Chapter Fifteen
Fifteen
P erched on the weathered Adirondack chair on his porch, Eli’s hand tightened around the neck of the whiskey bottle as he downed another long sip. The sky, black but with twinkling stars, offered him no peace tonight. An icy breeze whispered through the towering pines that bordered his property, carrying with it the faintest scent of pine and earth. He squinted into the darkness of the night. The sharp bite of winter couldn’t numb the frustration deep in his gut.
Suddenly, the darkness was interrupted by a pair of headlights, carving a path toward him. Eli knew those headlights—Jaxon, and he assumed probably Gunner too.
The truck stopped next to the house. Jaxon emerged, and then Gunner, with his guitar case strapped over his shoulder onto his back.
“Man, it’s colder than a witch’s tit out here,” Gunner quipped, rubbing his hands together for warmth as he walked up the porch steps.
“Needed some air,” Eli muttered.
“Air’s one thing,” Jaxon said, eyes scanning Eli’s face, “drowning in whiskey is another.”
Gunner nodded solemnly, taking a seat next to Eli, while Jaxon leaned against the railing. “Heard from a friend on the force that Buck’s in jail. A handful of charges, and probably more by the end of it, should get him put away for a while.”
“Good riddance,” Eli growled, the words tasting like bile. The mere mention of Buck’s name stoked the embers of anger still smoldering within him. “Too bad it won’t be for the rest of his fucking life.”
Jaxon agreed with a nod. “Ready to talk about any charges you’re facing?”
Eli shifted in his seat, the worn wood of the porch creaking under his weight. He took a deep swig from the bottle, letting the burn slide down his throat, desperate to wash away this fucking day. “I’m not facing any charges.”
“Then why do you look so damn miserable?” Gunner asked, taking the bottle from Eli to have a sip.
“I can’t shake all the fucking things I should have done different,” Eli admitted to the two men who had gotten him through the hardest parts of his life.
The porch light cast half of Jaxon’s face in shadow, the other half illuminated by the soft glow from the window next to him. “What else could you have truly done, Eli?” he said softly. “You stood up for what’s right.”
“Did I?” Eli scoffed, the taste of the word more bitter than the whiskey. “I let my anger dictate my actions. That ain’t right, Jax. That’s losing control.”
“You’re being too damn hard on yourself.” Jaxon’s voice carried a commanding yet gentle edge. “If Buck had laid hands on Charly like he did Willow, I would’ve come unglued. Hell, I’d have done worse. You were protecting someone you care about. That’s not losing control—that’s being human.”
Eli dropped his head back against the house, staring off into the darkness. The reassurance from Jaxon should have brought comfort, yet it did not. Eli was drowning in a thousand should-haves. He accepted the bottle back from Gunner, and the weight was familiar, almost comforting, but tonight it was a mocking reminder of weakness.
His hand trembled slightly as he brought the bottle to his lips again, the burn rushing down his throat. “When I saw Buck standing over her, I didn’t even think. It was like my head just shut off.” He choked a humorless laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “If the cops hadn’t shown up when they did, I don’t want to imagine what I might’ve done. What I was capable of in that blind rage.”
“Nobody would’ve blamed you,” Gunner said softly, his voice laced with compassion.
“Maybe not,” Eli admitted, his eyes cast downward. “But what if next time, there’s no one there to stop me?”
“You would have come back to yourself,” Jaxon interjected, his voice firm and unwavering. “I know it.”
Eli lifted his head to meet Jaxon’s reassuring gaze. The three of them had been friends since childhood, bonded by a shared love of adventure and a fierce loyalty to each other. Even now, as they sat on his porch, the wind howling around them, Jaxon and Gunner’s steady presence gave Eli a sense of peace. He knew he was lucky to have friends who had stuck by him through thick and thin.
But Eli couldn’t shake the feeling of fear and doubt that gnawed at him. He had been so close to the edge with Buck, and he wasn’t sure if he could trust himself that his rage wouldn’t take over if anyone ever threatened any women—especially Willow—in front of him again.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath for a long moment before glancing to his friends again and admitting truths he never spoke of. “Every time I close my eyes, I see Miranda’s face. I see him standing over her, and it’s like—I’m right there all over again. Powerless.”
