CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
Colson
Present
His heavy footfalls pound the earth behind her as Brett tears into the barn. Seconds later, I step into the doorway and swing my arm out, bracing my legs and catching Bowen’s chest as soon as he leaps over the threshold.
Just like when we were kids, he doesn’t see it coming. His feet fly out from under him, his back slams onto the dirt floor, and I go down with him in a cloud of dust. But we’re not kids anymore. Instead, we’re both just grown up, jaded brutes who claw our way back from strife angrier than ever.
And that’s what we’re doing now, locked in a perpetual battle. I don’t even remember when it started—the soccer field in Dire Ridge or the cemetery where I spilled his blood next to Evie’s grave? Regardless, now it’s on the dirt floor of my broken-down barn outside Gunnison, Colorado after he came into my house and chased the mother of my child through my forest.
We’re fists and grunts and breathing and thrashing until there’s a crack somewhere above me and then a yell. The beams above give way from the force of Brett’s body slamming against the decaying wall and the 100-year-old timber breaks free from the joists. I feel their impact all around me and Bowen and I release each other, rolling away as one end of the largest cross-beam crashes down between us.
I jerk my head up, searching for more falling debris, and then whip around in a panic. I don’t see Brett or Bowen. There’s dust and wood hanging precariously, threatening to pull the whole roof down on us. I can’t hear anything except shuffling and muted barking from outside and the creaking and banging of the beams as they hit the walls before crashing to the floor.
Kicking aside splintered wood and stumbling over beams wedged at awkward angles, I make my way to the far wall where Brett ended up after she ran through the door. There’s finally an opening in the wreckage and I duck under it and into the open space. Dust spins in the sun-soaked air and there’s suddenly more light spilling into the room through the gaps in the crumbling wall. I hear footsteps on the dirt and whip around just in time to see Bowen rushing me.
I brace myself, ready to absorb his impact, when a shrill scream cuts through the thick air and something darts in front of me. Bowen slams into me, knocking me back into the wall. I grab him by the shoulders of his t-shirt and prepare to push off the creaking wood. If I can throw him back into the debris for a few seconds, I can reach my weapon, unload the whole clip into him, and end this.
But as soon as I grab his shoulders, he tenses and then shudders. Then I realize his chest isn’t touching mine and I can feel Brett’s hair against my neck. Everything stops, and there’s just silence.
Bowen and I stare at each other, mere inches apart, face to face for the first time since that night at the old railroad bridge, sweat beaded on our foreheads and dripping down our temples. Nine years have passed with nothing but agony and limbo followed by pure vengeance. This was supposed to be controlled, instantaneous, clean…
But, even after all that planning to kill one another, we all still ended up in a chaotic melee of dirt and splintered wood, throwing elbows and trying to outrun each other like we’re still on the field. Except now there are no red cards or time outs or penalties. The only score is who gets to leave this barn alive.
He digs his fingers into my arm and chest, blinking hard, his mouth gaping with shock. He looks down, his face only inches away from Brett’s. She’s looking up at him with her eyes wide and mouth set with fierce determination. She’s crushed between the two of us, her chest pressed against his and her back against mine.
Bowen stays that way for a few moments and I’m not sure why he isn’t moving. But then he leans into Brett and he clenches his teeth in a painful grimace. Streaks of blood appear across his teeth, seeping onto the edges of his lips as he licks them away. Bowen slowly pushes away from me to take a step back, and that’s when I see it.
Brett’s fist rests just beneath Bowen’s chest, soaked in blood and gripping the handle of a Buck knife stuck between his ribs. Before he can move another inch, I clench my fists and jerk him back to me as hard as I can. Brett gasps and Bowen lets out a gnarled growl as the knife sinks deeper into him. He stares down at her, seething, for a few moments before I pull him tighter against me, her, and the knife .
Our eyes lock and I embrace the demon, his black eyes rimmed with fire and his mouth dripping with blood stolen from the ones who didn’t get away.
Digging my fingers into his muscles, I bare my teeth, “ This is over,” I snarl with such fury that our heads touch.
I keep him there until I see the nerves fire for the last time and the light behind his eyes finally go out. And, this time when he falls away, I know he won’t get back up.
