Sydney
Blue’s growl wakes me. I sit up in bed. The glass door is open, and the moon hangs big and bright—it’s probably around 2:00 a.m. The curtains sway in the warm breeze, dancing between the indoors and out.
Blue stands and walks to the door. I slip from under the blankets, following him in bare feet. The house is protected by security men, cameras, and alarms. No one can break in. There is no danger here.
But Blue is pointing out into the night, and when I follow his gaze, I see a dark, broad figure moving along the stone patio.
My heartbeat resounds in my ears as he gets closer, but no lightning strikes or thunder sounds disrupt my concentration. A smile parts my lips. Thank you, Dr. Munkin.
The sheer white curtains billow out in the breeze, making the broad man pause, his head turning toward me. “Sydney.”
His voice wraps around me, warm and yet cold—hot with anger, frozen in time.
“Mulberry?” It comes out a question, even though I know the answer.
He walks forward quickly, his movements sure and fast. The pale light hits him for just a moment as he steps in front of the open glass door so that I can see his jaw, coated in stubble, his nose, his lips, and for just a flash, the gold-green eyes of the man I love.
My throat closes and I stand motionless, desperate to embrace him, terrified of the cost.
“You coward,” he snarls, moving toward me in steady strides, his gait only slightly tilted by the prosthetic on his left leg. He grabs my shoulders and pulls me close so that his eyes—flashing with anger and passion—bore into me. “How could you just leave me?” I can’t reply, just stare at him. He shakes me. “Answer me, dammit.”
My voice unlocks on a wave of regret and pain. “I was broken, and I wanted you to be happy. Thought you could have, that you could…go back. I don’t know.” I force myself to hold his gaze. To not look away. To be brave. “I saw you kiss her, and you two looked like you were in love, and I thought maybe you could be free of me.” The last words come out a whisper.
His lip raises in a snarl. “You’re—” He cuts himself off, tightening his jaw.
“I’m sorry.” His eyes widen in surprise—I’m not known as a big apologizer. “I’m better now. I’ve gotten treatment. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again. But then…I couldn’t ask you to remember me, Mulberry. You were better off without me.”
He barks a laugh, it’s bitter and pissed. “You know what happened to me yesterday?”
“Dan said you were doing well…”
“I remembered you.” Mulberry leans in closer, his breath brushing my nose. “I woke up next to my ex-wife, and I remembered why she and I broke up. And I remembered I was in love with you. I woke up, and my heart ripped out of my chest, and then I had to rip hers out, too. Because she let me back in. Sandy thought we were going to be together forever, again. No one told her. No one told me.” He stops talking, his eyes sobering, the anger melting away and deep sorrow filling his gaze, rimming his eyes in red and softening his grip on me.
“I’m no good for you,” I whisper, pain constricting my voice.
Mulberry lets go of me and takes a step back, turning to look out at the ocean. It’s calm now, the storm hovering at the horizon all day having finally blown out to sea, leaving the water still and black. The moon’s reflection is a broad white stripe down its center.
“I want back in,” Mulberry says, his back to me—he’s just a silhouette again, a shadow of a man.
I’m not sure what he means. “To Joyful Justice?” I ask. He gives a curt nod. His hair is longer, curling at the nape of his thick neck. That tiny difference tugs at me even more than his missing leg. I was there for that horror. But I missed his hair growing. I left him to heal alone. “I’m sorry,” I say again. The words leave me without permission, and I bite my lip to try to stem the flow of admissions. But I can’t. “I love you,” comes out, strong and loud. Like I mean it. Like I’m no longer afraid of it.
His shoulders tense. “Are you fucking him?”
I’m confused at first, but then realize he must mean Robert. It’s not an unreasonable supposition. I am living in his house, and we’ve become close in a strange, wonderful way. “No. We’re friends.”
“He’s in love with you.”
