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Maverick
When I push open the door, it bumps into something, and I quickly realize that something is a someone, and that someone is Clover. Less than ten feet away from her is Gabriel, lying on his side on the floor, clutching his knee. A gas can—the metal kind, not the plastic ones you’d use to fill a riding lawn mower—sits on the floor next to her.
It doesn’t take long for me to process the scene. But the thing that sends me into full-blown panic is the blood. Clover’s lip is bleeding, and the sleeve of her pale green cardigan is tinted dark red.
“The fuck?” I drop to my knees, angling my body so I can still see Gabriel, but my focus is on Clover. “What do I do? What can I do?”
Her eyes—wide with mirroring panic—lock on mine. “I’m okay. Outside. Let’s get outside.” She grabs my shoulders.
“You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine,” she assures me. “Grab the gas can.”
I help her to her feet and do as she asks, ushering her outside. The sun has nearly set, so I flick on the porch lights, illuminating the space where BJ and Kody are standing.
“What the hell is going on? Are you okay?” Kody’s gaze darts from Clover to me to Gabriel, who is still on the floor, but working to pick himself up.
I point a finger at him. “Stay the fuck down unless you want a whole pile of broken bones.”
I turn my attention back to Clover. She’s shaking, adrenaline probably coursing through her veins. When she crashes, it’s going to be rough. She has a bruise on her cheek that’s quickly turning dark purple, and there’s a thin trail of blood making its way down her chin. I don’t have anything to wipe it away with, and the sight of it takes me back to the night Lavender got locked in the closet. I try to push those memories down, though, and stay in the present, where I’m needed.
I take her face between my palms. “Sweetheart, can you tell me what happened?”
“He must have followed me here. He said he was going to torch the place. He came at me, and I dropped a bottle of champagne and fell in the glass. It’s all surface wounds. We need to call the police.”
“I already called 911. They’re on the way.” BJ holds up his phone. “Ambulance included.”
“You should sit down,” I tell her.
She nods, and I guide her to one of the chairs. When she’s sitting, I use the hem of my shirt to wipe the blood from her chin and inspect the wound. It doesn’t look serious enough to need stitches.
At the sound of a grunt, I turn to find Gabriel gripping the doorjamb, trying to stay upright.
I move around BJ and Kody, who have formed a barricade between us and him. I grab him by his shirt and slam him against the wood siding. And in that moment, I understand exactly what murderous rage feels like—how a person can be so blind with hatred that they could take a life. “I’ll fucking end you, you son of a bitch.” I slam my fist into his face, once, twice, a third time. Blood gushes from his nose, and his lip splits.
The memories I’ve been fighting come to the surface.
Lavender’s torn dress.
Her bleeding palms.
Her haunted eyes.
My father’s rage.
The way the SUV smelled like gas after that night, and my dad traded it in a week later and got a new one for my mom.
“Mav, that’s enough. You’re gonna do damage you can’t come back from,” BJ says calmly. “The cops are coming; they’ll handle it. You gotta let him go.”
Kody’s arm comes around me, and BJ pries my hands free from Gabriel’s shirt.
As soon as I let Gabriel go, he sinks to the deck, head lolling back, knocked out cold. I glance down at my hands, knuckles split and bloody, not just with mine but his too.
Kody grips my shoulder. “Look at me, Mav. Look at me.”
I meet his gaze and see a haunted expression I’m familiar with echoed back at me. “She’s safe now, and she needs you. Take a breath. Be what she needs.”
I nod once and wipe my hands on the back of my jeans to hide the worst of the damage. Clover reaches out a hand and I take it, dropping to my knees in front of her.
