CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THREE DAYS HAVE passed since he took me on a horse ride that I thought would kill me but didn’t, and I ended up telling him the biggest secret of my life.
Since then, he’s taken me on a ride every single day, and I’ve realized two things.
One, I’m so grateful he did that. I knew I wanted to ride with him but didn’t know how much.
Didn’t realize how much I’d love being pressed up against his body, feeling it in action rather than simply seeing it from a distance, feeling the power thrumming through his thick muscles and dense bones.
Feel the authority in him rather than simply witness it.
Not to mention, the act of riding itself.
Not that I do anything other than cling to him like a spider monkey on these rides.
I don’t even open my eyes, not until we stop, and we always stop by the blue lake.
Where he lets me watch it as my breaths calm down and my hold on him eases up.
But anyway, just the wind whipping against my skin and ruffling my hair, the sensation of the world going by in a flash, is so exhilarating.
I finally know what people mean when they say riding a horse feels like freedom.
And it only took me nineteen years to figure it out.
The second thing I realized: I missed so much of my life because of my father.
Because of the fear he instilled in me. He forced me to grow up when I was only ten.
When all the other kids my age were worried about their homework or test scores, my concern was whether or not my father was raping my mother while I was at school.
What kind of a mother I’d come home to. When everyone was sharing secrets with their best friends, I was trying to do everything I could to hide mine from Reverie.
I pretended to love going to parties when I hated every second of it; pretended to have fun at the mall when all I kept thinking about was if my mom’s OD was deliberate or an accident.
I pretended I loved skipping classes and didn’t care if I got bad grades when, in reality, I could never focus enough on anything to do good at school because I couldn’t escape wondering if I was a child of rape too.
If my father had forced himself upon my mom and she got pregnant with me.
Not to mention, every time I thought about taking an interest in my courses, finding joy in books, movies, music, or literally anything else, I kept thinking it was of no use.
Who cared if I had a hobby or if I liked something enough to turn it into my passion when I knew my future was set.
I knew where I was going to end up, married to a man like my father and trying to survive like my mother.
And then probably end up like her too. Again, it took me nineteen years to figure out that my dad stole from me more than I’d realized. More than I could ever get back.
Another thing that came to me: I love him. I love Radisson King. My Phantom, my hunter, the man who stole me not once but twice and whose life my father destroyed in more ways than one.
This wasn’t a realization, though. It was more of a knowledge, lying bone-deep, something ancient and instinctual.
I could say I fell in love with him when he threw himself in front of the bullet for me.
Or when I realized he watches me so closely that not only does he know my coffee order but exactly how I order it and how much I tip.
I could say I fell in love with him up on that cliff where he admitted to feeding those three men to the coyotes because they’d scared me.
And that he beats up those men my father forces me to go out with, all because I’m disgusted by them.
Or maybe I fell in love with him when he told me he’d kill my father for everything he’s done to my mom and me.
But it would all be a lie. Because I know the moment it happened.
It was when he came to my rescue the very first time.
When he beat those men up, the ones he later killed, and I stared into his stunning green eyes.
Before that moment, I thought I was alone.
I felt so very alone, but he made me realize he was there for me.
He was watching. And maybe, just maybe, he’d keep me safe.
And he has. All this time, in so many, many ways.
In ways that only he can and not anyone else. Like he keeps telling me.
Much like he told me I’d be safe tonight through the summer storm they’ve been predicting as long as I stay indoors.
They say it’s going to be a bad one. It’s going to be short but intense, mostly overnight.
Heavy downpours and even heavier winds. All day today black clouds have gathered in the sky, making it seem swollen.
The heavy and humid air clings to everything, the trees, the grass, the windows, to the very pores of our bodies.
Everything seems close to bursting, restless and impatient.
Even now as I sit in my bed, hugging my knees, through the window I can see the wind blowing, whipping, lashing, bending trees this way and that, howling with power.
