18. Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
— ONLY ANGEL BY HARRY STYLES
“He’s a fucking coward!” I say as I punch Nico’s gloves. God, this feels good.
“I know, but damn, take it easy,” he says as I get a few final hits in before we call this round.
Take it easy, he says. “Easy for you to say. You weren't the one being shot at a few days ago.” I rip my gloves off and toss them aside, the workout not doing anything to calm the fire burning through my veins.
“You did your job, Vince. You did it well, and you even held the guy who was shooting at you. Stop beating yourself up over it.”
I know he’s right, but I’m not giving him the chance to rub it in. I swipe my water bottle from where it rests on the floor and take a few sips from it. My face scrunches a bit because of how hard that motherfucker punched me, but I shove the pain down; it could've ended much worse.
Bree could've been shot. She could've been killed. Killed . I keep replaying that day in my head, and I’m glad it ended how it did, but that doesn't stop me from thinking how else it could have ended.
I almost lost her. I almost lost Bree. I almost lost my first client.
“Have you talked to the cops? Have they updated you on anything?”
Shit . I forgot that’s why I originally called him over here. “The shooter was found dead in his cell this morning. His tongue was cut out.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah. Somebody wanted to make sure he couldn't talk. I’m assuming it was whoever hired him.”
Nico drags his tattooed hand down his face. “This is a shitshow.”
“Have you had any luck tracing the payment to his account?” Our shooter—Daniel Marsh—was a hired gun, like I expected, but I’m not sure who hired him in the first place. Ralph was never one to have other people do his dirty work for him, but I’m working under the theory that he made a few new friends in prison. He has become really good at the waiting game. So, while he is technically escalating from notes to shooting at Bree, I can’t be sure that this is him.
The fact that it could be someone completely different scares me more than it should.
“I’ve got my best guys working on it, and when they find something, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Good,” I say before I bring up something I haven't wanted to say out loud. “You know what has bugged me the most about all this? Daniel was a trained sniper. The fucker had a bunch of medals and shit before he was dishonorably discharged.”
“You’re nervous because he missed,” Nico states, a look of concern flashing across his face.
“Yeah. If his target really was Bree, then how did he miss every shot he took? It almost feels like he was trying not to hit her.”
Nico just grumbles something before he leaves to go upstairs, probably wanting to get back to figuring out where the money came from. I hear him talking to someone before he gets fully up the stairs, and when Bree comes into view, I feel a twinge in my chest.
She hasn't slept in days. I know that because she’s been down here every day before I am, sprinting as fast as she can until her body practically collapses. She barely spares me a glance as she heads for the treadmill, but I can’t take my eyes off her .
I think she’s wearing my shirt. It looks like one of the band shirts my sister bought me that I lost when I moved. I assumed I accidentally left it somewhere, but now I think that she either stole it from me or it fell out of one of my bags.
“Where’d you get that shirt, angel?”
She breaks out of her haze before looking down at her attire. “It was in my laundry basket. Why?”
“It’s mine.”
Her eyes bulge, and I can practically see the thoughts racing through her head. “I’ll wash it and give it back to you, I promise.”
“It’s okay, Bree. Keep it.” Why did I just say that?
She shakes her head as soon as the words are out of my mouth. “No, Vince. I can’t keep it. That’s—”
“You wear it much better than I do.” I ignore the way her cheeks flush before I walk over to her, grab her water bottle, and head to fill it up. Bree always forgets, and by the time she’s done sprinting out the tension in her body, she won’t feel like filling it.
By the time I bring it back to her, she hasn't moved from her spot.
I take the time to study her like this—headphones around her neck, blonde hair up in a ponytail, my shirt covering her entire body to her knees, her tattered sneakers on her feet.
She looks like a forbidden fruit standing here in front of me, and I have to physically stop myself from reaching out to her.
“Thanks,” she says in a low whisper. I notice her pulse has started to beat faster, and I can't tell if she’s nervous at our close proximity or scared. I take a step back before I speak again.
“I’ll leave you to it.”
She swallows hard before her gaze breaks mine and she looks anywhere else besides my eyes. “I’m still good to go to Liv’s tonight, right?”
“Yes. Emerson is driving, and I’ll be with you inside.”
Her shoulders fall just a little bit. I’ve noticed that, out of all my men, she feels safest with Emerson—besides me, of course. “Her event in a few weeks is still under review. It’s too out in the open, but I think I can figure something out.”
“It’s important to Liv, so I’d really love to go. If it’s not possible, I’m sure she would understand, but I can’t keep living like this.”
“I know. I’ll figure it out, Bree. He doesn't get to keep controlling your life like this.”
