Page 11 of Almost Ravaged (Men of Evercrisp Orchard #1)

Chapter eleven

Sawyer

“ O ne last stop.”

Atty eases our shared vehicle into the car park of the gas station. Though gas station is a misnomer. The bright-red facility is monstrous.

The journey from Verchamp to Holt, Ohio, took about two hours less than I expected.

Crossing the border so late probably helped.

Along with my hypervigilance. Ensuring we all had our I-20s ready, along with our passports and even financial statements, just in case, made the process smooth and surprisingly speedy.

It’s six a.m. and we’re almost there.

For once in my life, almost feels good. We’re close enough now that I can properly exhale and let the exhaustion from the drive seep in.

Yawning, I eye my phone screen, confirming my location before closing out of the app.

The last few hours of the drive have been dull, so I figured I might as well do some digital housekeeping, including changing my primary location on my go-to hookup apps.

It may take time to adjust to our new home, but I have no intention of cutting down on my favorite stress-relieving activities .

Once Atty has pulled up to a pump, the three of us sit for a breath. In the silence, a heaviness sinks its tenterhooks into me. Judging by the guys’ slumped shoulders, they feel it, too.

It’s not just the hours of traveling and the enervation caused by preparing for this move.

It’s a deep, insidious exhaustion. A dark cloud that has hovered over us for the past three years, so pervasive that it’s soaked into our marrow.

It’s a kind of low that never leaves. It’s a feeling that’s become a permanent part of us.

I shudder, then, squaring my shoulders, reject that line of thinking.

We’ve worked too hard, endured too much. Holt is our fresh start. I refuse to let the heaviness we carry define our lives any longer.

The three of us are a mess of yawns and languid movements as we unbuckle, open our doors, and step into the morning light.

Stretching, I take in our surroundings. There’s a pedestrian bridge across the way, a winding river below it.

This early, with such little traffic, the rush of it can be heard from here.

It’s the Cuyahoga River, according to my research.

A natural border separating the campus of Holt University from the rest of the town.

Tytus groans, raising his arms overhead.

He insisted on taking the back seat after our last stop, claiming he was tired and that I’m better with directions, thus more helpful to Atty.

At six three, he could not have been comfortable, but secretly, I’m thankful.

I tend to get nauseous in the back seat.

He, of course, knows this, but he’d never admit that it was his true reason.

Even in the front seat, nausea plagued me, but the cool air helps calm my stomach. And my nerves.

Though it will likely be hot this afternoon, the air is crisp this morning. It smells different here than back home. There’s an earthy depth to the scent, accentuated by the trees that surround the riverbank.

We’re less than twenty minutes from a national park, according to Holt University’s website, and there are bike and hike trails and multiple farms and orchards in the area.

“You guys want coffee? Or something to eat?” Ty asks.

I roll out my neck and savor the satisfying crack on each side. “No thanks.” The idea of eating has my already queasy stomach twisting.

I just want to check into my dorm, cover the provided mattress with a sheet, and sleep. At least until the guys are due to report to the ice arena this afternoon .

“Get me two Yerba Mates if they’ve got them,” Atty says, squinting at the gas pump.

With a nod, Ty rounds the bumper until he’s close enough to touch me.

I push off the car, ensuring that if he wants to wrap his arms around me, he has access.

It’s unlikely, but that doesn’t stop me from hoping.

He pauses, his hands at his sides, his brows pulled together almost undiscernibly.

Undiscernibly to everyone but me.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his deep voice hoarse.

Everything .

All of this.

All that can never be.

A fresh wave of exhaustion washes over me, though it has nothing to do with travel fatigue.

I wrap my arms around my torso, ignoring the hollowness of my limbs.

We’re here. We made it out. This is a fresh start for all of us. I won’t allow the trauma to seep in and kill off the joy of this moment.

“Nothing,” I chirp, forcing a smile.

Tytus’s eyes harden.

Chin lifted, I scan the gas station, feigning a casualness I haven’t actually experienced in years. It’s easier than allowing him to look too closely, to see too much of my truth.

After a few tense seconds, he gives up.

“I’ll just be a minute.” He walks away, his hands balled into fists, the muscles of his shoulders tense.

With each step he takes, my mask slips further.

Ty pulls the door to the convenience store open, and several young people—students, probably—pour out. He holds it open for them, catching the attention of two girls and one of the guys.

Jealousy prickles up my spine as they gawk.

I have no right to be jealous, nor do I have any personal stakes when it comes to Ty. Even so, it hurts.

A yawn catches me by surprise, and I turn, relieved for the distraction, and stifle it with the back of my hand. Then I circle the front of the car to stand next to Atty .

“You’re going to be wired if you drink two Yerbas,” I inform him. We may be twins, but I tend to take on the role of mother hen. Not just where he’s concerned, but with Ty, too.

He shrugs, one hand still on the nozzle. “Wasn’t planning to sleep before practice anyway.”

“Atty.”

“I’d rather be tired than groggy,” he defends. “Plus, if I nap, there’s a chance I won’t wake up for two days.”

Another yawn catches me off guard. “That, I understand.” I shift from hip to hip, working out the tightness in my low back. “I plan to go with you later. To the ice arena.”

He doesn’t object, but his jaw ticks, a clear sign that he’s holding back his thoughts on the matter.

Whatever.

I’m more at ease when the three of us are together.

