Briar Valley: The Complete Duet

6. Willow

CHAPTER 6

WILLOW

RIBS – LORDE

Searching through the fridge, I start pulling out ingredients at random. Tomatoes. Eggs. Sausages. Even some slightly questionable looking spinach to go in the omelette too.

The guys are still asleep. Neither stirred as I snuck out of bed, unable to lay there for a second longer. I managed a few hours before I woke up in a dog pile of muscles and limbs.

My heart was pounding from another stress-induced nightmare. Mr Sanchez was there, as he always is, ready to lash out at me with his ice-cold blue eyes and razor sharp tongue.

I know where you are, Mrs Sanchez.

I’m coming for you and that little brat.

You will be mine again.

Startling, I realise an egg has hit the floor, smashing after falling from my trembling hands. Shit. I make myself take a breath to force the nightmarish whispers aside.

Half an hour later, I’ve ruined my first three attempts at the omelette, burned my hand on the stove, and dropped a mug of coffee on myself in between the madness.

With a growl, my back meets the cabinet, and I let myself sink to the cabin floor to bury my face in my hands. I’m so tired. Not just physically, but on a bone-deep, irreparable level.

I thought I’d feel better the moment I set foot back in Briar Valley, but it’s like all the shit that’s built up in the past few months has followed me here.

Letting my fingers glide underneath Killian’s stolen flannel shirt I threw on to cover up my arms, I let out a deep breath while stroking the healing cuts across my wrist.

I’m itching to take my switchblade from my suitcase and cut again, over and over, until this nervous energy leaves my body, and I can finally get some rest.

“Are you going to sit on the floor and cry all day?”

Opening my eyes, I find Killian staring down at me with his arms folded across his bare, chiselled chest. My throat immediately seizes up at the sight of so much burnished muscle.

He’s wearing only a pair of dark-green sweatpants, hanging low on his defined hips. His hair is still a long, tangled bush of dirty-blonde strands around the strong, defined angles of his face and jaw.

“Well?” He cocks a brow.

Wiping the tears from my cheeks, I try to plaster a smile on my face but fail to summon it. Killian’s featured in my dreams for months, but seeing him in front of me still makes my body hum.

“Breakfast is a disaster.”

“So I can see,” he quips back. “Were you trying to decorate the kitchen with food?”

“I’m trying to cook, and it’s all going wrong!”

He crouches down beside me. “Christ, Willow. Did you sleep at all?”

“I don’t need to sleep,” I snap, ignoring his outstretched hand. “What I need is to get my shit together and figure out what needs to be done. I have no idea where to even start, planning a funeral.”

“It’s all done. You don’t have to worry.”

“Wait, what?”

Killian stares at me. “I took care of it all.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The funeral home is sorting the arrangements. They’re gonna call me back today. Lola’s lawyer will be here in a few weeks to go through her affairs.”

My mouth clicks open then shut again. “You… sorted it all?”

“This isn’t my first family death.” Killian scrapes a hand over his sculpted beard. “I figured you would be overwhelmed with it all, so I took care of it.”

“I can’t believe you’ve done everything. I thought I’d have to do it all as her last living relative.”

“Why are you so shocked?”

“You know why.”

Expression softening, he helps me to stand back up, his hand grasping mine tightly. His skin is rough and calloused against mine.

“Because I’m still in love with you. I’ve loved you since the day we met, for fuck’s sake. That’s why I wanted to help. Besides, she was my grandmother as well.”

“I love you too,” I admit. “It killed me to leave.”

“Good,” he snarls.

My eyebrows draw together. “Why is that good?”

“Because you almost killed my family with this stupid fucking decision, Willow. You need to know how much it hurt us.”

“I do!”

“You did this to us. No one else. You can’t blame Dimitri Sanchez for your own decisions, even if he was the cause of them. You could’ve chosen to stay instead.”

“And let him take Arianna?” I almost shout.

“He wouldn’t have gotten remotely close. We dealt with him once and all the other times his cronies came back again, looking for you. You didn’t give us a chance to keep you safe.”

I try to push him away, but he grips the edges of the kitchen counter, preventing me from being able to escape. I’m caught against his lines of god-like, carved muscle.

