by Coralee June
"Stay away from Sunshine," he growled while pinning Lionel down on the ground and holding him at the neck.
"Who?" the pathetic fuck choked out.
"Summer Bright," I called after him just as Gavriel delivered the final blow, knocking Lionel out. I wiped my hands on my jeans and turned to look at the chubby guy with blood pouring out of his nose.
"Dude, you should probably get that looked at," I said with a wince. If he didn't get it set, it would look fucked up for life. And with a mug like his, he didn't need anything else hurting his already poor excuse for a face.
"Yeah, I'll go tomorrow. Good hit, Moretti," he choked out as Gavriel stalked closer. Was this guy serious? Don't compliment the guy you just junk punched. Rookie mistake. Gavriel was still flooded with adrenaline. Every bone in his body rigid with a tension that made him look lethal.
The guy beside me trembled, his teary eyes widening as he watched Gavriel walk across the bridge towards us. "You," Gav said while pointing at him, "you tell everyone that'll listen. If you mess with Sunshine, you mess with the Bullets."
He swallowed. "Wh-who are the Bullets?"
"Us."
My brows shot up. So we had a name now? Cool, cool. If he started talking treehouses and code words though, we might need to discuss things.
The kid scurried away as fast as he could—which wasn't very fast considering he was high as fuck and had a complete lack of coordination. He stumbled over a rock and slipped in mud, clawing at the dirt to escape us. I took a moment to look over the bridge. Glass shank guy had swum over to the banks and was lying in the mud, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. "So, the Bullets, huh? Does this mean we're friends now?" I asked. Gavriel looked at me with a large frown. A drop of blood collected in the corner of his mouth, and he wiped it with the back of his hand before answering me.
"I guess so."
Chapter Four
Sunshine
Present day
When I was a young girl, my father signed me up for tennis. I hated the sport. He’d make me go to the country club for practice, and Mom would dress me up like a Barbie. My coach never hurt me, but everytime he helped with my form or adjusted my grip, I felt his eyes linger on my body a little longer than I would’ve liked. Practice was every other day, and after three months of being terrible at the sport and hating my coach, I told my father that I wanted to quit. To this day, I still remember his response.
“The Brights don’t quit, Summer,” he sneered. “Grab your practice gear. We’re going to work on your form.”
For six hours, my father made me swing my racket, gradually getting angrier as I missed the sailing tennis balls through the air. The club was closed for renovations, but who could deny the Chief of Police? I remember wishing someone would come practice beside us so my father would slip back into his pleasant image. My arms shook with exhaustion as I swung again and again. “You’re an embarrassment,” he screamed until tears were freely pouring down my cheeks. I knew he didn’t like me showing weakness. Tears were an imperfection.
It wasn’t until my legs were wobbling that he finally relented. “Fine. Let me show you.” Taking my racket from me, my father strolled up beside me and demonstrated the proper form. “Stand closer, Summer. I want you to see how to hold it.”
I remember moving beside him and shaking with fear as my father readied his stance and swung. He was all power and force, slicing through the air with precision. The tennis racket connected with my gut, and I fell backward onto the court.
I couldn’t scream. The air was knocked out of me. All I could do was stare up at the Chesterbrook clouds as a black haze clouded the corners of my vision. After fifteen seconds of wordless agony, my father leaned over and stared at me with his signature frown of disapproval. It wasn’t until I was gasping for air again that he finally spoke.
“Brights don’t quit.”
Being back in Chesterbrook was like a hit to the gut, delivered by Paul Bright himself.
“What are you thinking about?” Blaise asked. We were standing on the tarmac at Chesterbrook’s small private airport and waiting for Gavriel’s limo to arrive.
“Tennis,” I answered with half honesty. My father made me play for five more years after that. I was never any good, but I never gave up. It wasn’t until my mom commented that my arms were looking too muscular for a young girl that he let me focus on other activities.
Blaise gave me an amused smile at my answer. “Tennis, huh? Didn’t you used to play?” he asked. “I never got to see you in one of those short tennis skirts.”
