Chapter Seven
Ravishing Rhoda
“Dammit!”
The clothes lay in a heap on the floor where they’d fallen for the third time.
Bryon balled his fists, gritting his teeth in frustration.
The suitcase was way too small. He’d need another one to contain the rest of his belongings—either that, or he’d just have to throw everything in the back of his truck.
Oh, heck. He might have to do that, anyway. There was no telling what might happen if he headed down to the store.
Picking up his clothes, he glanced around the bedroom.
His apartment had always been a bit too small for his liking, but tonight it looked more spacious than ever.
No surprise there. He’d cleared out his shelves and wardrobe, stuffing as many of his belongings as he could into the suitcases at his feet.
The walls of the house were bare now, most of his furniture already sitting in the back of his truck.
Bryon’s breathing quickened momentarily, but he managed to steady himself.
Did he really need so much clothing? Or every single item he’d purchased or been gifted in the last eight years he’d lived in Phoenix?
It wasn’t like he had a destination in mind yet.
All he knew was that he needed to disappear.
He ran his fingers through his hair, gripping his locks for a moment. “How could you have let this happen, Bryon? This is all your damn fault. If only you’d just stayed put at that party.”
It had been only a few nights since Harold caught him mid-transformation, and things had already gotten so much worse.
Bryon could sense it. A hush seemed to have descended over the town, and the few times he’d stepped outside his apartment, he’d caught more stares than he’d ever gotten at once before, very few of them friendly.
Just yesterday afternoon, he’d walked into the diner two blocks over, and it had gone completely silent, like something out of a saloon scene in an old Western.
It wasn’t too hard to figure out what was going on.
Word had spread about the night at the party, thanks to Harold.
Bryon’s friend of eight years had turned into a complete stranger overnight, telling what he’d seen to whoever was willing to listen.
In a matter of days, pretty much the entire town had heard about the incident.
In other words, it was over for Bryon.
At least, for now, which was why he was going to skip town. The way he saw it, it was in his best interest to take off before things got too tumultuous for him here. He could go off the grid for a while, at least until the dust settled, and then he’d return to this—
Wait. What the hell was he even thinking?
Return? Didn’t seem like much of a smart plan now that he thought about it.
What were the odds that the dust would ever settle?
Harold seemed bent on spreading the word about what he’d seen, and from the look of things, he wasn’t about to stop anytime soon.
So what if Bryon disappeared for a month or two?
By the time he got back, the man would pick up where he’d left off.
The way things were looking, maybe coming back here at all wouldn’t be such a great idea. His best chance? Fleeing the country. A permanent relocation to some faraway town was a close second.
With a groan, he tried to stuff the clothes into the suitcase before him. The clothes wouldn’t fit. He was just about to toss them aside in resignation when he heard a knock on the door.
Bryon’s entire body went rigid. Could that be Harold?
His gaze wandered frantically around the bedroom. What did the man want now? The last time they’d had a conversation, it hadn’t ended well. Was he here for more than that? Bryon’s mind suddenly conjured an image of angry townsfolk, brandishing torches and pitchforks outside his door.
Not helping, he told himself, dismissing the thought.
“Bryon,” called a voice. “Can I talk to you?”
He blinked. That wasn’t Harold.
His heart suddenly thudding faster in his ribcage, he bolted from the bedroom, nearly stumbling over his belongings as he made for the front door. Sure enough, when he pulled it open, there stood the last woman he’d expected to show up on his doorstep in a million years.
“Rhoda?” he croaked.
The woman tucked her jet-black hair behind her ear, flashing him a tiny smile that set his heart a thousand paces faster. She was shorter than he was, wearing a flowery gown that stopped just below her knees.
“Hey, Bryon,” she said. “Can I come in?”
It took him a few seconds to finally regain his ability to speak. “I...uh, I mean...sure, why not?”
He stepped back to admit her into the living room, almost forgetting to shut the door behind her. When he turned to face her, the smile on her face was gone, replaced with a confused frown as she took in the empty space where his furniture and decorations had once sat.
“What’s going on?” she wanted to know. “Are you moving out?”