“You took off and broke my damn heart. Zach’s been a wreck. Don’t even get me started on Micah. That’s on you, princess.”

Tears burn in my eyes. “Kill, stop.”

“I won’t stop. Not until you understand and swear that you’ll never leave us again. No matter how scary life gets.”

“I can’t promise that!”

His jaw tightens into a hard, cruel line. “Then you might as well go now.”

Moisture spills over and leaks down my cheeks. He wants me to hurt. Killian needs to see my pain for himself to know if we have a future worth fighting for or not.

“You want to know the truth?”

He waits, silent and demanding.

With a flicker of courage, I throw off the oversized flannel shirt that covers my arms, revealing healing cuts and new scars from our time apart. The remaining colour in his still-tanned face drains away.

“There’s your truth,” I lash out. “You want to know if I regretted my actions? Every goddamn day. But I had no choice.”

A single finger trailing its way down from my wrist, Killian traces the violent slash of a healed cut. It’s pink and tight, contrasting with the still-raw wounds from a few days ago.

“What the fuck is this?” he demands in a flat, terrifying voice that pricks the hairs up on my skin. “Who did this to you?”

“I did it to myself, Kill.”

“Yourself?” he grinds out.

“Yes.”

Yanking my arm away, I throw the flannel shirt back on to cover up the vulnerable parts of myself. I didn’t want to show him, but I need him to understand. I didn’t run for my own pleasure.

Zach was right. For all the awful pain they’ve suffered, I have endured it along with them—every last stab in the heart with the time that we were kept apart.

“Willow. Please talk to me.”

“There’s nothing else to say.”

“You can’t just show me that and walk away. Tell me what to do.” His voice shifts to a desperate rasp. “I want to fix this.”

“You can hate me if you want, but hate me for the right reasons. I didn’t deliberately hurt your family. I was protecting mine.”

His mouth hanging open on a response, the patter of light, child-sized feet halts his next words. The door to the kitchen opens, and Arianna appears, rumpled and dazed in her bunny pyjamas.

“Mummy?” she yawns.

“Morning, baby.”

The moment her eyes open properly, she spots Killian. Her sleepiness vanishes, replaced by excitement. She whoops and launches herself straight at him.

“Giant! Giant!”

Killian easily catches her. “Hey, peanut.”

Lifted into his huge, tree trunk arms, he swings her around the kitchen in a circle. Her squealing cuts through my brain, but I don’t mind. It’s the happiest I’ve heard her in months.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” she screams.

“I didn’t go anywhere.” Killian spoons her against his chest and strokes her messy bedhead. “Missed you, peanut.”

“I missed you more, Giant. Did you get smaller?”

He suppresses a laugh. “I don’t think so. You’re just getting bigger.”

“I must be growing!” she declares triumphantly.

“Alright, Ari. Let the poor man breathe.”

Placed back on her feet, Arianna circles her arms around his legs and refuses to let go. I shove them both out of the kitchen so I can clean up and continue with breakfast.

Killian’s still watching me closely, our argument hanging in the tension in the air, as he sits down with Arianna on his knee.

“What have you been up to?” he asks conversationally.

Arianna pouts. “Nothing. I missed my friends and school.”

“Well, now you can go back to school. Can’t you?”

“I can?” she gasps.

Cracking a fresh carton full of eggs into a bowl, I bite my lip. She doesn’t need to know this may just be a quick visit for the funeral. In fact, none of them need to know that yet.

“Did you hear that, Mummy?”

“I did,” I hum back.

“I can see Johan again. And Aalia, Rachel… Miranda too! I’m so happy to be home.”

The look on Killian’s face is so smug. I narrow my eyes at him. He can act innocent all he wants, I know what his game plan is here. Emotional warfare. He’s going to play dirty.

“Did you miss Briar Valley?” Killian asks innocently.

“So much,” she gushes.

“And do you want to stay here now that you’re back?”

Arianna’s smile freezes. “We aren’t going to stay? Mummy?”

“I… don’t know, Ari.”

Spotting the signs of a meltdown a mile off, I quickly wipe off my hands and give all of my attention to her. Arianna’s eyes fill with tears.

