That sweet, innocent, tiny human who has already been through so much in his short life.
I’m missing so many things. So much time with him. Watching him grow and explore the world around him over the past two months has passed without me being there. Because I can’t stand to touch him with my tainted hands.
All I see is blood on them.
From the men I killed.
From Liam when he was bleeding out on the barn floor.
I squeeze my eyes closed, willing those images away, and despite being watched so intently by the one woman I don’t want anywhere near me, I bring the bottle to my lips and take a long, hard pull from it, guzzling down the bourbon like it’s water.
It burns going down, but it’s a welcome discomfort compared to what I suffer having to face down the woman standing in front of my cabin.
When I finally reopen my eyes, the first thing I see is Raven’s furrowed brow and those intense eyes judging me.
Because that’s what she does—judge.
She judges everyone on McBride Mountain—their choices, their actions, their lives—and she splashes her gossip about them all over her “community” page as if it’s an expose in The New York fucking Times.
“Get the hell out of here, Raven.”
I can’t be held accountable for what happens if she stays.
Not when I’m in this state.
Not where she’s involved.
RAVEN
Connor is on edge tonight.
A razor-thin edge.
So close to tumbling over it that I can practically see it happening in front of me in real time.
The McBride brothers have always prided themselves on their strength, their resilience, their ability to withstand anything the mountain throws at them. They have protected this beautiful place and our quiet little town from anything and everything that has come. Despite their grumpy attitudes and solitary natures, they’ve done whatever is necessary, without question.
But this Connor McBride isn’t that strong, unshakable man I’ve spent years verbally sparring with. He isn’t the immovable force who never backs down from an argument, who almost seems to get some sick satisfaction from our “matches” and walks away with a fire in his chest.
That isn’t the man in front of me.
His entire body trembles.
He clings to his axe and the bourbon bottle in his hands as if he would crumble if he weren’t holding them.
Maybe he would.
Drowning himself in alcohol has certainly been at the top of his to-do list lately, and from what his brothers have told me, he’s been spending most of the time he is here—and not off gallivanting on the mountain—felling trees all over the property like he needs to destroy something to make himself feel better.
It’s the worst I’ve ever seen him—and that’s really saying something considering the way he’s been acting the last couple months.
Even more reclusive than normal—disappearing for days at a time.
Constantly short with everyone when he is forced to interact.
Always looking like he isn’t one hundred percent present anytime anyone talks to him.
We all had hoped he would turn a corner, that he would somehow find his way out of the black hole he seems to have been living in since the attack on the homestead, but that seems impossible for him. Or at least, it isn’t happening tonight…
