Where Lightning Strikes (Bleeding Stars #3)

by A. L. Jackson

  Brave, beautiful Blue.

  I clung to her, that girl Lyrik had exposed, even though I felt so weak, so scared as I tentatively made my way down the narrow aisle. Heads swiveled and eyes gawked as this restless energy crawled across the floor and clawed at the walls. It pressed at the domed ceiling that only seemed to echo it back.

  Amplified.

  It was suffocating.

  But it was nothing compared to the moment when he turned to look at me.

  I felt as if I literally might die as I got trapped in the vile glare of Cameron Lucan.

  Those dark eyes held no warmth and that heart held no capacity to care.

  Reeling back, I ran into my father who was following close behind. He held me up while I wanted to crumble to the floor, his support always staunch and stoic.

  How had I ever compared the two?

  Lyrik and Cameron.

  Because I recognized the difference. The difference between broken and depraved.

  I was sworn in and took the stand. I could feel the weight of those terrorizing eyes locked on me. As if with just a look, he could back me into another corner. Hold me hostage in that dirty, disgusting room.

  Memories spun.

  Pain.

  I couldn’t look up. Couldn’t bring myself to meet his eye.

  Trembling, I gripped the edge of the chair to keep myself from fleeing. Feet aching to move.

  I couldn’t do this.

  I couldn’t do this.

  Sickness clawed at my spirit, breath locked in my throat.

  Panic welled.

  But I had to stay.

  For me.

  For Madeline.

  For the shame. For the guilt I had born. To put away this man who had belittled and oppressed and abused. To ensure he could never do it again.

  I just didn’t know how to lift my head.

  “Ms. Gibson, can you tell us when you first met Cameron Lucan?” The female prosecutor stood a couple feet away from me, prodding me with sympathy woven through her voice.

  “Ms. Gibson?”

  Run.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. Tighter than before.

  Trembles rolled as awareness spread, my heart rate kicking up a notch, this disoriented comfort soothing across my skin.

  I puffed out a breath and slowly lifted my head.

  Drawn.

  That magnet that wouldn’t let me go.

  Inky eyes stared back at me, that intimidating, confusing boy like a vision where he stood just inside the courtroom door. My pulse hammered and sped, my mind and heart at war, fighting the stark relief in his presence and the echo of his cutting words.

  Silently, he took two steps forward, his gaze unwavering as he slid into the very back bench. Still, he may as well have been under a spotlight, all that wicked beauty a lure, tattoos standing out against his crisp, dark gray suit.

  Gritty and straight-laced.

  Hard and so unbearably soft.

  Edged in hostility and bleeding calm.

  A blatant, bold contradiction.

  So destructive and compelling it was impossible to look away, the man poised to strike and set you aflame.

  But I was already on fire.

  Burned by this man.

  And I ached beneath his stare that filled with sorrow, that pouty mouth tipped down at the corners.

  Why?

  I blinked, and tears streaked down my face.

  Why?

  Why are you here?

  Why do you keep doing this to me?

  My tongue darted out to wet my bottom lip as I tried to get myself together. To focus on the reason I was here.

  “Ms. Gibson,” the prosecutor said again, this time a prod.

  Lyrik tipped his head. Gently.

  Brave, beautiful Blue.

  Promising me I had the strength.

  Reminding me I’d had it all along.

  I blinked myself away from that comforting face and turned my attention back to the prosecutor. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  She shook her head. “It’s okay. I understand this is difficult for you. Let’s start again. Can you tell us when you first met Cameron Lucan?”

  I cleared the lump from my throat, though the words trembled. “I was nineteen. It was summer and I was working at a diner when he first came in…”

  Throat raw. Mouth dry. Fingers twisted in knots. That’s how I delivered my testimony, the memories brought to life with the power of a projection on a 3-D movie screen. Bile churned in my stomach as I relived every moment, the way he’d twisted and manipulated until my will was no longer my own. How the physical scars ran almost as deep as the emotional. The confession slid like venom from my tongue. Sharp as a dagger and heavy as a stone.

  Horror and hate.

  “Thank you, Ms. Gibson,” she said quietly. As quiet as the rest of the room that seemed to hold a collective breath, for a moment also prisoners to the atrocities meted at Cameron’s hand.

  Caution laced her tone. “Ms. Gibson, do you recognize the person you just described in your testimony to be seated in this courtroom?”

  “Yes,” I whispered, even though up to that point, I’d still refused to look that way.

  “Can you please point to where that person is seated?”

  My eyes dropped closed and the pressure built. So strong and intense. Because even after all the words that had flowed from my mouth, this felt like the culmination of it all.

  The moment I finally took a stand.

  The moment I stood against Cameron Lucan.

  My eyes fluttered open, landing on the boy. My boy. Even if he would never truly belong to me. His jaw was rigid, anger rippling from him in waves that touched me like soft encouragement.

  And I didn’t give myself time to question the reason Lyrik West was here. To question his motives or desires or needs.

  Because right then, I knew he was there for me.

  I lifted my chin, my gaze, and my hand.