It’ll happen any second now. Any second the sky will open up and start pouring rain down on the earth.
I’m not afraid of it, though. I don’t need protection from it, no matter how vicious it may seem.
In fact, I want to revel in it. I want to seize the moment.
I’ve already lost too many of them. I’ve already lost too much time.
At my thought, the lightning flashes through the sky, quick but so bright that the night turns into day for half a second, and I spring up from the bed.
I don’t wait for the crack of thunder to follow, I simply run out of the room and head to the front door.
I throw it open just as the thunder booms through the sky, but the sound of the door hitting the wall is louder.
Another flash of lightning and I see him.
He’s in the stables just across from the house and tending to Tulip.
Or he was. Until I showed up on the porch, my chest heaving, my eyes focused on him.
He’s too far away from me to notice these things, but I still think he frowns under his Stetson. I still think his chest shudders with a breath because even though he shouldn’t be able to see me that clearly either, he can still read my intentions. He can still figure out what I want.
And what I want is him. What I want is my father to not take this away from me too. Not this, not the man I love.
I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know where I’ll go from here.
I know I’ll be safe from every threat out there because he’ll make it so.
I know he’ll bring his little sister back home because he’ll make that happen too.
But other than that, I don’t know what will happen to me or us.
It doesn’t seem like there ever can be an us, not with who I am and who he is.
All the more reason to do it then, isn’t it?
All the more reason to make the most of these stolen moments.
Who cares if I come out of this in pieces?
Who cares if I’m ruined for every man, for everything else in this world?
If he can’t have me, I don’t want anyone else or anything else to have me either.
But for once in my life, I want to live.
For once in my life, I don’t want to be afraid.
Not of the only man who’s ever made me feel alive, not of love or what it might do to me.
So I take off.
I bound down the stairs and start running toward him.
I notice him move. His long legs striding over to me, and the closer we come to each other, I see that he indeed is frowning, concern running rampant on his features.
But I don’t know how to slow myself down, either my pace or my feelings, so he’s going to have to find a way to be okay with it.
He’s going to have to find a way to be okay with me crashing against his body because at the speed I’m going, it’s going to be a collision. A major impact.
And he does find a way. Before I make it to him, he widens his stance and plants himself on the ground like a tree or a mountain so when I do collide with him, he stays firmly rooted and provides a safe space for me to land.
When I climb his body like he’s taught me, he gives me a boost and within seconds, I’m wrapped around him like I usually am while we’re riding on Tulip.
“What the—”
I squeeze my arms around his neck and cut his growl off. “How long?”
His frown only thickens. “What?”
I’m panting and I know I should slow down, but again, I can’t. “How long has it been? Since it started.”
At last, he gets it. The realization makes him lose his frown, but his jaw pulses. His eyes flash and his arms around me flex. Then, in a rough voice, “Seven months, three weeks, six days, nine hours, and nineteen minutes.”
I let that pass through me like a shiver before I say, “It ends now.”
“What?”
I bring my hand to his face, to his scar as I brush my thumb over it with all the love in my heart. “Enough watching.”
His jaw pulses again and his arms around me tighten to the point of pain, the kind I’ve come to love. “What the fuck do you mean?”
I run my eyes over his face, sharp and beautiful, the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen, before I command, “Kiss me.”
He tenses but otherwise stays silent.
As always, I don’t let it deter me. “Put your mouth on me. Now.”
His jaw is ticking.
“You’ve got three seconds.”
Finally, he growls, “Or what?”
“One.”
“Don’t fuckin’—”
“Two.”
“You don’t fuckin’ know what you’re askin’.”
“Three,” I whisper.
His chest pauses mid-breath.
Not mine, though. I let out a breath of relief because the wait’s finally over. The wait of seven months, three weeks, six days, nine hours, and nineteen minutes is at an end. Smiling, I whisper, “Time’s up.”
“Peyton—”
And then I put my mouth on him and I die.