I shake my head, even though Mulberry can’t see it. “I think he was in love with the idea of controlling me, but he’s changed.” Mulberry barks another one of those bitter laughs. “What?” I raise my brows. “You don’t think people can change?”
He turns quickly, so fast for a guy his size. The moon is bright behind him, keeping his features in shadow, but I can feel his eyes on me. Mulberry stands there, his shoulders rising and falling, the rasp of each breath loud in the quiet. Then slowly, as if moving through deep water, he walks toward me.
I stand my ground, lifting my chin slightly to keep my gaze on his face. It comes into focus as he reaches me. His eyes are hooded, dark. And when his left hand comes out and rests on my hip, I lean into him, melting into where I belong. His free hand comes up and cups my face, his fingers lacing into the hair at the base of my skull as his thumb runs along my jaw.
Slowly, so damn slowly, he lowers his lips to mine, and time stands still. There is nothing in the universe but us. There is nothing that matters but him. We are everything.
We fall into each other, into the past, the present, and the always. My back sinks into the mattress, his good knee pressing into it next to me, and his bad leg between mine. He hovers over me, his hands in my hair, holding my head like he never wants to let it go. Like I’m a dream. A hallucination.
And I grasp at his waist, my fingers running up his back, memorizing every detail of the muscle there, every curve and dip of his anatomy. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I’m making sounds; small noises and breathless pleas. He leaves my lips and I’m bereft, but he finds my chin, my neck, worshiping me.
Tears burn in my eyes, and I can’t find words. I guess I don’t need them, but there are so many left unsaid between us.
His lips meet mine again, and his tongue invades, dominating me. My leg comes up and wraps around his waist, the rough material of his jeans penetrating the thin layer of my pajamas. “I love you.” The words fly from my lips on gossamer wings—so delicate and fragile.
“Shut up,” he growls, taking my mouth again, not giving me a chance to respond. His fingers dive under my shirt, and he breaks the kiss to tear it over my head. I meet his anger with my own bold movements, pulling at his clothing, demanding equal access. He lets me take his shirt, exposing the hard flesh of him, the scarred, sacred expanse of his chest, rising and falling with desperate, starving breaths.
I grab his face and pull him back to me, and his hands run up and down my sides, his calluses rough against the softness, the contrast sending a shiver of need and desperation zinging through me.
I want him so badly.
A hot tear escapes and is gone, lost in our movements. His hungry hands find my pants and cloth rips as he pulls at them. He growls at the sound, liking it, and ripping more. “You’re mine,” he claims, and I don’t deny it. Can’t deny it.
Bucking my hips and rolling, I force Mulberry onto his back, my thighs on either side of his waist, chest pressed against his. “Then fucking take me,” I challenge.
His eyes light, the green in them almost a neon glow. There is still anger there, a hard stone of it set among the crystals of yellow and dashes of blue. But desire and love flame around it, trying to burn that stone to ash.
Can we burn hot enough to destroy it and clear our path?
Lenox
The warm musk of the horse mixes with the fetid scent of the girl.
The cold, dark forest presses in on me but I take comfort in the animal’s long, sure, and fast stride. It knows where it is going.
Behind us lights glimmer, shaking in the darkness, spots of danger swaying in the night. The rumble of engines and the echoing bays of the hounds grow soft with distance, but the sounds continue as we wind our way through the darkness. They are not giving up. The ATVs can’t navigate this narrow path, but the dogs and men can.
My fingers hold the mane tightly, and my hips move with the swaying motion of the horse's gait. The girl in front of me is a small defense against the chill night wind. A shiver passes over me, and I grit my teeth against the cold.
Dawn is still hours away, and we should make it to the village long before that.
My mind traces over the maps I examined of the area. It seems we are on a path that will take us out to the main road and from there on to the village, probably a shortcut the farmer uses regularly, and so the horse knows it.
The girl speaks to the gelding softly, her voice a mellow and welcome sound compared to the clacking of the trees branches swaying in the wind and the howling dogs chasing us.
