Chapter Four
Beau
B linking, I put my truck in park as I stare up at my little A-frame tucked way back in the woods. I have no recollection of my drive home, my mind being so wrapped up in Jolene DuVall and the kiss to end all kisses. The only thing I can chalk my tonight’s bold behavior up to is frustration.
I moved back to Aspen Hollow a little over a year ago. I don't remember much from my time here as a child, other than pain and heartbreak. I haven't come back since my sperm donor decided to irrevocably change my life.
Thinking of that piece of shit, and being back in this place, instantly pulls the memories to the front of my mind.
I was nine years old when my abusive prick of a father came home raging drunk and spoiling from a fight he’d had with his sergeant at work. My dear old dad was a police officer in Aspen Hollow, which made him damn near untouchable since they were all dirty and stuck together.
No matter how much I begged Mama, she'd never tell a soul about the hell he put her through, and she had me lie at school if any of my bruises were visible.
Looking back now, I realize there's no way the folks in town were clueless to what Mama and I were going through, but there was also no one brave enough to step in to help us for fear of repercussions.
Before I can stop it, memories from my last night in my childhood home come flooding to the surface.
I'm playing in the front yard when his cruiser fishtails around the corner onto our street.
Not wanting to be the first person he sees when he stumbles out of the car, I run inside to warn my mama.
Taking out his frustrations on my mama and me isn't anything new, but something about tonight is different.
Knowing he is going to be in a fit, Mama makes me promise to hide and not come out until the coast is clear. I hate hiding, but I am too little and too afraid to be of any help to her when he is this way.
In the pantry, I move Mama's basket of cleaning supplies, crawl under the shelf, and cover myself up with the box. I've found this to be the best hiding spot when Daddy's out of his mind.
Hearing the front door bang open, I suck in my breath. I know tonight will end horribly, not only for Mama but also for me, if I make any noise.
"Where the fuck is that little shit?" Daddy rages.
I wonder what I did to set him off this time.
"He's not home. I told him he could go play with some friends since it's such a beautiful night. What's the matter?"
"What's the matter? I almost ran over his damn bike since he can't ever seem to fucking pick it up."
The breath wooshes out of my lungs as I realize I dropped my bike in the yard the moment I saw him pull up. It wasn't anywhere near the driveway, but that doesn't matter.
"I'm sure it was an accident, Craig. He's only a little boy. I'll— Ahh!"
Mama's scream is like an arrow to my heart. I didn't see him hit her, but I could hear it from my hiding place.
"For fuck’s sake, he is not a little child. The boy is nine damn years old, and it's about time he learned some responsibility," Daddy yells from the living room as his boots stomp across the floor.
"What are you doing?" Mama's voice is closer, as if she's following him.
"I'm going to find the little fucker and teach him a lesson. I know he's here. I saw him when I turned onto our street. You need to quit hiding him, woman. You're already pissing me off as it is."
"I swear I don't know where he is, but it's not here. I would've heard him come home. He always lets me know where—"
Another punch rings through the air before a loud crash of dishes hits the floor, startling me. I smother my gasp with my hand to prevent Daddy from hearing. I can't see anything from my hiding spot, but it's safe to say he hit Mama hard enough to make her fall.
I hate this. I hate him, and I can't wait until I'm big enough to do something about it, even if Mama won't like it.
"You stupid bitch. If beating you won't make you fall in line, maybe I can fuck you into submission."
"N-no, don't. Get off m-me, Craig."
I plug my ears. I hate hearing my mama beg and cry.
They’re still fighting when a loud scream rips through the air. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to block everything out.
"You cunt. What did you think you'd do? Shoot me with my own damn gun?"
"P-please, Craig. I'm s-sorry."
"Oh, you're fucking sorry, are you? I bet you'll really be sorry now."
A loud bang rings through the air. It takes me a minute to realize it was a gunshot.
Then the wailing begins.
"Fuck! Shit, baby, wake up. Wake up. Sierra, wake the fuck up !" Daddy roars, panic filling his voice. "Fuck, what have I done?" Sobs fill the air.
I've never heard my daddy cry, let alone like this.
