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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

FREYA

It feels like it’s been years since I left Ryder Ranch, even though it’s only been a week.

I wake up disoriented. It takes everything I have to drag myself through the morning. Aiden and Ryland snap at me in the distance, but I respond only insofar as I have to and keep to myself. Bittern is doing something up on the north end of the farm. I don’t know what, but it keeps him occupied.

They go into town on the fourth day. Bittern says something about how they have a meeting with Deacon. Hearing his name feels like a little stab below my ribs.

I think, if I just went to see him, it might help. But deep down, I know that if I go to Ryder Ranch, I’ll never come home. He won’t let me go back to living under Aiden’s roof after what happened the night of the fight. I’m surprised Deacon hasn’t come knocking on the door, except he has to know that will only make things worse for me.

I watch the sunrise while the men get ready. They come downstairs in their good shirts. Apparently, Aiden has a hotshot lawyer now, someone from the city. Ryland gives me a slow stare as I wipe down the countertops and load the dishwasher, but he doesn’t speak. Everyone but Aiden goes outside. He’s upstairs, his boots moving back and forth.

The kitchen is spotless. I take off my apron and hang it up.

Aiden’s boots come down the stairs. He pauses in the doorway, his coat over his arm.

“We’ll be back by dinner,” he says. “We’ll have the McClaines with us, and Mitch Silvers, the man from city government, so make sure you can feed them all.”

I nod, not meeting his eyes.

He clears his throat. “You’ve been going somewhere.”

I freeze, staring down at my hands on the countertop. They’re worn, a scar on the back from catching myself on a nail as a child. I shake my head.

“You’re not going to Tracy’s,” he says, voice curling.

My teeth cut into the tip of my tongue.

He takes a step into the kitchen, leaning in the doorway. “Just know if you drag your ass back here pregnant, you’re out,” he says. “You’re lucky I let you stay here now.”

My cheeks burn. “I pay rent,” I whisper.

I should have stayed quiet. I know better, but my tongue got the best of me. His boots come closer until he’s right beside me. I glance up and freeze.

My body wants to shut down. My brain knows what he’s like and it’s trying to protect me. Aiden’s first wife was his high school sweetheart. She had three babies by him before she turned twenty. Then, she tried to divorce him, and he put a gun to her head and told her to leave the boys and run.

So, she ran. I hope she’s so happy now. I hope she found someone who loves her, who only speaks softly.

My mother did the same thing, but she had the disadvantage of being very young while Aiden was older. He knew she’d developed a drug problem. There was no chance in hell she could take his children. So, she left too.

Bittern saw her obituary in the paper a few months later. She couldn’t keep the needle out of her arm after all the mental abuse Aiden put her through. When I was nine, Bittern told me. I don’t remember crying because I’d never had hope she’d come back. I never had hope that someone would step in and save me.

Until now.

My mind goes back to when I ran into the woods, when I wished the rain and the forest would carry my words all the way to Deacon. Maybe Aiden’s first wife had a man like that waiting on the other side.

Maybe I should trust that Deacon could be that man.

“I know your type,” he says, voice low. “I married your type. Twice.”

My breath catches. My pulse is racing.

“But you wouldn’t know,” he says, voice caged between his teeth. “Because she left you. Not just me. She left you too.”

Anger flows through me, clear like water. My fingers dig into the counter and my mouth is dust dry.

“She left you.”

The words force themselves out before I can clench my jaw. I glance up at him and freeze. His dark eyes fix on me without expression. His mouth is set. The longer I look, the more I realize I can read a single emotion on the edges of his face—triumph.

He wants me to talk back, wants an excuse.

I hunker down. He lifts his hand and flicks me, across the cheekbone to my earlobe. It’s not hard enough to do damage, but it’s enough to sting. I wince, my hand going to my face. It’s been a while since he’s done that.

“You’re lucky you have Bittern,” he says softly. “Because I would throw you out tonight if he wasn’t pleading your goddamn case.”

My eyes flutter shut. If he touches me again, I don’t want to see it. Into my mind’s eyes comes the memory of being a little girl. Bittern knew Aiden didn’t like me. He’s not brave enough for full defiance, but he was kind to me when we were alone. He’d knock on the barn door while I was cleaning out the chicken coop, tears overflowing my eyes from whatever Aiden said to me earlier.

