught me to harness it, embrace it, and use it for good.
In the course of five minutes, I’d taken all those lessons and shoved them back in his face.
Cheyenne’s voice was surprisingly calm as it floated through the room. “I got it…but thank you, Bad.”
I noticed him nod once in my peripheral vision. “Okay. Call me if you need anythin’. I’ll be back in the mornin’.” I felt the weight of his stare for a long moment. My eyes almost betrayed me.
I tried to not let the opinions of others define me, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care what others thought. Maybe it was the fact that nothing I ever did growing up with my father ever seemed to be good enough, but I craved acceptance. I needed it.
And Bad was one of those people that I sought it from most. I’d always strove to be the best version of myself—I owed him that after all he’d done.
I’d sure gone and failed him, hadn’t I?
He moved forward and pressed a hand to my shoulder. “Look at me, boy.”
Slowly, hesitantly, I raised my gaze to meet his. Those hazel eyes, so much like Cash’s, bored into me. My throat tightened, my heart seizing in my chest. It hurt to breathe. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I had so much to say, so much to apologize for. But nothing seemed like enough.
Something shifted in his eyes, softening the severe scowl that seemed ever-present on his face.
He pulled me into an embrace. A real hug this time.
One meant to soothe, not to subdue. I could count on one hand how many times he’d hugged me.
He wasn’t the type to show emotion like that.
We’d always been better with words than feelings, and that was saying a lot, since both of us were shit with words.
I clung to him, my shoulders quaking, the weight of what had happened becoming too much. He pulled back to look at me, something warm lingering in his gaze. “You’re alright, kid. It’s okay now.”
I rocked back at his words, breaking the hold of our embrace. “I nearly killed him.”
Bad’s lips pulled up into the whisper of a smile. “But you didn’t.”
“Only because of you.”
Bad simply shrugged, like beating men’s faces to a pulp wasn’t horrible. He adjusted his hat atop his head, gripped my shoulder and squeezed reassuringly before letting go of me… And then, without another word, he was gone.
I dropped my gaze once more, my chin all but resting against my chest. The shame still hung around me like a shroud that wouldn’t come off.
Cheyenne’s familiar citrusy scent filled my nose as she came to stand before me. “Hey…hey look at me, Mav.”
I couldn’t. Couldn’t bear to see what emotions lurked in the turquoise pools of her eyes.
“Maverick… Hey…” Her warm fingers hooked under my chin and forced me to meet her stare. There was no fear there, worry still shone, but resolve swam in there as well. And love. So much love.
I’d thought I felt inadequate with Bad. But I’d never felt more inadequate, more undeserving until now.
Cheyenne let out a choked sound, tears brewing in her eyes.
She moved her fingers from under my chin to my cheek, wiping at the moisture there.
I hadn’t even realized I was crying. She dropped her hand, making sure to take mine in her own, and led me through the house to the bathroom.
In silence, she turned on the tub before coming to stand before me.
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
It was so reminiscent of the night of the fire it gave me pause. How could she be so calm? She’d been assaulted tonight. Threatened. Had watched me beat up her ex.
Then she started to sing…and it broke everything in me.
I bit back tears as she slowly undressed me and then herself, before situating us in the tub.
She grabbed a washcloth and soap, singing softly the whole time, and proceeded to gently clean the blood from my hands and caked under my fingernails.
She took her time, easing her strokes around my torn open and bruising knuckles.
As the song ended, dying on her lips, she finally glanced up at me. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?”
She pressed a soft kiss to my knuckles—light as a feather. “For protectin’ me.” Taking my hand and placing it on her belly, she continued, “For protectin’ her.”
That damn near broke me.
How could she not see how problematic this was? I’d gone too far. I’d lost control.
“Don’t,” I ground out through clenched teeth, pulling my hand away. “Don’t paint me as the hero.”
Her brows knit together, her head tilting to the side in question. “What’re you talkin’ about?”
“You and Bad, you’re just tryin’ to make me feel better ‘bout what I’ve done. I beat a man senseless…I could—no, should have to deal with serious repercussions, and y’all are actin’ like it’s no big deal.”
“Maverick, had you not stepped in, he would have hit me. He deserved everything you gave him.”
I shook my head, burying my face in my hands. I couldn’t breathe, the tightness in my chest painful and heavy. Her hands on mine were soft, gentle as she peeled them away, forcing me to meet her stare once more.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered. “What’s really goin’ on?”
My eyelids fluttered closed, a deep, painful breath whooshing from my lungs.
Just the thought of admitting this to myself hurt…
but trying to say it out loud. I couldn’t look at her as I spoke, my head falling back as I struggled to finally say, “At some point…when I was hittin’ Nate…
I wasn’t hittin’ him no more. I—” I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “It was my dad.”
Silence. So loud it was deafening.
I went on, still not looking at her, just to fill the quiet.
“I’ve spent my whole life tryin’ to be everythin’ he wasn’t.
Calm, where he was angry. Quiet, instead of loud.
Patient when he was hasty… But, all that…
everythin’ I worked so hard for went down the drain in a minute.
I became no better than him. All of the hurt and pain and anger I’ve kept inside all this time rose up…
and just like that, I was out of control.
All I could see was red. All I could hear was the sound of my blood boilin’.