“But we just got back! I’m not leaving!”

“Ari, things are complicated?—”

“No!” she screams.

Killian looks surprised at her outburst of anger and quickly backtracks. “Peanut, don’t worry. We’ll figure it all out.”

But Arianna’s already fallen into one of her now-regular tantrums as her face turns bright-pink, and tears begin to streak down her cheeks in thick rivers.

“I don’t want to live in the apartment anymore,” she cries hysterically. “I hate feeling scared all of the time.”

“Good job, Kill.” I cast him a glare.

He scrubs a hand over his face, his smug smirk no longer in sight. Things have changed while we’ve been gone, the uncertainty taking a heavy toll on Arianna’s behaviour. It isn’t her fault.

I approach her slowly with raised hands. “Calm down, Ari. We’re home. You’re safe.”

“I’m not leaving!”

“We’re going to stay for a while, baby. I have to sort out Grams’s things, and you’re going to see all of your friends again.”

Peering up at me through her lashes, she looks on the verge of calming down before her tears intensify, and her wails ricochet off the walls around us. I kneel down and pull her into my lap.

“Shh, baby. I’ve got you.”

“What the hell is this?” Killian demands.

“This is your fault!” I yell at him.

“I wasn’t trying to upset her.”

“But you did with your stupid little games.”

He falls silent as I attempt to calm Arianna down. She’s hiccupping and clinging to the lapels of my flannel shirt when Zach makes a bleary-eyed appearance in the kitchen.

“What happened?” he asks.

“Your cousin happened.”

Killian huffs. “It’s my fault.”

Crouching down next to me in his plaid pyjama bottoms and t-shirt, Zach peels Arianna from my lap and boosts her into the air.

“Hey, monkey. Why the tears?”

Her chest shakes with hiccups. “I d-d-don’t want to leave.”

Bouncing her on his hip like she’s a little toddler again, he dances around the kitchen and goofs off until Arianna is smiling. Her tears are quickly replaced by laughter.

“Zach! Lemme down!”

“Not until we turn that frown upside down,” he singsongs. “Let’s finish off this breakfast together, shall we? I’m sure I can burn it much better than your mama can.”

“Okay,” she submits.

“You’re in charge then, Ari.”

“I am?” She peers up at him with eager eyes.

Zach waggles his eyebrows. “I’m not gonna be the adult here. Now, where do you want me, chef?”

“I want eggs!”

“Then eggs it is.”

He takes Arianna into the kitchen to begin whisking eggs, and I glance at Killian’s weirdly anxious face. His emotions are at the forefront as he watches Zach entertain my daughter.

I lower my voice. “Ever use my daughter to emotionally manipulate me again and we’re going to have a serious fucking problem. I am not kidding around.”

With his head hanging in shame, I breeze past him and step outside to clear my head. It’s freezing cold, the snow now stopped and settled in thick, white tides of powder.

It’s a winter wonderland and the perfect setting for the approaching festive season, but I doubt we’ll be here to see it. Mr Sanchez can find us here. We’re not safe.

But for the life of me, I can’t find the strength inside myself to leave again. The pain I felt last time has already expanded overtime, and I’m being crushed beneath its weight right now.

There’s a loud crashing sound from the bottom of the garden where Micah’s cabin lies. Lights are glowing from inside. I can’t avoid him forever, even if part of me wants to.

Approaching the cabin and knocking on the door, I wait to be let inside. The crashing continues, and no one comes to open up. I have to heave open the lump of hewed wood myself.

“Mi? You in here?”

Bang.

Crash.

Shatter.

“Micah!”

There’s chaos inside—unadulterated, destructive chaos. His studio has been trashed, from ripped canvases to smashed sculptures. Tools have been thrown and windows smashed.

“Oh my God.”

Collapsing amidst the madness on a bean bag surrounded by empty beer cans, Micah is semi-conscious. There’s a half-empty bottle of vodka still clutched in his paint-stained hand.

The sight of him causes my heart to squeeze.

“Mi?”

His caramel-brown hair is pointing up in all directions, his features mirroring his identical twin brother’s soft, rounded face, despite his pierced button nose and slightly darker eyes.