Looking down at Bowen laying on the dirt floor, bleeding out from the knife wound made larger by the struggle, it feels like I’m outside my body. I’ve had dreams about this and it seemed so real—I nearly killed Brett while having one—but now it seems surreal.
It doesn’t last, though. I look up in time to see Brett stumble forward and collapse onto Bowen’s legs. She catches herself on his body and stares at him for a moment. I reach for her, but pull back as her arm comes flying out and she sinks the knife into his chest, over and over and over…
Motionless, I watch Brett tear at his flesh with screams of both rage and horror, blood spattering across her face and chest. Finally, she slows, out of breath, and drops the knife onto the dirt floor, lifting her hands to look at them. Her own blood runs down her wrists from cuts made by the knife as it slipped from her hand. She tries to push herself up, but her movements are slow and disoriented. She mumbles to herself, shaking her hands furiously when she realizes she’s touching Bowen’s bloody body.
I step over his legs and crouch down next to Brett, examining her face. She runs her eyes over his body, lingering on his vacant eyes. She makes little sounds like she’s trying to talk, but it only comes out as shallow breaths. Her muscles tremble and she searches around on the ground like she’s lost something. And when her fingertips brush Bowen’s pants, she flinches like she forgot he was there.
I’ve seen her look this way before, trapped in a nightmare...
I wrap my arms around her waist and lift her up to get her away from the carnage, but she feels like dead weight. When I try to stand her up, her legs won’t hold her, and when her head falls back onto my shoulder, I see her face is ashen and her lips don’t have any color.
I reach up and grab her chin, “Baby, what’s wrong?”
It’s a stupid question. There’s a lot wrong right now, but she looks like she’s the one whose blood is draining out of her instead of him. Brett doesn’t answer me, only fights to focus on my eyes while hers drift away. She’s in shock.
“No,” I say, like I can stop it, “stay with me…”
In one motion, I sweep my elbow behind her knees and hoist her into my arms. She still doesn’t talk, but manages to squeeze my shoulders enough to stabilize herself as I run out of the barn and take off through the woods. I whistle over my shoulder as I follow the path that no one else can see but us and soon I see Pony racing through the brush. He passes me in no time, heading in the direction of the house.
“Talk to me!” I shout between breaths, climbing the needle-laden slope and sliding down the other side.
Brett still doesn’t respond. Her eyes are open, but she’s staring at nothing and blinking like she can’t focus. All the color is gone from her face and her head starts rolling like she can’t hold it up. I’ve seen death before, she hasn’t. And, I swear to God, if witnessing Bowen Garrison’s last breath takes her out as his final act of destruction...
“Brett, stay awake!” I jostle her against my shoulder.
I keep a good pace for a while, but begin to slow down about halfway back. My phone is in my pocket, but I can’t stop. If I stop, I slow down. And if I slow down, it’ll just take that much longer to get back. But then I’ll still have to get her out of here…
With a furious growl, I come to a halt at the ridge. It’s all downhill from here, and it won’t be long until the tree line comes into view and the trail spills out into our yard. But there’s no time to wait once we get there.
I crouch down, balancing Brett on my knee while the rest of her hangs over my shoulder. As soon as I do, she grabs under her belly and lets out a jarring scream into my neck, the first sound she’s made since we left the barn. Letting out one curse after another, I roll her off and onto the ground, giving her a once-over before jerking up her bloody shirt.
Her belly is stained with the blood that soaked through, but it’s otherwise devoid of injuries. Still, she’s grabbing at it and pressing her fingers against her bump like she’s in immense pain. I grab the sides of her face and tilt her head up to look at me.
“Look at me, baby,” I hold her eyes, struggling to focus on me, “you’re in shock. I’m going to get you out of here, but you have to stay awake.”
Brett cringes and holds her breath for a few moments, “Something’s…wrong…” she gasps and grabs my arm, digging her fingertips into my wrist. My eyes dart between her belly and her pallid face while she tries to speak. “It’s cold…” her voice cracks through clenched teeth.
“No!” I roar, “Fuck no!”
