Chapter Forty-Three
My eyes are locked on Laiken.
Her bony shoulders are curled over, elbows pressed to the timber railing. Her back is to me. She arches her spine and even though her statement has faded, her words remain an echo in the back of my mind.
“Protect me?”
“Yeah, you’re doing a fucking great job at that.”
My throat constricts, my chest tightens.
Laiken Campbell knew how to take her teeth to me without even tearing away any flesh.
I take a step in her direction when Harlen wraps a hand around my elbow, stopping me. I try shoving him off, only for him to grip me harder.
“You’re gonna listen to me, you angry fuck…” He pulls me into the kitchen, my eyes still locked on Laiken. Harlen shakes my shoulders, an attempt to grab my attention, though I keep my gaze averted, only shifting it to Rusty as he clears his throat.
He’s standing beside us, behind the kitchen counter, hands splayed at the gray stone top, head slung between his shoulders, but his eyes are on Laiken.
He is chillingly quiet and a shiver zips down my spine.
“I have no idea where—” Harlen starts, panting.
Rusty interrupts though, talking under his breath, “It was probably her mother’s.”
My fists curl into themselves so tightly that I feel the bones throb.
I look at Rusty, then at Laiken, then back again.
I hadn’t thought of that, hadn’t even come close to considering it as an option. I was too focused on getting here and ripping my brother’s head off, thinking he had been the one to put the gun in her hand because it was the only reasoning that made any sense.
I drop my chin to my chest, feeling a pang of guilt for storming in here piercing Harlen with blunt knives.
Rusty asks the most important question—not where she got it, but whether she knows how to use it.
I meet his blue eyes, then I cast my gaze toward Laiken and back again.
“She wouldn’t tell me,” I whisper, dropping my chin, staring at a crack in the cement floor.
I drag the worn-down sole of my Vans across it and pop a knuckle.
Frustration coils because I didn’t have the answer to his question.
Laiken was stubborn.
Always had been.
“I’ll make sure—” Harlen says.
Only, I barrel over him, “Let me handle it.”
Rusty clears his throat, and both Harlen and I look up at him. He’s shoving one side of his curls behind his ear, turning to rest the weight of his body against the counter.
He sucks on his teeth, and I know he’s holding out on me, choosing his next words carefully.
“What?” I ask, popping a second knuckle, a cold sweat slithering across the nape of my neck.
My heart pounds too fast.
Rusty folds his arms to his chest, his biceps flexing against his black T-shirt.
He says nothing else, until he does.
“You sure you’re okay with that? After—”
I screw my face and turn away. “After I, what…” I spin back, spearing my hands through my hair. “Killed my mother?” I retort blankly.
He doesn’t wait a moment to object. “That’s not what I…” Rusty pauses to heave down a breath. I watch it fall to his chest. And yet, he acknowledges what I said. “That was an accident, Chase. And you know it.”
“Do I?” I spit, taking a step out of the kitchen, ready to walk away. “You seem to have forgotten that I was the one that pulled the trigger.”
My back is turned when his words clock the rear of my head. “You can’t carry that around forever, son.”
I suck on my teeth, throwing back. “I can’t, but I will.” Taking another step, then another before the silence behind me lifts.
“Chase,” Rusty says, no louder than he’d spoken before.
I stop, turn, watch his jaw flex, his face hard as stone.
Feelings aside now, he meant business. “He’s back, you hear me?
” He looks toward Laiken, who is still seated on the deck.
And he doesn’t have to reiterate who he is.
We all knew. “Get your head on straight. Make sure she knows how to use it. If you can’t, let Harlen or me know…
” Rusty says so low, “Ego aside, that girl's life fucking matters, it’s in our hands, and we all want the same thing for her. Understood?”
This time, I don’t take my eyes off him. “I got this.”
And Rusty stares at me a moment longer, allowing the weight of his words to settle in.
And when it does, when the pressure bears down, I drop my chin at the same time he calls, “Chase.”
I lift it, spit back, “I told you, I got this.”
He stares at me a moment longer before he nods, extending a branch we both knew was frail and brittle, one we both hoped I wouldn’t snap.
I step out of the kitchen, walk down the length of the hall, throwing the door open to the room that had long become mine.
Harlen’s words from earlier are an echo in the back of my mind. “Put your pain into different lines, man…”
I flip the mattress, snatch the notebook I’d placed on the slats years ago, along with the pen beside it.
They sear my palms and before I can think better and leave them behind, or worse find a way to get what I really want—a fucking pile of snow up my goddamn nose—I curl my arms around my back, shoving both into the waistband of my jeans.
I’m moving out of the room, returning down the hall, and stepping through the large glass doors.
I don’t look at Laiken when I take the stairs at the far edge of the deck, following the trekked trail toward the same pier where I watched the sunrise this morning.
Tomorrow, I'll deal with Laiken and the gun.