Briar Valley: The Complete Duet

9. Micah

CHAPTER 9

MICAH

GONE – NF & JULIA MICHAELS

Christmas is never a happy time for me.

It’s when my grief hits the hardest.

This year is no different. I wake up to the steady fall of snow the week after Lola’s funeral. Things have been quiet around here. The town feels lifeless and empty without her in it.

Working on my latest project—a full-sized watercolour print of St David’s Pointe in all its rugged beauty—I ignore the creak of the door opening.

Willow has taken to walking in rather than knocking when I’ve ignored her. She’s determined to pull me out of the depression that’s drowning me and has made it her mission to force me to eat.

“Mi?”

Shit. Zach.

Ignoring him, I focus on the snow-capped peaks and white-dusted fir trees that line the mountain pass on my canvas. I had planned to gift this to Lola for Christmas. She loved the mountains so much.

Now I’m going to finish this piece of art and destroy it. Just like every other sculpture and painting I’ve created since her death and left in ruins around me. None of them are good enough anymore.

“Micah. You need to come inside.”

“Go away,” I say absently.

“Not a chance.” Zach stops next to me. “It’s Christmas Day, and Willow’s struggling enough without Lola here. Get your ass inside before I kick it.”

Pain bites into my chest. Fuck. Of course, she’s finding today difficult. Lola’s barely been dead for two weeks, and already we’re all expected to move on with our lives. It’s unfair.

“She doesn’t need me in there, making everyone even more miserable.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he grumbles. “You’re really starting to piss me off, little brother.”

“Still just three fucking minutes.”

“And you have exactly three seconds to get inside before I lose my shit. Your family needs you. Willow needs you. Stop being such a selfish prick.”

My hand stilling against the canvas, I let the brush drop. Shame floods my cheeks. It’s easier to hide out in here rather than face the concern that still blooms in their eyes at the sight of me.

Things have been rough.

My recent depressive episodes have taken everything out of me, especially since Lola’s death. Today is the first day I’ve made it to sit at my easel, rather than wallowing or drinking.

“Mi,” he urges. “Please. I’m begging you.”

I feel my resolve crack. “Alright.”

“You’ll come inside?”

“If you promise to get the hell off my case already.”

“Pinkie swear,” he vows.

Putting my tools down, I wipe my paint-slick hands off on a rag and follow Zach out of the cabin. Each step adds to the pressure on my chest. I can’t believe I’m letting him talk me into this.

I’ve never celebrated Christmas. Not even last year when Lola cooked a huge family dinner for us all in her cabin and invited the whole town for carol singing.

I always hide in my studio until it’s all over and the memories of my father slink back into their badly sealed box. It’s easier that way. Simpler. Safer. I don’t bother anyone else with my grief.

The moment Zach opens the cabin door, warmth hits me in the face. The fire has been lit, and Killian is bent over the oven, basting a huge turkey surrounded by roughly cut roast potatoes.

“Jesus,” I curse.

Killian glances at me. “Well, I’ll be damned. Look who decided to show his face.”

He’s wearing a flowery apron over his red flannel shirt and blue jeans. Willow’s trying hard not to laugh as she watches him cook with a glass of red wine in hand.

Her head immediately turns on a swivel to face me, and she smiles broadly with a look of relief that steals my breath. Fuck. I’ve missed that stunning, ear to ear smile so much.

“Micah,” she breathes.

I offer an awkward wave. “Hi.”

“You joining us to eat?” Killian asks.

“He is,” Zach answers for me.

Giving me a hard shove, I fall farther into the room. It smells amazing in here. Killian is far better in the kitchen when under Willow’s supervision than left alone to his own devices.

“Micah!” Arianna shouts.

In the living room, she’s curled up in front of the fireplace with… a fucking puppy. The ball of midnight-black fur is asleep in her arms as she strokes its little belly and ears.

“Who got her a puppy?”

Zach chuckles. “Who do you think?”

We all turn to face Killian, the tips of his ears slowly turning bright-red. “What?”

“A puppy? For real?”

“She needs something to protect her.”

“But... a puppy?” I repeat.

“Yes! It’s a damn puppy!”

He glowers at us all until we’re forced to look away before he whips us with a wooden spoon. It wouldn’t be the first time. That stony-faced asshole is a complete softie for Arianna.

“Her name is Demon,” Arianna states matter-of-factly.

“Demon?”

“Yes.” Her smile is wan. “Because nobody will hurt us if we have a demon by our side. Right?”

“Right, baby.” Willow ruffles her hair.

Zach snorts. “Just another normal day in Briar Valley, right?”