“But he is, and he does.”
I step toward her again, needing her to understand that this won’t be forever. “ For now .”
Bree surprises me by taking the loose strand of hair that hangs from my head and smoothing it back into place. “I trust you, Vince. It’s him that I don't.”
She’s never voluntarily touched me before, and I don't dare move because I don't want to scare her off. Her touch feels good . I’m chalking all the weird feelings up to not having touched a woman in a few years. I can’t even remember the last time I was intimate with someone. I tend to stay away from clients, and when I need any sort of release, random hookups have been fine.
But this feels different for some reason. I don't hate it, but nothing could ever happen between the two of us. Bree’s drowning in her own mind most of the time, and she’s my client. I would never put her in that position. She deserves better than me, and after all of this is over, I’ll just be a distant memory.
We’ll both move on, and I’ll be okay with that.
But as I walk away from our interaction, the sinking feeling in my gut gets heavier and heavier with each step I take.
— THE ARCHER BY TAYLOR SWIFT
“Bree, you were shot at! Did you forget about that, or do I have to remind you?” My sister yells at me, rightfully so, as I sit on her couch. Liv is standing in front of me, pacing back and forth on the rug that sits underneath her coffee table.
“Livvy, baby, you’re going to burn a line into the carpet if you keep pacing.” Tristan gets up off the loveseat and grabs her shoulder, trying to maneuver her to sit, but she shrugs off his hands.
“Tristan, stop. You were shot at, too! Why am I the only one taking this seriously?” Liv’s hands get thrown up into the air, and I shift uncomfortably. I hate that I worried her so much, but it’s hard for me to talk about what’s been going on in my head lately.
“Liv, it’s been an insane few months. I think Bree just needed a little room to breathe,” Teags tells her, and I’m glad she’s here. Since she witnessed one of my episodes in person, she can help explain why I wanted to keep it a secret. I feel like shit for lying to her, but I also feel like shit for making her worry this much.
I shift again, not knowing if it’s my clothes I’m feeling uncomfortable in or just my body in general.
“I understand that, I do. But Bree, I’m your sister! You should be able to come to me about these things. I’m not like our parents. I don't want to smother you. I just want to make sure you’re doing okay.”
“Liv, I know, but—”
Tristan cuts me off. “Livvy, just take a few breaths. Imagine you were in her situation— ”
Liv cuts him off. “Tristan, you could've been killed! Both of you could’ve been seriously hurt! I could have lost both of you. So before you tell me I’m overreacting, put yourself in my shoes.”
“Pretty girl, I—”
Teags cut him off. “Everyone is making valid points, but can you guys let Bree talk?”
I lock eyes with my best friend before I give her a small smile. Teagen is the youngest in her family, and she knows just as well as I do that barely being able to get two words in is a trait of being the youngest. Nobody ever really wants to listen to what you have to say sometimes, and it used to be a fight with my parents when they would never let me get a word in about my career.
“Thanks, Teags.”
I hear my sister sigh before she grabs both of my hands in hers. “I’ll never stop worrying about you, Bree. All I’m asking is that I’m kept in the loop.” Her eyes flit to Vince, who sits at my right. “You promised me I was being kept in the loop.”
What? “What are you talking about?”
“The only thing I promised you was that I’d keep her safe. My allegiance is to Bree, first and foremost. Her safety is the only thing I care about. That's all I think about twenty-four-seven,” Vince tells her, his voice low and quiet.
I hate to admit that hearing him say that turned me on a little bit.
What is it about protective men?
“Look, Liv, I’m sorry I’ve distanced myself from you the past few weeks. Saying I’ve had a lot going on is the understatement of the century, but I didn't want Ralph to put a target on your back, too, especially after what he sent to my house—” I stop myself because the one thing I didn't want Liv knowing was that one of the bullets had her name on it too. I didn't want to cause her any more stress or panic, but it looks like I have no choice now .
“What did he send to your house?”
I sigh heavily before I run a hand through my hair. “Nothing. Just some notes and pictures. Can we eat dinner now?”
“You’re deflecting. There’s something you’re not telling me. What did he send you, Bree?”
“Liv, just drop it. It’s better if you don't know.” I stand, ready to crawl back into my bed and never come out again.
“Bree, you should tell her,” Teags says to me. “Especially after you and Tristan were shot at. It’s not a coincidence.”
“How the hell do you know about it?” I question. Nico told me he hid the bullets in his pocket when he let Teags into my house that day. How did she find out?
“Wait, what are you guys talking about?” Tristan asks.
