"Well, when I get up early before the sun comes up, I make myself a coffee and then go sit on the back steps." She looks toward the back door. "It’s pretty amazing to see the sky go from dark to a soft gray, then slowly to a soft purple. Then hitting the trees, making it a light green, right before it turns the whole sky yellow."
"You see the beauty in everything," I say before I can take it back.
"I’m going to grab my coffee and sit outside," she tells me, "and I’m going to do this before you say something that pisses me off." She turns, and I watch her walk out the back door. The robe sways side to side as she walks.
"Fuck," I hiss out, walking over to the door and walking outside. The damp, cold air hits me right away. She doesn’t turn her head back to look at me, and it hurts just a touch.
I slowly bend to sit next to her and wince when I finally get to sitting. I don’t say anything to her as we sit side by side. I look up at the sky, and I see the darkness slowly turn colors. It’s exactly how she said it looked. "You were right," I say, lifting the cup of coffee to my lips. "It really is beautiful." She looks over at me, and my head turns to look at her even though I tell myself not to. The soft blue of her eyes hits me in the stomach as if she just punched me. The breeze blows her hair ever so gently. "It’s not the only thing that is beautiful," I tell her and just watch how her mouth opens just a touch. We are lost at this moment, and I feel the pull to her stronger than anything I’ve ever felt.
"Mayson," she says my name so softly, our faces are moving toward each other. I can taste her lips on mine. When the snap of branches fills the quiet air, my head flies around toward where the noise was coming from. My eyes move around the backyard, and my training kicks in.
The dense trees all the way in the back of the yard make it hard to see anyone there. I stop for a moment and then hear it again. "Get inside," I tell her, my voice tight. "Get inside and get Ethan here." My heartbeat kicks up just a notch, and unlike before, it’s not just me this time. I have to protect her.
"I’m not leaving you," she says, and I look over at her and see the fear in her face. But she doesn’t leave my side.
"Chelsea," I say between clenched teeth.
"You’re wasting time," she says, putting her hand under my arm and lifting me. "Let’s go."
My eyes always forward as I stand back up, ignoring the pain from the side. I feel hot drip and know that I popped a stitch for sure. I move back, pushing her inside, walking with my back into the house with my eyes focused to the trees.
"I can’t see anything," I hiss out, closing the door, turning to see her with one hand on the island and another hand on her chest. Her head is hanging down. "When I tell you to do something." She turns to look at me, and I see the tears running down her face. "You do it."
"Did you expect me to just leave you out there like a sitting duck." She starts with her voice low, and then it rises. "Abandon you to be shot again." Her chest is panting as if she just ran a mile.
"What good would it do if we were both shot?" I roar out. "How were you going to help me if you got shot and died?”
"What good would it do if I just left you out there and then you died?" she counters me. "I’m going to call Ethan."
I watch her walk away, and my heart starts to slowly calm down, but all I can see is the fear in her eyes. "Keep it calm," I say and look down to see the blood leaking down my leg. "Fuck.” I walk over to grab a napkin and wipe the blood. The front door swings open, and I hear boots running. I look up to see that Quinn is standing there, rage on his face now. I’ve never seen him like this before.
"Where is she?" he asks, looking around.
"She went back to call Ethan." I point at the bedroom.
"She was sobbing," he says, running back to the bedroom, and my heart sinks in my chest. Literally to the fucking floor. I take two steps to her room before the front door opens again and this time it’s Ethan who looks like he just rolled out of bed.
"What happened?" he asks, looking around.
"We were outside." I start to tell him, and my eyes go from him to the bedroom, wondering if she’s okay. "Watching the sunrise, and we heard snapping coming from the back of the yard. I looked up, but I couldn’t see anything."
He takes out his phone and calls someone. "Back of Chelsea’s house, I want the feed into the woods," he says, and I hear mumbling on the other line and look down when I feel wet again and see that the blood is now seeping through the shirt. "I want all feeds ready to view when I get there in twenty minutes." He puts the phone back in his pocket.
