Briar Valley: The Complete Duet

21. Willow

CHAPTER 21

WILLOW

SILHOUETTE - AQUILO

Huddled in the backseat of Killian’s truck, I re-enter Briar Valley much like I arrived. Broken and defeated. My life has changed so much, but somehow, I’m still trapped in the world’s loneliest bubble.

Zach and Killian were there when I was discharged earlier this morning, carrying fresh clothes and a bagged sandwich. I took the comfortable sweats and oversized t-shirt that smelled suspiciously like Killian, leaving the food without a word.

I haven’t spoken since.

I’m not sure how I’m feeling.

Or if I’m even feeling at all.

My entire body is numb. Detached. Caught in a state of disbelief. I didn’t see this cruel twist of fate coming, not for a second. I must be the stupidest person alive because the signs were there all along.

The sickness, fatigue and hormones running wild. Anxiety and headaches. I chalked it up to the trauma of all that’s happened. Part of me wonders if I knew all along but simply didn’t want to believe it.

That final night in the mansion was one of the worst in my entire life. Mr Sanchez didn’t use protection as he dragged me from my bedroom, kicking and screaming, all the way down to his playroom.

He was so angry and driven by bloodthirst. I’d dared to talk back over dinner, my patience for his taunts wearing thin. In that moment, he wanted to break me back down into the scared little girl he found in that strip club ten years ago.

That’s when I knew I had to run before it was too late. Any longer and he would’ve succeeded in turning me into that person, and I couldn’t allow that. Old Willow wouldn’t have the strength to run, and I needed to do that more than anything.

“Willow?” Zach peers back at me.

I barely lift my head. “Yeah?”

“We’re nearly home, babe.”

Pulling his denim jacket closer around me, I breathe in his fruity, tropical scent, letting it transport me to a distant land of white-sand beaches and clear skies. All I want to do right now is run away from them all.

I’m too afraid to look the guys in the eye. I can feel Killian’s possessive stare in the rear-view mirror, but I’m ignoring him. Their voices fade away, overtaken by the sympathetic lilt of the doctor’s voice as he explained what happened.

Pregnant.

Miscarriage.

Haemorrhaging.

Scarred womb.

Years of abuse and Arianna’s traumatic birth have made me into a ticking time bomb ready to explode. He doubts that I’ll ever conceive again. Part of me thinks I should be happy about that, but a larger, more complex part of me is distraught.

I lost my baby.

Not his. Mine.

It was a brand new life, barely just beginning inside of me. Now, it’s gone. I didn’t even know about this baby, but I’m still mourning the loss. I can’t explain it. My grief defies reason, no matter the logical arguments I try to talk myself into believing.

How could anyone possibly understand how it feels to grieve something that you didn’t know was happening inside of you? I’m sure they’re all thinking the same thing. It’s good that I lost this baby. I don’t have to birth another piece of Mr Sanchez.

But I’m still mourning.

Pain doesn’t always make sense.

Sometimes, it just… is.

Driving through the quiet afternoon, Killian cruises straight past Lola’s cabin and carries on up the steep hill. He parks outside their cabin, climbing out and reappearing at my door to help me climb out.

“You’re staying with us,” he says with a thin smile. “The last thing you need right now is more fighting. You can see Lola again when you’re ready.”

“Ari?”

“She’s inside. Missed her mama, too. We’ll set the spare room up for you two.”

Killian eases me out of the car, an arm curled around me for support. I limp up the steps, ducking through the door that Zach holds open for me, carrying my hospital bag slung over his shoulder. Even his smile seems forced.

The moment I’ve stepped over the threshold, a blur of white-haired energy races across the cabin. A pair of arms latches around my legs and nearly knocks me off balance with the ferocity of her relief. My beautiful girl.

“Mummy! Mummy!”

“Ari,” I gasp.

Tears immediately start to pour, escaping from my eyes in a thick river of agony. When she peers up at me, the look on her face shatters my broken heart into even smaller pieces. It seems like she didn’t believe I was coming back.

“Hey, baby.”

“I missed you,” she keens. “Cuddle?”

“Sure. Let me sit down first.”

Unable to lift her, I let Killian guide me over to the sofa. It’s occupied by an even more surprising sight. Micah sits up from his slouching position, offering me a tiny smile. I was not expecting to see him out of his studio.

