Chapter 2 #2
Anyone who might have been hiking and accidentally stumbled upon me in the woods might have witnessed something very dark and very ugly. But she didn’t need to spread my shit across her gossip column disguised as a community information page.
It only confirms what I told her that night—I’m only a source of dirt for her skeezy stories. That’s why she came up to my cabin. It wasn’t an altruistic move to help Willow and Killian. It was about her and what she needed and wanted—a reason to fight with me and make it public.
Rage quickly replaces anything left of my appetite, and I toss my silverware on the plate and slide off the stool.
Tony’s brows fly up. “Where are you going?”
I scowl as my hands flex at my sides. “To deal with the bane of my existence.”
RAVEN
My fingers fly across the keys, the words flowing out as fluidly as the river runs over the falls at the bottom of the mountain and cascades into the swimming hole.
Only, it’s more like a tidal wave this morning.
An unstoppable, immovable current of thoughts that I couldn’t stop even if I tried at this point.
And I don’t want to curb this flow.
This is what I need.
The effortless words that come easily when the story is so important, when the topic is something I feel so intensely on a personal level. They always lead to my best work, to the stories that truly touch people and make a difference in their lives.
And this is definitely that.
In all the years I’ve been writing, nothing—not a single story topic—has ever meant more or been more vital to not only my career but my very existence.
This is the kind of story that changes lives—not just mine.
This is so much bigger than the mountain.
And the end is in sight.
Months of thinking about it. Researching.
Diving into the darkest parts of the internet to search for information.
Making phone calls to people who didn’t want to talk and convincing them to put their lives on the line to do the right thing.
Putting myself in places I absolutely shouldn’t have been…
It’s all finally coming together.
Pieces of a puzzle that have rattled around in my head are starting to click into place. The big picture is right there, and once everyone sees it, it will change the lives of so many people.
All I need is a little time to complete the final bits of my research, to actually finish writing the biggest story of my life, to polish it to perfection, and then, the shit will hit the fan…
And I can’t fucking wait.
I let the music blaring through my headphones lull me into that headspace I need to be I when I write—completely focused. Everything around me is completely shut out. Only the words and my fingers on the keyboard exist.
Even tucked into my corner of the bakery at my usual table, with customers flitting in and out constantly and Claire bustling around me, clearing tables and refilling my coffee without me having to ask for it, nothing can distract me from this story.
The morning ticks away without me even realizing it.
Seconds turn into minutes.
Minutes to hours.
I’m lost to my work…
Until a broad, dark shadow falls across my table and a meaty hand slams my laptop closed and almost amputates my fingers.
“Hey! What the hell?”
I jerk my head up toward the asshole who interrupted me and freeze.
Shit.
He’s back…
Connor looms over me, his bearded jaw clenched, a muscle there ticcing as he flexes those huge hands at his sides into fists and opens them again. Steam practically pours out of his ears, and the burning rage in his dark eyes sears my skin in a way that makes heat instantly rise through my body.
I slowly reach up and pull off my headphones, letting them slide down to hang from my neck as I cross my arms over my chest and raise a brow at him. “What the fuck was that for?”
His lips curl into his trademark sneer as he leans down and places his palms on the table directly next to my computer, hovering over me like the dark storm cloud he has always been in my life. “Trying to save someone else from becoming the topic of your scathing gossip.”
Shit.
“So, you heard about the article…”
A low growl slips from Connor’s mouth, and he leans closer, until I can smell something warm and spicy emanating off him as thickly as his anger.
He smells woodsy, like the forest where he spends his time, combined with the bourbon he’s always drinking, and I should hate it.
Should. “I heard you did exactly what I knew you would—turn me into a fucking story.”
I wince at the intensity of the rage in his words.
Of course, that’s how he would see it.
Because Connor McBride only views the world in black and white.
Things are either right or wrong with him.
There isn’t any in between, no room for explanations or exceptions or the gray everyone else knows exists when it comes to every choice someone makes in their lives.
That’s why he’s having such a hard time coping with what he had to do on the homestead.
That’s why he’s living in a dark shadow of his own creation.
And that story about him was another of those gray things.
It was something I had to do, for multiple reasons. But he would never see it that way. He would never accept my explanation or understand why I did it, just like he wouldn’t understand what I’m doing now if he knew.