“Hey, Frey,” he’d say. “I found you one of them beetles you like. ”

A tear slips out. I know Aiden can see it, but he’ll be angrier if I wipe it.

“Jesus,” he says.

His boots fade away. I force my eyes open as the truck revs outside and gravel crackles until it fades away. I wipe my face now that it’s safe and slowly climb the stairs.

My clothes are laid out on the bed. I wash and braid my wet hair down my back. I have to go to work for a few hours. Tracy’s expecting a little crowd because it’s the last day of the fall festival in Knifley. She’s stopping to pick me up in thirty minutes.

I pat my face with cold water until the pink is gone. My face is pale, my bright blue eyes taking it up.

The same color as the lingerie he bought me.

I turn my head back and forth. I’ve stood in front of the drug store makeup and wondered what I’d look like wearing some, but it always seemed like such a frivolous purchase.

It’s not like anybody ever taught me how to use it anyway.

I tear myself away from the mirror. It’s chilly out, with fall finally settling in. I put my leggings under my skirt and tuck in my sweater. Under my boots, I’m wearing woolen socks. Then, I head downstairs just as I hear Tracy laying on her truck’s horn.

It’s a pleasant day at work. We chat, fill orders, and clean up the shop before locking up. Tracy and I get a deep fried pie from one of the vendors, and she takes me home, dropping me at the end of the drive. I eat while I walk to the house and hope the men aren’t home yet.

They aren’t. I go straight to taking food out of the fridge and heating up the oven. The kitchen is warm, even though frost has started making patterns on the windows. I make the same meal I made the first time because it seemed like it went over well with the McClaines. The last thing I want is Aiden complaining.

Trucks pull up the drive. Men’s voices fill the chilly air.

The door opens and Ryland comes in, followed by Kasey and Elijah. Bittern is talking with Mitch Silvers, the older gentleman from the city council. Aiden comes in at their heels with a group of men as loud and rough as he is. My stomach is a pit. I didn’t realize there were going to be more of them.

There’s enough food. I just don’t like strange men in the house, especially in groups.

I should be used to it by now, but the last several months in Montana, with just Aiden and my stepbrothers in the house, made me too comfortable.

They fill the house with chaos. Loud voices. Laughter. Jokes that make my stomach turn even though I’ve heard them all before.

My mouth tastes bitter.

Nobody says anything to me. I fill all ten plates around the table and go into the kitchen to have my plate. Thankfully, Aiden doesn’t pursue me and demand I eat with our guests.

My heart hurts. More than anything in the world, I want to go home.

The problem is, I don’t know where that is anymore.

The wind is picking up outside. I slip through the side door and stand on the edge of the porch. Gusts of chilly air tease my skirt and hair. I look up and see the dark strands swirl before my eyes. I wish I could fly with them, up and up.

Floating into space, home to the stars.

A hot tear escapes. My lips part.

“Come find me.”

The words tumble out, a little whisper, and the wind takes them with hungry hands and carries them away—up over the roof and the chimney, up over the hills and the dark mountains.

All the way to him.

If I could go back, I would be a brave little girl who went out into the world like the heroines from my books. I’d have taken Bittern’s hand before he had a chance to go into the mines and we’d have run. Surely, there’s somewhere in the world where we could have been safe.

Maybe if I had run, Bittern wouldn’t cough. Maybe he would have a wife who loved me like a sister and babies for me to hold.

Maybe is a heavy word .

It haunts me.

A leaf blows over my face, and I catch it in my fingers. It feels heavier than usual, so I turn it over. Inside is a silk cocoon. I know buried in the soft depths is a little insect, waiting for the spring to come. The wind picks up again, and I step out into the yard and lift the leaf.

The next gust takes it. It tugs that little life into the sky, and I hope with everything I have that it goes to a better place.

Inside, the house glows gold. The voices in the dining room remind me I have to face them. Nobody is going to drop from the sky and save me.

There’s just harsh reality.

And a future I can’t differentiate from my past.