He’s clearly been babysitting while the guys came to fetch me from the hospital. There’s an animated movie playing in the background and his usual painting clothes are nowhere in sight.

“Hey,” he offers.

All I can do is nod.

Arianna snuggles up to me as soon as I sit down, her headful of long hair pooled in my lap. I soothe myself by stroking the pearlescent strands. Waking up in the hospital without her was terrifying. All I wanted was to hold my little girl close.

“Are you feeling better, Mummy?”

“Yeah,” I croak, stroking her cheek. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“I wanted to come and see you, but Zach wouldn’t let me.”

Casting him a grateful smile, I tuck a curl behind her ear. “Hospitals aren’t nice places, Ari. Zach was just looking after you for me while I was feeling poorly.”

“But I missed you,” she argues.

“I know, baby. I’m back now. You don’t need to worry anymore.”

“I’ll sort the bedroom,” Killian announces.

He disappears deeper into the cabin, carrying my hospital bag. Crouching down to check the fire, Zach adds another log before slumping on the sofa next to Micah. His eyes are barely managing to stay open.

“Was the drive okay?” Micah asks quietly.

“Long. I don’t want to see Highbridge again for a while.”

My eyes are drooping, the warmth of the fire coaxing me to sleep. I didn’t sleep a wink in the hospital after waking up part way through the blood transfusion. I was too worried about the door being broken down and Mr Sanchez storming in.

I snap wide awake with a gasp when Arianna’s weight vanishes from my lap. Zach’s lifted her into his arms and cradles her snoring body against his chest.

“Easy,” he whispers. “I’ve got her.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll tuck her in. You get some rest.”

I sink back into the sofa cushions. Micah is tending to the flames in the fireplace, casting me the occasional loaded look over his shoulder. I can hear Killian and Zach murmuring in the other room, but neither returns.

“You’re here,” I say sleepily.

He tosses another log on the fire. “I didn’t want to paint.”

“Why not?”

“Because Arianna needed me, and I wanted to be with you. That’s more important to me than some stupid paint pallets.”

Despite all the pain and turmoil, his words pierce the suffocating loneliness that has curled around my bones. There’s something about Micah. The others don’t see what I do inside of him.

He has the kind of reassuring presence that can only be honed by experiencing trauma. Even his voice is a comfort to me—soft and soothing, barely an octave above a whisper. His entire presence is a soothing balm against my fried nerves.

“Thank you for looking after her for me.”

“Of course,” he hushes. “She’s a good kid.”

“Do you mind if I have a bath? I smell like a hospital.”

“Yeah, no problem. I can show you where it is, if you want?”

His hand is outstretched for me to take. I hesitate before tangling our fingers together. He tentatively puts an arm around my shoulders, helping me to stand. My body is still incredibly sore and aching despite the painkillers.

This is the closest we’ve been since the moment we shared among the crops. Ever since then, Micah has kept his distance, remaining closed-off and unapproachable. That person is a stark comparison to the man holding me close now.

“Go slow,” he advises.

“I’m okay.”

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself. I could carry you?”

“Mi,” I reassure him. “You don’t need to carry me. I’m okay.”

Guided through the sprawling cabin, I follow Micah into a darkened bedroom on the left hand side. We pass the spare room where I can hear Zach reading a bedtime story to Arianna in a ridiculous, high-pitched princess voice.

“It’s in my bedroom,” Micah explains as he opens the door. “Excuse the mess. I don’t sleep in here often.”

Letting me into the dark space, I glance around while he flips the lights on and ducks inside the en-suite bathroom. Unlike Killian’s room, this is decorated in calming shades of blue. The ocean washes against the walls, blending different hues into a calming cocoon.

His double bed has been lacquered a glossy shade of black, contrasting the deep-blue sheets and navy blanket. While his walls are bare, the bedroom floor is cluttered with art books, colour swatches and the odd discarded paintbrush.

“I like your room.”

He chuckles from the bathroom. “It’s a mess.”

On the bedside table, a single framed photograph rests. I can’t help but be nosy. Inside the frame is a middle-aged man who looks just like the twins, down to their similar shorter height, thick caramel-brown hair and malachite eyes.

Smiling ear to ear, there’s a younger version of both twins hooked under each of the man’s arms. They all look so happy. It hurts to see Micah’s wide, childish smile. I’ve never seen him display happiness so easily.