Snagging a beer, I quickly put it down again when I catch the look on Willow’s face. Her momentary happiness has vanished, and she looks gutted at the thought of me drinking alcohol in front of her.

Instead, I approach her and offer a hand for her to take. She hesitantly puts hers into mine, and I curl our fingers together to pull her closer. My lips brush against her mouth in a tentative whisper.

“Merry Christmas, angel.”

It takes a moment for her to kiss me back, her hand lifting to bury in my messy crop of hair. “Happy Christmas, Mi.”

“Eww!” Arianna squeals. “Stop kissing my mummy.”

“Sorry, squirt.”

Pecking Willow’s mouth again, I leave her and attack the little monkey instead. She screams and wriggles as I tickle her ribs relentlessly, disturbing the cute ball of fur in her lap.

The puppy is an adorable little thing—she looks like a tiny black Labrador Retriever. Her tongue is lurid pink against her pitch-black fur as she attacks me in a storm of teeth and tongue.

“Alright!” I shout. “Ari, call your attack dog off.”

“Here, Demon.” She claps her hands together.

The dog finally relents and returns to her owner’s lap for more cuddles. I’m left covered in hair and slobber, much to Zach’s amusement.

“Well played,” he mouths.

I glower at him. “Could’ve helped.”

“I didn’t tell you to go to war with a puppy.”

Killian steps into the room in his flowery apron. “Grub’s up.”

I’m not sure I can remove the image of him in an apron from my brain without the assistance of industrial-strength bleach. But Arianna and Willow are clearly loving it based on their bright, happy grins.

Having them here feels weirdly good. I was dreading coming inside and had no intention of eating with them, but with their presence here, the cabin doesn’t feel so empty anymore.

Arianna rises to wash her hands, stopping in front of me to grab my wrist. “Come with me, Micah.”

I’m dragged over to the kitchen sink to wash my hands, her strength surprising for a tiny seven-year-old. She squirts soap onto my paint-splattered skin then traps my hands between hers to lather them up.

“You’re always dirty,” she scolds.

“Sorry, kiddo.”

“Where have you been? I wanted to practice my finger-painting with you, but Mummy told me to leave you alone.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry. I’ve been feeling poorly.”

“Poorly?” She frowns up at me. “I think you mean sad. I don’t know why. You need to be happy, Mi.”

Drying off my hands, I boost her up into a hug then settle her on my hip. “I’ll help you with finger-painting tonight. Is that a deal?”

Arianna grins at me. “Deal!”

“Alright then, monkey.”

Carrying Arianna over to the table, I sit her down next to Willow. Ryder appears through the front door a moment later, a Christmas hat covering his curls.

He spots me and does a dramatic double take that makes me roll my eyes. Here we go. He’s already prepping some stupid remark.

“Holy fuck. He’s alive.”

“Language,” I snap.

Willow jabs a finger at him. “Micah’s right. Language.”

Scolded, Ryder spreads his hands in surrender and takes a seat at the table. “You rejoining the land of the living, Mi?”

“For now.”

“Aren’t we blessed.”

“You should be.”

“Shut up, you rowdy lot.” Killian stands over the table with the turkey in hand. “Time to play happy fuckin’ families.”

“Kill!” Willow shrills in exasperation. “How many times do I have to tell you guys off for your language?”

With a smirk on his face, he places the turkey down on the table amongst veggies, pigs in blankets, cauliflower cheese and a giant jug of gravy that could wash all of Briar Valley away.

“Happy Birthday, Jesus,” he declares triumphantly. “Everyone dig in.”

Zach doesn’t have to be told twice. He’s already shovelling a pile of potatoes on his plate as Killian carves up the bird. There’s a ridiculous amount of food on the table.

Ryder watches Killian carve with sadness in his eyes, and I know he’s thinking of Lola. Her Sunday night roast dinners are a staple of the town’s history and part of what makes us one big rowdy family.

“Wait,” Ryder blurts.

Everyone freezes.

“We should… you know, raise a toast. To Lola.”

Placing the carving knife down, Killian’s expression turns solemn. “Yeah. We should.”

Everyone lifts their drinks as I pour myself a glass of water from the jug on the table. Willow’s gaze shines with appreciation.

“To Lola,” Ryder toasts, his beer raised. “Grams, hope you’re having a hell of a time celebrating Christmas up there with Pops.”

Clinking our glasses together, no one says anything else as we all silently swallow. Words won’t cover it. Lola was far beyond them. In fact, words haven’t been enough since she left us.

“Mummy?” Arianna whispers.

Sniffling, Willow wipes underneath her eyes. “I’m fine, baby girl. Eat up.”