Heavy as lead, I drag myself into the house. The men are up and heading to the front porch to smoke. Head down, I clean the table and wipe everything down. The dishwasher is humming and everything smells of cleaner when I’m finished. I hang up my apron and go upstairs.

My room is so quiet. I slip my boots off and turn on the little light over my desk.

My collection glitters. The natural jewelry of the wings and shells gleams. My heart hurts less as I sink down on my chair and lift the lids.

I don’t touch anything. It’s not preserved correctly since I don’t have the money for the right materials, so the little wings and legs are so fragile. One wrong move, and they’ll be dust.

Boots sound on the stairs below me. They’re moving fast, like they know where they’re going.

My heart patters on my tongue.

They come down the hall. By the long stride with the slight hitch, I know they belong to Aiden. He walks like Deacon, but somehow, not like Deacon at all. Maybe because I’m not scared when I hear Deacon’s boots ring out on the floor.

I have a half second to jump to my feet and turn before the door is shoved open .

He’s not drunk, but he’s not sober. In the shadows, his face is so harsh. His eyes are shadowed, but there’s a glitter to them that makes me want to curl up and cover my head.

“You fucking liar,” he drawls.

I take a step back. Aiden has never hit me, not really. He’ll clip my ear, throw things past me, hit the wall behind my head. He’s never beat me, but I’d be shocked if he never put his hands on his wives.

I’m not so sure he won’t now.

“I—don’t know what you mean?” I stammer.

He strides closer. I back up against the chair.

“You went to Ryder Ranch,” he says. “You traitor. You little fucking whore.”

The fear tastes sharp in the back of my throat, but worse is having him here, in my sanctuary. He’s big, everything I’ve spent my life trying to shut out, yet here he is, angry and frightening in my doorway. I can’t even run because he’s blocking my only exit.

“I didn’t,” I whisper.

A muscle in his jaw ripples.

“Elijah saw you,” he says. “His property is right up by the Ryder Ranch property line.”

“I was just walking.” I can barely get the words out.

He surges forward, bending over me. The back of the chair cuts into the center of my spine.

“On his horse? On Deacon Ryder’s fucking horse, with him? You were just walking, huh?”

Those words put the nails right in my coffin. I put my palm up, trying to push him back. His hand comes up, shoving me so hard, I fall to the ground with a hard thump. My elbow takes the brunt of the fall. Shocked, I roll to my side, and Aiden towers over me.

“You fucking whore,” he seethes. “You’re just like her, nothing but a drain on me and my money. You don’t do anything but fuck around with these…all this shit.”

I see his arm rise. The entire world slows.

He picks up the case of butterflies and brings it down hard. I lurch forward, but he’s too quick. My hands close on air, and the case splinters. Of course it does. I made it from milk crates and plastic sheeting. The fragile wood disintegrates as it hits the back of the chair, and a shower of jewels fly up and fill the air.

Little wings.

Rainbow shells.

Velvet antennas.

All the pieces of my heart. I hear my own scream. It sounds like somebody dying, like raw anguish.

He snatches up the case with the beetles and throws it down hard. Frozen, I watch it burst into a million pieces. His boot comes down, grinding, and my beloved beetles are nothing but dust.

I can’t stop screaming, it just pours out of me like I’m possessed, all years and years of pain and hurt I can’t hold back anymore.

Dropping to my knees, I start frantically trying to take the fragments back. My nails scrape at the wood, grabbing at the biggest pieces. Everything is so fragile from not being stored properly that the minute it hit the chair, the parts of each insect exploded. My floor is a mess under Aiden’s boots, all dust and carnage.

He picks up the last case. I see it for a second, in the air. My hand goes up, trying to take it back. The corner of his lip curls. His forehead is flushed, a vein pumping through it.

“No.” The word falls from my lips.

He throws it hard against the wall, and it shatters. Then, he turns and heads for the hall, stopping in the doorway to look back.

In the center of the room, everything falls like snow.

Little wings, so delicate they could belong to fairies, flutter to the ground in a soft flurry around me. I catch one in my hand, staring down at it.

This is all I have. All I’ve ever had. It was beautiful, and it never hurt anybody.

And he took it from me.