The photograph is positioned at such a specific angle, I imagine that if Micah were to turn over in bed, it would be like his dad is laying there with him, rocking him back to sleep. My heart breaks all over again.

Micah leaves the bathroom and stops beside me. “That’s my dad.”

“You both look like him.”

“He raised us after our mum left. Dad used to take us camping and backpacking all the time. We even came to Briar Valley once for a trip. He was very outdoorsy.”

“You don’t talk about him much.”

He seems to shake himself out of it. “No, I don’t.”

“Do you miss him?”

His throat bobs with emotion. “More than anything. He was my best friend. We were so close growing up—me, Zach and Dad. It was the three of us against the world.”

“I’m so sorry, Mi.”

“Yeah,” he deadpans.

Turning his back on the photograph, Micah leads the way into the bathroom. It’s light and airy, the slate tiles contrasting the panelled walls. The centrepiece is a huge clawfoot tub, full of jasmine-scented water.

“Zach has fancy bubble bath,” Micah explains nervously. “He won’t admit it, but he’s a complete softie for having a bath. Literally spends hours in there.”

“That figures.”

“If you don’t like it, I can?—”

“It’s fine,” I cut him off.

Micah rubs the back of his neck. “I’ll leave you in peace. Shout if you need anything.”

Before he can run off, I grab his arm. “Would you mind staying? I don’t want to be alone right now. But I understand if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Ah, sure. I can stay.”

Averting his eyes, he studies the ceiling while I strip off my sweats and Killian’s borrowed t-shirt. Undoing my ratty ponytail, I let my hair trail down my back and climb into the tub, sinking beneath the hot water.

“Okay, I’m in.”

Micah clears his throat. “Where do you want me to sit?”

Covered by the carpet of fragrant bubbles, I look up at his awkward smile. “Come closer, if you want. You can talk to me.”

“Um, t-talk?” he stammers.

“Or not.”

“No, that’s fine. We can talk if that’s what you want.”

Sinking down on the floor next to the bathtub, he bands his arms around his knees. I stare into the steaming water, letting him get comfortable around me. As soon as I let my mind wander, the tears come rushing back.

I feel like I’m being battered by an unrelenting hurricane of pain. Running from it is impossible. Futile. I have to surrender to a force larger than myself and let it roll over me in destructive waves, hoping I make it out the other side.

“Willow? What’s wrong?”

“I lost it,” I sob, biting my lip. “I lost a baby I didn’t even know I was having. Why does it hurt? Why do I feel like my world is ending? I’m being so fucking stupid.”

Micah props an arm on the edge of the bath to move closer. “I don’t think you’re being stupid. You’re allowed to grieve even if you didn’t know what was growing inside of you.”

With a scream inching up my throat, I vocalise the darkest thought that’s entered my head since I woke up in hospital.

“This… this baby was a part of him.”

“Your husband?”

“Yes. So, am I supposed to be glad it’s gone? I wish I didn’t feel like my heart has been ripped out of my chest, but I do. It makes no sense.”

With his rounded chin resting on the bath’s edge, Micah tucks a chunk of wet hair behind my ear. Grabbing his hand before he can retreat, our fingers fit together.

“You’re human,” he whispers. “Being human doesn’t make sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“We mourn things that don’t exist and chase dreams that will never materialise. We cry when we’re happy and laugh when we’re sad. Our whole existence is imperfect.”

“That makes us sound ridiculous.”

The corners of his mouth crinkle into a wry smile. “Basically.”

“I never thought about having another kid, but it hurts to know that I still lost something so precious. And now… I might not get another chance.”

“Life doesn’t make sense to me most days. Losing a baby… I don’t know if it will ever make sense to you. But believe me when I tell you that you’re allowed to mourn.”

Strangled by another sob, I let myself fall apart in front of him. Micah holds my hand through every fallen tear, silently stroking my hair. Words aren’t needed. Silence offers more comfort than any reason he could give for this tragedy.

The sound of my crying echoes around us, but the others don’t intrude. I cry for the baby I’ve just lost. For myself. For Arianna and the sibling she’ll never meet. For the life it could’ve had. For the pain that created that spark of light and then cruelly snuffed it out.