“You again,” he slurs.

“Me… again?”

“You always haunt my dreams, angel.”

“Oh, Mi. I’m not a dream.”

His glazed-over emerald eyes meet mine. “Of course, you are. The others told me to let go and forget you, but I just can’t do it.”

Heart splintering, I pick my way through the rubble and shards of glass. Micah continues to loll on the beanbag as I finally reach him and crouch down next to it.

“What have you done to yourself?” I whisper, swiping unruly hair aside.

As my fingertips brush his skin, his eyes flutter shut in a brief look of ecstasy. It takes him a moment to realise that the hand touching him is real and not a dream.

“Willow,” he breathes.

“I’m here, Mi. I’m real.”

“Not… real.”

Burying my fingers in his hair that’s slick with grease, obviously unwashed, I press the lumps and bumps of his skull. My hand travels around to grasp his chin to make him look at me.

“Come back,” I plead. “We need you. I need you. I’m sorry for leaving and making you do this to yourself to cope.”

Tentatively reaching out, his hand strokes over my short, curling hair, verifying the inky black strands are indeed real. With his test satisfied, a streak of soberness enters his gaze.

“Holy fuck. You’re here.”

“I’m here,” I repeat.

Looking a lot more awake, his eyes shine with unshed tears that cause thorny spikes to slice into my throat. He still won’t move to embrace me as I desperately want him to.

“Why did you leave me?” he croaks.

Fuck. His voice.

“I’m so sorry,” I choke out.

“My head… You left me alone in it.”

Uncaring of whether he wants me to or not, I throw my arms around Micah’s slimmed-down body and hold him close. He curls up against my chest like a tiny baby in need of love.

“I’m here… I’m here,” I reassure.

Each time I repeat the words that he needs to hear, I circle his back in slow, comforting strokes. The smell of beer and liquor clings to him like a second skin, along with the stench of cigarettes.

This is the worst I’ve ever seen him. I’ve only heard rumours about the darkest depths of his worst depressive episodes, when the drinking escalates, and he stops taking care of himself.

“How long has this episode lasted?” I ask gently. “You don’t look like you’ve showered or slept in weeks.”

“Fine,” he mumbles.

“You’re not, Mi.”

His head lifts, and two devastating eyes scour my face. “I can’t believe… you’re here. It’s really you. Am I that drunk?”

“This is real. I’m home for Lola’s funeral. We came as soon as we heard about what happened.”

At the mention of her death, he pulls away from me. Micah staggers to his feet and takes a swig from the vodka bottle still tucked into his hands.

“She died while I was out drinking,” he bites out. “I d-didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. Neither did Z-Zach.”

“We didn’t either, Mi.”

“But that wasn’t your fault. This was m-mine.”

Taking a seat at the chair in front of his crafting area that’s miraculously still standing, Micah’s head hits the table with a thump. A second later, his snoring begins.

I stare at him for several astonished seconds, unsure of exactly what I’ve just witnessed. He’s passed out. Stone cold asleep.

I did this.

Me.

It’s all my fault.

Grabbing his denim jacket from the hook on the wall, I carefully drape it over his shoulders so he’s at least warm. There’s a fire crackling in the corner of the room, and I add some more logs too.

He needs a shower, hot meal and proper sleep in a warm bed, but that can be tomorrow’s task. I’m here now. I will fix what I’ve broken and look after him in his own personal darkness.

Back inside the cabin, Killian is washing up mixing bowls and utensils while Arianna eats her omelette on the sofa with Zach. I’m too emotionally exhausted to make her move and sit at the table.

“Micah’s drunk,” I say quietly.

Killian doesn’t even look up from his task. “No doubt.”

“You don’t have a problem with that?”

He slams a wooden spoon down a little harder than necessary. “I have several problems with it. But it isn’t something I can fix.”

Abandoning the washing up, he mumbles about needing a shower and leaves the kitchen. I’m left standing in the mess of breakfast with my mouth hanging open.

I don’t recognise the people I’ve come home to. The men I remember aren’t here and a terrified part of me is worried they’ll never return, just like the old Willow won’t either.

Maybe, we’re all too broken.

And this cannot be fixed.