And then, instantly, I’m back in those woods, somewhere between Palomino and Wyandot, and her skin is getting colder and colder.
Please, don’t do this to me. Just fucking don’t…
I let go of Brett and feel my back pocket for my phone. Thankfully, it’s there and it didn’t fall out back at the barn. It only takes a couple seconds for me to make the call and another second for Dallas to answer.
“She’s hurt! Get everyone up here, now!”
●● ●
Brett doesn’t cry. It takes a lot to make her that upset. Technically, she’s cried in front of me twice. Once after she broke out of Bowen’s house, and the other was when I put a gun to her head. That time, I didn’t see her face—I just saw Bowen’s—but it was no less traumatizing.
In any event, she’s more of a scream and get angry kind of person. But she’s crying now, before the ultrasound tech even squirts the KY onto the wand.
With Dallas’s help, a convoy of medics and law enforcement descended on the property only minutes after I brought Brett out of the woods… alive. By the time we got to the ER and they hooked her up to all their equipment, Brett’s cheeks and lips were starting to gain some of their color back. I can’t say the same for everyone else. When the paramedics wheeled her in, both of us covered in blood, the nurses and doctors started shouting back and forth about not being prepared for this level of trauma.
But once they realized only some of the blood was Brett’s, their shouting stopped and then it was my voice shouting at them to get an obstetrician down here immediately. In true irony, now we’re shut behind another sliding glass door, waiting for an ultrasound. Brett’s pain has dulled, but she’s still at the brink of panic. One minute she’s Zen, ready to face whatever’s coming, and the next she’s bawling into her hands.
Now, she covers her face with one hand and shudders silently so maybe no one will notice. But of course, they do. Everyone does, because she just got wheeled in from the site of a homicide—justified, but a homicide nonetheless. That, and there are six sheriff deputies posted up outside the door and a couple of guys in suits just arrived and started speaking with them.
Take a number…
I sit next to Brett, clasping her hand and jiggling my foot impatiently. My phone’s been vibrating non-stop, but I don’t look at it. All I can think about is whether she’s OK after being attacked by that son of a bitch lying dead in my barn on the side of our mountain. Fortunately, Brett seems to be improving quickly, but I swear, if he took my child from me, I’ll take one of these officer’s weapons, shoot myself right here in the ER, and hunt him down in the afterlife.
I can tell, as soon as the ultrasound tech walks through the door, she wishes she didn’t come to work today. She expected gallstones and intestinal blockages, but she got us; dirty, sweaty, and covered in blood stains. They should’ve sent in one of the more hardened, jaded techs; some short, round woman with 40 years of experience who doesn’t bat an eye except to complain about her own artificial hips and knees. But instead, they send in a pretty, fresh-faced blonde named Jess who looks like she’s 17.
She pulls the curtain shut behind her and sits down on her little wheely stool next to Brett’s bed, hoping to God she doesn’t have to deal with the hell that’ll be unleashed if a tiny heartbeat doesn’t show up on her screen .
Brett just stares straight ahead while Jess lubes up her wand and flips Brett’s blanket over her knees.
“Sorry, this’ll be a little cold…you’ll feel some brief discomfort…”
Excuse me while I shove this plastic beat stick up your snatch. And, by the way, stay still…
Jesus Christ, how do women not commit more violent crimes?
Jess keeps her wide eyes trained on the screen as she searches for signs of life. Seconds later, her face lights up and she points to the black and grey blobs wobbling over the screen. She might be the most excited person in the room, considering the alternative if there was bad news.
“There’s the heartbeat,” she smiles, “we have a heartrate of…150 beats per minute and…yolk sak intact…”
Jess continues her evaluation, but after confirming the heartbeat, I’m barely listening anymore. I’m just staring at Brett, the calmest I’ve been since we set foot in this hospital, taking in her flushed, tear-stained face that I still think is the most stunning I’ve ever seen. And when I smile, she does, too, like a weight’s been lifted. Like it’s OK to be happy again.
While Jess extracts her torture device from Brett’s cervix and tells her that an OB resident is on his way down to go over the results, I go to the sink and start wetting a handful of paper towels with warm water. As soon as she leaves, probably planning on having a strong drink after her shift, I sit down at the end of the bed and lift the blanket up to Brett’s knees again.
