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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

FREYA

I’m on my knees, a cardboard box at my side. Glass litters the floor in the kitchen. The blue willow plate Bittern said belonged to my mother, the only thing of value I’ve owned, is smashed. It wasn’t enough to drop it, so it had to be ground to nothing.

A tear hangs off my chin. I keep my head down, being mindful not to cut myself on the glass.

There’s a step in the hall. I look up to find Ryland leaning in the doorway.

“Are you making breakfast?” he asks.

He looks hungover. There’s a heavy darkness in his eyes, blue shadows beneath. He’s in a pair of beat up sweats, no shirt, and the bruises Deacon left on him are in full view. They make me wince.

“Yeah, in one second,” I say, forcing my voice into that low, sweet tone that keeps me safe.

He stares at me, only to snort and leave. The sound of his steps are quickly replaced by the shuffling walk I know to be Bittern. He appears around the corner. I get up quickly, edging closer so I can get a look at his face. It doesn’t look bad, and a faint black eye is all I see.

“You alright?” I ask .

He nods, his eyes unfocused. “Gonna have a smoke.”

I hear his voice catch, the guttural sound of his lungs dying echoing in my ears.

“Bittern,” I blurt out.

He stops, looking up. Another tear seeps out.

“Don’t,” I whisper.

He swallows. He’s in his sweats too, his undershirt stained. Slowly, he runs a hand over his face and lets out a sigh.

“I’m fucked already,” he says.

All at once, it’s too much. The smashed kitchen, the rattle of Bittern’s chest, the venom in Ryland’s eyes, the unspoken fear of when Aiden will wake up. The house closes in around me, squashing me until I’m heaving for a breath.

I turn, my boots crunching on the glass, and burst out the side door. Bittern follows. I feel him hover over my body as I sink down on the stoop.

“Hey, Frey, don’t worry about me,” he says, almost sheepishly.

I wipe my face with my palm. “How can I not?” I whisper. “Aiden shouldn’t be buying land out here with all that money. He should be sending you to the doctor. We shouldn’t even be here, Bittern.”

He’s quiet. I look over my shoulder, and he’s squinting out over the hills. The mountains sprawl out, the same ones in the far off distance that I can see from Deacon’s bedroom. I turn back around and close my eyes, squeezing them shut.

I want to go back to Ryder Ranch.

But I’m so afraid.

I’m paralyzed that, under everything, Deacon’s the same kind of man I swore I’d never touch. And yet, I think it’s slowly dawning on me that he’s not. He’s only ever touched me gently. He listens to me, he holds me, he says all the words I want to hear.

I want to trust him.

And yet…if I do, I’m trusting that, in twenty years, I won’t have a daughter who sits on her back porch, biting back tears.

It’s all happening so fast, I’m struggling to process how I feel about Deacon after the last few conversations we’ve had. But something changed when he came to get me. I saw the stark difference between him and Aiden. Now, I have to grapple with my misjudgment and wonder if there’s a path forward.

He thinks there is—that’s clear. I might not think I’m his woman, but he thinks he’s my man.

Bittern clears his throat, jerking me out of my thoughts. “You want me to clean up the kitchen?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No, I’ll do it and make breakfast before Aiden gets up.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Bittern says.

I push myself to my feet, looking up at him. “What?”

“Aiden doesn’t hate you,” he says, not looking me in the eye. “He hates her, and you look just like her, you know. I don’t know if anybody ever told you that, but you look just like your mama.”

I know this, but today, the unfairness of it all hits deep. I can barely nod my head before dropping it to hide my frustrated tears.

He walks down the steps and goes past me. I see him digging in his pockets, but he left the cigarettes on the porch railing. Quick as a flash, I go and grab them, pushing them in my pocket.

“I’ll let you have one after breakfast,” I say.

He sighs. I go inside and get back on my knees and pick up every damn piece of glass and porcelain. When everything is in a bucket and hauled to the trash, I sweep so I don’t wake Aiden and mop until the floor sparkles. Then, I put everything back together, load the dishwasher, and set the table. By the time Ryland walks back through the front door, the bacon is done, and I’m finishing up the eggs.

Bittern comes in and leans in the side door. He looks down a lot. I think it started when he worked in the mines.