Gunner leaned in, elbows on knees, his gaze steady. “But you’re not powerless now, Eli. You have choices.”
“Choices?” Eli scoffed bitterly. “Yeah, I made a choice all right. I chose to fight Buck.” He scrubbed a hand over the scruff on his face. “What happened tonight...” he muttered, “I became a man who can’t keep his demons leashed.”
Jaxon shifted, his boots thudding softly against the snow-covered wooden planks. “You’ve been through a lot, Eli. It’s understandable.”
“Is it?” Eli countered. “Or is it just an excuse?”
Gunner began, “Eli—”
“It’s an excuse,” Eli said, cutting him off, a bitter laugh scratching its way out of his throat. “Today I was all fists and fury, ready to take out my anger over Miranda’s murder on some other asshole.”
Jaxon stayed silent.
“I hear what you’re saying,” Gunner chimed in. “But I honestly don’t think you should beat yourself up about this.”
Eli’s hand clenched around the bottle. “This isn’t just about tonight. It’s about Miranda. About how her murder hollowed me out and filled the empty space with rage.” He spoke the words and they felt like glass in his throat. “Sometimes, I’m afraid I’ll never get free from it. That it’s just biding its time, waiting to consume me. And if it does...” His voice broke. “I don’t want that anywhere near anyone I care for.”
Jaxon stepped forward, placing a steady hand on Eli’s shoulder. “You won’t let it consume you. Because you’re stronger than that.”
Gunner nodded, his presence a solid reassurance in the uncertain dark. “And you’re not alone in this fight.”
Eli looked up into the starry sky and told them a truth they all couldn’t ignore. “I’m a bomb ready to explode, and I can’t avoid that. Not anymore.”
A long pause followed.
Until Jaxon snagged the bottle of whiskey and took the other seat beside Eli. “Well, it seems we won’t be able to solve this tonight. We might as well warm ourselves up.”
“Damn straight,” Gunner chimed in, reaching for his guitar and leaning back in his chair. He began strumming a tune.
Eli accepted the bottle from Jaxon and took a long swig before passing it on to Gunner, who paused his song to take a shot.
Then Eli did what he’d done many nights after Miranda’s murder. He let Gunner’s soothing voice and music take it far away from there.
Sunlight crept through the slits of the blinds as Willow’s eyelids fluttered open the next morning, a groan escaping her lips as consciousness forced her to acknowledge the day. Her head throbbed in sync with her heartbeat, each pulse echoing the confusion that had kept her tossing and turning throughout the night. She lay still for a moment, allowing the heaviness in her limbs to anchor her to the bed, hoping it might pull her back into the depths of sleep where she didn’t have to think about yesterday.
But reality wouldn’t leave her alone, and with a deep breath, she pushed herself upright and swung her legs over the mattress, settling her nightie back into place. Steeling herself, she made her way down the stairs to the living room. As she entered, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted toward her, a small comfort this morning.
When her last foot left the bottom stair, she found Amie, Charly and Aubrey were gathered around the coffee table and on the comfy living room couch full of mismatched throw pillows. Their faces, etched with concern and support, turned toward her as she approached. Amie’s eyes were soft with empathy. Charly’s nurturing warmth radiated from her. And Aubrey, with a reassuring smile that could break through the darkest days, sipped her coffee.
“Hey,” Willow managed, moving to the kitchen and fixing herself a coffee.
“Didn’t sleep great?” Charly called, as Willow headed back into the living room.
“Terrible,” Willow confessed, sinking into the plush embrace of the couch in the middle of Aubrey and Charly. She took a long sip from her mug, warmed by the familiar comfort. “How about all of you?”
Charly shrugged, gave a lopsided grin. “Jaxon called drunk in the middle of the night so that was fun.”
Aubrey rubbed her obvious tired eyes. “And I had to listen to him blab on about love and words that didn’t even belong together.”
“You shouldn’t have given up your room to me.” Amie laughed softly, sitting in the chair in the corner of the room, then said without the amusement, “I slept terrible too.”
Willow was aware that Jaxon and Gunner were most likely with Eli, which could explain why he was drunk. It was probably the same for all of them. She felt reassured knowing that Eli wasn’t alone last night; that was the last thing she wanted for him.
“I’m leaving for San Francisco,” Amie announced.