“They must go through lube here like a Vegas brothel,” I joke, gently wiping the excess gel from between her legs, “I mean, this is excessive,” I glance up skeptically.
“Would you want to feel them shove something inside you without it?” she chuckles, “Too much is better than not enough.”
“And then they just leave you a goddamn mess,” I continue, tossing the used paper towels in the trash and going to the sink for more.
Her eyes track me as I move about the room, “You could call one of the nurses out there…” she makes a show of craning her neck to read the dry erase board by the door, “I’m sure Tony wouldn’t mind doing it,” she shoots me a shit-eating grin as she reads the board.
Even though she’s threatening to have some strange guy come in and wipe down her pussy, I’ll take it all day long because she’s starting to sound like herself again. This time when I return with more wet paper towels, I sit down at her side and brush her hair away from her eyes to clean the blood off her neck and face.
“What do I say to them?” Brett murmurs as I hold the paper towels over the dried blood on her neck to loosen it up.
“You’re a pregnant woman who was almost murdered by a serial killer,” I reply, “you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”
“What happened?” Brett lowers her voice to a whisper, so there’s not a chance anyone within four feet can hear her .
I lean closer, continuing to blot at her skin as I speak, “Do you remember what happened in the house?”
“Yes,” she whispers, “I forgot to lock the door when I left, so I checked the whole house when I came back. But he was there, standing in the bedroom doorway, because I forgot to check the hall clos—” her voice cracks in frustration, a sob threatening to break through.
“Shhh…” I bring my hand to the side of her face and tilt her head, blotting and wiping her chin, “then what?”
“I talked to him,” she says as though she just remembered.
“Did you?” I crack a smile, “How’d that go?” I ask with genuine curiosity.
“He’s still a fucking asshole,” she deadpans in a whisper, eliciting a disdainful snicker from me.
“I had him coming out of the woods and heading to the house,” I start, finally answering her question, “but then something…” I can’t help but smile, “happened to the camera.”
She knits her brow in confusion, “Like what?”
“You know that buck that’s been destroying your garden?” As soon as I say it, Brett’s eyes go wide with disbelief. I run the paper towel over her cheekbone and press my mouth together with a nod, “It only took that few seconds for Bowen to get inside after that.” I have to laugh about the goddamn deer or else I’ll tear the cords out of the wall and smash all the equipment in a fit of rage. “Don’t worry,” I cock my head as I gently tuck her hair behind her ear, “he’ll be in the freezer by winter. Do you remember what happened after you ran into the barn?”
“Yes,” she whispers, “you were fighting, and then the roof collapsed.”
“What happened after that?” I lift her chin to wipe away a few dots at the top of her neck.
“Bowen stabbed his Buck knife through the front door. It was still in my pocket when I ran, and I took it out right after I saw you knock him down.” She pauses for a moment as she plays the scene over, “You were coming toward me, then I saw him running toward you. And then I swung my arm out and jumped in front of you right when he got to you.”
I know what happened after that. The knife went in, Bowen’s own speed and velocity slicing it through his chest like butter. I was half in shock myself after the barn almost collapsed, but I’ll never forget his face, staring into his black eyes transfixed on mine. The last time I saw him was at the railroad bridge, but the last time I was that close to his face was on that rodent-chewed couch in Leland Wiltshire’s pole building, wishing to God he’d get the hell away from me. But, today, in our barn, it was exactly where I wanted him, so close that we were breathing each other’s air.
“Why didn’t he shoot either of us?” Brett whispers, searching my face.
“You know why,” I reply as I run the paper towel down her jawline, beneath her chin, and up the other side, making sure there’s no sign of blood left on her skin .
The look in her eyes tells me I’m right. She knows Bowen enjoys the feeling of someone in his hands. With most people, it’s the euphoria of holding the one you love in your arms—feeling the electric charge from the warm body of the one you want. But for people like Bowen, taking a life with his bare hands feels just as good, if not better.
I wad up the spent paper towels and toss them in the trash can next to the door, noticing a couple of deputies still standing at the desk outside flirting with a few nurses. I recognize one of the deputies from work. He has zero game, so he’s in for some disappointment later. Laughing to myself, I return to Brett’s bedside.