Micah’s the last person I should be doing this in front of, but I feel comfortable letting him see the most twisted, broken parts of myself that can never be fixed. He knows how it feels to be ripped apart at the seams and have to piece yourself together again.

“It’s okay, Willow,” he comforts. “You’re safe with me.”

“N-Nothing about this is okay.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Would you h-hold me?”

His lips twist into a tiny smile. “Of course.”

Standing up, he pulls his t-shirt over his head and undresses. I’m sobbing too hard to protest as he steps out of his jeans, revealing short but lithe legs and packed abdominals.

He’s smaller and slimmer than the others, but still well-toned from hours of sculpting. His constant need to express his feelings through art has kept him in trim shape, bulking out his already generous biceps.

Keeping his boxers in place, he climbs into the huge bathtub with me. Water sloshes over the edges, overflowing from the extra weight. Micah slides in at the opposite end. Instinctively, I reach out for him, needing to feel his arms around me.

He pulls me through the water and positions me between his legs. With his chest to my back, his chin lands on my shoulder, lips briefly kissing the side of my head.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs.

“Please don’t let go.”

“Never, angel.”

The suffocating darkness begins to abate as we soak in silence, allowing me to draw a stuttered breath. If I imagine that this bathtub makes up my entire world, everything feels less overwhelming. I can face this small feat first.

“Can I wash your hair for you?” Micah asks.

“I’d l-like that.”

Shifting behind me, he pushes me forwards slightly and encourages me to lean back. My hair is dunked into the water, and Micah’s hands run over my head. It feels amazing to be fawned over and cared for.

Reaching for the shelf of products to the left of the tub, he squirts shampoo into his hands and begins to massage it into my long tresses. My eyes fall shut, the tension leaving my body at the feel of his fingers massaging my scalp.

“Does that feel okay?”

“It feels amazing,” I whisper.

He begins to rinse off the shampoo. “Good.”

By the time he’s finished conditioning my hair, I’m half-asleep in the water. Micah drags me back against his chest, his nose burying in my freshly washed hair before his lips kiss the slope of my exposed neck.

I’m not sure what has changed for him to be comfortable touching me so freely, but I’m glad that something good has come from all this pain. We’re equals now. He knows I understand his grief better than most people, and that’s earned his trust.

“I’m so sorry for being a mess.”

“Stop apologising,” Micah murmurs. “We can be messes together.”

“You’re not a mess.”

“Not sure my brother or cousin would agree.” He releases a regretful sigh. “I’ve been in denial for a long time. It was easier to act like it’s normal to get so low, you don’t even want to be alive.”

“Denial is a powerful thing.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

We stay cuddled together until the water chills. When I can breathe without hiccupping and have no more tears left to shed, Micah places a gentle kiss against my temple. I tilt my head to look at him.

“You’re going to get through this,” he assures me.

“How do you know? I feel so lost.”

“For a long time, it felt like I couldn’t survive losing my dad. I felt so alone. Some days, I still feel like my world is ending. No matter how long I spend locked away where I can’t inconvenience anyone with my misery.”

I stop breathing when his forest-green eyes near, our noses brushing together. His lips push against mine, entwining our hearts into a mournful waltz.

“If I can survive, then so can you. Don’t make my mistake. Don’t lock people out and spend your life alone. It hurts less, but it isn’t living. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

“You don’t?” I whisper.

“I want to live. I think I always did, otherwise I wouldn’t still be here.”

“Even if it hurts?”

“Even if it hurts,” he confirms.

Drinking in the reassurance, I steal the unfettered light inside of him and take it for my own with each brush of our lips. Micah gives it willingly; his strength, his determination, and every ounce of love he has to offer.

He’s far stronger than everyone gives him credit for. The world gave up on him, but Micah kept going. No matter what. He survived the unthinkable. Maybe, I can as well.

“I want to live too. You guys make me want to keep going.”

“Then I’ll kiss you every day to remind you of that.”

“I think… I’d like that.”

Micah kisses me again, harder this time, imbued with never-ending ribbons of pain and blossoming wildflowers of hope. It all folds into a pure, untainted moment as we exchange souls.

Maybe, I’m allowed to mourn. It’s okay to embrace the pain that brings, as long as I remember to come back to life when the time for grieving is done. I have to live.

For Arianna.

For myself.

For the baby I lost.

For the person I want to be.