Briar Valley: The Complete Duet

23. Micah

CHAPTER 23

MICAH

DAWNS – ZACH brYAN & MAGGIE ROGERS

“I do not give a flying fuck about your excuses, Ethan!”

Killian screams down the phone as he paces the length of the living room. His hair is standing up in all directions as he tugs at it, on the verge of pulling the whole damn lot out.

“No, it’s not good enough. She was supposed to be protecting Willow, not trying to fucking kidnap her! She has a bloody concussion and five stitches because of that woman!”

“We should intervene,” I suggest.

Sitting next to me at the dining table with a beer, Zach shakes his head. “It won’t help. He’s been like this since finding Willow yesterday, no matter what we say to him.”

“Can you blame him?”

His expression hardens as rage filters back in. “Not in the slightest.”

I can taste his anger on the tip of my tongue. I’m feeling it too. Seeing Willow, trembling and bloodstained in Killian’s arms, was a fucking harrowing sight. Doc had to stitch up the nasty gash in her head.

After another scan, he confirmed that the baby is fine. No damage from what happened. Despite that, I can’t help but feel like our luck is bound to run out eventually.

“I want the other one gone too,” Killian hisses into the phone. “I don’t trust the lot of you. My family will take care of what’s ours. Focus on finding that motherfucker so we can move on with our lives.”

“Shit. We need Hyland.” I rub my throbbing temples.

“Do we?” Zach combats, staring at the beer clasped in his hands. “The guy could be on Sanchez’s payroll too for all we know.”

“I highly doubt it. He’s as angry as Killian, if not more.”

His expression turns sour. “I don’t need your fucking doubt, Mi. I want our girl to be safe from assholes looking to hurt her. Is that too much to ask?”

Apparently, it is.

The very people we were supposed to trust with Willow’s safety are now in doubt and everything has been turned upside down. Willow’s traumatised by what happened, and frankly, so are we.

“Sort your shit out,” Killian snaps. “Then we’ll talk.”

Ending the call, he tosses the phone aside and fists his hair again. His pacing doesn’t stop—back and forth, up and down, beating the floor into submission. He’ll wear footprints into it at this rate.

“Kill, enough,” I try to placate.

“No. This is bullshit. Ethan has nothing but excuses for why one of his own was blackmailed by that sicko. Apparently, Tara featured in a press conference and her name was given.”

“That’s all he needed?” Zach scoffs. “A name?”

“He has the resources to track people down if he wants to.”

“Son of a bitch.” I rub my eyes.

Killian nods, his face a mask of fear and anger. “No one is safe. We can’t trust anyone.”

All of our eyes sweep over to the front door where Hyland is stationed outside and beating the hell out of himself too. Deep down, I know he had no idea. But that doesn’t mean the mistrust isn’t there.

“What do we do?”

Shrugging at my question, Killian resumes marching up and down. “Ethan’s hauling the whole team in for questioning. The entire investigation is up in the air until they find out if any information has been compromised.”

“What about Tara?” Zach asks.

“Still in the hospital, under arrest.”

Digesting that, we all fall silent. This is a huge mess. Not only has it derailed our one shot at peace—Sabre’s investigation into Sanchez—it’s shaken us all to our very cores. Someone got to Willow. On our land.

If Briar Valley isn’t safe, then nowhere is. We can’t protect her, no matter where she runs or hides. There will always be that threat in the background, regardless of what we do otherwise.

“Is she still asleep?” Killian glances towards the back of the cabin. “Arianna left for school hours ago.”

“I’ll go and check,” I offer.

Leaving them to continue fretting, I head through the partition door that leads into the back of the cabin. Willow didn’t want to go home after what happened and being checked over by Doc.

She opted to sleep in Killian’s bed and we all piled in together, needing our own reassurance that she was still with us.

Softly knocking on his bedroom door, I peer inside. The bed is empty, sheets rumpled and unmade. Checking the bathroom next, I follow the quiet sound of crying that’s becoming louder.

“Willow?’ I knock on the door.

The sound suddenly stops.

“It’s Micah. Can I come in?”

“Mi,” she cries. “I… think I need to be alone.”

“I understand, angel, but I don’t think I can give you that right now. Please let me in.”

It’s several long, painful seconds before the door clicks open. Willow stands on the other side in her comfortable clothes for a day of bedrest—stretchy yoga pants and one of Zach’s oversized tees.

“You doing okay in here?”

Her face is red from crying. “Not really.”

“Want to talk about it? No pressure, I promise. Just me and you.”

Eyes darting from side to side, Willow swallows hard. “Come in.”

I enter the bathroom and look around, finding everything in place. She was clearly hiding in here for a reason, though. She’s shaking all over and refusing to even make eye contact with me.

