Sorrow (Cape Frost #1)

6

When I hear the rumble of the charcoal Silverado that Hayes drives for work, my stomach sinks. This is not how I want him to see me, and I can’t imagine anyone I’d rather have coming to my rescue less. It’ll just be yet another reason for him to be an asshole.

As predicted, he climbs out of his truck with a scowl, closing the distance so quickly I barely get a glimpse of his dirty jeans and the blue flannel that I’m sure he’s tossed over an even dirtier shirt before he’s lifting me without a word. In a matter of thirty seconds, I’ve gone from stumbling drunk all alone to buckled into the last truck in the world I want to be in, and I feel completely powerless.

He slams his door hard enough to make the truck shake. I flinch, cowering down in the seat in hopes of softening the shit storm about to come, but the expression on his face as he peels out of the lot makes me want to launch myself out the window.

“The fuck were you thinking?” he snaps, glancing in the rearview mirror like he’s hoping someone will follow him. Maybe then he’d have someone else to punish, but instead, there’s only me. Always only me.

“Fuck you,” I scoff quietly. “It’s just like you to blame the victim.”

“Victim?” he repeats incredulously. “Alright then.” He turns the truck around so quickly I fly against the door in spite of the seatbelt, then nearly vomit as he slams the gas pedal. “Which one of them dragged you out of the house and brought you here? I’ll kick their ass right now, victim.”

God, I wish he’d have left me there to freeze. “I came here on my own, but I’m not the one who forced me to chug spiked tea and shoved fucking Everclear down my throat. I would’ve been fucking fine. Just let me out, I’ll walk.”

“And who the fuck did that?” His tone is darker now, like he might actually believe me. Somehow it just pisses me off more.

“Tristan Turner and his fuckwit friends. But it’s my fault, right? I put myself in that position by going out in public. My oversized down coat was too revealing, and the fear in my eyes was obviously consent.”

“I didn’t say that,” he replies through gritted teeth. “Are you implying they tried to rape you, Samara?”

I don’t know what I’m implying. None of them touched me like that or said anything that suggested it, but who knows what would’ve happened if I wouldn’t have escaped? “They forced me to get drunk and when I ran away, he said he wasn’t done playing with me yet. You’re a guy. What did he mean?”

His hands tighten on the steering wheel, but that’s nothing compared to the murder in his dark eyes. “He meant exactly what you thought he meant.”

I relax slightly when he drives past the quarry and makes a turn toward my house, but something tells me this isn’t over. It just doesn’t make sense. Why would he be angry on my behalf when he hates me?

Maybe he’s mad I escaped. That sounds more like him.

“Maybe I should’ve just played along. I could’ve just given it to him and—”

The truck comes to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road, and those hateful eyes lock on me as the seatbelt nearly chokes me. “Is this a fucking joke to you?”

The sudden lack of movement makes me nauseous. My head is swimming, heart pounding. I can’t be here right now. Not with him. I don’t even know what I said.

Grabbing the door handle, I try to run — but the door doesn’t budge. It’s not locked, yet it won’t open. I’m stuck.

What the fuck?

Taking a measured breath, I turn back to him and try to keep my voice steady. “Nate won’t fuck me because he says he doesn’t have time to break me in. If that’s what Tristan wanted, it didn’t have to be violent. That’s all I was saying. Why won’t my door open?”

Silence answers me. There’s nothing but the weight of his stare and our heavy breaths to keep me company until he’s stepping on the gas again. “Broken.”

Does he mean me or the door?

Truthfully, I don’t think it matters.

“Yeah.”

“Why do you even want a guy that won’t give you his time, anyway?”

Maybe it’s the booze, maybe it’s the close call I just escaped. Maybe I just don’t care anymore. But for the first time in years, I’m completely honest with him.

“He’s my ticket out.”

“Out?” he repeats. “Of where? Your brother’s house?”

“This whole sorry town.”

His jaw flexes, but if he had any actual response to what I just shared, I’ll never know. The color drains from his face as we pull onto my street. I’m about to argue with him further, but I follow his gaze and feel my whole world drop out from under me.

My house is on fire.

Everything slows to a crawl. My heartbeats, my movements, the words coming out of Hayes’ mouth that my brain won’t pick up. Suddenly I’m not in the cab of an old beat up Chevy, I’m somewhere up above watching someone in my body slam her palms against the window of a door that won’t open.

I’m watching the person in my body scream. It’s weird, I feel it in my throat — but it’s not really me, it’s her. She’s the one screaming, watching Hayes get out and kick the front door down.

The thing was practically falling off the hinges, anyway .

I watch her struggle to open the truck door and finally give up, crawling over the bench seat and falling headfirst out into the snow. It feels warmer now, the air.

I guess he won’t have to fix the furnace.

My face becomes wet with tears I don’t think I’m crying as I realize Hayes isn’t coming back out. He’s been in there too long, there’s too much smoke.

I crawl forward trying to push myself to my feet, but the ice is... ice. I can’t get my footing.

All at once I’m ripped from where I’m watching somewhere safe and far away and shoved back into my body when he comes back out covered in soot, but looking unharmed. “What the hell!” I gasp. “What were you thinking?”

He’s coughing so hard it takes a moment for him to answer, but even as he struggles to breathe, he starts moving me further back. “I had to make sure Boo wasn’t in there.”

Did I miss his cruiser? No, if Boo was home, he’d have been the one to come get me. He wouldn’t have sent Hayes knowing how we feel about each other. He’s at work safe and sound, which means Hayes just risked his life for no reason. “You idiot, you could’ve died! He’s not even here! ”

“Sorry to disappoint,” he growls, lifting me back into the truck again with nothing but pity written all over his face. “Fuck, it’s all gone, Sam. All of it. I grabbed this.”

He pulls out a family portrait back from when my parents were alive and hands it over, numbing me completely.

It’s all gone.

If nothing else, the fact that he called me by my name and not some rude nickname is enough to tell me how serious it is.

All of a sudden, I’m feeling quite sober.

“I have to call Boo,” I mumble. “I think I dropped my phone.”

He pulls out his phone to call 9-1-1, then holds it out for me to take. As it rings, I catch him muttering something under his breath about The Sons, but my brother answers before I can try to figure out what he’s saying. “What’s up, did you find her?”

Fuck. How am I supposed to tell him this?

“Boo, I’m okay. But... the house... I thought you should hear it from me. It’s... fuck. It’s on fire.”

“What! How?!” I hear rustling on the other end like he’s scrambling to get here, but I’m just trying to hold it together.

“I don’ t know. I’m so sorry,” I whisper, shaking so hard I nearly drop the phone. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? It’s not your fault... right?”

The fact that he even has to ask nearly pushes me over the edge, but Hayes snatches the phone before I can respond. “You on your way?”

His voice fades away as I stare at the flames, hardly registering the firemen surrounding his truck and preparing to do the most useless job in the history of jobs.

My house is gone. There wasn’t much of it to begin with, but flames are shooting out of the middle of the roof now. I don’t think there’s any saving it.

Was it my fault? Did I leave the oven on, provoke the wrong person? Did someone do this to us?

Did The Sons?

Maybe it’s a good thing I left earlier. Hayes might’ve been willing to run into a burning house to save my brother, but he’d have roasted marshmallows over the flame before lifting a finger to save me.

And right now... I can’t say I’d blame him.