Rage floods my veins. My vision goes red, and I scramble to my feet.

“I hate you.” The words burst out in a feral scream. “It’s no fucking wonder they left you, you horrible, awful man. ”

His eyes blaze. I’ve never stood up to him before.

“Talk to me like that, girl, and I’ll snap your neck.”

“Do it,” I scream, my voice breaking from the force. “You fucking kill me, Aiden Hatfield. It’s better than living with you and watching Bittern die from black lung because you can’t spend the fucking land money on your son.”

It all pours out of me, everything I’ve kept dammed up. I hope it hurts, hope it stabs right into what’s left of his heart.

Distantly, I become aware of boots pouring up the stairs. They’re like thunder rolling over the hills. Bittern bursts into the room and sees me, my fists full of smashed wings.

There’s a second of shocked silence. Then, he turns on Aiden.

“You go,” he says, voice low. His brow is knotted.

“Get back,” Aiden roars, shoving his chest.

Bittern snaps. His head goes down, and he barrels into Aiden, headbutting him through the doorway and into the hallway wall so hard, the house shudders. The voices downstairs fall silent. I rush to the doorway and see Ryland on the far end, clearly unsure what to do as his father and brother fall to the floor, limbs flying, cursing under their breath.

“Ryland,” I gasp. “Please do something.”

He’s staring at them, frozen. Two big bodies push past him—the McClaine brothers—and dive onto the hall floor. It takes a second, but they get them pulled apart. Seeing Aiden panting, hair messed, with a bruise on his face seems to snap Ryland into action.

“Get them downstairs,” he says.

For a second there, Ryland looks like a bullied child, but then the hard angles in his face, the ones he inherited from his father, come back in full force.

“You,” he says, turning on me. “You stay in your room.”

Cowed, I stumble through my doorway. He shuts the door, and I hear something get dragged close and jammed against it. Probably a chair from one of the other bedrooms. Then, all the boots make their way downstairs.

I sink back down my hands and knees .

My heart is in pieces all over the floor. Every good memory I have was tied to these little insects, butterflies, and moths. I kept every beetle Bittern brought me. I glance over and my stomach twists.

The Polyphemus Moth that Deacon gave me is crushed, nothing left but one of the golden and black eyes from its underwing.

Sickness passes through me like a wave.

I used to pity Aiden. He was all fucked up when Wayland died. I remember standing there in the kitchen, watching him outside. We had a beehive when I was little, but a late frost took all the bees. Aiden stood by the empty hive with his hands in his pockets for an hour. There were no bees to hear the news of Wayland’s death. So, it just sat on him, like sickness.

But then, Bittern came back haunted. At first, we had no means to help him. Aiden got him medicine, but it didn’t fix him. Sometimes, I think it made him worse off. He sat on the porch with a cigarette hanging from his lips and the light gone from his eyes.

When Aiden sold the land, I thought he would try to fix Bittern, but he didn’t. He was too eaten up with anger, and Bittern never played along, he never joined in when Aiden railed against my mother. He always looked out the window and kept his mouth shut. Wayland and Ryland were mean like Aiden, reflected him back. But Bittern never did.

The older I got, the meaner Aiden became.

It’s my fault for looking like her, for rubbing his face in it every single day. But my face isn’t something I can change.

Mouth dry and body aching with grief, I pick up every single wing and put them back into what’s left of the box. It feels like my lifeline is weakening. Maybe I’ll just put my things in a bag and run until the hills of Montana are nothing but a smear in the distance.

Maybe I have to accept that Bittern can’t be saved.

The problem is, tonight, he saved me.

It’s hard to sort through the dust when my tears keep falling on it and turning it into paste. I do my best, putting everything into piles. All the pins I used to hold the exoskeletons down are put into my sewing kit. There’s a little brush in my closet I use for dusting. With it, I clean the floorboards and all the cracks in between.

Then, heartbroken, I go to bed. Tomorrow is another spin in the cycle. One thing I can always count on is the silent day after Aiden has a violent meltdown. Everyone will sit for breakfast, bruises on display, and act like nothing happened.

No one will acknowledge the carnage, so it’ll just keep going.

Rinse, repeat.