Willow finished her sip and lowered her mug. “Really?”
Amie nodded. “I booked a flight last night after talking to my mom. I need to be with family and...” She paused, as if the next words were lodged in her throat. “And away from Buck. From everything here.”
“I totally get that,” Willow breathed out, her voice thick with emotion. “You’ll be safe there with your family. It was the best thing for me after Niko to go somewhere familiar surrounded by love. You’ll finally be free.”
“Free,” Amie repeated, like testing what the word truly meant to her.
“San Francisco will give you the fresh start you deserve,” Willow continued, hugging the mug with her hands, embracing the warmth. “Away from him. You can heal, really heal.”
Amie nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I hope so. I’m a little scared, but...it feels right.”
Willow held Amie’s gaze, her own smile radiating the pride that swelled in her chest. “Being scared doesn’t mean you’re not brave, you know? It means you’re human. And making this choice—that’s the bravest thing to do.”
“Thanks,” Amie said with a soft smile. Then she paused, her gaze holding Willow’s intently. “It may be none of my business, so just tell me to stuff it if you don’t want to talk about it, but why didn’t you talk with Eli last night?”
Willow felt the weight of her friends’ gazes. “I...” she started, her voice barely above a whisper as she searched for words that seemed to dissolve before they reached her tongue. “I just needed some space, you know? To breathe...to think.”
Charly reached out, her hand gently brushing against Willow’s arm. “We’re here for you, no matter what you need,” she said.
“Thanks, I know that.” Willow smiled.
From her spot next to Willow, Aubrey spoke with a gentle firmness. “I’m sure Eli is feeling horrible this morning, and not from the obvious hangover he likely has.”
“I’m sure he does, and I’m sad about it.” Her voice was steady, but the churning feelings beneath were anything but. “I’m just... I can’t explain what it’s like to not trust your thoughts or your feelings, but that’s how I feel right now. I need to sort through these emotions on my own...and I just... I feel... uncomfortable . It’s not that I’m not grateful he was there, because I am. But there was violence, and I don’t know how to explain it more than saying I need to think how I feel about what happened yesterday. I need to feel steady, and I don’t feel that right now.”
Aubrey and Charly exchanged a look, before Charly replied, “Take all the time you need.”
“We’re right here,” Aubrey chimed in with a smile.
Willow smiled, but doubted it reached her eyes. “I know that too.” She sighed heavily. The warmth from the coffee seeping into her skin as she looked across to Amie. “I can take you home to pack. And I’ll drive you to the airport later.”
Gratitude shimmered within Amie’s eyes. “Thank you, Willow. That means a lot.”
“Of course. I need to keep busy,” Willow confessed, her gaze flitting between Aubrey and Charly. “Busy has always just been good for me. It helps me process.”
Charly reached out, touching Willow’s arm again. “We’ve got the bar. We’ll clean up, get everything ready for opening later. Take the day off.”
Aubrey nodded. “Yeah, leave that to us.”
“Are you sure?” Willow asked.
“Positive,” Charly confirmed, her gaze unwavering, and Aubrey simply nodded.
“Thank you.” She couldn’t understand the quiet in her mind, and that was the confusing part in all this. She couldn’t tell if she felt mad, happy that he protected her, sad about the Christmas crafts, scared of the violence. She just felt... nothing . And that brought a discomfort she couldn’t run from. “I’m going to take some time, sort through everything that’s happened. But I won’t shut myself away—I promise.”
Aubrey reached out, squeezing Willow’s hand. “That’s all we ask. Take care of yourself, Wills. We’re here if you need to talk.”
Willow gave a little nod of thanks. “While I’m off today, I’m going to reach out to some of the craft stores and see if they’ll make some more donations. Maybe do a social media post or something. We’ve got a few days, so hopefully we can make some of the crafts again.”
“That’s a great idea,” Aubrey declared.
Amie interjected, “I’m sorry I won’t be here to help.”
“Don’t be,” Willow said, shifting against the cushions on the couch. “You need to take care of yourself right now. That’s all that matters. Nothing else.”
“She’s right,” Charly agreed, her nod decisive. “Although, I might not be much help. You know me and crafts don’t get along.”
Willow looked to Amie, who burst out laughing, and that, for a second, made Willow’s heart warm.