by Jamie Magee
“I remind her of him, and even dead he’s a threat,” Justice said with a degree of anger in her tone.
Bell nodded.
Truth be told, her mother had wanted to come home. She said she knew Justice needed help managing the funds and insurance and she could bring her family to Bradyville.
When Bell told her the man may be dead but the debt he created wasn’t, when she made it clear that Justice would be lucky to go to school the following year, her mother’s plans changed, something came up and yeah...
Justice didn’t need to know or hear anything to make her feel less loved and wanted. Because she was loved and wanted, by others, those who chose her. She’d been through enough, and right now Justice needed to pick up the pieces and let her parents rest in a dark past that was better left unremembered.
***
After seeing Atticus again, sitting in her section at the diner, nearly two months after the horrific night, Justice awoke somewhat from her hell.
“You need anything else?” she asked Atticus as she took away his empty plate that once held his second helping of pancakes.
It wasn’t easy waiting on him, being near his knowing stare. It was even worse when Boon, Tobias, or his dad was with him. And forget it if Nash Rawlings, their gramps, came in—Justice would outright trade tables to avoid his gaze.
The southern ex-military man seemed to have the ability to reach in and read your every thought—Justice was sure both Chasen and Atticus inherited his trait of doing so.
She felt guilty for not sending the letters she was supposed to send for Nolan, upset she couldn’t get him to answer, and yes she missed Declan, even though she was sure with what she had been going through he would have been too much to handle.
Even though Justice knew her actions, in part, were to protect him, and she thought of him each night as she drifted to sleep, the idea of him seemed a universe away. Almost as if the girl he left here died hours later when she fought back, really fought back for the fist time. And this girl? She wasn’t too sure who she was yet.
“I’m good,” Atticus said, pulling out his wallet. As he did, he purposely set a letter on the table as he counted his cash out. When he saw Justice staring at the name—who it was addressed to—frozen in place as if someone had shined a spotlight on a dormant memory, he grinned. “Yeah, I miss him. ‘Bout to go over to the post to mail this.” He looked up at her, his near gray gaze searching hers. “Got anything you need me to mail? Pick up?”
Justice gasped, and ended up having to brace her tray when she heard the dishes rattle from her shaky embrace. She’d forgotten all about her P.O. Box.
Her mom could now call any time; there was no need for secret mailboxes.
“Cuts—who’s first out?” Josh, the manager yelled from threshold to the kitchen.
Justice’s nervous gaze grew wider. She held up a finger to Atticus, somewhat asking him to stay, but knowing even if he didn’t she had to move fast.
She never asked for first cut, those who stayed past eight hours moved to an hourly wage, and she needed the cash. Which is why Murdock wasn’t supposed to pick her up for at least another few hours. But today she asked to be out, and after an awkward glance her boss gave her the nod.
Justice rushed back out to her section, to Atticus. “I do need a ride to the post office. I mean if you’re going there already, but I need like twenty minutes,” she glanced over her section, at all the side work she had to do before she left. “Maybe a few more.”
Atticus grinned, an accomplished, Nolan grin. “No prob. I gotta take this order over to gramps. I’ll swing back through and get you in a few.”
“Okay, but I need you to bring me back here, directly.”
Atticus’s grin faded. “Picking up another shift?”
“I got a ride home.”
“Well, you want to call your ride and tell ‘em I have you covered?”
She did. God she did. But knew it was a bad idea. Not only was Murdock more protective than ever since her grandmother had put space between them, but every single day he had some remark about the Rawlings.
He’d asked if she she’d seen them, then when she asked why he’d say his dad was asking about them. “That is bad, Justice. We don’t need to give them any fat to chew,” Murdock would say.
Justice tensed, she sucked at lying. Really sucked at it. “It’s just already set up and all,” she said finally.
With a stiff ‘Declan’ nod Atticus stood up and put his hat on. “Okay then, see you in a bit.”
Then he winked at her and made his way out.
Justice’s boss had given her a ton of slack since she came back two and half weeks earlier. He’d overlooked her forgetting half her orders, her dropping plates, not leaving her section the way it should be, even being late almost every day because Murdock was always hung over and not eager to take her in at four each morning. But she knew one day the slack was going to run out.
Nevertheless, Justice was hoping the slack her boss had been giving her would last just a bit longer. She flew through her side work, half because she didn’t want to leave Atticus waiting, and half because she could not focus. Just the thought that there might be a letter waiting on her, one from Declan...it made so much angst vanish at once.
Declan gave her a breath, the first deep one she had taken in weeks, made her heart race and her skin blush...by doing nothing, by only being a possibility. A hope of a smile could take a girl like Justice a long way.
She didn’t even ask for anyone to check over her work before she left. She punched the clock, and waved the second she saw Atticus pull back in the lot.
Atticus was laughing when she climbed up in his truck.
“Not funny. Why in the hell would you need a truck this high?”
He shook his head as he reached for her hand and helped her in. “It’s good for my ego, watching you climb in isn’t what tickled my funny bone.”