He used to be so easy-going and happy. Now, he doesn’t look above anybody’s shoes. Deacon was right in saying he’s thirty and he should be able to take care of himself, but he doesn’t understand Bittern like I do. He doesn’t know that Bittern is gentle and that life was brutal to him .

I want him to live, but I’m scared because I think he’s just waiting to die.

“I’m gonna go wash up,” I say.

Bittern nods. Ryland walks past me without a word and starts washing his hands in the kitchen sink. I bite my tongue and leave, going up the back stairwell to my room.

Everything is as I left it. Nobody bothers to come in here, thank goodness. I run my fingertips over my glass cases. The sunlight catches the earthy orange of the monarch's wings, the swallowtail’s brilliant yellow and black.

This is my jewelry box, my most prized possession. The little part of the world where my heart is happy.

My beetles are some of my favorite. I have two rare beetles here, one I could probably sell for a little bit of money. But they’re so pretty, and they’re all I have to show for my twenty-two years on this Earth. I think if I ever sold them, it would tear a piece of my heart out.

The floor creaks downstairs. I shake myself and wash up, braiding my hair and putting on a sweater and skirt. I don’t have my belt. It’s with Deacon now.

I hope he’ll return it.

I take a second to look myself over. I’m neat and modest, wearing the armor that gets me through the day. I tuck my hair behind my ear, turn my lights off, and close the door to my sanctuary.

Downstairs, Aiden, Ryland, and Bittern sit at the table. They’re talking, but when I start filling their plates, they go quiet. Aiden leans back, spreading his knees with his boots planted.

I glance over as I take my seat near the end, on the other side of Bittern. Aiden’s eyes are on me, but I can’t read them.

“Where’d you go?” he asks.

I keep my eyes on the table. “To Tracy’s.”

He takes a sip of his coffee. Ryland starts eating and Bittern does the same. There’s a long silence. My nose starts running, and I can’t keep from sniffing.

“God, girl, just eat your fucking food,” Aiden snaps .

When I was little, I learned quickly that crying in front of Aiden didn’t soften him. It only makes him angrier, so I taught myself to take a breath and hold it until I couldn’t physically cry to avoid getting in trouble.

For some reason, my body betrays me today. A tear slips from my lashes and etches hot down my cheek. I swipe it away fast, but he sees it.

“Get out,” he says, voice soft.

I haven’t eaten since last night, but hunger is preferable to this. I stand and flee the kitchen. As I go, I hear Bittern say something. It takes me a moment to work out what.

“Don’t make Freya cry,” he says, voice rough.

My chest aches. I hurry back upstairs and shut my door. Then, I think better of it, because I don’t want to run the risk of Aiden walking in and entrapping me. He’s never done that before, but it’s a fear that lurks in the back of my mind.

I take my jacket and go outside. Chickens scatter as I go across the yard to the woods. I don’t want to run back to Deacon. I need time to think about him. I can’t leave Bittern.

But I can’t stay in that suffocating house.

My heart aches for a place to run from my problems. I need the soft arms of the Appalachian Mountains to rest in, the sheltering trees, the forests dappled with sunlight.

For the first time, when I think of home, the vision doesn’t stop there. It morphs into the dark living room of Deacon’s house. In my mind’s eye, I’m lying on the couch on my side, watching snow drift past the window. My cheek is against the rough fabric of Deacon’s work pants over his thigh.

His hands stroke my hair.

For a split second, I long for that with everything I have. A fantasy where I can put all my trust in him. Where there isn’t a voice in the back of my head telling me he could be just like Aiden, I just don’t know it yet.

The clouds scud over the sky, thickening the further I go from the farm. I’m at the edge of the forest when the rain hits. I’m so tired of rain at this point. I huddle in the roots of the Ponderosa Pines and wrap my arms around my knees.

I turn up my face. The rain etches down it.

I ran from Deacon because I was afraid of him, but now, I’m so afraid of being just another turn in a vicious, endless cycle. Now, I need him. I want him not just to save me, but to silence my doubt about him.

“Come find me,” I whisper.

For a second, I imagine the wind takes my voice, that my words ride the storm through the woods, down the hills, across the fence line, carried by some benevolent forest spirit, all the way to him.