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“He’s worried, Haven.”
“I didn’t ask him to be.” It was a bitchy response, but I was struggling to find a way out of this. If Crisis told Ream, there was no way he’d leave. I crossed my arms over my chest and softened my voice as I said, “You’ll do more harm than good.”
“Not so sure about that,” he muttered and ran his hand through his wet hair. Some of the strands were drying and were a lighter blond than the damp ones. There was no question, Crisis was good-looking and I saw why he effortlessly acquired chicks on the few occasions I’d been out with everyone socially—socially used liberally because I was far from social. He had a self-assured attitude that girls gravitated to.
He gave a single nod. “Okay.”
My brows lowered, suspicious as to why he’d given in so easily. “Okay?”
He strode toward me and I braced, arms dropping to my sides and raising my chin. “Yeah.” He kept coming until he was inches away, his breath wafting across my face with a hint of mint. “I won’t tell him about tonight.”
I tensed ready for it. My stomach churned as I realized that Crisis was like all the rest. He wanted payment for his silence.
“If we go on tour, and that’s a big if, you’re going to promise to call him every day. And no more running in fuckin’ thunderstorms. Jesus.” He ran his hand through his damp hair again and a few strands stayed back while others fell forward again and dangled in front of his eyes.
I hadn’t expected that. I expected what all men wanted. Besides, who was I? I may be Ream’s twin sister, but really I was just a girl who showed up in their lives several months ago who barely spoke to any one of them.
“And I’m texting you. When I do, I expect a reply.”
My brows lifted. “You?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
“Because I know what you’re doing here, Haven. I knew Ream after you were separated and he was seriously fucked up. He hid, just like you’re doing. Music gave him an outlet and I suspect that is what you’re doing with the running, but he didn’t risk his life.” He moved a bit closer and my chest brushed against his wet shirt. “You can’t hide from me. I saw it out in the rain and I see it lingering like a shadow on your face right now. You’ve been pretty fuckin’ good at pretending you’re strong and perfectly okay with whatever fucked with you.” He paused. “And maybe our leaving is what you need. I don’t fuckin’ know. But what I do know is that if either of us sense something’s off, we’re back here.” He pushed away from me and the heat from his body went with him. “You will break. One day that cool exterior you’re hiding behind will shatter. It has to. It has nowhere to go. And when it does happen, I intend to be there to help you pick up the pieces.”
I had nothing to say, because he was right. I was a time bomb, ticking slowly and steadily, waiting for another trigger to set me off, one I couldn’t run to bury again. I just didn’t know which way I’d go yet—destruction of myself or destruction of others.
He walked out of the stall and I followed. He stopped to stroke Clifford, who nipped at his wet t-shirt. “You fail to answer one text, I tell Ream what went down here tonight and we’re back and you’re seeing someone.”
“You can’t force me to see someone.”
“You sure about that? Because last time I checked, it was illegal to carry a handgun in Canada.”
Shit.
I narrowed my eyes. “You realize this is blackmail?” Because I’d never give up my gun and Crisis appeared to know that.
The day I showed up at the farm, I had a gun in my hand and I still do. Even with Olaf dead, I wasn’t giving it up. It gave me freedom and I’d never lose that again.
He chuckled. “Baby, you can call it whatever you want, extortion, threat, bribery.” He shrugged. “Bottom line, I get to make sure you stay safe if we go.” He hesitated and the cockiness in his eyes returned. “And to make sure you stay safe, one of our security guys is staying with you. He’ll only report to me.”
Double shit.
“Your brother will be more likely to leave if one of our guys is with you.”
True. Okay, it wasn’t a big deal; I could deal with those terms. “I’m not giving up my gun.”
“Then follow the terms.”
“I thought you were nicer.”
“I am nice. I’m a sweetheart . . . most of the time. I rubbed straw in your hair, that’s nice.” He grinned. I frowned. “But if I asked you nicely to text me, to call Ream, to never run in an open field during a thunderstorm again . . . would you listen?”
Triple shit.
“Didn’t think so.” He grabbed a yellow raincoat from a hook beside the tack room and tossed it to me. “Wear this. It will hide the mud.”
I caught it, the flimsy rubber material crinkling in my hand. “Crisis?”
He opened the barn door and the wind tore inside, causing the lightbulb hanging from the cord to sway back and forth. “Yeah, babe.”
“If he knew . . . it would kill him.” I don’t really know why I said it, maybe because I needed him to get that what happened to me was bad and Ream knowing . . . it would destroy him; I saw my brother brutally kill Gerard after he found out what had been going on.
Now, Olaf was dead too.
I had a slice of peace knowing my brother was happy. I wasn’t taking that away by being that little girl he tried to shield. I had my own shields.
The light illuminated his face for a second as it swung by him then bathed him in darkness again. But I caught a glimpse of that crease between his eyes.
