Page 22 of The Locksmith’s Promise (The Promise Duet #1)

Pierced

B axter

It wasn’t until the next night, after Corwin went to bed and the final credits rolled on our movie, that I told Maggie about Jenny’s text.

Sitting on the couch with her feet in my lap, the TV near soundless in the background, I absorbed the jerk of her body when my words hit home.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I muttered, my failures and sins weighing on me heavily. “But I don’t want to keep things from you.”

She stared down into her hot chocolate and drummed her fingers on the side of her mug. Face drawn, she finally looked up at me. “Maybe you should talk to her.”

I drew back, my eyebrows rising as my hand clamped around her ankle. “What?”

Sadness in her eyes, she pressed her lips together and nodded before repeating herself.

My head dropped. “I just want to move on. Why can’t we all just move on?” I clipped, exasperated.

“You’re running from the past,” she murmured.

I pointed at the window, my eyes wide and incredulous. “Am I not here? Believe me when I tell you, there’s no running from the past in Moose Lake. Just because I don’t want to deal with drama from an old girlfriend doesn’t mean I’m running.”

She winced at the term I immediately regretted using, but then she tipped that stubborn chin up as her eyes held mine. “What are you afraid of?”

I blinked.

What was I afraid of?

That I’d lose Maggie.

That I’d done something so reprehensible as cheat on her.

That Jenny witnessed whatever happened to my back.

That the story was so much worse than I’d convinced myself it was.

My mind slammed shut.

“Maggie,” I rasped. “I don’t want to know more than I do.”

She yanked her feet out of my lap, set her mug down, and crawled across the couch. Kneeling beside me, she splayed her hand over my racing heart. “What can it hurt?”

I huffed out a rough laugh then shook my head and looked away. “Maggie, things can always get worse.”

“Or they might be better,” she suggested hopefully. “Maybe you didn’t do what you think you did. Maybe Jenny can explain what happened.”

I pulled her into my arms and squeezed my eyes shut.

I’d dealt with all of this.

I didn’t want to live in the past.

“Please, Bax.”

Her plea pierced me.

And revealed a deeper wound.

I inhaled deeply, sending the arrow ever deeper.

This wasn’t about me running from the past.

It was about Maggie, unable to let it go without knowing what happened.

And what would she do if it turned out to be the worst? Would she run again? Take Corwin with her?

I nodded slowly, struggling not to lash out as the walls closed around me. “I’ll think about it.”

I was still mulling things over the next day when I walked out of the general store with my arms full of supplies for a job I landed refinishing a basement.

It was the best kind of job because the house was vacant until the end of the month which gave me all kinds of flexibility.

Juggling to pull my keys from my pocket, I didn’t notice my father’s work truck parked in the spot beside mine until I was right beside it.

He loved that thing and kept it in mint condition. It was the only thing he cared about.

My heart burst from my chest at the sight of that hated license plate, the rush of blood filling my ears like the waves of a stormy sea.

I took two steps back, my head swiveling on my neck to look for him before I remembered he was very much dead.

And I shouldn’t be seeing his truck anywhere.

“Stepping into the old man’s shoes, hm?”

My gaze shot up and met the bloodshot eyes of my father’s old drinking buddy, Vince. Lip curling with distaste, I snarled, “I fucking hope not.”

“Watch your mouth,” he growled back. “You don’t know what it’s like to raise a kid. You’ve been a father for what? A day and a half?” he sneered. “Wait until that kid turns thirteen. If he’s anything like you were, he’ll be out of control. Then let’s see how you handle it.”

Fear and fury spun together, irrevocably mixed, and lacerated my insides at the stark, unavoidable, reminder of my father slapping me in the face around every corner.

My back stung.

“Yeah, well, I won’t fucking tie him to a chair and burn the shit out of his back.”

The blurry edges of a memory that could easily have been a bad dream roared in my ears and shocked me into silence.

No.

I saw Vince’s mouth moving but couldn’t make sense of his words.