When I sit down, she reaches for me, grasping the sides of my neck and pulling my forehead to her lips. She closes her eyes and inhales slowly, filling up her lungs, and then lets it out, just as slow, over and over. My breaths fall in line with hers as she runs her thumbs back and forth along my jawline at the same pace.
“ My only, ” she exhales with a gentle smile before opening her eyes.
If there was ever a woman who could slay me with my own words…
“You’re OK,” I whisper, “ she’s OK,” I glance down at Brett’s belly, now the other object of my affection, “we’re OK,” I return her smile, gently sliding my arms around her back, “and as soon as I can get you out of here, I’ll take you back to our house, wait for our baby to be born, and give you anything you want for the rest of your life.”
“What if you die before I do?” she rakes her fingertips up the back of scalp, sending a shiver down my spine, “What would I do then?”
I brush my nose across hers, “I’d never leave you all alone like that.”
“You’ve never left me alone…” she mutters.
“It’s why you like me,” I lean in to kiss her, “ jealous girl, ” I murmur as I pull away.
Brett gives me a good slap on the shoulder and then gently tugs my arm. Knowing exactly what she wants, I wait for her to scoot over before I recline in the bed next to her. As soon as I lift my arm, she curls into my side and wraps her arm across my chest. She still fits perfectly, and even though it’s a hospital bed in Gunnison rather than the gothic four-post in our bedroom, it feels like we’ve always been this way.
It’s not long after that the glass door slides open and a lanky kid in teal scrubs pops out from behind the curtain. His dirty blonde hair is gelled up in chaotic swaths and he’d look like he was about 12 if not for the fact that he’s almost as tall as me. While rubbing sanitizer on his hands, he introduces himself as Dr. Meyers…the OB resident.
“Looks like I picked the right shift today,” he smiles and collapses onto the wheely chair in front of the computer, “Have you seen all the cops out there? There’s even FBI. ”
He’s also clueless. It’s obvious that no one told him anything except that there’s a pregnant woman in shock downstairs and he needs to make sure mom and baby are still alive.
“Yeah,” I clear my throat, “you should’ve seen all the blood,” I glare at him from across the bed.
Meyers glances at the dried splatter dotting my skin and then cracks a smile, “Sick, man,” he smirks, clearly impressed.
I take a deep breath and rake my teeth over my bottom lip. Then feel Brett’s hand squeeze mine. She’s giving me a look like I’d better not make a scene. No sooner do I look up and Meyers is snapping on some purple nitrile gloves from the holder on the wall and starts adjusting the bed with the foot pedal at the base. Once it’s completely flat, he plants his ass at the end of the bed.
“Just going to give you a quick exam and we’ll go over your results.” He talks like he’s doing a mindless task as he raises Brett’s blanket up to her waist.
Pelvic exams are nothing to her at this point, so she looks more annoyed than anything at having to endure another one, no matter how brief. Meanwhile, my blood pressure starts rising again and I tighten my jaw as he gently pushes her knees apart until they’re flat on the bed.
“Ultrasound looks good,” Meyers says cheerfully while reaching between her legs, “oxygen levels are stable, which is the biggest issue when you’re dealing with shock,” he goes on, staring at some random spot near the ceiling while he feels around.
Brett’s cheek twitches and her muscles tense ever so slightly at the discomfort. If this asshole doesn’t wrap it up soon, I’m going to tear his fucking arm off and beat him with the bloody end of it. What’s a little more carnage today? What the hell is he even looking for? Brett lifts my hand, breaking my concentration. She must’ve noticed the utter disdain on my face while Meyers is knuckle-deep in her pussy. She pulls my arm to her chest and presses her lips to the back of my hand.
Colson, stop , she mouths, her cheeks threatening a smile.
This shouldn’t bother me. I’ve been to every one of Brett’s OB appointments. I don’t think twice about watching a 40-something-year-old woman perform a pelvic exam and gush about her own children to Brett while she does it. But, for some reason, it hits different when it’s some teenage-looking douchebag who looks like he became an OB/GYN for the sole fact that he gets to stick his fingers in vaginas all day.