“Can someone explain before I go insane?” Liv says, pacing once again. Before I can open my mouth to spill everything, Vince beats me to it.
“Ralph sent a package with two bullets in it. One with Bree’s name on it.” He pauses. “And one with Liv’s name.”
“Wait, back up. What did you just say?” Liv all but stops cold in her tracks. “He sent you a bullet with my name on it, and you didn't think you should mention that to me?”
“I was going to tell you that night! Tristan and I met for lunch, and he told me to open up to you, and I was going to! I swear, I was, but then we got shot at, and that took precedence, and it slipped through the cracks.”
“How could you forget something like that? Bree, oh my God. This is nuts.” Liv stops pacing and places a hand on the mantle to steady herself.
I’m a horrible sister. I let my own mental health take priority, and if something had happened to her that I could’ve prevented, I don't know what I would’ve done. “I’m sorry, Liv. I—”
“Liv, she’s trying her best. You don't see the kind of pressure she’s under, so give her some leeway.” Vince stands up from his seat, heading to the fridge for water, and I hate that he’s been dragged into my family squabbles. This is a fucking mess.
“Whose idea was it to keep this a secret from me? Because you clearly knew about it and could’ve told me, but you didn't.” Liv points an accusing finger at Vince.
“It was—”
Vince cuts me off. “It was my idea. I had to keep Bree safe, Liv. It’s what you guys hired me for, and that’s what I did. To be fair, I had some of my guys watch your house, just to make sure that—”
Nobody sees it coming, not even Vince. His guard was down, and Tristan manages to land a punch right to his nose, a cracking sound echoing around the living room. Vince broke his nose when the shooter landed a punch, and by the sounds of it, Tristan just broke it again.
“You didn't think we needed to know about that? You son of a bitch!”
Vince centers himself, and when he lifts his head to look at Tristan, blood is running down his face. I swear, I see a hint of a smirk on his face, but it might just be my imagination. “I was doing my job, Tristan. If you can’t understand that, then I’m sorry.”
“Teags, go get some towels and an ice pack,” I tell her, and she nods at me, rushing to the bathroom.
“I understand that, Vince.” Tristan turns his gaze to me. “I just don't understand why all of a sudden you’re keeping secrets from us, Bree. You omitted that detail.”
God, I feel sick. I know I fucked up, but how can I explain it without breaking down? Words don’t come easily to me. I’d rather just keep it all in than have to let everybody know I don't feel like myself, that some days, I wish I wasn't here anymore.
How do you tell the people you love that you wish you could disappear forever? How do I look Tristan and Teags in the eye and say that after they lost their brother how they did ?
I can't. I couldn't do that to them, so burying all of my emotions has been the new normal for me, and it’s worked out just fine until now.
“What happened to our pinky promise, Bree? Did that mean nothing to you?”
Crack. That’s the sound of my heart breaking and slipping onto the floor in front of me.
“Liv, don't,” Teags warns.
“Teags, stop defending her actions. She messed up, and—”
“And she knows that! Everyone needs to stop telling her what she should've done and just listen to her! I’ve seen firsthand how much she’s struggling, and you could all give her a tiny bit of grace. None of us know what she’s going through, and it sucks to be out of the loop, but she’s the one living in this horror right now. Everyone take five and chill the fuck out!” Teags hands me an ice pack and some towels, and I take them over to where Vince is sitting on a kitchen stool.
“Fine. Liv, let’s go outside for a second, okay?” Tristan says, and I hear the sliding door shut a few seconds later.
I all but drag Vince to the bathroom. “How does your nose feel?”
“Broken. Again.”
“Yeah, no shit. My brother packs a hell of a punch,” Teags says as she leans against the door frame. “I’m sorry for tonight. I didn't think it was going to be this heated.”
“Thanks for sticking up for me. I don't deserve a friend like you, and if you want to distance yourself, I’ll understand,” I say as I clean the blood off of Vince’s face.
“If you ever say that to me again, I’ll be the one punching you,” Teags says before she leaves the bathroom.
Vince is silent for a few moments as I fix his face up. It’s comfortable—the quiet air between us. Sometimes, I wish my wounds were this easy to patch up. A band-aid here, some gauze there. But that’s not how it works when the problems are in your head, when your memories are the things that haunt you. All my scars are invisible, unnoticed by the rest of the world. Nobody notices my marks. Nobody can see or feel the battle that goes on in my head every day. And no matter how hard I try, nobody is able to put me back together.
I’m the only one who can, but some days, I wonder if it’s even worth it. Maybe I’m broken beyond repair. Maybe it’s too late for me and there’s no cure. There’s no band-aid that I can put over my brain to make it all stop.