"Where is Chelsea?" he asks me, and I look down. "What happened?”
"She didn’t listen to me when I told her to go inside," I tell him the truth. I leave out that I almost crossed the line with her. I don’t tell him that if there wasn’t someone in the back, I would have probably kissed her and ruined everything.
"Why doesn’t that surprise me." He shakes his head. "Go put on another shirt, and I’ll make sure she is okay."
I nod at him. "Maybe she’ll listen to you,” I huff out and walk to the bedroom, but with the pulling of the stitches in my legs and my side, it takes more time than I want it to.
I peel off the shirt and look down, seeing the bandage soaked through. "Mother." I stop talking when I peel the bandage off and see two of the dark stitches come right out, and I know I have to tell her.
I turn and walk out of the room, and I know that I should wait for her in my room. I know that I should give her time. I’m in the hallway when I hear Ethan. "It isn’t my story to tell, Chelsea."
"Do you know how scared I was out there with him?" she says, and whatever I thought we had is gone with just those words. "He’s here in the house with me, and this morning, I thought he was going to be shot again," she says, her voice low but still loud enough for me to hear. "How do you want me to handle that?” I close my eyes and turn around, walking back to the bedroom.
Grabbing a bandage, I press down on it, and the pain rips through to the other side of me. I have to sit down, and I see Ethan stick his head in. "We are going to head out. I’ll be back with Casey in a bit to tell you what we found." I nod at him. "She’s getting dressed, and she’ll be right in. I told her about the bleeding."
I don’t say anything to him because there are no words to say. I can’t say anything; all I can do is get far away from here and her.
Chapter 14
Chelsea
"Are you going to be okay here by yourself?” Quinn asks me, standing at the entrance to my bedroom. Ethan just walked out.
"I’ll be okay," I tell him. "It was just a bit too much," I tell him, and I close my eyes. "I have to make sure he’s not bleeding too much."
"You call me if you need me," he says, and I just nod at him. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to call him after Ethan, but I didn’t know what else to do. My heart was beating so fast and my whole body was shaking uncontrollably. I was afraid he would walk into the room and see me, so I called the only person I knew who would be here in no time. I was not wrong. He was here in under a minute. I was lucky he was already in the barn working out. I guess it was my lucky day in a way.
I grab a pair of baggy black pants that are tight around my ankles with a white short-sleeved shirt. I tuck it in the front and tie my hair on top of my head. I don’t bother washing my face before going back to him, and I can only imagine how I look.
I find him sitting on the bed, his head down as he puts pressure on the wound. "Hey," I say softly, and he looks up and just the look of him is like you cut off both my legs. Maybe I should have washed my face. I’m sure my nose is red from the crying, and my eyes are puffy.
"Are you in pain?" I ask, and he just shakes his head.
"I’m actually numb," he says. "But I think two stitches came out."
I walk over and put on gloves, going back over to him. "I’m going to need you to lie down."
"I’m so sorry," he says, not moving, his head moving up, and I see the tears in his eyes. I
want to tell him that he has nothing to be sorry for. "You asked Ethan about my story."
"I," I start to say. "I know your father tortured you, but I was asking him why."
"I thought you heard me tell the story," he says, and I shake my head.
"I only heard the end of it. When you told them the day Braxton died," I say his real name, and it feels wrong on my lips.
He shakes his head. "You missed the best part of the story," he says sarcastically. "When I was five years old,” he starts talking, "my mother was reading a book to me, and my father came in. He was usually never around except for dinnertime. But this time, it was the middle of the afternoon. Or at least I think it was, then I had just come home from school." His eyes look up at me. "I knew something was off because he wobbled a bit when he came in, and I remember my mother telling me to go to my room."
"You don’t have to do this," I tell him, not sure I can handle this.