Justice adjusted herself in the passenger seat and drew in a deep breath. It was crazy how this family made her feel stronger, bolder just by being near them. They made her forget what she dealt with day in and out.
“What, then? I smell like bacon? Have ketchup on me?” she asked, only half joking. Murdock always drove her home with all the windows down, teasing her about how the odor of eggs was ridiculous.
“You smell awesome,” Atticus said. “Making my ass hungry all over again.” His tires squealed as he peeled out on Main St. “You’re just making me feel like I’m stealing you—bank robber or some shit.”
“People talk too much,” she said, glancing back, wondering how many people saw her leave with him.
“Only people who like to hear the sound of their own voice,” Atticus said as he leaned into his door. “Only people who have something to hide.”
When her guilty stare shot to him he shrugged. “Like weakness, I mean. You know.”
She nodded.
“You’re worried about Murdock seeing you with me?”
Justice moved her stubborn gaze forward. “You Rawlings’ are nothing if not blunt.”
He grinned. “Saves time.”
She watched the road for a while, hoping he’d forget the original question.
“That real or not, you and him?” Atticus asked at a red light. She was sure he waited until he stopped so he could look her dead in the eye.
“No.”
“What’s the deal then?”
She shook her head. “We just went through some stuff.”
“Through some stuff? Your dad, that bothered him?”
“Yeah,” she said genuinely. “When Murdock was at my house it was to see him mostly. He got along with him better than his own dad.”
“But the night your dad had his accident he was with you? All cuddled up on the front porch?”
Justice felt her stomach flip and a blush wash down her.
“Yeah, that wouldn’t make sense, now would it,” Atticus said as he drove on.
“What is that
supposed to mean?”
Atticus glanced her way. “A buddy of ours, he was chatting it up with Nolan the morning he and Declan left.” His eyes met the road. “He saw where Nolan’s attention was going as he looked outside.” Another glance her way then to the road. “Didn’t make much sense to me for you to seem upset about my brother leaving then to go cuddle with a Souter.”
Justice felt her heart beating liking a drum. Horrific panic. If he had pieced as much together, could others have done the same? Is that why the Sheriff still had the file on his desk like Murdock said?
Atticus pulled up to the box outside, dropped his letter in then pulled into a spot. He gripped the steering wheel then looked right at her.
“He hit you because you were with my brother?”
Justice dropped her gaze.
“Which one?” Atticus asked through clenched teeth.
Justice glanced quickly to her side.
“Did your daddy do it and Murdock manned up, or was it the other way ‘round?” He leaned closer. “Murdock lay a hand on you?”
“No,” she said in a whisper.
“You saying that because you don’t want me to do anything ‘bout it?” he asked as he evaluated everything about her. Her breath, how short it was. Her stare, how it could not settle. Her blush, how it was so red she was near feverish. Her hands, now she was wringing them together. Her shoulders, how tense they were.
“If it were true, I wouldn’t want any of my drama to touch your family.” She looked him dead in the eye. “I would fight to make sure it didn’t.” She swallowed. “Murdock was at my house, my father had an accident.”
Atticus’s gaze searched hers for a moment. “No, I mean no one, ever raises a hand to you. You understand? Ever again.”
She nodded and reached for the door so she could go in. He reached for her hand. “This isn’t conditional, Justice. It’s not because of how any one of my brothers feel about you. It’s because you’re a good person. It’s because no one ever deserves to live in fear. To be struck for who they are, what they say, or believe.”
“I know,” she said, with a shy smile, wondering how any Rawlings would take the truth of what happened. If they’d be proud she fought back, or upset she, in effect, committed murder. It was hard to know for sure. They did defend whenever and wherever they could, but family was sacred to them.
Either way, Justice planned to die with the truth of that night unspoken. At least, not in utter detail, the detail she relived every night.
“I just gotta check and see if my mom sent me anything real quick.”
“Right,” Atticus said as he leaned back against his door.
A person should not be terrified, and excited to approach a mailbox. Justice knew as much, but she couldn’t control her emotions anymore than she could control the weather, not lately anyways.
The little old post lady looked up at her, then did a double take. Justice smiled shyly then made her way to her box.
At first, she couldn’t get the key to work, which didn’t surprise her. Murphy’s Law had been her best friend for a long while. Simple things like opening doors, pouring a glass of tea, bushing her teeth...you name it, something went wrong and it would blow up in her face. Which was, in truth, the reason she was a horrible waitress as of late, not that she rocked it out before all this drama.
With a grunt and a pull, she finally managed to jerk the door open and when she did, letters spilled down over her feet.
She gasped a grin as if she had just won the lottery and hundred dollar bills were raining down around her. Some of it was junk mail, but right on top she saw more than one letter from Declan.
In a rush she knelt down and sorted it all as fast as her shaking hands would let her, tossing the junk mail in the bin, but not before checking it twice to make sure there wasn’t a precious letter tucked within.
She had all that was left in a pile tucked in her apron, hidden from Atticus’s questioning gaze and was ready to leave when the lady said, “Miss,” causing everyone in the post office to look her way.