“Perf.” Meyers pulls the blanket back down and starts ripping off his gloves with a snap. He readjusts the bed to its original incline and then moves across the room to the computer bolted to the wall. “Let’s keep you overnight to make sure your oxygen levels remain stable. Your OB—who’s that?” he squints at the screen, searching for the name, and then starts chuckling like a fucking stoner when he finds it, “Sorrell, right on…” I don’t kn ow why that’s interesting to him, but he’s starting to grind on my nerves. “Anyway,” Meyers swivels around, “she’ll probably want to see you every week or two for a while to make sure everything still looks good. Stress is a bitch.”
Brett’s staring at him with amusement. I just want him out of the room.
He glances back at the screen, “Says here that you ran… half a mile through the woods?” he doesn’t sound like he believes the last part.
“Yes,” Brett sighs.
“Like,” he glances at the notes again, “on the mountain?”
“Yes,” she replies with the same serene tone.
Meyers shifts his gaze from her face, to her belly, and back again, “How?” he blurts out in disbelief.
“Can’t you? ” she says through smug eyes.
Meyers laughs under his breath, “Pregnant chicks are tough,” he shrugs to himself, accepting her response, “but that pain you described—it’s gone now, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Brett knits her brow, “it went away right after I got here.”
“Round ligament pain,” he declares, tossing his hair out of his eyes, “it can start around the second trimester and happens when you’re active, so running will do it.”
Brett’s never experienced it during all the other times she’s run through the woods with me, but all those other times weren’t like this one. You can’t duplicate that kind of fear and that much adrenaline pushing you harder and faster than ever before. And if I have anything to do with it, she never will again.
“It’ll lay you out if you’re not careful,” Meyers continues as he rises from the chair, “doesn’t last long, though, so if you’re a runner, just stop if it gets bad and don’t push yourself.”
I shoot Brett a look and a smile plays on her lips.
I doubt that’ll be a problem from now on…
“Well, good luck!” Meyers reaches for my hand and shakes it, giving me a once-over. I cleaned Brett up, but I’m still streaked with dried blood and dirt. Meyers flashes his eyebrows at me, “I’d hate to see the other guy,” and then he waltzes out of the room, paying no mind to the platoon of law enforcement still hanging out at the nurse’s station.
As soon as he’s gone, Dallas pops through the curtain, rushing toward Brett with outstretched arms. Alex follows behind her after he finishes speaking with one of the guys outside the door.
“Brett!” Dallas shrieks, encasing her in a massive hug, “Oh my god, are you OK?”
“Yes,” Brett’s muffled voice can barely be heard beneath Dallas’s body, “I promise we’re all fine,” she laughs, pulling Dallas back to look at her .
“Is the little sprout OK?” Dallas moves her hands down to Brett’s belly, her big dark eyes wide with worry. It cracks me up how frazzled she can look when I know what she’s capable of.
Brett nods, resting her hands on top of Dallas’s, “Totally fine,” she smiles reassuringly, “I just want to get out of here, I don’t want to have to stay overnight…” she grumbles with a roll of her eyes.
“We can stay, we’ll stay until you go home,” suddenly, Dallas’s eyes go dark, “don’t you ever do that to me again!” she snaps.
Brett shoots her an incredulous look, “I don’t plan on it, Dallas! ” she scoffs.
Alex grabs me and pulls me to him, clenching the back of my shirt in his fists. You’d never know it now, but he’s always been the empath, watching out for everyone even when we weren’t watching out for ourselves. Nothing derails him; he always comes through and he’ll always do whatever it takes to keep us all safe.
“Crazy motherfucking gringo…” Alex laments into my shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” I say sarcastically, squeezing him back, “did you forget who you’re married to?”
He lets out a haggard breath next to my head, but doesn’t let go, and neither do I. Because I know, even if just for a moment, he thought he’d lost another piece of his family. I promised him when I came back that it wouldn’t happen, and it didn’t.
After a few moments I pull back, “This part wasn’t even my idea,” I give a nod to the hospital bed, “take it up with the crazy motherfucking gringa.”