“Bree, I don't know where you got this idea that you don't deserve good people around you, but that stops now. The only reason Tristan and Liv are upset is because they care about you. A lot. I’ve never seen a client's family so passionate about knowing what’s been going on.”
“I know,” I whisper, feeling again like a big fat failure. It seems like everything I do lately has been wrong, and I don't know how to fix any of it. I place a small bandage across Vince’s nose before I clean up the mess I made. “You’re all set.”
“Thanks for taking such good care of me. You’re a natural,” Vince whispers as he gets up, and I follow him out to the living room.
The door opens a few seconds later, and Liv wraps me in a hug. My sleeve gets wet, and I feel even worse for making her cry.
“Go easy on me, okay?”
I feel her nod into my shoulder before she untangles herself from me and sits down, Tristan standing behind her. The four of them are sitting while I stand in front of them, and even though I feel really on the spot, I speak.
“I haven't slept through the night since I found out he was getting out. If I do sleep, I have nightmares so vivid that they haunt me when I’m awake. I don't know how to talk about what I’m going through because my brain can’t even wrap around it. It’s hard for me to put all my feelings into words. I’m not like you, Liv. I can’t just take all my thoughts and make them coherent. It’s fucking hard for me to talk about everything I’ve been and am still going through. I also don't want you to worry about me because I’m doing the best I can.”
Liv sniffles. “I’ll always worry about you, Bree. I’m not wired any other way.”
“I didn't want you guys to be forced into my shit. That’s why I kept it from you. In my mind, if you didn't know, then you were safe from the shitshow that is my life.” I take a small break, my throat burning from the tears I’m holding back. “I have panic attacks a few times a week. I jump when I hear a loud noise I wasn't expecting. I can’t stand to hear people whistle because it all reminds me of that night. Of him. I’m afraid he’s lurking around every corner, waiting to come back and finish what he started.”
I notice my sister is full on crying, Tristan too. Vince has a somber look on his face, even though he knows all this, and Teags even has glassy eyes. Look at what I’m doing to them. Look at the pain I’m causing them.
“I keep waiting for something to get better. I keep waiting for my mind to stop playing all these tricks on me, but it hasn't happened yet. Everyone says that time heals all wounds, that it gets better, but it hasn't for me, at least not yet. I am drowning in my thoughts every waking moment of the day, and it won’t stop. I didn't think anyone would want to stay by my side if threats kept being made, if the media kept publicizing the worst night of my life.”
“Bree, I didn't know it was this bad. If I had known—”
“You didn't know because I didn't want you to. This is on me, not you, Liv.”
“For future reference, we want to know it all. We’re your fucking family. We care about you, and all we want is to help you through the tough moments. Got it?” Tristan asks me.
I shake my head. “You all have your own shit to deal with. I don't want to add to that.”
Liv gets up and grabs my hands where they hang at my side. “Imagine we’re all sitting at the same table. All four of us.”
“Okay.” I don't know where she’s going with this, but I let her continue.
“Four years ago, I put my strength down on the table, and you picked me up. You carried me, and when I collapsed into your arms the day our parents tricked me with that note, you held me up.”
I remember catching her as she sobbed. I had never seen Liv so broken before. She was always stronger than I was, though, and I’d carry her through that again and again if I had to.
“And eventually, I picked my strength back up. Then, Tristan and Teags put theirs down when Tobias died. The two of us are still helping them carry it, but each day, it gets a little lighter, and they can help shoulder some of it on their own. Right?”
Teags nods as Tristan says, “Yes.”
“And then, Vince sat down at our table with us. Yet another person who wants to help carry you when the weight gets too heavy.”
“Damn right, angel.”
I’m sobbing where I stand at the picture my sister is painting.
“You can put some of your strength down, Bree. You never need to ask us to help because we’re already next to you, waiting for you to put it down if it gets too heavy.”
“Because you guys would stay at the table with me. You guys would stay.” I say through my tears. “No more secrets. Consider you guys in the loop at all times.”
“I’ll tell Nico to make a group chat,” Vince says, scrunching his face and turning to Tristan and holding out his hand. “That was a hell of a punch.”
Seriously? “Thanks, man. Are we good?”
Tristan takes his hand and shakes it. “We’re good.”
Liv pulls Teags and I in for a hug, and Teags tries to wiggle her way out of it but eventually succumbs.
For the next three hours, we sit around the kitchen table, laughing as we eat, and that sliver of normal creeps back in, making me feel safer than I have in months. Around this table, there is happiness and light, and I’m not alone anymore.