"Baby, I'm so fucking sorry. I can't do this without you. Please wake up. I can't go to jail. I'll never survive. Please open your eyes, baby."
I'm trembling under the shelf. I want to go out and get Mama so bad, but something is telling me to stay put.
"I love you, Sierra. I'm so sorry." Daddy is talking so softly I can barely hear his voice.
Maybe if I open the door slowly, I can peek out and see what's going on.
I'm shifting the box when another loud bang rings out, leaving a resounding silence in its wake.
Daddy's not crying anymore or talking to Mama, who hasn't made a sound in what feels like forever.
Pushing the door open, I see Mama on the floor with Daddy lying on top of her. I think there’s blood on the tile, but I'm too afraid to get any closer to check. Deep down, I know my mama would come get me out of my hiding spot if she were okay, but she hasn't moved.
I'm still in the closet, peeking out the barely open door, when I hear the sirens getting closer to the house. I know I should get out, but I'm paralyzed with fear.
Someone announces they are the police, and it feels like forever until they find me in the pantry. When the door opens, light spilling in, it takes a few minutes for me to adjust.
My daddy's partner is staring down at me, a look of anguish on his face.
"Come on, little dude. Everything's going to be okay." He scoops me up and tucks my face into his neck.
But not before I get one last look at my parents on the floor. Even though I'm only nine, I know in my heart that they're gone.
It’s one of my worst memories from living in Aspen Hollow.
I shake my head as I turn off my truck and head inside to my boy. Cooper is barking like crazy since I’ve been sitting out front in my truck for who knows how long.
I knew coming back here would stir up old shit, but I'm never prepared when I end up reliving my nightmares.
When I make it inside, my dopey dog goes nuts, though I saw him a few hours ago.
He's bouncing all over the place, but like the flip of a switch, his ears lie back as he whimpers and rubs his body on mine.
The damn dog is too intuitive sometimes, picking up on the panic still coursing through my veins.
"I'm good, Coop," I reassure him as I give him a big hug and rub down. "You wanna go out before we head to bed?"
Quickly recovering from his melancholy, Cooper barks at me and darts to the back door.
Stopping at the fridge, I grab a beer, then follow Coop to the back.
The floodlights flip on as the doofy dog leaps off the back deck, overcome by a case of the zoomies.
I laugh at the idiot as he tries to get his tail, spinning in a circle so fast that his legs get tangled, which sends him rolling through the yard.
My adoptive mom got me Cooper as a housewarming present when I moved to Aspen Hollow. The woman is a menace, but she's the best blessing too.
When my douche canoe of a father ended their lives, neither of my folks had any living relatives they were close to, which left me in the foster system.
I was one of the lucky ones, getting a good placement right off the bat.
The couple who took me in lived a couple of hours from Aspen Hollow, which allowed me to have a fresh start.
The first year I was with them was rough for all of us.
I was very quiet, only talking when lashing out because I didn't know how to handle everything I had lived through in my short life.
They were patient and willing to get me the help I needed.
Once I was able to get everything I've been through off my chest, and learned how to cope and trust my foster parents, everything clicked into place.
My foster mom, June, and foster dad, Carter, are the best kind of people.
They’d lost their daughter to cancer when she was young, then tried to have more children of their own, but that wasn't in the cards for them.
June knew she was meant to be a mother, so they decided to foster.
They never had any intention of adopting, but something just clicked with us, and I will forever be grateful that they chose to keep me.
I was eleven when my adoption was finalized.
Carter quickly became "Dad" to me, but it took a bit to call June "Mom.
" I knew I was hurting her, but I was still grieving the loss of my mama.
Lucky for me, June has the patience of a saint and never put pressure on me.
In time, along with therapy, I grew to accept that loving June and calling her “Mom” wasn't a betrayal to my own mama.
At fifteen, Carter and June asked if I'd be open to them fostering a young girl. She was six years old and had tragically lost her parents. For me, it was a no-brainer. My little sister, Scarlett, arrived the next day and has had me wrapped around her fingers since. Even though there was a huge age gap, we instantly bonded through the horrific losses we’d experienced at such young ages.
I became her fiercest protector and she my biggest fan.