I’m always on alert, waiting for the sound of a twig snapping in the thick blanket of the forest, the rustle of clothes or footsteps, anything that would alert me that someone is on our land who shouldn’t be.
There hasn’t been a single night since the attack that I have been able to sit out here, or even lie in my own bed, without listening for it, without wondering if there will be another assault, without worrying that the Lorells will renege on their agreement with the federal government and us and reappear with another hit squad to finish what they started.
A shiver rolls through me, and I lift my glass to my lips and down another few gulps of bourbon to try to calm the growing unease. The spicy liquor burns on its way down, and that far too familiar warmth fills my stomach.
God only knows how much I’ve drank tonight trying to keep myself on the level.
I stopped keeping track months ago.
Aside from recognizing there are far too many empty bottles in my recycling, I don’t have a fucking clue how much I down. All I do know is it’s been far too much.
But it’s the only thing that remotely helps quiet the voices in my head. That helps control the shaking in my hand. That even temporarily calms the brutal pounding of my heart in my rib cage the anxiety brings and eases the pain of every breath that I draw into my lungs.
It’s so much worse down here.
After only a handful of days back, I’m already itching to go up the mountain again…
I squeeze my eyes closed and listen, but all I hear is the soft rustle of leaves in the late-night breeze, the crack and pop of the logs in the fire, and the scurrying of animals along the forest floor.
Normal sounds.
I try to force myself to relax.
Slow, deep breaths. Long exhales. Visualizing the releasing of the tension in my back and shoulders. Each muscle giving way?—
Then my ears catch it, and I tilt my head to the side, listening more intently.
Footsteps.
Whoever is approaching isn’t trying to hide it.
It isn’t anyone trying to sneak up on me, but that’s almost worse. Because Killian is back from his work beyond the gorge, and that means the reprieve I was granted the last few days will soon evaporate.
Shit.
But these steps are light, which means it can only be one of two people on the homestead—Willow or Lucky—and they’re coming from the direction of my older brother’s cabin.
I open my eyes to find my dark-haired sister-in-law approaching, wrapped in a blanket against the chill of the evening.
She offers me a tight smile and settles into the chair next to me. “Hi.”
There’s so much in that single word.
A thousand questions that I’m not sure I can answer, nor do I want to.
I’ve been avoiding her and she knows it, but there’s a very real reason for it.
Willow has always been able to get under my skin in a way no one else can.
She’s too sweet.
Too innocent despite everything she’s suffered.
The need to protect her and the life she and Killian have with Niall is what drove me to take action that night. To take those lives. To permanently taint my soul. Defending this place and the people I love on it were all I could think about when I should have been considering the consequences.
“I would ask how you’re doing, but…” She trails off, and I glance over to find her looking at the glass in my hand. “I know you don’t want to talk, but will you listen?”
Every fiber of my being wants me to push up to my feet and stalk away, to head back into those woods to disappear again, to allow this world and all the bloody, brutal memories the homestead holds to vanish behind me, but I can’t do that to Willow.
