Chapter 9
Nine
DECK LUNGED FORWARD, gulping in a breath. Darkness engulfed him, save for the moonlight streaking through his window. The storm had cleared, and God’s night-light had returned, or so Riley used to call the moon. How, as a child, she’d held a faith that he only now had . . .
Held it in that war zone. It was beyond him, but she’d always held it. Been a child of light in a world of deep, abysmal darkness.
Raking a hand through his hair, Deck climbed from the bed, placing his feet on the cold floor. He half walked, half hopped to the dresser and slipped on a pair of socks before moving to the window.
An inky sky full of shimmering stars blanketed overhead. He smiled. He’d grab his coat, boots, and a blanket to engage in his second-favorite pastime—stargazing. His first being riding, of course.
He moved with light footfalls down the hall, past Harper’s door, her lights still on. He paused, wondering if he should knock and ask if she needed anything. Needed him. Ha. He wished.
But he didn’t want to disturb her if she’d fallen asleep with the lights on.
The dark circle beneath her left eye—the unbruised one—spoke of her need for sleep, but her reactions and hypervigilance spoke of a restless spirit unable to find the slumber she needed.
Anger burned his chest. Again, whoever had harmed her was dead if he ever got his hands on them.
“Vengeance is mine; I will repay.”
I know, Lord. But have you seen her?
I see her. I am the God who sees.
But she’s hurting. I can’t heal her. Only you can. So, do it, he urged.
Frustration squeezed his muscles. Why did this have to happen? How could you let it?
“My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways.”
I don’t understand, and I want to be angry with you, but I know she needs healing only you can give.
You need healing too.
That may be, but it’s not happening. The scars are mine to carry, not yours.
Everything is mine to carry. Even your scars. I carried them with my own.
Of course God would call him out. But he wasn’t ready to listen. To let go of the need to avenge. Someone hurt Harper. Nearly decimated her, given her trauma he’d witnessed, and he’d bet he hadn’t even seen the half of it. No. If he could fix this, he would. If he could avenge, he would.
Okay. I won’t actually kill anybody. I want to, but I won’t. Okay? He was arguing with the God of the universe like he’d spar with his brother. He was going too far.
I’m sorry, Lord. Forgive me for being so disrespectful.
And?
I’m still not ready to lay down my anger or hurt. He moved down the hall, leaving his nightmare and God behind.
Then something made him turn around. Lights and a soft noise emanated from the den at the end of the hall.
Harper.
His shoulders dropped. He’d so wished she’d found rest.
He opened the den door and found her on the couch watching Leap Year with a Monster drink in hand. No wonder she wasn’t sleeping.
“Hey,” he said from the doorway, and she jumped.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
No, it wasn’t. He hated seeing her afraid, fear in her beautiful eyes. “Can I come in?”
“You don’t have to ask in your own house.” A half smile curled on her lips, then she winced, her hand going to her cut lip.
He shrugged a shoulder. “Just thought you might want some space.”
“I’m good. If you’re not too tired, grab a seat.”
He stepped into the room. “Leap Year, huh? Riley loves that one.”
“It always makes me laugh.”
She wasn’t laughing, but hopefully before the movie was over, she would.
He took a seat in the chair farthest from her, giving her a solid boundary of space, despite the fact he wanted to be sitting on the couch next to her—the image of cuddling racing through his mind.
Cuddling? Seriously? Get your head together, Deck.
He wasn’t a cuddler. And having him close to her was apparently the last thing she needed.
But she’d come here. Stayed with him. She trusted he’d protect her, and he would.
He’d honor that trust and wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Ever again.
If only he could keep her here.
Okay, that sounded creepy. And what was he thinking, anyway? Keep her here. Like, in his life? Like a . . . ? He cut off the thought. Marriage wasn’t for him. It required too much vulnerability.
He wanted to be with her. He loved her. But at that level . . . could he really do that? Be vulnerable? Be there for someone and love her as Christ loved the church? Be her rock, shield, and soft place to fall?
She glanced over at him with that analyzing gaze, and he hoped she couldn’t see through him.
“Do you want some popcorn?” he asked. “I can make us some.”
“No, thanks. I’m good.” She brought her knees to her chest.
“Anything else I can get you? We have a kitchen full of food, thanks to Riley.”
“She takes care of everyone, doesn’t she?” Another half smile.
“Very much.” His nightmare flashed back, sending ripples through his mind. If only he’d taken care of Riley then. Run away with her. Taken her far away—so far their parents could never find them. But that place didn’t exist, apparently, given their father’s visit.
“You okay?” Harper asked.
“Yeah. Fine. Why?” Don’t ask why. You’re opening yourself up, dude.
She shifted, angling to face him. “You just went all tense.”
“All good,” he said, praying she’d leave it at that, and she did. “I’m going to grab some popcorn.”
She nodded.
Standing, he strode to the kitchen and grabbed a bag of popcorn and tossed it into the microwave, then stared out the kitchen window above the sink. The stars called to him. But his nighttime tradition would have to wait until another night.
He pulled the expanded bag of popcorn out of the microwave and paused. The rumble of a car’s motor hummed down the lane. He peered into the darkness and leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the driveway. No headlights but definitely a motor growling.
He dropped the bag on the counter and strode to the den. “I’m just going to check on something. I’ll be right back.”
“Is—”
He turned and moved to the front door with long strides, avoiding having to answer Harper’s question, doubtless regarding whether everything was all right.
He couldn’t lie to the lady, but he couldn’t reassure her either until he knew what was going on.
He slipped on his boots by the door, grabbed his jacket off the coatrack, and then lifted his rifle from behind it.
Cutting the porch lights, he stepped outside.
He waited until the door was shut behind him—out of Harper’s earshot—to call Christian.
“Unwanted visitor,” he clipped.
Christian bolted up the lane leading from his house within seconds, slipping his arms into his jacket as he made his way to Deck’s side.
They stood still, listening, the purr of an engine nearly upon them but still no headlights. They moved off the darkened porch, striding parallel to the road, along the trees lining it.
Deck paused, movement catching his eye. A dark SUV headed for them. His chest tightened.
Was their dad back? Trying to yank them into some game?
He glanced across the lane to where Christian was positioned behind a hay bale. He couldn’t see his brother—his form hidden—but Christian no doubt wondered the same thing.
The car inched in front of Deck. Two men sat inside. Had his father brought someone with him, or had he led his followers to them? Adrenaline seared his limbs.
He cocked his gun slow and easy, lined the rifle up, and peered through the scope. The passenger was not his father. Too tall. A dark beard. He shifted the scope to the driver but could only see his hands on the wheel with the passenger’s body in the way.
A low whinny sounded from the horses’ pen to Christian’s three o’clock.
The driver shifted, coming into view. Also not his father.
Was Big Max looking for their dad or keeping an eye on them?