Beyond the Stix (Warrior Black #2)

Chapter 5

FIVE

Connor

My eyes glide across the walls of pictures, and land on the photo of my uncle and me, my gut clenches, and something inside me snaps. I need to get out of this house. Away from John’s unwanted sympathy, and the familiar things that remind me of my father. So I run.

I head outside, to the only safe haven I know. The tree house.

I scramble up the rope ladder that’s loosely secured against the large trunk. I’m surprised the ladder is still sturdy enough to hold my weight. With a burst of adrenalin fueling my need to reach the hatch, I quickly push it up and climb inside the small space, giving thanks that Dad made the hatch big enough to get furniture through—and now the grown up me.

Once the hatch is shut, I exhale a huge breath, and a rush of energy surges out of my body. I fight to push back the warring tears and when I finally look around my safe space, I see that nothing’s changed.

The tree house my father built for me seems to be a lot smaller than the last time I was inside it. But everything I left behind is still in its place. My iPod, with the spongey headphones attached by a frayed cord. Most of my manga are still in their clear sleeves. And several baseballs signed by some of the White Sox and Chicago Cubs players.

I’m surprised my mother didn’t empty it out. But I can’t imagine her climbing up the rope ladder to do so either.

I stare down at the dark blue bean bag chair that was always too big for the space. It has more dust and cobwebs on the surface than in the corners of the tree house. No doubt bugs have made nests inside it. But I don’t give a fuck.

There’s still an indent of a small frame in the middle, from the last time I hid in here. That was when… Don’t fucking go there , Wildman .

I shut those thoughts down and drop onto the bean bag. The second my ass lands on the planked floor, a plume of dust fills the space, along with a snowstorm of tiny white Styrofoam beads.

“Shit,” I hiss as I’m covered by tiny balls.

“This is a picture moment.” John’s head is through the hatch opening.

How did I not hear him?

“I don’t think…” I begin to say.

“I’m not going to try to climb,” John says as he looks around the space. “Nice place you have here.”

Snark y bastard .

“Thanks,” I counter with a frown. “If you’re going to be an ass, you can just let go of the rope and drop back down to the ground.”

“Funny.” With some maneuvering, John pulls himself half way through the hatch.

It’s making my stomach churn watching him maneuvering himself. “Get down, Brand, before you fall and break something.”

“I didn’t know you cared.” He grunts, shifts again until his ass sits on the edge. “Want to talk?”

“Nah. And you really should get down. This structure might not be able to hold you.” There’s no way I’m going to tell my bodyguard what fucked up things are floating in my head.

“Don’t deflect,” John warns. “And don’t lie to me.” His left eyebrow arches high. He folds his arms across his chest, while balancing his body on the edge. He eyeballs me hard. Like that fucking tactic will work on me. Not!

“It’s your funeral.” The second those words fall from my lips I regret them immediately.

“Connor…” He begins to say when I hear my mother shouting from the base of the tree.

“Connor, get out of that tree house. You’re too big for it. And your Uncle Jessup is here to talk to you.”

I freeze and every molecule in my body solidifies. Panic snaps back into my bones, and my stomach’s churning to the point I want to throw up.

My eyes fix on John, who’s just as still as me. But there’s angry resolve set in his baby blues, which for some strange reason makes my muscles relax, and I don’t feel so sick anymore.

Right then, I have to accept that John—out of all people—grounds me, and my year-long denial of my feelings for him crumbles to dust.

“I don’t want to talk to him, John,” I whisper. “Please, make him go away.”

There’s a beat between us when I’m not sure if John will do what I ask. But then he nods, slips down through the opening and disappears from my sight. I don’t know why I constantly doubt him, when he’s been by my side from the moment I got the call about my father. It’s not like he’s let me down—other than him walking away after he gave me one of my best orgasms.

I swallow down the cowardice that forms at the back of my throat, and peer over the edge of the hatch hole to watch my bodyguard do his job while Fig stands as back up. Jessup apparently roused everyone in the house.

“You can’t hide from me, Connor. We need to talk. It’s time,” my Uncle Jessup shouts up.

“I told you. Mr. Wild doesn’t want to talk to you. Please leave.” John’s stern words reach my ears, and I relax even more.

“Fuck that. I’m not leaving here until Mr. Wild grows enough balls to get down from his high perch and talk to me. He can tell me himself to leave,” Jessup shouts louder.

“Jess,” my mother scolds. “Maybe John’s right. You need to leave. Give Connor some time. He just lost his father?—”

“I just lost my brother,” he snarls at my mother.