“How are you feeling?” I stroke a hand over her arm.

“Bit dizzy still, but okay,” she hiccups, wiping moisture from her face. “I’m just a bit overwhelmed with everything. I heard Killian on the phone and freaked out.”

“He’s just upset, angel. Ethan’s team was supposed to be trustworthy.”

“It isn’t Ethan’s fault.”

“Killian needs someone to blame right now. He’s angry.”

“Being angry won’t help anyone.” Her tear-logged eyes finally flick up to me. “When will it all end, Mi? I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Cupping her cheeks, I stroke her tears aside. “Soon, baby. It’ll all be over soon.”

“You can’t promise that.”

The pain emanating from her is a knife to my heart.

“But I can promise that we’re here, no matter what happens. You can always trust us.”

“Just no one else,” she finishes.

Moving down to her mouth, I run my finger over her bottom lip. “Well, no. Not right now. We can’t risk trusting anyone else with your safety after what happened.”

“It just makes no sense. I thought Tara was a good person.”

“Good people can still make mistakes. Sanchez found her pressure point and threatened it. Fear must’ve taken over.”

Willow nods. “That’s what he does.”

“She’s been placed under arrest in the hospital. Sabre’s investigating the entire team to weed out anyone else who’s been compromised.”

“Shit, Mi. This is such a huge mess. How did we get here?”

Pulling her into my arms, I hold her close. “I don’t know. But we’re here, and you’re not alone right now. You don’t have to hide away in here from us.”

“I wasn’t hiding, I..…”

Mouth snapping shut, she shakes her head. I dip a finger beneath her chin to raise her eyes back up to mine.

“Then what?”

Tears fill her eyes again. “I wasn’t going to do it, I promise.”

“Do what, Willow?” I press.

With a sigh, she reaches into her bra and pulls out a small, metal switchblade. My stomach flips. I stare at her in disbelief, trying hard not to appear judgemental.

“What were you doing with it?”

She bites her lip. “I was just trying to figure out how to get rid of it. I don’t need the temptation just laying around. Not when I feel like this.”

Taking a deep breath, I hold out a hand, and she drops the blade into it. I turn the cool metal weight over, hating the mental image it conjures. All I can imagine is her making those scars on her skin.

“You want to use it?”

Hesitant, she nods. “I’m scared. It’s triggering me.”

“You don’t need to be ashamed of that, angel. I said before that you can tell me anything. I won’t ever judge you for feeling triggered.”

Tucking the switchblade into my jeans pocket, I take her hand. She lets me guide her from the bathroom, and I pull her into my side so we can slip past the other two.

“Where are we going?” Willow whispers.

“To a safe space. You need to feel that again.”

In the living room, Killian halts his pacing. “Where are you two off to?”

“We’ll be in the studio if you need us.”

Before he can protest, I steer Willow outside and wave off Hyland. The last thing we need is that lump of meat following us around. That’ll only trigger Willow even more.

At the bottom of the garden, we enter my quiet, dimly lit studio where comfortable silence and the smell of oil paint envelopes us.

When I feel overwhelmed, I come to my safe place to escape. Perhaps she can do the same. Firmly closing the door behind her, I gesture around the warm space.

“Make yourself at home. We can hide out in here for as long as you need. I promise, it’s safe.”

Willow manages a small, sad smile. “Thank you, Mi.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Walking over to the shelf housing canvases and supplies, I use the step to reach the very top shelf where a small, carved box is hidden at the back. Fetching it down, I twist the padlock to open it.

“What’s that?” Willow looks over my shoulder.

“This is a fail-safe, for when I don’t think I can control myself. I lock everything away and put it out of reach.”

Opening the box, inside is stashed my own blade—a black-handled knife, antibacterial wipes and bandages. The self-harmers holy grail. I can hear how loud she gulps from just behind me.

“But you can still reach it,” she points out. “And you know the code to unlock the padlock.”

“That’s the whole point.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The power not to cut will always be mine. This is just a way of proving that to myself. Plus, out of sight, out of mind.”

Putting her switchblade inside, I lock the box and put it back up on the shelf before moving the step away so it’s unreachable. Immediately, Willow seems to deflate a little, her shoulders slumping.

“Does that feel a bit better?”

Surprisingly, she nods. “Actually, it does.”

“Tricking the mind sometimes works.”

“Sometimes?” She laughs weakly.

“I’m not perfect. Nobody is. I just take it a day at a time.”

Turning to face her, she snuggles into my chest, her lips brushing against my pulse point. We stand and cuddle for several silent seconds, just feeling each other’s breath. We’re here. Alive. Safe.