Justice glanced over her shoulder and saw her pushing a plastic U.S mailbox toward her. “Here’s the rest.”
Justice gaped.
The old lady shrugged. “It wouldn’t fit.”
Hearing her heart pound Justice made her way to the counter. Getting home with all of this was going to be the trick of the century.
“Keep the box,” the lady said, going back to her task, a lingering smile on her lips. “Write back.”
The plastic container wasn’t filled all the way to the top, but there were bound stacks that made what was in her apron look like a joke.
Nerve. She felt it swell in her and she had not read one damn word.
She pulled her phone out and sent Murdock a text. “Don’t need a ride. Already gone. See you Sunday.”
She was off the next day and he had planned to go fishing with his buddy Jacks. Which made no sense. He’d always said fishing was a joke, if he didn’t have gun he didn’t care to hunt anything, but lately, it had been his deal and she was good with it. It kept him away for hours at a time.
“What’s up?” His text was instant.
“Just needed space.” That was her tagline lately, and for the most part, he got why and tried to give it to her, on his terms of course.
“K.”
Then with her head held high, she put the box under arm and walked outside. She ignored the significant smirk strapped across Atticus’s face as he reached for the box, putting it in the middle of the seat then for her hand to help her up.
She sat up straight up in the passenger seat. “Can you take me home please?”
“What? Murdock’s truck not big enough for your haul?”
She slid a glare at him.
He laughed. “I only work for food.” He rubbed his belly. “Growing boy.”
Her eyes grew wide in shock. “I just fed you.”
“Right, but I’ll be hungry by dinner. I’m sure I can mow or fix something ‘round your place ‘till then.”
She smiled, but her eyes watered. “Yeah...that’d be nice.”
Twelve
Declan had to have started writing the letters hours after he arrived, as he waited to be processed.
“If you remember anything I’ve ever said, remember the words I said this morning...fight, Justice. Don’t fall when I’m not there to catch you...”
“I know you’re stubborn...always have been, but asking for help when you need it makes you strong not weak.”
“Day one was a bitch...I had a dream about you last night. It wasn’t good...”
“Day two...”
“Day three...
“Day Four...
“Day Five I just opened a letter from my dad! What the hell happened? Are you okay? I know I told you that you didn’t have to write back, but, Justice, I have to know...”
There were letters from every day, sometimes two a day. The week right after her dad died, there were days there were three. For the most part they were a page long, sometimes two. He told her what he knew, which was basically the story that everyone was told. He told her he knew she was ‘banged up’ pretty bad. And that Murdock was with her all the time.
The avid reader in her was able to devour the letters like a novel that was written just for her, and in a way it was. Once he understood she wasn’t going to write back about anything she went through with her father, or answer his point blank question if she Murdock were together, he began to use the letters as a journal.
His thoughts on his day, what he learned, where he fell, and where he succeeded. She knew who his close friends were, and in most cases what he did that day step-by-step, how good or bad it was.
There was more...things she knew he wouldn’t write to his brothers, the hint of fear, of fighting separation, wanting to but not wanting to become something else, something more.
She read a marked change in him.
When she walked into her kitchen and sat down
to read she had a version of Declan Rawlings firmly in her mind, and in her heart. Now she had a new one. She could feel, as her grandmother had said, the boy was gone. A man was there. Declan was near the end of phase two of his training. The polishing of the warrior and his newfound skills was all that was left.
Hours had gone by. She had heard the mower outside, the banging of wood, other sounds that all drifted to the back of her mind as she lived through Declan’s life changing moments at his side, through his words.
It wasn’t until her grandmother, Bell, walked in that the spell was broken and she lifted her gaze and realized she was still there. Seventeen, ‘grieving’ for her father and trapped inside a sickening secret. And poor as the day was long.
Bell had grocery bags filling each arm. “Is that Atticus Rawlings’ truck across the way?” she asked before her gaze found Justice.
Who was sitting at a table with every letter opened. “He wrote...” she said in a ghost of a whisper.
It took Bell a second to decide how she felt about this. If Declan had the power, at a distance, to bring her granddaughter back around or if he would just cause her more grief she could not deal with right then.
“I can see that,” she said with a smile before making her way to the counter. “Did Atticus bring them by?” she asked, looking out the kitchen window, noticing all the limbs from the storm months back had been picked up, the sporadic grass had been cut, the boards on the back porch were fixed, and that was just what she could see at a glance.
For a moment she was nostalgic, remembering when she was a girl. Bradyville wasn’t a military base by any means, but its location somehow attracted those who had either loved a warrior or lived on a base.
They didn’t stand out, not really, but you could see the protection in their eyes, and when they stepped up to help—to balance a family who had sacrificed someone for the country they lived in, you felt it.
“Looks like he had a lot to say,” she said as she unloaded the groceries, keeping her gaze to the window. Her home almost looked the way it did when her husband was alive. Prim, neat, and well cared for.
“He heard about Dad. I think he was worried about me.”
