At my touch, she seemed to dissolve.

Her head fell down. She choked out, “Channing.”

She crumbled.

I caught her. “Whoa. Whoa.”

That’s when she began to sob.

It sounded like it was coming from her gut. She balled my shirt into her fist, pressing her forehead to my chest. “Channing.” It was a whisper this time.

I smoothed a hand over her hair and carried her away from the group.

Heather had cried six times in her life—three of them over Naly. This was her seventh. She wouldn’t want the others to see her like this, beaten and exposed.

Once we were away from everyone, where they couldn’t hear, I found a spot on the road and sat. I cradled her in my lap. I rocked her like a baby.

She cried. Her sobs wracked her entire body until they finally grew quiet, but even then her tears were a steady trickle.

I banked down the murderous rage in me. It would come out again, but not until Heather was okay. She was my job now. I had to make sure she was okay, and as she quieted, I began checking her over for wounds.

She’d been hit on the head. Bad. The lump was the size of my hand.

I could see the scrapes over her body. Scratches. Thin cuts. Glancing at where she’d come from, I realized they might’ve been from the branches.

I winced inside, knowing how fast she must’ve been going to get cut this deep.

Shit.

She’d said she was in a tree. We’d been bringing stuff to help her get out, and I couldn’t stop looking over her. Had she fallen out? Where was Richter?

Why did this happen? Check that. I knew why.

How could I make sure this never happened again?

Leave? Fuck. I stopped myself. I wasn’t going to think that far ahead. Take care of Heather. That was first.

So I just held her. I would hold her forever.

Maybe it was a few minutes later, maybe twenty, maybe an hour. I wasn’t paying attention, but it felt like a good amount of time before I heard someone walking toward us. There was a soft crunch of gravel, and Heather stiffened. She had fallen silent in my arms, but she didn’t move an inch. I wasn’t going to make her move either, but we both looked.

Heather sat up, but I didn’t let her go too far. I put my knees up, my feet on the ground, and I tugged her so her back rested against me. Her head moved to my chest. The person paused behind us, but I didn’t want Heather twisting around, so I motioned.

“Come in front.”

Brandon came around, kneeling and approaching delicately.

There was a rapt and stark emotion burning bright in his eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was trying not to cry.

His voice broke under the strain. “Heather.”

Heather stiffened further. Her arm shook until I rested mine on top, still cautious of her cuts. She expelled a breath, some of her tension leaving.

Brandon stopped, swallowed, and looked down. When he lifted his head, he was more controlled. He pressed his lips together, swallowing again. “Heather, are you okay?”

Heather held her hand out.

Brandon took it, and her fingers linked around his.

“I want to kill someone,” she rasped. “Is that answer enough?”

Relief flooded him. He closed his eyes, sitting back on his heels. “Hell yes. That answers me.” He tried to smile, but he was still pale. “We should get you to a hospital.”

“I know.”

But Heather didn’t move. If anything, she sank farther into me.

Brandon got back to his feet. “Maybe you could just carry her, Channing?”

I nodded. “Yeah.” My own throat was full. I hadn’t expected that. “Can you give us a minute?”

“Oh. Sure.” He smiled at Heather tenderly. “Love you, sis.”

Heather didn’t respond. She just returned the smile as Brandon moved behind us.

Once it was the two of us again, a sniffle left her.

I didn’t know what was going on behind us.

It didn’t matter.

I had the woman I loved in my arms. She was safe. She was hurting. And I could never let that happen again. That’s all. My arms tightened around her. I never wanted to let her go.

I took another minute—we both did. Then I asked, “Are you ready?”

“No.” She sighed, her finger tracing up and down under mine.

She said no, but I felt the acceptance in her body. She loosened, and I knew what she needed. Moving her in my arms to cradle her once again, I stood, careful not to hurt her with any sudden motion. As I straightened up, she closed her eyes, her head resting against my chest.

Something shifted deep inside me.

I couldn’t leave her. Ever.

The realization blared hard and loud, and our lives together flashed in front of my eyes.

As I proposed to her.

As I married her.

As we had our first kid.

Our second kid.

Our ninth kid, if she wanted.

We’d move into a bigger house.

Bren would get married, and Heather would be at my side.

All the holidays together, birthdays together. The future fights we’d have.

All the love making.

As we got old.

As we joined her dad’s retirement RV caravan or made our own. As we moved to Florida and made all our friends come with us—the ones still alive.

As one of us moved into a nursing home.

And as one of us left this world, but even then, I would watch over her as she got older and started hooking up with some other old dude.

Always and forever. The words were in wedding vows for a reason.

All of that flashed before my eyes, and as I began carrying her back to the vehicle, I knew two things.

I was going to marry her.

And I was going to be the first of us to die, but not for a long time—a really long time.

44

Heather

I needed a new phone.

I started to explain that after they finished checking me out at the hospital. Everything had been documented. Every inch of my body had been photographed for evidence—or it felt like every inch. I was exposed.

I didn’t know what they would do with the photographs, if they’d be turned over to the police? I wasn’t even sure if the cops had been called. Channing brought me in under the guise of having had an accident climbing. The nurses didn’t blink, but the doctor had paused when he saw the seatbelt imprints on my body. When that had happened, I had no idea. He paused too when I told him most of the cuts were from tree branches. From falling. When he looked at me, I knew he knew the angle of those cuts came from running at a dead sprint, not falling.

But I didn’t waver from my story, and after a second, he’d continued assessing me.

I didn’t think the cops would be involved, but a part of me wondered if that was bad or good. The concussion they’d informed me I had was making my head a little dizzy. They told me I’d have clear thoughts in a week or two. Until then, it was supposed to be dark and boring rest.

Channing never left my side, even though I knew he was probably itching to go find Richter. I told him once he could, and he’d only grunted, “Payback can wait.”

I was relieved. I didn’t want him to leave. It hurt to admit, but I barely handled it when he stepped outside of the room, for whatever reason—if a nurse had to check on something, or if he had to talk to one of the crew. All those times, he moved so I could see him through a window or I could hear his voice, and then he’d return to his spot beside me.

Brandon had promised to check on me at Channing’s tonight, then left to take care of Manny’s.