“Lorne won’t be involved.” Jake walks through the room, collecting bullet casings from the floor. He holds up one and studies it. “A forensic analyst can tell a blank from a live round just by the residue left behind.” He pockets it and continues his task.
“Was that the plan?” I turn back to Lorne. “You’re going to leave before we call the cops?”
“I never agreed to that.” He unravels the guitar strings from John’s throat and tucks them in his boot with his bloody knife.
Neither he nor Jake need to be involved in this. I have a reason for being here. I was abducted. I can play into that, put all blame on John, and make it appear like John and Fletcher killed each other in a gunfight.
The evidence doesn’t support that, but I can take care of that, too.
“Are there security cameras here?” I ask.
“No.” Jake wipes down a handgun. “Fletcher doesn’t have recording equipment. Nothing that could be used as evidence against him.”
I scrutinize the room, and my attention lands on the half-burned candles sitting on pedestals on the side tables. Stepping toward them, I rifle through the drawers until I find a lighter.
“What are you doing?” Lorne stands over me, exuding an intensity that churns the air.
“I was kidnapped and brought here.” I light the candles. “A rape kit will validate my story.”
His fists squeeze at his sides, and his breathing surges into a seething whirlwind.
I grip his hands, then his face. Leaning up, I touch my brow to his. “We’ll work through it. I promise.”
He wraps his arms around me in a hug that constricts my ribs. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Lorne, don’t.” I push against him. “You came for me. I love you. Now I need you to go.”
I sweep an arm out and knock the candles over, sending them rolling across the couch and armchairs. A couple of them burn out. The others catch on fabric upholstery and flicker to life.
“There was a fight.” I stride toward the front door. “I escaped.”
“Goddammit, Raina.” Lorne chases after me, followed by the tread of Jake’s boots. “What if they pin this on you?”
“They won’t.” I step into the blackness of night, cross the front lawn, and turn to face two scowling cowboys. “There won’t be any evidence if the house burns down before someone arrives. How far is the closest neighbor?”
“Miles.” Jake rests his hands on his hips and surveys the surrounding fields of nothingness.
“You’ll both be called in for questioning,” I say, “because I live with you and because of your relationships with John.”
They stare at me, as if they’re not going to go along with this.
“You’ve risked everything to protect those you love.” I move into Lorne’s space and slide my hands around the back of his neck. “My risk here is minimal, and my love is huge. Let me do this.”
“You’re killing me.” He attaches his lips to mine and kisses me angrily yet achingly slow.
Then he pulls back and spends the next thirty minutes telling me exactly what to say to the detectives.
He and Jake refuse to leave until the fire roars out the windows. When they finally drive away in Lorne’s truck, I sit on the front lawn and wait.
But the real wait is over.
I have amends.
Family.
Love.
Lorne.
I have the better that comes after the worse.
TWO MONTHS LATER…
Emotional growth is a lot like learning to shoot a gun. Some days, I kick ass. Other days, I suck it. But the more I practice, the stronger and more confident I become.
My mistakes are many, and I’m learning from them, learning how to be a better half of the whole I share with Lorne.
When I met him, I was emotionally fractured and guarded. I didn’t know how to trust or open up, and looking back, I can see how unhealthy my perspective was on sex and intimacy.
Lorne’s helping me through the things I don’t like to talk about—my sister’s death, John’s abuse, my history of neglect and prostitution—and I’m learning how to ask for help when I need it.
It’s a no pain, no gain effort, because it forces me to look inside myself and make the changes I need to make.
This doesn’t mean everything is love and peace. Lorne and I challenge and argue and say things we don’t mean. But in the end, we always find a solution together.
We always listen.
It’s important to pause sometimes, in the midst of a great, big, scary, wonderful life, to take a look around, feel the wind, and heed the silence.
“I hear you.” Lorne sits beside me at a picnic table, bending over a plate of Indian tacos and licking his fingers.
“I hear you, too.”
I’m not the only one working on self-improvements.
He hates crowds and public places, yet all around us are the mesmerizing colors, scents, and soulful music of Native American festivities.