A shimmer of moonlight ahead, and then the path opens into a meadow with long, silver grasses waving back and forth, almost as in greeting. The horse stops, bowing his head to eat, munching his way toward a stream that winds through the open space.
We don’t have time for this.
The girl urges him forward, but the horse pays her no mind, making his way lazily toward the water's edge and lapping at the crystal clear rushing stream.
Elsa digs her heels into the horse's side, her voice rising, and he whinnies, raising his head to bolt forward a step into the water so that I almost lose my balance. He trots through the water, head high, snorting with displeasure.
The lights of our pursuers grow larger, and my heart beats faster, panic tightening my muscles.
Reaching the far shore, the horse bows his head, again going for the grass. I dig my heels into his side, but he just snorts. Elsa kicks, but he ignores us. Adrenaline surges as the gap we managed to make closes.
I slip off the horse's back and, yanking at his halter, pull him toward the forest where the narrow path continues. He rears up with an outraged snort, and I stumble back into the wet grass as his hooves paw the air, just missing my face.
"Leave him. I'll get him to go," Elsa says, still on his bare back. The dogs are close, and my heart is thundering. Elsa’s legs flail against his sides. The horse shakes its head, refusing to continue.
I move to the horse's side and grab Elsa around her waist, dragging her off the beast’s back. She lets out a squeak of alarm but does not fight me. Her bare feet hit the grass, and my hand finds hers.
I take off running, and she follows, the horse remaining in the field, chewing its grass happily.
We dive back into the shelter of the forest, continuing on the path. Elsa slows as the rough ground meets her bare, wounded feet. I stop, and gesture for her to climb onto my back. Her thin arms come around my shoulders and warm thighs wrap my waist. My elbows under her knees, I begin to run again.
The rest I got while riding the horse renewed me, but my muscles feel tight. Frantic barking is followed by a sharp whinny of fear, and suddenly hooves are thundering behind us.
Leaving the path, I move into the thick trees to avoid its approach.
The gelding races past, the reins flapping against its neck, hooves throwing up clumps of dirt and sticks. The dogs bark, the timbre of their voices raising in excitement.
They are so close.
Fighting through the underbrush, branches pulling at my clothing and tearing at the girl’s bare legs, I return to the path. Glancing back, the dark outlines of the men chasing us are clear behind the glow of their lights.
A flash of light reaches us, and a man cries out in victory. My heart hammering, I sprint after the gelding. The girl clings to me, her heart beating so hard I can feel it against my back.
We're not going to make it.
The horse has disappeared into the night, and I wish I could do the same—but I don't have the speed. I am just a man.
The pounding of horse's hooves behind us confuses me for a moment—my panicked mind incapable of comprehending how the gelding circled around. Then I realize Petra's horses must be chasing us as well.
"Lenox!" Petra's voice reaches me over the pounding of my blood in my ears and the sound of her horse's hooves on the path. It reaches me over the strained barking of the dogs as they choke against their leashes to reach us. "Lenox, stop!"
But I can't. She'll take the girl back. She'll kill me. My only chance at survival is to keep going, to put one foot in front of the other until there is nothing left of me. Because soon, if I'm not fast enough, there will be nothing left except the memories I leave behind.
A bullet whistles through the air, thunking into a tree, sending splinters of shrapnel across the path. A fresh burst of adrenaline surges through me, making my stomach flip and urges my legs to move faster. “Do not shoot them!” Petra screams at her men, her voice weak in comparison to the deep woofing of the dogs.
They are right behind us now. I can’t even look back. The horse will run us over. We will be trampled.
But the horse's hooves slow to a trot when it reaches us. Petra doesn't shoot us. She doesn't try to stop us. She just follows us.
"Lenox." Her voice is harsh, but not with anger so much as with fear. It's the fear that slows my steps. "Lenox, please."
My lungs are on fire, my feet unsteady and I trip forward, stumbling to a stop. I turn to face her, the girl clinging to my back, her breath warm against my neck.