All I wanted… Well, I wanted to kill him. ”
The sound of the water’s movement drew my attention; Cheyenne poised herself before me, cupping my face in her hands. “I’m so sorry…but it’s okay.”
A spark of anger blossomed in my chest. “Damn it, Chey…it ain’t okay!
What I did ain’t okay!” I rose from the tub, sending water sloshing over the sides as I got out.
“What if I—” I fisted a hand and pressed it to my mouth, biting at the knuckle.
Pain surged from the bruises but it was a pain I welcomed. A pain I deserved.
“What if you what, Maverick?” There was a steely edge to her voice. Not anger… I couldn't quite tell what it was.
I shook my head once, tears swimming in my eyes. “What if I hurt you or the baby?” I choked out, the words broken, weak.
Resolve shone in her gaze as she stood up and followed suit. “You won’t.”
“You don’t know that,” I replied, grabbing a towel. “And that ain’t a risk I’m willin’ to take.” I didn’t give her a chance to respond, but instead turned on my heel and headed for the room.
I know it was cowardly, I know it was wrong of me to do, but I couldn’t look her in the eye any longer.
I felt so much guilt and shame and disappointment.
And fear. So much damn fear it made me tremble.
How did she not see how dangerous I was?
The damage I could do? That man—that horrible, violent, angry man—was in my blood, coursing through my veins.
And so long as that anger festered in my soul, I was a danger to her.
“So, what?” she asked, a deathly calm note in her words as she came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel before stopping a few feet opposite of me and the dresser. “You wanna break up?”
The thought of her leavin’ terrified me. But I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to stop this feeling of dread choking me to death.
I slammed a fist down on the dresser, shaking the contents and making Cheyenne’s perfume bottle wobble atop it. A wave of helplessness pummeled into me. “You don’t understand, Chey. I don’t want to hurt you!”
She didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. I expected anger or at least annoyance from her, confusion maybe, but not a wink of any of those emotions hung in her gaze as she slowly made her way toward me and pressed a gentle, yet firm hand to my chest. “Then make me understand. Let me in. Tell me what happened to you. Let it out… I promise I won’t run.
You don’t have to fight this demon all alone. ”
My bottom lip trembled as I bit back tears. I couldn’t tell her. Couldn’t open up that cupboard I’d kept locked up for so long. No one else needed to see the pain and suffering and hurt. It was my burden to bear. I couldn’t put that on her.
I managed a weak shake of my head, my throat squeezing shut, cutting off the air to my lungs.
Her gaze dipped to my chest, her hand sliding up to rest over my heart.
“Please, Mav. Don’t you see? It’s eating you up alive.
Festering and growing here until it gets out of control.
It won’t matter how patient or slow to anger or calm you try to be.
If you don’t let it out, if you don’t purge it from your soul and address it, it’s always gonna have power over you.
” Her gaze came back up to mine, and the love and hope and understanding in her eyes nearly shattered my resolve.
She reached up on tiptoe and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of my jaw before whispering, “You don’t have to talk to me.
But talk to someone. Cash or Ryder. Better yet, Bad.
Hell, maybe even a therapist. They could help. ”
I exhaled a slow, shaky breath, fighting the tears swimming in my eyes. I hated how weak I felt. Hated how her words resonated so deep in me. Growing. Festering. It’s always gonna have power over you.
Her hand fell from my chest as she turned away, grabbing something quickly from the top drawer of the dresser.
In silence, she padded to the door to our room, but she stopped in the doorway.
“You know, you’re terrified of turnin’ out to be like your daddy.
But you’re already far better than he ever was.
It takes strength to be good, Maverick. It takes strength to see the ugly inside of you and want to be better.
I’ve never seen such strength in someone until I met you. ”
And with that, she walked out of the room.
The tears I’d fought so valiantly moments before finally fell, the loss brewing in me something I can’t even adequately describe. I heard the door to the guest room shut, and even though I knew she hadn’t left, her absence felt like a gaping hole in my chest.
I don’t remember getting dressed. Don’t remember even leaving the room. But in less than a minute, I’d pulled on a pair of pants and found myself heading toward the nursery.
She stood there, still wrapped in her towel, a hand clasped over her mouth looking around the room. I’d painted it, a soft, warm yellow with white trim that went nicely against the greyish stain I’d used for the furniture. The mural I’d begun painting on the main wall wasn’t done yet.
Shit. I forgot to lock it after working in there the other day.
“It’s uh…it’s not all finished, but I wanted to surprise you with this.”
Cheyenne pressed a hand to the smooth, gray wood of the crib, her tear-filled eyes meeting mine as she turned to face me. A soft, sad smile played on her lips. “You are so good and so kind and so strong, Maverick…I wish you could see you the way I do.”
The dam holding back my fears cracked then. I couldn’t keep them in any longer, I needed to tell her. Everything.
I moved to her, picking her up in my arms and taking her to the bed I’d kept in here.
I didn’t speak as I pulled the t-shirt she’d taken from my room over her head, or as I drew back the covers and urged her to lie down.
Curiosity lined the slight furrow of her brows, the questioning frown on her lips, but she did as I silently asked.
Sliding into the bed beside her, I leaned back against the headboard, the fluffy pillows propping me upright.
Cheyenne settled at my side, resting her chin on my chest.
And then I told her my story. Every dark, ugly, terrifying bit.