Great. First time he’d had the woman of his dreams over at his place, and it just happened to be as he was preparing to make a run for it. What was she even doing here? They’d had a few conversations over the past month, but they hadn’t exactly started dating.
If Harold had heard that Rhoda had paid Bryon a visit, Bryon would’ve never heard the last of I, except Harold didn’t care about their friendship anymore. The realization hit him like a kick in the groin.
“S-something like that,” he stuttered. He cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice as deep as possible. “What... what did you want to talk about?”
She finally fixed her concerned gaze on him. Those dark eyes bored into his, lovely as ever. “I’ve been hearing... rumors about you. Harold said he saw you the other night.”
Bryon shook his head. “Harold says a lot of things. He was drunk. Whatever he saw... whatever he thinks he saw... you don’t really think I’m a monster, do you?”
Rhoda was silent for the next few seconds. Too long.
“Well,” she finally said, “that’s why I came here. I want to know if it’s true.”
He blinked at her in surprise. “What’s that even supposed to mean? Do you believe Harold or not?”
“Bryon.” She pressed her lips together, and for a second her concerned expression gave way to something else. Her hand trembled slightly at her side. “I don’t know what to believe. Now maybe if you could prove to me that you’re not what Harold’s been telling everyone you are—”
“Prove it?” He clenched his jaw, unable to believe what he was hearing.
So this was why she’d come to see him. He should’ve known that the second he saw her on his doorstep.
“What on earth are you even talking about, Rhoda? How am I supposed to prove...?” He silenced himself, shaking his head. “Maybe it’s best if you leave.”
She looked taken aback by that. “Are you kidding? I just want to know the truth, Bryon.”
“No, you want to see the monster Harold’s been talking about.”
“I don’t want to see a monster.” She shook her head slowly, an expression of hurt creeping onto her face. “I’ve always liked you, Bryon. Really liked you. I don’t want to think of you as anything other than what I’ve known you to be.”
The living room descended into complete silence. Bryon’s heartbeat had slowed to a series of heavy thumps. He stared across the room at her, wondering if he’d misheard her. Rhoda... liked him? Surely he’d imagined that.
No... she’d said it. A flutter of excitement arose in his belly. She liked him. How many times had he dreamed of a moment like this?
Not that it mattered now. His life in this town was over.
“There’s nothing to prove,” he said. “Maybe I am the monster Harold thinks I am.”
She took a step toward him. “Bryon, I—”
“You really should leave.”
It was her turn to blink at him. After a few seconds, she nodded. Then, without another word, she brushed past him, opening the front door and stepping out into the night. The second he heard the door slam shut, he sank to the floor, cradling his head in his hands.
Bryon resisted scoffing, shaking his head slowly.
In one night, his entire life in this town had crumbled.
Everything he’d built, all the friendships and experiences he’d gathered over the years...
all gone. And Rhoda... well, his chances with her had ended the night Harold spotted him mid-shift.
There was no coming back to this town. Hell, there was absolutely nothing left for him here.
He wasn’t sure how long he remained on the floor, but a sudden banging on the door jerked him back to reality. With a sigh, he rose and moved over to the door, pulling it open.
“Rhoda, I told you already that if you—” His words died on his lips.
It wasn’t Rhoda who stood on his doorstep this time. It was Harold. Bryon’s friend of eight years stood barely a foot away, glowering at him. Over his shoulder, Bryon could make out about a dozen other men standing at the foot of the porch steps, each of them brandishing a stick or machete.
Bryon looked down. In Harold’s hand was a baseball bat.
“Harold, what the hell is going on?” he demanded.
The other man simply glanced over his shoulder. His green eyes widened at the sight of the half-empty living room. “Going somewhere? Saw your furniture in the back of your truck. You’re not planning on skipping town, are you?”
Bryon said nothing, merely swallowing. Harold’s expression hardened.
“So you are planning on leaving. Well, I’ve got news for you, old bud.” He lifted the baseball bat. “You’re not going anywhere.”
***
With some difficulty, Bryon forced the memory from his mind. Almost ten years had passed since the incident, yet the pain was as fresh as though it had happened just last night. Better to focus on something else, like the foal that needed rescuing.
Or the fact that he and Rhoda—no, Miranda—were still in Paradise Woods.