Petra is astride Tarzan, the giant black horse's coat as dark as the forest around us. Behind her the dogs still bark, and the men follow so close now that I can see their breath steaming in the cool air.
Petra turns in her saddle, looking back, and yells for them to stop. "Stay where you are,” she commands before returning her attention to me.
"Lenox," she says again, her face is in shadow and her voice is soft. "Please, Lenox. Return with me to the house. Let's talk about this." I take a step backward.
And Tarzan follows.
There's no way I can escape her.
"You know I can't," I say. "I can't let you have her."
Petra, backlit by the men behind us, stiffens. “She's mine.”
"She's nobody but her own. Since when do you own people, Petra?”
"Lenox,” her voice is tight. “I do not want to have to kill you.”
"You don't have to do anything Petra. It's all a choice.” My breath is slowly returning to normal, and a calm is coming over me. Maybe Petra is still the woman I know. Maybe she has not become a monster. "I can't let you take her." I take another step back and she follows again.
The low hum of a diesel engine rumbles behind me. The road is closer than I'd thought. We almost made it. Maybe the girl still can.
I let go of her legs, and she slides off my back. I keep a hand on her waist, to keep her from coming out from behind my bulk. My body can shield her for a little bit longer.
"Petra, I won't let you have her. But you can have me if you let her go."
Petra shakes her head. "Don't be ridiculous, Lenox."
"You used to be so brave,” I say. Petra stiffens in the saddle. I glance to the side, where headlights twinkle through the forest from the road. The sound of that distant diesel engine grows closer. I turn a little further and whisper to the girl, "Run."
She takes off like a deer in flight. Petra screams for her to stop, but she does not falter.
Petra urges Tarzan forward, but the path is too narrow for him to get past without trampling me. He's a pleasure horse, not a war horse, no matter what his breeding says, and I hold my arms out to keep him at bay. Tarzan stomps impatiently as Petra kicks his sides.
"What are you doing?" Petra hisses.
"I'm making sure she survives. It's my responsibility, as someone bigger and stronger and more powerful."
Petra grunts in exasperation. I take another step back, and this time she holds Tarzan's reins. Another step, and again Petra does not follow. The brake of truck tires wheezes from the road. I turn and sprint toward the sound.
Breaking out of the thick forest, I see the girl climbing into an idling vegetable truck. Sprinting, I reach her before the door can close. She looks back when my hand touches her waist, her eyes filled with fear and desperation that evaporates when she sees me. She scoots into the truck, and I follow her.
The driver, a man in his fifties with a hat pulled low, stares at me with wide eyes. "Go!" I yell. He just sits there. But then he hears the dogs and some kind of awareness comes into his eyes. The awareness of any man who's ever been chased, ever been oppressed. His jaw tightens, and he puts the truck into gear. The truck eases forward. We made it.
I look back and see lights in the forest still, but they are not chasing us. Petra let me go.
Maybe she can still be saved.
Sydney
When I wake the next morning, Mulberry is gone. There is no note, just a few hairs on the pillow next to me and memories I hold tight as I stare around my empty bedroom.
It wasn’t a dream or a hallucination.
My phone rings, and I grab it off the side table, glancing at the screen as I bring it to my ear. “Dan, what’s up?”
“Mulberry is gone. He left his apartment, and I can’t find him. He’s off the grid.”
“He remembered.” I say it quietly, my gaze holding the ocean—it is a sparkling blue this morning, welcoming wind surfers and sailors to enjoy its majesty. “And he’s pissed.”
“You saw him.”
I nod then force words past a lump in my throat. “Yeah.”
“Shit. I worried we should have told him. So, he’s with you?”
“No, he…was last night. But he’s gone this morning. I don’t know where.”
Silence stretches between us. “What did he say?”
“That because of us, he had to rip out Sandy’s heart. That remembering ripped out his own.”
Dan sighs. “Fuck.”
