Chapter 25
Turner
I stare down at the phone in my hand, and then flick my gaze across the room to Gunner, who’s sitting a few feet away.
He’s watching me carefully, as if somehow, he’s been put in charge of ensuring I follow through.
I run my tongue along my bottom lip. It would sure as shit be easier had I just went to the barn and done what I originally intended to do.
‘Please get help.’ I hear Em’s voice in my head. It’s been nearly a month since she left. I haven’t paid any attention to the news, but no one has shown up here to search my property or arrest me. I haven’t heard word on anything at all. It’s as if everything just went right back to the way it was…
Everything but me.
I rake my hands over my face and set the phone down on the desk, standing to my feet.
As I do, I peer out the window, spotting the mailman dropping by my mailbox.
I might be detached from the world, but I swear I still get shitty junk mail like everyone else.
I slip out of the room, Gunner hot on my heels.
Thundering down the stairs, I head for the front door, stopping to slide on my boots and grab my parka.
“Come on,” I instruct Gunner, heading out the front door.
My heart thrums in my chest as I start down the driveway.
There’s been a couple more snows since she left, and if I had to guess, the search for her ex-boyfriend has been suspended until the thaw later this spring.
I take a deep breath, shoving my hands in my pocket.
Maybe I should’ve tried to make things work with her.
I frown at the thought. As much as I want that to have been a possibility, I know it’s not.
I spent ten years living in a daze of violence…
Two weeks with Em can’t heal years of trauma.
It doesn’t work that way, and I’m not the kind of man who’s going to pretend that it does.
I need to reach out to someone who understands—and I haven’t done it yet.
I’m letting you down, Em.
My boots crunch in the snow as I make it to the gate, I fish out the key, unlock it, and slip through. Gunner waits for me on the other side while I flip the lid open. I fish out a handful of envelopes, and then stand there sifting through it. It’s all junk…
Until I reach the bottom envelope.
Turner is the only thing scrawled on it. I stare at it, my heart flip-flopping in my chest. I glance around, wondering if she did it or if someone else drove out here. I rip it open to see a lame Christmas card. Sighing, I flip it open.
Turner,
I know you’ve made up your mind, and that’s fine.
I get it. I’d never expect you to jump back into society, and I’m sorry I made you feel that way.
But I meant what I said. I love you, and I would’ve happily stood by your side through everything.
I hope you find happiness, and if you ever change your mind…
I’ll be here.
Love,
Em
There’s a phone number scrawled at the bottom, and I zone out on the numbers for a few long moments, while my head tortures me with the flashbacks of her in my bed.
It’s hard enough living without her, and now my mind has shifted to reminding me of just how miserable that loss is.
I shove the card in my pocket, and then slip back through the gate, shutting and locking it. I no longer dummy lock it anymore.
I don’t want someone showing up here again.
I make the trek back to the house, stopping to dump the rest of the mail into the steel barrel I’ll burn later.
I then climb the porch steps and stomp the snow off the bottom of my boots.
I cast my eyes out across the snowy woods, my chest aching as I take in desolation—the same that I found so much fucking comfort in for years.
Now, I’m just reminded constantly that there’s someone out there, outside of these walls, that cares.
Gunner lets out a whine at the door, breaking my thoughts. I spin on my heels and head inside for the evening, slipping off my shoes and locking the door behind me. I pull the card from my jacket as I hang it up on the rack, and head back up the stairs.
I glance down at her words again. I’m so fucking sorry, Em.
I wish I could be stable enough for you.
I ascend the stairs back to the room, where the fully charged phone sits there, with four bars of service.
I unlock it, and type in Em’s number. My thumb hovers over the green call button, my heart in my ears.
I could just ask how she’s doing now. See if she’d want to keep in touch by phone. But the knot in my stomach is the answer. It’d never be enough. I want to be there for her in the way she deserves.