"You deserve to know," he says. "If anyone deserves to know my story, it’s you. You saved me. And in return, I’ve put a bull’s-eye on your back." He looks up at the ceiling now. "I whined when she stopped reading to me. My father turned around and slapped me so hard I flew across the room." I can’t stop the gasp that comes out of me. "My mother ran to me instead of going to my father. He beat her right next to me. That is my first memory. I tried to take care of her. She would get up and make sure to make him breakfast and dinner. But when he left, she would sleep the whole day. I would lie next to her, and the bruises faded from a deep purple to a green to a yellow. When you described the sunrise before, all I could do was see her bruises in my head."
I put my hand to my stomach, hoping I don’t get sick in front of him. "Mayson," I say his name in a whisper.
"I never whined again. Never made another noise, and when he would come in from work, I would hide in a corner, hoping it wouldn’t happen again," he says as a tear runs down his face. "But it was not the last time that he beat my mother. I would listen to see if maybe she said something that would set him off, but I understood things more as I got older. I knew that when he was having a bad day, he would make sure she did also. Her beatings would tell you how bad of a day he was having. If he hit her less than five times, he was just irritated. If it went on for over an hour, it was a rough day. If he spent the whole night taking shots at her, you knew that it was a bad fucking day." I can’t stop the tears from falling down my face. "He was six foot one and weighed two hundred and forty-five pounds. She was five foot two and weighed under a hundred pounds. She would fly like a rag doll. Imagine being ten years old and telling your mother what position to get into when your father was kicking her. I would try to clean up when she was in bed, but there wasn’t anything that I could do to stop the roaches from coming in. No matter how much I tried."
"You were trying to protect her," I tell him, not even trying to hide the tears.
"Protect her." He shakes his head. "When I was fourteen, he hit her so hard she dislocated her shoulder." I close my eyes, knowing what he’s going to say next. "I had to snap it back into place. My mother howled out in so much pain she passed out." His own tears are running down his face. "When she died, I sold her wedding ring so I could buy her flowers." He turns his hand now, showing me the orange on his arm. This is for her." He rubs it, and I walk over to him, my fingers roaming with his. "Birds of paradise."
"It’s beautiful," I tell him, and he looks up at me.
"After she was gone, there was no one to take the beatings but me," he says, and I stand here in the middle of his legs. "It started slow, a smack here and there. I would duck, but it would just make it worse." He grabs my hand and brings it to his other arm. The American flag tattoo bright with colors. He moved my hand down a scar now. "He tore open my arm with a broken beer bottle. He only took me to the hospital because he couldn’t stop the bleeding. Told them I fell and landed on the broken glass. It was the first tattoo I got." My eyes look at the tattoo and I want to kiss the scar that lives under there.
"I’m so sorry," I tell him.
"I thought families like yours only existed on television or in books,” he says. "The first time I came here I was blown away. The love that you all had for each other was contagious. I just stood there and took it all in. Basked in it and pretended that I was one of you. I thought about how different my life would have been had I been raised with this kind of love."
"You are one of us," I say, ignoring all the warning signs that are flashing. I wipe away one of his tears.
"I can’t stay here," he says when I cup his cheek. "I refuse to see that fear in your eyes."
"I was scared," I admit. "Scared that you would be hurt again. I was scared that this time I wouldn’t be able to save you." My other hand comes out, and my thumb catches a lone tear.
"I won’t let you be hurt." He swallows. "I can’t. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself."
"Then stay," I whisper, and I don’t know exactly what I’m asking him. My heart knows, but so does my head. "Stay and let us protect you." He looks up at me. "Stay and let us be by your side."
I feel his hand on my leg now. "Chelsea, I won’t be able to survive if anything happens to you."
"I won’t be able to survive if you leave," I tell him honestly, and I take the biggest leap of my life. I bend down and whisper, "Don’t leave me."
