Page 49 of Duress (Birch Falls #3)

DANE

S even days, one very lengthy phone call to my mom reassuring her I am fine and that she doesn’t need to come over and cook for me again , and more unanswered calls and texts to Everly than I care to admit to, I am stir-crazy enough to leave my apartment.

The pain from my stab wound is down to a dull ache, and thanks to the hearty food and iron supplements Mom has been forcing me to consume, I finally feel strong enough to venture out on my own.

Serena has been my only connection to what is happening with Everly and the investigation.

She has assured me that it doesn’t look like anyone is going to press charges against Everly and that she’s probably keeping her distance until that is certain, but that doesn’t change the fact that it feels like she’s absconded with a piece of my heart.

I’ve spent the last few days playing out the conversation I want to have with her in my head.

I want her to know that I don’t think any of this is her fault, and I don’t blame her for keeping Bryce’s secret.

After seeing my mom’s carefully constructed facade of being okay come crumbling down again, I have no doubt that knowing Bryce was the reason for her husband’s death would have been more than she could bear.

She resisted my suggestion to call her therapist at first, throwing herself into caring for me, to the detriment of her own well-being.

It wasn’t until I caught her sleeping in her car after she supposedly left my place, exhaustion from grief finally overcoming her, that I got her to agree to call and make an appointment.

I brought her back into my apartment and held her while she cried for the son she thought she knew.

It was difficult, watching her heartbreak all over again in real time, and as much as I hate Bryce for what he did, I can’t begrudge my mother from mourning him.

She doesn’t know how twisted and black his soul really was.

As far as she is concerned, Bryce became possessive and jealous over Everly and thought she was cheating on him, and he was more like his father than any of us realized.

Letting Brian’s fucked up genes take the blame for what went wrong with Bryce is a kindness I am granting to my mother—it has nothing to do with protecting his legacy.

But I have to talk to Everly. There is an urgent need inside me to let her know she doesn’t have to hate herself for what she did and to make sure she doesn’t try to sacrifice herself to balance some moral scale. I want her to know we can just let him go and move on with our lives.

I swipe my car keys off the hook by the front door and open it, finding it as gloomy and bleak outside as it is inside my mind.

Heavy gray clouds hang in the sky, looming over the trees, threatening to unleash a torrential downpour at any moment.

I hesitate, wondering if this is an ominous sign I should heed, but the ache in my chest is worse than the one in my side now, and I have to do something about it.

When I pull up in front of her house, there is a Coming Soon sign from a local realtor swaying gently in the breeze in the front yard.

The police caution tape that was up during the investigation is gone.

There is no sign of the bloody confrontation that happened in this quiet, gated community.

My skin prickles at the thought that maybe Everly has left me completely.

That she chose to run away from me. From us.

I park my car in their obnoxious circular driveway and jog up to the front door, pounding it with my fist. The wound in my side protests at the vigorous movement, but I ignore it.

My heart is hammering in my chest, fear that I’m going to find an empty house and no Everly sending me into a panic.

Please be here . I send up a silent prayer, hoping I haven’t missed my chance to let her know how I feel.

An intolerable amount of time passes before I hear footsteps on the other side of the door.

“Everly!” I pound on the door again, relishing in the pain as I hit it harder than I should with my fist. The pain is a momentary distraction from the anxiety building inside of me.

That foreboding sense of being too late is thrumming through every synapse.

Pressing my forehead to the door, I plead with her again. “It’s Dane, Ever. Please open the door. We need to talk.”

There is quiet shuffling on the other side of the door.

Furtive movements like she’s struggling with what to do.

Then I hear a soft sigh and the turn of the deadbolt.

When the door swings open, there she stands, fragile and broken.

Her hair has been cut short, in an asymmetric bob that shows off the angry, red gash on her scalp.

Her face is pale and eyes bloodshot. From tears or lack of sleep, I have no idea.

Her body is covered completely in a chunky sweater with an oversized collar but I can see splotches of purple, green and yellow marring the creamy skin of her neck, and it sends a fresh wave of hatred toward my brother coursing through me.

He did this. He broke her, and I have to fix it.

“Dane, why are you here?” Her voice is soft. Timid. She glances past me to the driveway, like she’s worried someone will see us. Her body language is closed off, and I can tell I’m going to have an uphill battle getting her to listen to me.