Shame and sheer force of will carried me to my truck, opened the door, and got me inside without dumping my purchases.

I slid the key into the ignition and skid out onto the street.

Half of me reached for the scrap of memory while the other half slashed it to ribbons with the serrated edge of my grief until it lay in unidentifiable slivers on the floor of my trembling psyche.

“You’re a grown man, not a child. And he can’t hurt you anymore,” I chanted.

My heart rate slowed to normal, but the sick feeling in my stomach persevered.

I worked long into the evening hours, breaking only once to send Maggie a quick text to let her know I wouldn’t be by the house tonight.

Then I shut off my phone and began taping the drywall I’d spent the afternoon hanging.

When my back refused to do any more, I cleaned up and locked the door behind me.

The night whispered my secrets, urging me to run while I still could, but I forced myself to breathe deep and walk sedately to my truck. Sitting with my hands on the steering wheel, I willed my heart rate to steady before backing out of the driveway.

But instead of turning toward home, I headed in the opposite direction.

Cursing myself for a fool, I pulled up to the curb and shut off the engine. After mulling over my options for another five minutes, I got out and trudged up the driveway to the front door.

I’d barely knocked when it swung open.

“Bax?”

“Hey.”

“You alright?”

I shook my head. “Can I stay here?”

“Of course.” Miller backed up and let me in. “You want a beer?”

“Coffee,” I grunted.

“I’ll get you some clothes and you can jump in the shower first.”

I followed him up the stairs, noting the door to the master bedroom quietly snicking shut as we passed.

Heat creeped up my neck. “Sorry about disturbing your family so late.”

He shook his head. “You’re not a disturbance.”

Tossing me a clean towel, t-shirt, and sweats from the hall closet, he headed for the stairs. “I’ll see you down there.”

I paused and turned to track his retreat. “You keep your clothes in the hall closet?”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Maxine. That woman’s got more clothes than she knows what to do with.”

I grinned and huffed out a laugh. “Is that what I have to look forward to?”

He smirked. “Only if you’re really fucking lucky.”

Luck.

The one thing that had forever been in short supply.

I closed the bathroom door and spun the tap to hot before stripping down and stepping under the spray.

The sensation of being preyed upon eased as the hot water pounded the back of my neck and eased the tense and aching muscles of my shoulders.

I scrubbed my hands over my face and fought the rage boiling inside me.

I’d been running from that bastard since I was eleven years old, seeking shelter at friends’ houses when things got particularly bad, sleeping with one eye open and a chair propped against the door of my bedroom the rest of the time.

The fucker was dead, and I was still running.

I wasn’t eleven years old anymore and I still didn’t want to go home.

Unwilling to sleep another night with my back pressed against the wall and one eye on the door.

A phantom pain, a blistering heat, a whimpered protest.

It teased the edges of my brain, never fully formed, and the horror rising inside me assured me it never would.

Something happened.

It was bad.

But it wasn’t my bad. Of that, I was almost positive.

Tipping my head back, I let the water run over my face.

A baptism.

Washing away a shame that wasn’t fucking mine.

Rubbing the rough terrycloth over my limbs drummed a bit of life back into me and reassured me of who and where I was.

Pulling Miller’s clothes on reminded me of far too many times past. I held his shirt up to my nose, remembering now as I had then the luxury of freshly laundered clothing.

I tossed my towel into the hamper and padded down the stairs to the kitchen.

Miller sat at the table, his thick fingers closed around the handle of a heavy mug.

In front of him rested a plate piled high with buttered toast, the cure for any ailment according to Miller’s mother.

Tears stung my eyes.

“She’d love to see you, Bax. She hasn’t pushed, but she’s asking for you all the time.”

I nodded tightly. “I’ll get around to see her soon.”

When I sat down across from him and rested my elbows on the table, he slid a mug of steaming coffee toward me.

I raised the mug to my lips, the tremor in my hand betraying my nerves, then met his eyes. “Something happened that night, Miller. But I can’t go back there.”