I erase the number, but I don’t set the phone down. Navigating to the contacts, I scroll to the one person who might still be willing to help me—and be able to handle me. Biting down on my bottom lip, I press the call button, hoping like hell he hasn’t changed his phone number.
“Hello?” A deep, achingly familiar voice answers.
“Hey, I don’t know… I don’t know if you remember—”
“Martin,” Bradford breathes out. “You really think I’d forget you?”
“Well, I guess not,” I chuckle, fighting the way my chest is tightening. “I did try to hurt—”
“Water under the bridge,” he cuts me off again. “I haven’t heard from you in eleven years, Martin. How are you? Are you getting by?”
I swallow hard. “Uh, no. Not really. You ever get out?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, I got out a while ago, kid. Where have you been?”
“The cabin,” I answer him, flatly. “But I need to talk to you… I need some help.”
He’s silent for a few moments. “I’ll be there tomorrow.” With that, the line goes dead, and I’m left with the phone still resting against my cheek in a stupor. I slowly pull it away, unsure if I did the right thing.
I set the phone down on the desk, and then wait.
Gunner lets out a bark at daybreak, and I peer through the window, spotting a black truck, pulling up outside of my gate. Pulse throbbing in my temple, I head out into the cold morning to the gate. I unlock it, as the driver’s side door opens.
I’m staring my past right in the fucking face.
“You don’t look well,” Bradford comments, his eyes studying me beneath a black cowboy hat as he climbs out, leaving the gate between us. He’s every bit as fit as ever, and even though he’s got a few years on me, I wouldn’t fight him. I’ve tried.
And I didn’t win.
“You and I both know I haven’t been well in years,” I level with him, swinging the gate open. “But some things have happened, and I don’t think I can keep going like this.”
He purses his lips and blows out a sharp breath, the silver and black facial hair lining his jaw a new feature. “I don’t know how you managed to keep this up for as long as you did. I’ve kept an eye on you.”
“Not too close.” My jaw ticks. “Otherwise, you’d probably have the cops with you.”
“Nah, I don’t want ‘em around anymore than you do.” With that, he climbs back into his truck and pulls into my driveway. I close the gate, dummy locking it—just in case he needs to get out.
My hands sweat as I walk around to the passenger door, opening it and climbing inside. I stare down at my hands as we ride in silence to the cabin, where Gunner sits quietly on the front porch, watching us.
We exit then and I start to sweat even worse beneath my coat.
I wipe my hands down my jeans, noticing Bradford watching me carefully.
He stops on the front porch, giving Gunner a pat on the head before reaching into his denim sherpa pocket and pulling out a carton of cigarettes.
He lights one up and holds out the box to me.
“I don’t smoke anymore,” I tell him, rocking back on my heels. I’m anticipating the urge for violence to wash over me at any moment, but it doesn’t. All I can think about is Em—and if I’ll be writing her a fucking letter from prison.
“With all the bodies you got buried around here, you probably should,” Bradford chuckles. He takes a long draw and then puffs out a cloud of smoke. “Why didn’t you call me after you killed Thomas?”
My head starts to feel light. “How do you know?”
He eyes me. “I told you, I’ve been keeping an eye on you, waiting for you to give me a call. I could use a guy like you. I can help you get healthy up here.” He taps his temple. “You’ve been out playing risky behavior. You don’t have to do that. I have contracts.”
“I can’t handle a real job.”
“Good, I don’t have a real job for you. I’ve got a solution to a longstanding problem you seem to have. It’s up to you on whether or not you accept my help, but I can help you return to a new kind of normal—if that’s what you want.”
“I can’t control the blackouts,” I reason, unsure of what he means. “I only killed when someone showed up here… Or if I have a blackout.”
“Yeah, I can help you with that. Give me the rest of the year to work with you, and I guarantee, you’ll be good as new.”
My heart jumps to my throat, thinking of Em. “Good enough to have a wife or some shit?”
Bradford laughs. “Sure. Have a few kids, too.”
I take a deep breath. “I have no idea what this entails, but deal.”