“We need to talk. Can I come in?” As much as every instinct in my body is screaming to go to her and pull her into my arms, I hold back.

I will not be like my brother. I will not take away her choices or manipulate her.

I watch as she bites nervously on her bottom lip, considering my request before slowly nodding and stepping aside to let me in.

Entering the foyer, I see cardboard boxes against the wall. The smell of bleach and cleaning products is thick in the air. I guess that means the crime scene cleanup crew has been out here already .

She watches me as I cast my eyes around the space, taking in the bare walls that used to hold framed photos of her and Bryce, documenting their make believe fairy-tale romance.

“You’re moving?” The question is painfully dumb based on how obvious the answer is, but I’m not sure how to begin now that I have her in front of me.

The connection that flowed between us the last time we made love, tethering my soul to hers, feels brittle and fragile.

I’m afraid if I say the wrong thing it will shatter into a million pieces, causing me to lose her forever.

“I can’t stay here. Not after everything.

This life was built on lies. I don’t want it.

” She turns, leading me to the living room where open boxes sit, half packed with a myriad of books and pictures, waiting to be filled.

I follow her like a puppy, unable to be apart from her for one second.

The bleach smell is strongest at the bottom of the stairs as we pass them, the only sign that this is where Bryce died.

“Where are you going to go?”

“I don’t know yet. My friend Ana has a guest house, so I’m going to stay with her until this house sells.

Then…I’m not sure. I just know I can’t stand to be in this house any longer.

It was never mine to begin with. This house was Bryce’s dream.

I thought it was mine too, but now that he’s gone I don’t feel like I belong here.

” She turns to face me, her lips set in a thin, determined line. “Why are you here, Dane?”

“I’ve been trying to get in touch with you, but you haven’t been returning my calls.” I reach out to grab her hand, but she steps back, out of my reach.

“My lawyer advised me it would be a good idea for us to keep our distance until the case is officially closed.” She averts her eyes when she says those words, and I have a feeling it’s more her idea than her lawyer’s. That realization stabs me in the heart.

“Does she know? About us?” Everly shakes her head, causing the longer half of her hair to shift, curtaining one of her eyes. She bites her bottom lip again, and I can see where she’s worried it so much it looks chapped and raw.

“No. I told her he wanted me to convince you to help him with a case and he became paranoid that we were having an affair behind his back, but I haven’t told her the full truth.

She just thought it would be a good idea for us to not give the police any reason to pull on that thread and look deeper.

If…if you want to tell her everything , you can.

I won’t deny it. I meant what I said that night.

I will take the blame for hiding the truth of Jake’s?—”

I cut her off with a kiss. It’s gentle, barely more than a brush of my lips against hers, but it does the trick. She lets out a soft gasp and looks at me with bewilderment dancing in her hazel eyes.

“Listen to me, Everly.” I cup her face in my hands, directing her gaze to my face so she can’t hide from what I’m about to say.

I will not leave without telling her how I feel.

If she can’t be with me after that, I’ll accept it, but I have to let her know.

I won’t let her linger in this hellish purgatory full of guilt and self-loathing. Not when I know her heart is so good .

“I forgive you.” Her lower lip trembles at those words, so I press on, making sure I make myself abundantly clear.

“I forgive you. I understand why you didn’t say anything. I know you were trying to do what you thought was right. Bryce is the one I hate. Not you. Never you.”

Tears shimmer in her eyes as she lets my words sink in. It takes a long, long moment for them to seep through the layers of remorse, shame, and culpability I know she’s buried herself in. She tries to look away, but I hold her face firmly, making her hold my gaze.

“I love you. I know we have some epic, fucked up baggage we are going to have to work through, but you’re it for me, Everly, and I need you to know that.

I don’t blame you. You’re a victim of his fucked up manipulation.

Do not let Bryce’s darkness diminish the light inside of you, Everly.

” Silent tears trickle down her cheek, and I brush them away with my thumb.

I see the shadows that have been haunting her flicker and fade out as the tears come pouring out of her, cleansing what I hope is the last of the guilt burdening her soul.

I wrap Everly in my arms, clutching her delicately to my chest, letting her pour her grief into me, praying this is the moment we can begin again anew.