Those blades won’t win—not while we have each other. I’ll pull her out of the depths of hell for as long as this stunning, perfect angel needs me to, whether she’ll admit it to herself or not.

And in return, the breath entering and leaving her lungs will keep me alive. She doesn’t even have to do anything. Her existence in this world is enough to keep blood pumping through my veins.

“What should we do now?” Her breath catches. “I don’t want to go back in there and face this mess yet.”

“Then we don’t have to.”

“Are we just going to hide in here?”

“What if we did some painting instead?” I hesitate, my eyes trailing over her. “Or... I could paint you, if you wanted.”

“Right now?”

“Just sit for me, that’s all. It could be relaxing. Shit… don’t worry, it’s a stupid idea.”

“No, Mi. It’s not.” She smiles shyly. “I’d like to sit for you. Can I keep my clothes on, though?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Cool. Let’s do it.”

Grabbing one of the bean bags on the floor, I fluff it up then add a couple of cushions to make a comfortable place for her. Willow smooths her t-shirt and hair, appearing self-conscious.

“Is what I’m wearing alright?”

“You could be wearing a bin bag, and you’d still be the most gorgeous woman on the entire fucking planet.”

She bites the inside of her cheek, her eyes ducked. “You always say the sweetest things.”

“Just the truth, that’s all.”

Taking a seat on the bean bag, she gets comfortable in the nest of cushions. I set up my easel and stool a few metres away before turning my attention to the paints. I have to get this just right.

Oil paints are too harsh to capture her beauty, so I opt for watercolours instead. I want it to be subtle and striking at the same time, built with layers of shadow and perfectly blended hues.

With the colours set up, I light a couple of candles and fiddle with the lighting in the room until it reflects off her perfect features at just the right intensity. Willow watches me the whole time—her gaze curious as she nervously wrings her hands.

“I like how you move around your space.” She laughs ruefully. “Is that a weird thing to say?”

“This is my safe place. It’s where I feel most at home, and I can be myself.”

“I can tell. You’re different in here.”

“Different in a bad way?” I take my seat.

Willow shakes her head. “No, it’s a good thing.”

“You can relax. No one will bother us in here.”

Releasing a sigh, Willow relaxes further into the bean bag and stares off into space. I begin sketching the outline of her rounded features, slightly crooked nose and full, plump lips.

Every inch of her is incredible. She’s so beautiful, but in an effortless way. It’s completely natural, from her makeup-free skin to every blemish and freckle on her face.

We sit in comfortable, relaxed silence, the only sound my pencil scratching against the canvas as I complete the outline. Candlelight flickers against her features, softening each curved line.

“When did you start painting?”

Wetting my paintbrush, I dip it into the palette. “A few years after my dad died. It was Pops’s idea, actually. He bought my first easel.”

“Really?” she asks.

“I was a bit of a wild child as a teenager. I’d get into trouble for drinking and causing trouble. Pops thought I needed an outlet to deal with stuff.”

“But why art? What about it allows you to cope?”

Focusing on the shape of her hips, I lean closer to paint the edges of her body. “The world feels safer when it’s being painted by my hand. I can make reality whatever I want it to be.”

Her expression is wistful. “That sounds peaceful.”

“It can be, until the thoughts creep back in. I couldn’t find much solace in my art while you were gone. It didn’t work anymore.”

She continues twisting her hands together, mouth opening and closing with hesitation. “I understand that. It’s how I felt when I started… you know… while I was away.”

“How did it happen?”

“By accident at first.” Willow shrugs.

“Tell me about it.”

“I was feeling so overwhelmed and like I couldn’t cope. I wasn’t able to look after myself, let alone be a mother to Arianna. It happened in a desperate moment.”

“And you never regretted it?”

“Every single time.”

I continue painting, slowly pulling her secrets free with each stroke of the brush. “Why?”

“I felt like I was letting Arianna down by doing it, but cutting was the only thing that gave me clarity during all those months. I had no other choice but to take that risk.”

“I get it. Whatever lets you cope, right?”

“Right.” She smiles weakly. “But things are different now. I’m home, and I have you guys again. I don’t need to listen to that voice anymore.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t still there,” I point out. “That’s why you need to keep your promise and come to me when it gets too loud. We’ll figure it out together.”

“Thanks, Mi. I’m lucky to have you in my life.”

“Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me.” I spare her a quick glance. “You’ve changed everything. For all of us. We’re not whole without you, angel.”

“Me neither. Let’s hope we never have to separate again.”

Gloom slips over her, the shadows entering her eyes again.

“Let’s hope.”

Because that’s all we have left now.

Hope.

Pointless, flimsy fucking hope.