There’s no other way to describe it. It’s easier to function, easier to breathe.

I don’t have to pretend quite so hard when Atty and Ty are by my side.

I won’t apologize for wanting to stick close.

Even if that damn jaw tic prods at my anxiety.

I don’t want to be alone anymore. Not after we fought like hell to get here.

Our lives imploded that fateful day in May.

We drove north that night, and for two days, we stayed in a motel.

It was Atty’s idea, and a damn good one.

We’d been gone for hours before the incident.

All it took was a few texts and social media posts to lock in our alibi.

It was easy to sell the story that we were just three kids on a birthday weekend road trip that took them farther from home than originally planned.

With our parents gone, there was no one around to contradict our story.

Investigators eventually tracked us down. None of us had to fake it when they delivered the news, along with their theory.

Mr. Tremblay violently attacked and killed my parents. His motivation was a personal grudge and greed. A few of the guys he worked with down at the yard confirmed he’d been ranting for days about being “owed” an allowance that the provence paid my parents to foster Ty.

We left the gun near my dad’s body when we left the house that day.

We’re damn lucky there wasn’t a more thorough investigation.

No one ever suspected we were there. No one but the three of us will ever know the truth .

We didn’t have access to the house right away. Thankfully Ty was already eighteen and could book a motel for the three of us for a few weeks.

We spent most of that summer in a zombie-like state. We were numb. Hollow. Devastated, with no one else to talk to and no way to begin processing what had happened.

To this day, Atty doesn’t know I pulled the trigger.

It’s my darkest secret, but one I’ve never regretted.

When summer ended, we went our separate ways, sticking to the plans we’d made before our lives fell apart.

I went to school, while the boys played for the Scorpions until the day before Tytus turned twenty-one. That’s the rule: even one game past twenty-one, and a player is ineligible for the NCAA.

After three months off, they’re itching to be back on the ice and part of a team.

Me?

I’m just glad we’re finally together.

We made it. No one here knows our history. The ghosts and the guilt will be quieter.

And the three of us will be together. Regularly. Finally .

For three years, I’ve only seen the boys sporadically.

I’d drive up to visit on occasion, and they’d pop in during rare breaks from games and practice.

They stayed with the same billet family for two years but were separated last year when their original family moved and they were given new placements.

A handful of times a year, when they played near me and my school schedule allowed, we would get special permission from their coach and book a suite at the hotel where the team was staying.

Those weekends were my saving grace. They kept me going and pushed me to stay on track.

Now we’ll be on the same campus, at the same school, and just a few minutes’ walk from each other’s dorms. The relief that knowledge provides has finally allowed my nervous system to regulate, at least a little.

“What?” I goad when Atty stays silent. If he has an opinion about my need to tag along to the ice arena, he might as well get it out of the way now. He won’t change my mind, but it’ll prevent us from getting into it later.

He shakes his head, dismissing the notion, then opens his arms to me in offering .

Relief ripples through me. I practically fall into his embrace, letting him take my weight as I push out a contented sigh.

“I’m glad you’re coming with us,” he murmurs, surprising me. “It’ll feel good to walk into a new rink together. I can’t wait to be back on the ice, knowing you’ve got your nose stuck in a book somewhere in the stands, not paying attention to anything that’s happening around you.”

With a huff, I squeeze him tighter. He’s broader than he’s ever been, his entire body a mass of impenetrable muscle.

“Hold on.” He positions his arms across my mid-back in a familiar hold.

“Oh. Yes please.”

As I exhale, he gently lifts, and my spine pops in several places in the most satisfying way.

Once he’s released me, I groan and tip my head from side to side to crack my neck again.

The gas nozzle clicks to indicate the tank is full. “Do you know how annoying it is that I’m too big for you to lift nowadays?” he bemoans.

It’s a fair complaint. This was a daily routine for us when we were younger and similarly sized.

I snicker. “It’s not my fault you grew into an enormous mass of muscle I can’t lift. If you’re desperate, you could always ask Ty to help.”

“Help with what?” Tytus circles the car, his hands full of beverages.

He passes two yellow cans to Atty, then pockets one for himself.

“Hell no.” Atty cracks one can and fiddles with the tab. “He’s too brutal. I can’t even risk asking him to help me stretch.”

Ty rolls his eyes. “Maybe you’re just too fucking soft.”

With a smile, I squint into the morning light and scan the bridge that will lead us to our final destination. “Can I drive the rest of the way?”

We’ve all put in equal amounts of time behind the wheel, but I want to be the one to cross the bridge and drive under the archway at the esplanade I’ve seen on the school’s website.

“Sure.” Atty twirls the keys on his finger, then drops them into my hand. “Shotgun,” he calls, clapping Tytus on the back as he passes him.

Ty shakes his head, his lips twitching with amusement.

I yank the driver’s side door open, but before I can slip in, warm fingertips brush my forearm, making my breath hitch .

Ty holds out a can and gives me a sheepish shrug. “Here. Figured you might want it later.”

I accept the drink and smile at the label. Vanilla sweet cream cold brew. It used to be my favorite, although not so much anymore.

Still.

It was sweet that he tried.

“Thanks,” I murmur, stashing the drink in my crossbody bag.

Ty doesn’t respond. Instead, he silently grasps the edge of my door, waiting for me to lower myself into the driver’s seat. Once I’m safely inside, he shuts me in, then climbs into the back seat.