Zach waves a Christmas cracker in my face. “Come on then, Mi. Pull one.”

“What are we, five years old?”

“Pull the damn cracker before I hit you with it.”

I do as told just to appease him and snort when he loses. Pulling the miniature dice set and paper hat free from the ruined remains, I read out the joke.

“What do you call a boomerang that doesn’t come back?”

Zach shrugs. “No idea.”

“A stick.”

Bursting into hysterical laughter, Arianna doubles over as she giggles maniacally. “A stick! That’s so funny.”

“That was terrible.” Zach wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Alright, let me try one.”

Ripping open another cracker, he pulls his own paper hat on before reading the joke inside. His present was a crappy nail file.

“Okay. Who hides in a bakery at Christmas?”

“Who?” Arianna asks excitedly.

“A mince spy.”

She stares without understanding. “I don’t get it.”

“A mince pie.” Willow nudges her in the ribs. “Like the dessert?”

Her eyebrows crease in confusion. I guess she didn’t have them in Mexico. Part of me wonders what they were both doing this time last year while still living under that bastard’s roof.

“Lola made the best homemade mince pies,” Killian muses, his eyes filled with sadness. “Even made the pastry herself too.”

“With the little stars on top,” Ryder chimes in.

“She spiked the cream on the side with whiskey as well.” Zach laughs to himself. “That stuff was seriously dangerous.”

“I always wanted to see what one of Lola’s famous Christmas dinners would be like,” Willow adds to their reminiscing. “Now I never will.”

“You’ll always have a place at this table,” Killian says gruffly. “Regardless of where life takes us.”

“Thank you, Kill.”

Placing her hand on top of his, the pair share a loaded look. Hope sparks deep in my mind. Since agreeing to stick around, Willow’s been different.

Part of me wants it to be true, but I’m struggling to believe she’ll stay. She’s made promises before, yet that didn’t stop her from leaving us at the earliest opportunity.

When Ryder’s phone chirps, he mutters something about a video call with Ethan and dips outside to answer. Willow’s demeanour immediately changes, locking back up and becoming defensive.

“I’m finished!” Arianna licks her plate clean. “Can I go and play with Demon now please?”

“Sure, baby,” Willow murmurs.

Arianna vanishes to roll around in the living room with her new best friend, leaving us to finish up in peace. Killian follows Willow’s gaze out of the window to where Ryder’s taking his call.

“When does Ethan want you to travel down to London?” he asks abruptly.

“Couple of weeks,” she sighs.

When I heard about the plan, I was sceptical. Rehashing the past isn’t fun for anyone. It’s going to be hard on Willow, and she’ll be re-traumatised by dragging it all back up.

“What’s he gonna do, then?” Zach jumps in.

“I guess I’ll testify on record, and they’ll use my story as part of their investigation. Mr Sanchez is just one of several big players being looked into by Sabre Security.”

“So there’s a real chance to bring this motherfucker down?” he asks.

“Not in the way I want to,” Killian grumbles back. “He needs a bullet between his eyes, not a prison cell.”

“I’m not visiting you in a prison cell,” Willow snaps at him. “That’s final.”

“How are they going to take him down?” I interrupt. “He’s in Mexico, right?”

Willow shrugs. “Extradition, I suppose. It’s an international investigation, so they have a lot of resources.”

The whole thing sounds precarious. I have a lot of respect for Ethan and his work, but from what we know, Dimitri Sanchez is the real deal.

It’s going to take a lot to bring that son of a bitch to justice. Perhaps more than Ethan’s company can manage. More than any of us can.

“We’re going to be here every single step of the way.” Zach grasps her hand.

I can feel his trepidation from here. Our twin bond has always been a two-way street, but in recent years, I’ve struggled to connect with Zach. That changed when Willow came on the scene.

“So what happens now?” I drag them back.

Her eyes flick up to mine. “I’m staying, if that’s what you mean.”

“For how long?”

“Forever, Mi,” Killian drawls.

“I don’t believe it.”

Pain flares in her eyes. “You don’t believe me?”

Scraping my chair back, I stand up. “You made a promise before. I can’t fall for that again.”

All of their stunned faces watch me leave the cabin, slamming the door behind me. Anxiety is pushing a hot burst of vomit up my throat, aided by last night’s vodka binge, but I hold it back.

“Mi!” Ryder shouts.

I don’t stop running until I’m safely back in the confines of my studio, away from the pressure of socialising and plastering on a fake smile like the rest of them. As much as I want to trust Willow, I can’t do that.

I won’t survive her breaking my heart again.

This is for my own self-preservation.