I laughed to hide the darkness swirling in my chest, the phantom pain of being here was just too much to handle. “I did. I was terrible at it.”
“I doubt that,” he replied. We were leaning against a brick wall in the shade while Gavriel paced and yelled into his phone about the delay of the driver. “From what I remember, you were good at everything.”
I could see how Blaise could feel that way. I was groomed from a young age to look and act like I was perfect. “I hated it. The day my parents let me quit, I was so happy that I cried.” I remember running to Gavriel and jumping into his reluctant arms to give him a hug that day. I also remember his small but confident smile and how he held my hand on the walk home from school. In fact, if I remembered correctly, that was just a few weeks before Blaise arrived in Chesterbrook.
“So what made you think of it now?” he asked. I wanted to lie to him, but Blaise deserved better than that. Besides, he knew me too well.
“This place brings up bad memories, Blaise.” Why does everyone fear the journey? That’s the easy part. I’ve always feared coming home.
He opened his mouth to respond but paused when my phone started ringing. I answered it, grateful for the distraction. “Hey, Nix,” I said while forcing myself to smile. Nix was another one of those perceptive ones. He could sniff out a gloomy mood even over the phone.
“How you doing, Sweets?” he asked.
“Not too bad.”
“Liar,” he growled. “I hate that I have to stay behind, but you’ll be back in two days, right?”
“Yes, two days and we can go back to being locked up in Gavriel’s ivory tower,” I joked. Phoenix stayed behind to keep tabs on my father. I think Gavriel just wanted some distance, and Nix appreciated the break from my moody mob boss. I knew that if I had asked him to go with me, he would have, but this was something I needed to do with my guys.
“I’ll see you soon,” I choked out, missing him.
“Love you,” he cooed before hanging up.
“Love you too.”
In the distance, a limo made its way up the road and towards us. The cool, crisp air made my lips chap as I curled my jacket around myself. I pushed myself off the brick wall before heading towards Joe and a stoic-looking Gavriel. The flight here was exhausting. I couldn't keep up with how many phone calls and decisions Gav made during the short two-hour trip.
"Tell him to have my money deposited by midnight."
"I don't negotiate with insignificant people."
"You're all talk, my shipment better be ready by tomorrow, or you'll end up like Santobello's son."
It was a tricky time. People were questioning Gavriel's influence and power. Santobello was cutting off his trade routes at every turn. When he wasn't trying to bring down my father, Gavriel was attempting to re-establish himself as a powerful crime boss.
Behind the limo was another car with dark, tinted windows. Once it parked, Callum got out of the driver side door and jogged towards me.
"I missed you," he said with a genuine smile as he wrapped me into a hug. I'd been worried that he would be weird around me since the night at The Rose, but if he was uncomfortable around Gavriel, he didn't show it. I think, if anything, my revelation was enough to put all other awkwardness on hold.
Nuzzling into his chest, I replied, "I missed you too." Three weeks without Callum was hard, but I loved him enough to commit to his need for justice. He still had
hope that the world was organized and that sick people would have to answer for what they’ve done. I didn’t want to ruin his views with the truth—Paul Bright had to die, and it would most likely be Gavriel that killed him.
A loud cough behind us made me roll my eyes. Joe was standing by the limo door with his arms crossed over his chest. Gavriel was possessive to a fault, so I'm sure to outsiders, it was strange seeing Gavriel okay with the affection I showed others. "We have to go," he grumbled.
Gavriel held his hand out to me, motioning for me to sit beside him. "Ryker is at the lake house waiting for us," he said.
Callum kept his arms tightly around my waist and looked at Gavriel with his determined stare. "I wanted to take Summer—I mean Sunshine—somewhere first," he said. I felt a little heartbroken at the way he stumbled over my name. In so many ways, it represented his conflicted feelings about being a Bullet.