  Cameron sat across the room unmoving in his chair. As if he sensed the end and willed me to be the one to end it. With so much evidence stacked against him, there was virtually no chance of acquittal. I doubted aiming my attention at him would make a difference either way.

  But it didn’t matter.

  Because I would no longer remain silent.

  I would no longer hide or mask or run.

  I pointed a finger at Cameron Lucan.

  The rest of her questions were a blur. “Can you please describe what that person is wearing for the court?”

  I mumbled the answer and slumped forward when I did.

  Gasping.

  Reeling.

  Free.

  “Let the court record reflect that the witness has just identified the defendant, Cameron Lucan.”

  I was completely shaking when I was excused from the stand, the cross-examination nothing but a muted whir at the fringes of my mind.

  From the back of the room, Lyrik West smiled at me.

  So damned soft and filled with understanding.

  And I saw it there.

  Written all over the edges of that convoluted man.

  Pride.

  I stumbled into my seat where my mother pulled me into her embrace, pressing wet kisses into my hair, her face soaked in tears. “I’m so proud of you. I’m so proud of you.”

  And when I looked back over my shoulder, Lyrik was gone.

  Mom edged out onto the back porch and handed me a hot cup of tea.

  “Thank you.” I blew at the cup as I sat on a wooden rocking chair watching the sun melt against the mountains, a reflection of its passing as it dropped down the horizon at the opposite end of the sky.

  These mountains had always been one of my favorite parts of home. Watching the storms build above them, witnessing a beauty unlike anything I’d ever seen. So strong and powerful and dangerous.

  Mom settled in the seat next to me and propped up her feet on the railing. “How are you holding up?”

  Two days had pass
ed since my testimony. One day since Cameron Lucan’s conviction.

  I took a sip and let it soothe my aching throat. “It feels…good.”

  I eyed her with a half-smile. “Weird. The day I escaped, I’d accepted the fact it would be something that chased me forever. That I’d have to look behind at every turn. Always be ready to run again. It feels so odd to put it to rest.”

  “Yet you’re not settled.” When it came to me, she’d always been this way. Intuitive.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Where do you go from here?”

  I hefted a single shoulder. “I don’t know, Mom. I just feel so…lost. I’m not sure where I belong anymore.”

  “I’d keep you here forever if you’d let me.” It came out almost a tease, although I recognized the honesty behind it.

  “I know you would. And you know I love it here, but—”

  “I know, Tamar. I know. You’ll find your place.”

  Her smile was knowing. “Are you about ready to tell me about this boy who broke my baby’s heart?” She lifted a brow. “I want to know whose ass I have to kick.”

  Wistful laughter fumbled from me and my smile trembled. “Maybe that’s the hardest part of it all. He broke it in the best way. He found me when I didn’t know I was lost. Turned me in the right direction. It was him who pointed me home.”

  “You’re here because of him?”

  I gave a small shrug. “No…but in some ways, yes. He forced me to see myself. To hear where I was being called.”

  “It takes someone brave to listen.”

  I choked over the swell of emotion. “He used to call me that… Brave.”

  Sympathy clouded her blue eyes that were the same color as mine, her voice soft as she reached out to play with a few stray strands of my hair. “You love him?”

  My insides shuddered and screamed and flailed.

  Searching for a way to fill up the hole he’d left behind. Carved out and bleeding.

  Hollow.

  Every time he barged into my life, he took a little more when he left me behind.

  “So much,” I whispered as I released the tears Lyrik had taken the time to show me weren’t a weakness.

  They were ones I deserved to shed.

  And God. I missed him so much it reminded me of death. His name equating to loss and grief and sorrow. And still, his touch had been my resurrection.

  This beautiful, tormented boy.

  He’d both wrecked me and breathed the life back into me.

  The conflicting emotions got locked up in my chest. Because the deepest part of me knew where I belonged was with him.

  And I remembered.

  I remembered.

  Even after he was gone.

  He was worth every second of the pain.

  Light tapping at my door roused me from sleep. It was the drifting kind, where I hovered just above full coherency, as if watching my life suspended above it all.

  It felt so strange, this broken heart up against the overwhelming feeling of being free. Missing him and being so thankful to be home.

  The door creaked open. “Hey,” my mother said as she slipped into my room. Late afternoon light bled in through the parted drapes, shadows playing on the vista, dancing up and down the peaks and ridges of the mountains.

  “Hi,” I said as I tried to establish my bearings. I blinked through the daze as I sat up.

  She sank down on the bed next to me, ran her fingers through my hair. “I’m sorry to wake you.”

  “No…it’s fine.”

  She hesitated. “I thought you might want this.”

  My attention traveled to the small yellow mailer she held in her hands.

  Dread and hope.

  They slammed me.

  God, what was wrong with me?

  She glanced at me from the side. “It’s for you…I think.”

  Unease rustled through my dim room, and I pulled in a deep breath as I gathered the courage to peek at what was written across the front. Somehow already knowing what would be there.

  There was no address.

  No first or last name.

  It simply said Blue.

  That statement was written in his bold script. As if he were reaching out. Touching me. This boy who chased me in my dreams and haunted my nights.

