Chapter Four Blaze
Chapter Four
Blaze
My friend Liam’s dog tags sit on my dresser like an accusation.
I run my finger over his name engraved on the metal, forcing the toxic memories to scatter to the corners of my mind.
I can’t forget the look in his eyes when he found out the “mission” I was responsible for was actually running guns and selling contraband on the black market. I told him to stay back and keep an eye on the guys, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
He wanted to protect his brother.
And those motherfuckers killed him.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Chaos. Every decision I make, every action I take. It all leads to utter fucking chaos and destruction.
I couldn’t save Mom, I couldn’t save Savannah’s family, I couldn’t save Liam.
I’ve only been back in Whiskey Creek for a few days, and I can feel it starting all over again.
The quicksand. The pull toward destruction.
Wilkerson’s been quiet since I saw him, but I know what’s coming.
Whatever job he’s got planned, whatever price he’s gonna make me pay . . . it’s definitely coming.
And someone I care about will end up suffering for it.
Like Savannah.
When Nash called me that night after I told her we were a mistake, frantic about an accident that almost killed her a little while after she left my place . . .
Fuck.
I knew immediately it had been Wilkerson’s doing. He was sending a message to me using my soft spot for Savannah. And I couldn’t handle the thought of him hurting her more than I already had. He already had too much on me that could have wrecked everyone I cared about if it was exposed.
Complete chaos. My life went into a tailspin.
So I left for the military. I didn’t want my shitty judgment to tarnish anyone else’s lives.
I figured I could finally get out from under Jack’s thumb.
Leaving would get me out of the toxic cycle that consumed my life.
I could distance myself from my father’s failures and protect Savannah by disappearing.
She’d eventually move on, do something great with her life, and forget about me.
It’s damn ironic that I left Whiskey Creek in part to protect the people I loved, only to cause so much pain and suffering for others along my path.
Maybe everything that went down overseas was my penance for leaving home and abandoning the people who cared about me. My karma.
Maybe coming back was always inevitable.
Dad made sure of that when he gambled away more money that he didn’t have and went crawling back to Wilkerson for more.
And when Wilkerson called to tell me I was coming home to clean up Dad’s newest mess, I knew I was out of options.
The debt was too big, and the ultimatum was clear—work it off, or watch what happens to all the people I left behind.
So here I am. Back in Whiskey Creek, a place I swore I’d never come back to, doing jobs for a man I hate, all because my father is a selfish fuckup.
I grab my hat and put it on before leaving my childhood bedroom.
The front door opens as I walk down the stairs.
My youngest brother, Wyatt, staggers inside in ripped jeans and a flannel, the skin under his eyes stained purple, his face drawn, eyes bloodshot.
“Hey,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral. He looks exhausted. Worse than exhausted. “You all right?”
Wyatt narrows his green eyes at me. “I’m fine. Just goin’ about my business.” He walks past me, his boots thumping on the steps where I stand. “Same way I did when you left, not that you cared to check in. So don’t give me the lip service now.”
I follow him into the kitchen. “I do care. Have you gotten any sleep? Looks like you’re running yourself into the ground.”
Wyatt stops but doesn’t turn around. “Yeah, so?”
Wyatt’s words are tinged with anger but soaked with pain.
“You’re my brother. That still means something to me, even if you don’t believe it.”
He finally turns, and the look on his face guts me.
“Brothers don’t disappear for six years.
They don’t leave when—” His voice cracks, his jaw tight under the beard.
“I was just a kid when you took off, and you told me you’d always look out for me.
Mom was gone. Dad was at the bottom of a whiskey bottle.
Then you just up and left. Like I didn’t matter at all. ”
“Wyatt—”
“No, you don’t get to explain or make excuses. I don’t care why you left, only that you did. I would’ve expected that kinda thing from Colt, but not from you. You were supposed to be different. You were supposed to stay.”
“I know,” I say, my mouth dry. “I should have been here for you, and I’m so sorry I wasn’t.”
“Sorry doesn’t change anything.” His words are still laced with anger. “I don’t need anything from you. I learned how to take care of myself.”
He stalks past me, his boots pounding against the wood floor as he heads upstairs. I don’t stop him. Pushing him won’t help. He’s got every right to hate me.
My lips pull into a tight line as I head into the kitchen. He’d always looked up to me, and I promised myself I’d always take care of him after Mom died and Dad went off the rails.
Then the quicksand had pulled me in, fast and hard, while I thrashed around. When I finally tried to claw myself out of it by leaving, all I did was abandon Wyatt and leave him and Colt to handle Dad on their own. What kind of brother does that?
How the hell was I supposed to explain myself to Wyatt? Hell, to anyone? That I left because staying meant dragging everyone down with me? That I only came back because Dad gambled away more money and Wilkerson called in his marker? Fuck no.
I knew what was at stake when I sold my soul to that slimeball Wilkerson to keep our family afloat. I only wish my integrity was all I’d lost.
Bryant, our ten-year-old German shepherd, trots out of the living room to greet me.
At least he still likes me.
I stroke the area under his chin, and his tail wags hard. “Come on, boy. Let’s get you something to eat.”
His paws click on the hardwood floor, and he follows me to the refrigerator. I open the door and peer inside when my cell phone pings with a text.
Rage bubbles in my chest when I pull it out of my pocket to read the message.
Don’t forget who owns you.
I pull out a Tupperware of leftovers with one hand and kick the door closed. Tossing the plastic container onto the counter, I hover a finger over the screen, so damn tempted to tell him to fuck himself.
I slam the phone on the counter and scrub a hand down the front of my face.
But I know I can’t. I need to do exactly what he wants, or he’ll take everything, hurt the people I care about, and expose all the fucking red in my ledger.
I dump the contents of the Tupperware into Bryant’s bowl, ruffle his ears, and head out the front door. Dad’s truck is in the driveway, and I need to avoid him like the damn plague right now.
I squint at the road, the sun burning bright through the windshield. I pull open the glove compartment, grab my sunglasses, then slide them on. Pressing my foot on the gas, I speed down to the end of the road, tires kicking up a dirt-and-gravel cloud.
A few minutes later, I turn down the road that leads to Red Rock.
I shouldn’t. Christ, I know I shouldn’t.
I’m about to make the same mistake I did six years ago.
Getting too close. Thinking I can be near Savannah without destroying her or her trust. Not that anything has changed.
I’m still the same monster, just with more scars and blood on my hands.
Jack Wilkerson still owns me. I still destroy everything I touch.
But Savannah is back in Whiskey Creek, and I can’t stay away.
So here I am, driving toward the same person I should be running from. Knowing it’ll end badly. Knowing I’ll hurt her again.
Because I apparently only know how to learn lessons the hard way.