"Chelsea," he says to me right before my lips touch his. My tongue comes out to touch his, and all of my fears, thoughts, and everything I thought I knew are forgotten, and the only thing that matters is him and me. One of his hands comes up now, going to my head, tilting it just a bit. The kiss deepens as our tongues fight with each other.
I finally let go of his lips, the both of us looking at each other without saying a word. "Chelsea." He says my name again, and I’m afraid he will tell me this will never happen again. I’m afraid he’s going to tell me the kiss I’ve been waiting for, for the last seven years was a mistake.
"I should check your wound," I tell him, walking away, my hands shaky now. "Lie on the bed." He does what he’s told, and I avoid looking at him. "You popped three stitches," I tell him as the blood drips out.
"I thought so," he says, and I walk over, grabbing a needle.
"I’m going to numb you." I work without making eye contact with him. I wash and stitch him back up. "Now, can you try not to tear them again?"
He just nods his head. "Go shower, and I’m going to go and make breakfast, and we can start the day over." I run out of the room, going to the kitchen, and only when I hear the water start in the bathroom do I let my head hang.
The tension from my whole body slowly leaves me, and my knees buckle when I hear his words over and over in my head, how different one person's life can be from another. I make breakfast in record time, and when he comes out, he moves slower than he did before. "You’re done."
"I am," he says, stopping in front of the island. "We should talk."
"No," I tell him, and his eyes go big. "I think we did enough talking for the day." I swallow, and I grab two plates. "I just have one more thing to say."
"You always have to have the last word." He shakes his head.
"I’m going to make you see the beauty in it." I swallow down the lump forming in my throat, worrying that I might upset him but wanting him to know.
"In what?" he asks, confused.
I put the plates down on the counter. "In the colors of the sunrise."
Chapter 15
Mayson
I watch her put the plates down and look at me, and my heart speeds up when she looks down nervously and then back up again. I don’t know what I’m waiting to hear. "In the colors of the sunrise." It’s a good thing I’m holding on to the counter, or I think my legs would give out. "Every day, we are going to sit outside and watch the beauty of it."
I shake my head, not sure any words can come out over the lump in my throat. My mouth also feels like it’s dry as the desert on a summer day. "Let’s sit and eat," she says, plating eggs,
bacon, sausage, and toast.
I walk around the counter to her, and she turns, looking at me. My hand comes up without even thinking about it, and my thumb rubs her chin softly. "I don’t think it’s a good idea," I finally say.
"What exactly isn’t a good idea?" She steps in closer to me, and all I can focus on is her lips. All I want is to taste her again, if only one more time. I move my nose against hers softly, and she moves her head back just a touch. Her hand comes up, and she touches my face, her thumb rubs my lower lip. "Will you kiss me, Mayson?" she asks me in the softest, sweetest voice I’ve ever heard. Her words are like an angel.
I know I shouldn’t. I know deep down that I should turn and walk back into the room and forget our first kiss altogether. Forget the way she felt in my arms, forget the way she looks at me. Forget the way I want to make everything shine around her. Forget that I want to be that better person, not just for me anymore but for her. I lick my lips and lean in just a touch more as her eyes slowly close. "Che—" I start to say her name, and then we both hear the crushing of rocks in the driveway followed by two car doors slamming. I move away from her, our hands falling to the sides of us.
The door swings open, and I see that it’s Ethan followed by Casey, and they both look at us. I look down, afraid he is going to see I took advantage of his sister. "Hey," Casey says, coming over to the kitchen.
Chelsea smiles at him and walks around the island, going to her uncle and hugging him. Ethan just stares at me. "Did you want a cup of coffee?" Chelsea asks Casey.
"No," he says. "Mayson." I look over at him. "We need to talk."
"Okay," I say, looking at him and then looking back at Ethan. "Let’s hear it."
"Why don’t we…" Ethan starts, looking at me and then looking at Chelsea.
"Oh, you did not just do that," Chelsea says, folding her arms over her chest. "You did not come into my house"—she points at the floor—"and dismiss me like that, Ethan McIntyre."
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