"Oh really?" Gavriel asked while getting out of the limo once more. He made his way over to us with a slow and steady walk, confidence practically oozing out of him. The standoff between Callum and Gavriel made my throat go dry. I’d hoped that there would be no awkwardness, but there was a massive power struggle between them, and I knew in my gut that Gavriel would win.
"I wanted to take her to where her mother was buried since she didn't get to go to the funeral. I know we weren’t big fans of her, but I think Summer needs the closure."
I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling warm appreciation swell up and bubble within my chest. Callum was so thoughtful and kind. "Is that something you want to do?" Gavriel asked me. I didn't miss how he ignored Callum. Gavriel was all about making me feel in control and making sure I stepped up and asked for what I wanted. I knew that if I couldn't handle seeing my mother's grave, he'd take the blame. He was more than okay with telling the rest of the world to fuck off where I was concerned.
But I didn't want to be weak. Maybe this was what I needed to move on. I never got to tell my mother how much of a disappointment she was, or how angry I was at her. I never got to truly forgive her. I ran and pretended that time stopped back here in Chesterbrook. I didn't know the woman that killed herself. Maybe it was time to go and introduce myself.
"I-I'd like to go," I whispered as Blaise got out of the limo and strolled towards us. I prepared myself for his brutal honesty.
"Are you sure, Sunshine?" Blaise asked. "If it's too soon, we can make a special trip out here when you're ready. You don't have to face all your demons at once. In fact, I’d prefer if you didn’t."
My shoulders slumped, and I took in a deep breath while looking at the three of them. "I can do this. I need to do this. We will catch up with you in a little bit." I grabbed Callum's hand and pulled him towards the other car without saying goodbye. I held steadfast to my resolve to be strong, knowing that if I didn't go now, I probably never would. When I settled into the front seat, the back passenger door opened, and Joe shifted his bulky frame into the compact car.
"Can't go anywhere without my shadow, huh?" I asked as Callum cursed under his breath.
"I can handle this," he said while flashing Joe a cruel glare in the rearview mirror.
I didn't turn around to look at him, I knew that Joe would give his unamused shrug and ignore us. He didn't get a choice. Gavriel controlled him as much as he controlled the rest of us.
I held Callum's hand as he drove the long way to the cemetery. Although the local airport was just a couple miles from the cemetery, Callum made sure to take the backroads around town, avoiding the street I grew up on. Outside, everything looked the same. A few new subdivisions had gone up, and large homes seemed to tower over the street. Various high-end cars drove past, and I tried to remember if Chesterbrook had always seemed full of pretentious people or if my perceptions had changed.
I guess becoming poor made me more aware of the vicious cycle. The rich just got richer—and most of them lived here. "She's buried by my parents," Callum finally said. He turned left on a paved road and kept going down the drive towards the cemetery. Tall oak trees created a canopy of dying leaves overhead, and a gust of wind made them float to the paved road like blood-red drops of autumn.
"They were good friends. I'm sure she would have liked that," I replied while leaning my forehead against the cold glass pane.
"Knowing what she did...it makes me not want to have her anywhere near them," Callum growled with a frown.
"It's a little late for that. I mean, I'm sure Gav knows a guy that could dig her up, but even though I hate the woman, I don't necessarily want her swimming with the fishes," I joked in my best Brooklyn accent, pushing past the nervousness I felt with sarcasm.
In the backseat, Joe let out a short laugh but slammed his mouth shut before another sound could escape his mouth. He loved my jokes, I knew it.
"I went to the funeral," Callum then said.
I already knew this. I had to watch from Gavriel's living room as he shook my father's hand. It was a grim necessity. We couldn't let my father know that Callum was on to him. He'd been a family friend for so long that it would have looked weird if he hadn't shown up.
"Yeah?" I asked.
"I could have killed him right there. And if I were Gavriel, maybe I would have. I imagined a thousand different scenarios of how to end his life. It scared me how much anger I felt."