  “Where did you find this?” I managed.

  Her lips thinned. “It was sitting at the front door. I’m guessing it’s from him?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  She touched my chin. “Okay…I’ll give you some time.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered as I accepted the padded envelope. I held it against my chest until she snapped the door closed behind her. Silence stole over the room, my breaths increasing to a pant.

  Anxiety. Emotions running wild.

  Was I really going to allow him to do this to me again? Pull and pull and pull until he pushed me away?

  Swallowing, I ripped open the seal. A disk fell out. Blue was again scripted across it.

  Warily, I stood, paced, wondered. Before I gave and sat down at the small desk and lifted my laptop lid, shaking as I slid the disk inside.

  There was one file on it.

  A video.

  Fumbling, I pressed my headphones into my ears, my pulse at a sprint and my spirit in a frenzy, while the rational, logical side screamed at me to toss the disk in the trash. To protect. To find some semblance of those walls.

  But I couldn’t stop myself from pressing play.

  The screen filled with Lyrik.

  So big and bold and beautiful.

  My breath caught and my heart skipped.

  He was sitting on a hotel bed with an acoustic guitar balanced on his lap. Those eyes were sad and brimming with remorse, his mouth vacant of that smirk. He scratched at his temple, as if this menacing, malicious man didn’t know what to do with himself.

  “Blue.”

  My insides quaked with it falling like a plea from his tongue.

  Eyes dropping closed, he looked away, before he turned his attention to the camera. “I’ve written a lot of songs in my life. For a long damn time, they were the only real joy I had. And this one…it’s the most important one I’ve ever written, even though I could never bring myself to get to the end.”

  He strummed a single chord and cleared his throat. “You know a song says more than any words I could ever speak. Listen, Blue. Fuck…” He raked a hand through his hair. “Please…just…listen.”

  Quietly, he plucked through another chord, and when he opened that pretty mouth, the words were raw. Rough. Coarse and bleeding emotion.

  Trembles rolled when I recognized the haunting cadence of the music.

  He was playing the unsung song. The song coiling his arm, wrapping him in mystery and unseen misery.

  Tears blurred my eyes.

  Will you ever know

  Just what it meant

  Holding you high

  Now I’m down on my knees

  Begging for the pieces

  That no longer belong to me

  I’d have given it all

  But instead I got lost along the way

  The intensity of the song increased as he drove into the chorus.

  But I’m coming…

  I’m coming home to you

  Finally found forever

  It’s been waiting all around

  I’m coming…

  I’m coming home to you

  Tell me what I have to do

  To get the chance

  Say you’ll let me spend it with you

  Tears poured free, and my chest ached and throbbed while my shaky world spun.

  I’d once thought he’d laugh when he watched me fall.

  But I knew now. There was a huge part of Lyrik that wanted to hold me up.

  I just wasn’t sure he knew how.

  His fingers stumbled across the frets, and a pained breath left him. “Blue.” He leaned forward, as if he could get to me from across the space. “Blue…
I wrote the beginning of that song a long damn time ago. But it’s not finished. I know it now. Let me end it with you.”

  The screen went blank.

  A sob shot from my mouth.

  Let me end it with you.

  I climbed from the chair and paced the quiet of my room. I gripped my hair, feeling like I had to be insane. Completely, entirely insane.

  Because that’s the way this boy made me.

  Weak.

  But I refused to be a fool.

  Not because I was rigid and forging walls.

  No.

  Because I wanted to be loved. Loved the way I deserved to be.

  So confused, I fumbled from my room and down the hall, hand darting out to the wall to keep myself from falling.

  That intensity swelled. I nearly choked over it.

  Thick.

  Heavy.

  Dense.

  Needing a breath, clarity, I flew out the front door and down the steps to the thatch of grass lining the front.

  I faltered to a staggered stop.

  That dark, foreboding boy stood at the edge of the graveled drive. Tattooed hands stuffed in his pockets. Hair wild as it whipped around his head.

  My mouth went dry and I took a single step back.

  He took a pleading one forward. “Blue.”

  My head shook as another gust of wind blasted through.

  Those dark eyes swallowed me whole, his voice hard. “Been sittin’ in that hotel room for the last three days, since the moment I saw you on the stand. Being brave.”

  My face pinched. As if it could protect me from his words. From this boy who held the power to desolate and destroy.

  To build me up or break me.

  “All these months…” His head shook, as if he were trying to make sense of it. “The way I felt? Feeling like I wanted to wrap you up and protect you? Hunt down that bastard and make him pay for what he did to you? Didn’t get it, Blue. Didn’t get what it meant. Not until that night back at my place in L.A.”

  I took another step back. Wanting to run. To him. Or away. I didn’t know.

  “I can’t let you do this to me, Lyrik. Not again.” I fisted my hand at my chest. “I can’t take it…you drawing me closer before you push me away. I don’t know what you want from me.”

  He laughed this bemused sound, mouth pulling up at the side. “You know…when I first met you…thought that was what I liked about you most. The push and the pull. All that attracting and repelling. That crazy contradiction I felt around you. Was something I just couldn’t resist.”