“Step back from her,” Fig growls, but it’s John who steps between them.

“That’s alright, John.” She pats his arm, though she’s visibly shaking. “Jess, I just lost my husband. I don’t know what’s going on between you and Connor, but this isn’t the time for it,” Mom says with indignation. “This is my house, and that’s my son. And I want you to leave. We can all talk after our tempers calm. But not before that.”

That’s a first. My mother has always been even tempered, but not now. As she wraps her thin arms around herself, her glare never leaves Jessup’s face.

Guilt cuts me to the core at seeing her, bone-weary and grieving for her husband—yet here she is, defending me. Whereas I am throwing a fucking pity party for one.

My mother doesn’t deserve this crap now—not when she is suffering the loss of the man she loved.

It’s time to face Jessup, before this shit gets out of hand.

“Wait,” I call down.

“Connor,” John warns.

“It’s okay, John.” I climb down, all the while keeping my gut from spewing. I take one somewhat calming breath, wipe some of the Styrofoam balls from my face, and look at my uncle. “I just want to get this over with. Mom, why don’t you head inside. I’ll be in in a minute.”

“Are you sure, Connor?” she asks, frowning at her brother-in-law.

“Yes. This will be quick.”

She nods, and then walks back into the house.

With John and Fig flanking me on both sides, I glare at Jessup. “Say what you got to say to me and then get gone, because I don’t ever want to see you again.”

Jessup takes a tentative step toward me, but John gets in his path. “Stay where you are.”

Defeat burdens my uncle’s shoulders. They slump, as tears well up in his eyes. “I’m sorry it took me this long to approach you, but Markus said…” he clears his throat and shakes his head. “Anyway, I want to apologize for any misunderstanding we had in the past. And to tell you, I’m sorry. If you need me—even if it’s just to talk, I’m here for you.”

“I don’t need you,” I say defiantly, not trusting those tears or him. “And there’s no misunderstanding from the past. I know what you did to me and I will never forget it.”

“What are you talking about?” John ask me while keeping his full attention on Jessup, whose face is stricken with what? Guilt? Fuck that.

I ignore John’s question and turn back to Jessup. “You said what you needed to say, so go, and don’t come back.”

“Connor,” John growls low. He wants me to answer him, but there’s no way I can speak the truth. I refuse to look at John, as shame crawls up from the dark pit inside me and wraps around me like poison ivy. I’m just thankful my mother isn’t out here to watch. She has enough to deal with, and to add shit from the past will only pile more hurt on her already-burdened shoulders.

I finally look at John and say, “It’s nothing.”

“ I want to know.” My mother steps out of the shadows, and her appearance spikes up my fear. Her steps are unsteady as she walks toward me, and Fig moves toward her. “Connor, what’s this about?” she asks, then stares at her brother-in-law. “Is this still about the slap in the face you gave Connor when he was ten years old?”

My uncle turns toward my mother. “Y-yeah,” he utters before returning his attention to me. “We’ll talk later, once the funeral is done.” He strides away hurriedly.

“No, we won’t,” I bark out.

“I deserve an explanation,” my mother insists to me. “Is it still about that slap, Connor? Or is it the same thing your father wouldn’t tell me?”

What the hell? What did Dad know?

I shake my head. “It’s about the slap. And it’s the past, Mom. I want to keep it there.” I let out an exhausted breath. “I’m going to bed.”

She steps closer, and begins to laugh. A light tinkle of sound that has me losing some of my frown.

“What’s so funny?” I ask, glancing over at John, who’s studying me like I have warts all over my face.

She raises her hand, runs her fingers through my hair, and they come away with tiny white balls. “You have Styrofoam balls all over you.” She chuckles. “We’ll be finding them for weeks.”

I smile down at my mom, kiss her cheek and head inside the house. Not giving a fuck what I look like, I grab the bottle of scotch from the liquor cabinet, and close myself in my old bedroom.

I want to drink myself stupid. With the lack of food in my gut, it won’t take me long before the amber liquid clouds my brain and makes me forget those slivers of memory cutting my insides.

Putting my sound-canceling headphones on, I tap to open a playlist on my phone, and let my breathing sync with the beats of songs I love.

As the liquid notes in my ears drown out my thoughts, the high of the alcohol hums through my blood. Fatigue finally wins out, and I collapse onto the full-size bed, falling fast asleep.

But it isn’t that easy, as my dreams crash into nightmares.