“At least this bad decision didn’t get anyone killed.”
Dan let’s out a jaded laugh. “That’s the bar now? Ruining a man’s psyche is no big thing?” There is an accusation in his tone. I hurt him. But I warned him. Dan never believed me—but I’m no good. Or at least I wasn’t.
I can’t burn fiercely enough to erase my past.
“He said he wants back into Joyful Justice. So I’m sure we’ll hear from him soon. He probably just needs time to process.”
“Okay,” Dan sighs. “I guess. Just let me know if you hear from him.”
“I will.”
We hang up, and I climb out of bed, stretching toward the ceiling, enjoying the warmth of the sun streaming through the glass doors on my bare skin.
A knock at my door gets Blue up from where he’s been sleeping on his bed. Grabbing my robe, I pull it on before answering. Robert waits in the hall, looking down at his phone. “You had a visitor last night.”
I lean against the door frame and can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. “Yes.” I draw the word out. He looks up at me, his brows raised. “What? You want to gossip about it?”
“How is he?”
I shrug. “Pissed.”
“I bet. Come on.” He jerks his head. “Let’s have breakfast. I want to hear all about it. And we need to discuss Hugh’s wedding.”
I laugh and Robert furrows his brow. “What?”
“You’ve just—you’ve changed so much.”
“That’s a bit of the kettle calling the pot black, my dear.” He smiles and turns away, headed down the hall. “Want pancakes?” he asks over his shoulder.
“Sure,” I agree, as I close my door to get dressed.
Robert is out on the west patio, his coffee by his side, the paper next to it, his phone in his hand. He glances up at me. “Going blading after this?” he asks, referencing my bike shorts and tank top.
“How else can I afford to eat so many of Jose’s pancakes?”
“That’s why I stick to Muesli.”
I laugh again. “We really have changed.”
Robert grins, the expression making him look somehow older and younger in the same breath: younger because the joy radiating from his gaze is innocent, older because the lines around his eyes crease. He’s spent a lifetime squinting into the sun, suspicious of what the light hides.
“So,” Robert looks down at his phone again. “You told Hugh he could have the wedding here.”
Hugh and Santiago came for drinks last night and I'd offered the house again. “You were sitting right next to me.”
Robert looks up at me and nods then reaches for his coffee. “You had already offered before they even arrived. Also, I learned in my many marriages never to disagree in public.”
“Oh really?” I laugh as he sips from the elegant white mug. Jose comes out onto the patio, his dark hair ruffled by the playful breeze.
“Morning, Ms. Rye,” he says, placing a steaming plate of pancakes in front of me and a pitcher of hot syrup next to it.
“Morning, Jose, thank you. This looks and smells amazing.”
Jose grins and nods before heading back inside. I pour the syrup liberally over the butter-laden, fluffy deliciousness before returning my attention to Robert. “So, you’re saying you don’t want to have the wedding here.”
Robert puts his mug back on its saucer. “I’m saying that it’s not your place to offer my home up for a wedding. You are not, in truth, my wife.” There is something in his tone I choose to ignore, but Mulberry’s harsh laughter seems to ring in my ears.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll call Hugh and tell him we have to find another venue.”
Robert shakes his head. “No, don’t do that. I’m happy to host. I just would have liked you to discuss it with me before offering.”
“Fair enough. I’m sorry.”
He smiles. “Look at you apologizing.” He shakes his head. “I never thought I’d see the day.” My mouth is filled with pancake so I can’t answer, instead just grin around the sweet, buttery goodness. “I know a good wedding planner.”
I swallow down the pancake, trying not to choke as I bark out a laugh. “I bet you do!”
Robert picks up his phone, the salty sea air fluttering his newspaper and toying with the collar of his pale blue linen shirt. He glances up at me, his eyes taking on the colors and excitement of the sea beside him. “I do love a good party.” Heat comes into his gaze, and I shake my head.
“We need to get you a date.”