I nodded, absorbing his words. I knew exactly what he meant. I'd spent the last five years imagining ways to kill my father. It scared me because it made me wonder if my need for revenge made me like him. The only difference was that my need for bloodshed was fueled by hatred, and his was because of his twisted mind.
The cemetery had pristine, manicured lawns and polished tombstones dating back to the seventeenth century. My father once told me that he could trace his lineage all the way back to the Mayflower here. It seemed fitting that my mother would be buried in the elite graveyard of town—not that it mattered. She was dead now. Status and money were for the living.
Parking the car, I sat still while Callum rushed out and went to open the passenger side door. I felt silly wearing worn jeans and a bulky jacket. This was the funeral I never got to attend, and I was vastly underdressed. Mom would be furious.
"I'll stay in the car and keep an eye out," Joe said, and I barely held back a smile. Leave it to Joe to avoid any sort of situation that involved feelings. Not even Gavriel could force him to follow me to my mother's grave for a quick cry.
"Sure you don't want to hand me tissues as I sob?" I asked him. I just couldn't help it, I loved goading the guy. Callum shook his head and placed his palm at my lower back, guiding me away before Joe could respond.
"You really like messing with that guy, don't you?" he asked with a laugh. The bright sounds of his chuckle felt out of place here. And as if realizing so, Callum's laugh died off, leaving us to walk in silence.
I knew exactly where his parents were buried. I still remembered the day they died. Callum was away at college, and Mom got the phone call. We were on our way to my ballet lesson. I never knew exactly what my dad said on the other end of the line. She seemed shocked by his words. She had to pull over her car because she was so emotional.
"What's wrong, Mom?"
I still remember the way her voice shook. "Mr. and Mrs. Mercer are dead."
Callum grabbed my hand as we walked, bringing me out of my memories. Even though he would be strong for me today, I knew that he needed to borrow a bit of my strength too. Coming here was hard for him.
"I should have brought some flowers to put on Mom's grave. She loved roses. Dad would bring her home a bouquet all the time," he whispered as we approached the side-by-side tombstones. "Shit. I'm making this about me and..."
Someone weaker than I might have felt envy that he had such a picture-perfect childhood. But I loved him too much to feel anything but thankful that he was gifted with parents worthy of grief. Whenever I thought of my own mother, all I felt was shame.
I couldn't miss her. I couldn't physically force myself to miss t
he woman that gave me life. I tried to compile a list of redeeming qualities about her but came up short. I wasn't mourning my mother, not really. I was mourning myself. I was mourning the fact that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't feel something for someone I was supposed to love.
I directed my attention to the matching tombstones on the ground in front of us. Mr. and Mrs. Mercer were well-loved in the community. And not just because of what they wanted the world to see. They were genuinely good people.
I didn't look to the left, where I knew my mother’s grave was. I took a moment to appreciate Callum's parents, to send up a little thanks that they raised such a strong man. "Your mom made the best cookies," I said out of nowhere. I was a terrible cook. My mother liked to think that she made gourmet dishes, but she often just bought pre-made items from the store and carefully arranged them on her silver platters.
But Mrs. Mercer? She could bake and cook better than anything. We would go to her house on Thanksgiving. I remembered my mother's frown as my father compared their dishes. My mom loved Mrs. Mercer, but she didn't like the effortlessness about her perfection. Goodness naturally flowed throughout her. She was what my mother strived to be, and she didn't even have to work for it.
"I would kill for one of her chocolate chip pumpkin cookies," Callum said, and my mouth watered just thinking about them. "Thanksgiving is just a few days away, and I would give anything to have one of her famous dinners."
I nodded my head, feeling the same way. Last year was the first Thanksgiving I'd celebrated since I ran away. Nix and I were helpless in the kitchen, so we saved every dime we had for an entire month so that we could eat at a steakhouse on the nicer side of town. I dressed up in my most elegant dress, which admittedly, was tattered and worn. We strolled through the front doors like we owned the place, and even though it was my favorite Thanksgiving to date, I still missed Mrs. Mercer's famous dinners.
