Chapter Thirty-Two - Chapter Thirty-One
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Chapter Thirty-One
THE LAST FEW days felt like a whirlwind of emotions, a storm I could barely keep under control. Accepting what happened was one thing, but convincing Dad not to call the police was another battle entirely. The hardest part was calming him down, making him see that calling the cops would only bring more pain—especially to Jarrod. The man responsible was dead; justice had been served, albeit in a way the law wouldn’t acknowledge. I wasn’t about to let Jarrod pay the price for something he didn’t deserve.
After hours of heated discussions, Dad finally relented, though not without a condition. “He and I are having a talk,” he’d said, his voice gruff with determination. “A long one.”
But there was one problem. Three days had passed, and I hadn’t seen Jarrod. Not since that night. He sent me a text after the kidnapping, asking for three days. “I need some time, and I’ll pick you up on the morning of the third day, and we’ll talk,” he’d written. I agreed, desperate to see him, to figure us out. I knew he loved me; I’d seen it in his eyes that horrible night.
Today was that day.
I paced the living room, nerves fraying with each step. Ellie played nearby; her giggles so different from the anxiety twisting in my gut. Dad watched me, his concern palpable. “Don’t forget to remind Jarrod we need to talk,” he said, his tone carrying a weight that made my chest tighten.
“I won’t,” I promised, grabbing my purse as I heard the rumble of his motorcycle outside. My heart skipped a beat as I rushed out the door.
Jarrod sat on his bike, his gaze fixed on me, his expression unreadable. The air between us crackled with unspoken words, the weight of the past days hanging heavy. “You ready?” he asked, his voice steady, though I could sense the underlying tension.
“Yeah.” I took the helmet he offered, and as I climbed on behind him, I couldn’t help but wrap my arms around his waist a little tighter than usual, silently begging for the connection we both needed. He lifted my hand, pressing a kiss to it, a silent promise before he revved the engine and we sped off.
As the familiar scenery blurred past, my mind raced. I knew where we were heading—Coopers Rock. A place that held memories, both sweet and bittersweet. My heart pounded as we turned onto the dirt path, the trees closing in around us like sentinels guarding our secrets.
He killed the engine and we coasted to a stop. The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating. Jarrod got off the bike first, offering his hand to help me down. His touch was warm, but there was an edge to it, something that made my stomach churn with fear. Was he going to end this?
End us?
“Come on,” he said, his voice soft yet commanding. “I want to show you something.”
The same words he’d used weeks ago, here, in this very spot. My heart ached with the memory as I followed him down the path to the overlook. The view was breathtaking as always, but I barely noticed. All I could think about was him.
“Close your eyes,” he instructed, his tone gentle. “Don’t open them until I tell you.”
I hesitated, my mind whirling with possibilities, but I did as he asked. The world went dark, and I focused on the sound of him moving around, the anticipation building until it was almost unbearable.
“Okay, open your eyes.”
I blinked, my breath catching in my throat as I took in the sight before me. On a bed of flowers, resting on the rock, was a beautiful music box, and next to it, a property vest—the same one the club women wore. Tears welled in my eyes as I reached for the box, my fingers trembling.
“Jarrod,” I whispered, overwhelmed by the intricate design. The top of the box was painted with an antique music box, but what stole my breath was the couple dancing on it—their faces were ours. The detail was stunning, almost lifelike. The sides of the box were adorned with replicas of my tattoos, each one a representation of the people and things I loved most.
“Open it,” Jarrod whispered, his breath warm against my ear as he wrapped his arms around my waist.
My hands shook as I lifted the lid, expecting music. Instead, Jarrod’s voice filled the air. Madeline, this box holds my love for you. Every time you open it, you’ll be reminded of that love, of what you mean to me. I love you, Madeline.
I was speechless, tears streaming down my face. But then I saw it—a ring, nestled on a tiny velvet pillow. My heart stopped as Jarrod’s words wrapped around me like a warm embrace.
“Will you marry me, Madeline?” he asked, his voice trembling with emotion as he held me tighter, his lips brushing against my neck.
“Yes,” I breathed, no hesitation, only certainty. I carefully lifted the ring from the box, my hand still shaking.
“Here, let me,” Jarrod said, taking the ring and sliding it onto my finger. The moment it was in place, he pulled me into a kiss, full of passion and relief. “Fuck, that stressed me out,” he admitted with a shaky laugh. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you said no.”
“The box is so beautiful,” I murmured, laying my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “I can’t believe you did this.”
“I had some help,” he chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Bethany and Aislynn did all the artwork. They kept assuring me you wouldn’t think it was corny as shit.”
“It’s perfect,” I whispered, feeling the weight of his love in every detail.
“I have one more thing to show you,” he said, pulling back slightly and lifting his shirt.
I gasped, my fingers trembling as they touched the fresh tattoo over his heart. It was the same design as on the music box, but now it was part of him, part of us. “It’s beautiful.”
“There’s still more color to be added,” he said, his voice laced with hope. “I thought... maybe... your next tattoo could be the same.”
“I love you, Jarrod Warner,” I vowed, pulling him close, sealing the promise with a kiss.
“I LOVE YOU too, Madeline,” I replied, taking her hand and leading her toward the rock where it all began, where I knew I loved her.
The cool breeze whispered through the trees, carrying with it the scent of pine and earth, grounding me in this moment. I needed to clear the air, to make sure nothing stood between us anymore. “I want to explain everything to you. Clear the air so we don’t have anything left between us.”
“Jarrod, you don’t have to,” she said, sitting beside me, her eyes soft but serious. “The past...”
“No,” I interrupted gently, shaking my head. “It’s important for you to understand. I hurt you, and you didn’t deserve that. You deserve an explanation.”
She took my hand, her fingers warm and reassuring against my skin. “Okay,” she murmured, her voice steady. “I’m listening.”
I looked at her, really looked at her, and felt a pang of disbelief that this incredible, beautiful woman was here, with me, despite everything. The sunlight filtered through the trees, casting a golden light around her, framing her just like the angel I knew her to be. She deserved the truth, every part of it, and more than that, she deserved an apology.
So, I began to talk, my voice low and earnest as I laid everything bare. We spent the next hour on that rock, the world around us fading as I unraveled the knots of my past. The words spilled out—my mistakes, my regrets, the guilt that had been carrying for years. I told her about Kezia, about how I cheated on her, how the weight of that betrayal had haunted me. And as I spoke, the tightness in my chest began to ease, like a heavy burden being lifted, piece by piece.
Madeline listened without interruption, her gaze never wavering. Her silence wasn’t empty—it was filled with understanding, compassion, and a strength that I loved about her. By the time I finished, I felt like I could finally breathe again, like a dark cloud that had been hanging over me had finally dissipated.
“You can’t change the past, Jarrod,” she said softly, her arms wrapping around me as she pulled me close. Her touch was warm, comforting, and I leaned into it, letting the last remnants of guilt slip away. “But you need to forgive yourself. Guilt changes nothing, and that energy should be put into finding her killer and stopping him from hurting anyone else.”
Her words resonated deep within me, and I nodded, feeling a resolve solidify in my chest. “I’m for sure gonna try,” I said, my voice firm. “I’ve already talked with the Rafferty brothers. It won’t be easy after so many years. Adam hurt our chances by staying silent.”
The thought of Adam and his betrayal still burned, but I pushed it aside for now. I stood, pulling Madeline up with me, the movement fluid and natural, like we were two parts of a whole. “We better head back so I can have that talk with your dad. And then, I can spend the night doing what I’ve been craving for weeks now.”
She laughed, the sound bright and clear in the quiet of the woods, and it made something in me loosen, a tension I hadn’t even realized I was holding. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “My dad is tough, and you may not walk away able to do anything.”
I grinned, the warmth of her laughter seeping into me, banishing the last of the shadows. “I’m ready for whatever he throws at me,” I said, pulling her close for a kiss. The taste of her, sweet and familiar, was a reminder of everything I had to fight for—everything I’d almost lost but was determined to keep.
“WE UNDERSTAND EACH other?” Chris demanded, his voice a low growl as he fixed his steely gaze on me. There was no mistaking the seriousness in his tone. “You ever hurt Madeline or Ellie, and I’ll make what you guys do at that club look like a walk in a sunny park.”
Holy fuck. This guy wasn’t messing around. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, a silent promise I knew he’d keep. He’d grilled me for an hour, his questions sharp and relentless, each one probing deeper into my intentions. Madeline wasn’t kidding—her dad was a badass through and through, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he’d make good on his threat if I ever crossed the line.
“I love your daughter,” I said, my voice steady, though my heart pounded in my chest. “And I’ll treat Ellie like my own. I’d die before ever hurting them,” I swore, feeling the truth of my words resonate deep in my bones. For a moment, I held my breath as Chris’s piercing eyes bore into me, as if he could see straight into my soul, weighing every word, every intention.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his eyes softened. “I believe you,” he said, his voice gentler now, though no less firm. “And you have my blessing.”
Relief washed over me as I shook his hand, the tension in my shoulders easing. But just as I stood to leave, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, seeing Trish’s name on the screen. I answered, ready to tell her my news, but her panicked voice cut me off. “Mom is threatening to kill herself, and I need you over here now. I don’t know what to do.”
A cold dread settled in my gut. “I’m coming,” I said, hanging up the phone, my mind already racing.
Chris, who had been watching me closely, immediately caught on. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice sharp with concern.
“My mom’s an alcoholic,” I explained, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “Sometimes she has these episodes where she tries to hurt herself. I need to get over there and help talk her down.”
Without hesitation, Chris said, “Take me.” He glanced at Madeline, who had just come back into the room with Ellie in her arms. “We can take the van. I can help you with her. You can tell me about her history on the way over.”
“Here are the keys,” Madeline said, her voice steady as she handed them to me. But I could see the worry in her eyes, the way her fingers trembled slightly as she passed the keys. Chris and Madeline exchanged a look, one of mutual understanding, before we headed out the door. His expression was set, determined, and for the first time, I felt a sliver of hope that maybe—just maybe—things could get better.
On the way over, I filled Chris in on everything—how my mom had spiraled into alcoholism after the way dad treated her, how she’d battled her demons alone for so long that they’d nearly consumed her. It should have felt strange, spilling all this personal history to him, but it didn’t. Chris listened intently, his eyes thoughtful, and there was something in his demeanor that made me feel like I wasn’t alone in this, that he genuinely cared.
When we pulled up to the house, Danny was waiting outside, his face pale with worry. He gave Chris an odd look but didn’t question his presence. “Trish can’t seem to talk her down this time,” he hurried to explain as we approached the door. “I’ve never seen her like this.”
Inside, I could hear Trish’s desperate pleas, her voice cracking with emotion as she begged our mom to listen. But Mom’s refusal was loud and clear, her tone flat, defeated. My heart clenched at the sound. Shit, she was still my mom, and I loved her.
I started to go in, but Chris stopped me with a firm hand on my arm. “Let me handle this,” he said, his voice calm but commanding. “Sometimes it takes a stranger to make a difference, someone who understands what they’re feeling.”
Reluctantly, I nodded, and Danny and I helped Chris inside. We signaled for Trish to come out, leaving them alone in the room, but we stayed close, just out of sight, where we could see, listening, ready to step in if things got out of hand.
Chris wheeled his chair in front of the couch where Mom sat, a bottle in one hand, a gun in the other. The sight of her like that—a shell of the woman she used to be—ripped at my heart. Her face was a mask of defeat, etched with years of self-inflicted pain and neglect.
“Who the hell are you?” Mom spat, her voice slurred, her eyes narrowing in confusion as she looked at Chris.
“My name’s Chris,” he said evenly, his gaze steady as he took her in, assessing the situation with a calm intensity. “Why are you doing this to yourself, Anna?”
“What do you care?” she hissed, throwing the bottle across the room, the glass shattering against the wall. Her grip tightened on the gun, and for a split second, fear coursed through me. “You some psychiatrist or something?”
“No, Anna,” he replied, his voice bitter with the weight of his own memories. “I’m someone who knows what it’s like to not want to be part of this world anymore. I’ve been to a place so dark I never thought I’d see light again.”
“You don’t know shit about what I’ve been through,” she shot back, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t have anything to stick around for.”
“You’re pathetic,” Chris said, his voice suddenly harsh, and my jaw dropped in shock. I hadn’t expected that. “You have kids who love you, grandkids if you’d sober up enough to get to know them. Instead, you’re drinking yourself to death over a man who didn’t deserve you in the first place, letting the beautiful woman you once were fade into nothing but a skeleton of pity. Even in death, you’re letting that asshole hurt you.”
“You don’t understand—” she started, but Chris cut her off with a sharp motion, his hand slashing through the air.
“I don’t understand?” he snarled, his voice raw with emotion. He ripped off the blanket covering his lap, revealing the scars of his own battle. “Do you know what it’s like waking up to find you have no legs, coming home to discover your wife didn’t love you enough to stay with a fucking cripple? To know that you’ll never feel the love, the touch of a woman because they can’t stand to look past your waist. Every time you go outside to be looked at with pity from everyone who looks your way. To see a woman like you kill herself over some worthless piece of shit, when there are men like me waiting to be noticed.”
He wheeled closer to her, the raw power of his words pinning her in place. “I wanted to die, Anna. But I couldn’t, because my mother reminded me every day that I had her and my daughter, and they needed me.”
“I... I,” she stuttered, her defenses crumbling, the gun slipping from her grasp as the weight of his words crashed over her.
“Your children love you, Anna,” Chris continued, his tone softening as he reached out and took her trembling hand. “That beautiful woman is still there, beneath all the abuse and neglect. It’s not too late.”
The silence that followed was thick, almost sacred, as if we were witnessing something too private, too intimate to be shared. Mom stared at him, her eyes searching his face, and in that moment, something shifted. The hopelessness that had gripped her for so long began to loosen its hold.
“Will you help me?” she whispered, her voice small, vulnerable. “Be there for me?”
“Every step of the way,” Chris promised, squeezing her hand, a silent vow passing between them.