“All of which is understandable. I’m not telling you that you can’t feel how you want.” He sucks a ragged breath into his lungs. “I just… can you please come back to the bedroom? I’m too fucked up to fight with you right now.”
The admission of weakness surprises me.
Calder Bishop doesn’t admit weakness. Doesn’t show vulnerability.
But standing here in the wreckage of the door he just kicked in, bruised and battered and barely able to stand, he looks human.Almost.
“Fine,” I say. “But I’m sleeping on top of the covers, and if you touch me, I’ll make those broken ribs worse.” It’s a threat that I doubt I could hold myself too, especially with the amount of pain I know he’s in.
A ghost of a smile touches his split lip, and that eases some of the tension. “Deal.” It’s almost like he enjoys it when I argue with him now. Sometimes I guess. We walk back to the primary bedroom together, and while the silence surrounds us, it doesn’t feel as suffocating as before. Calder sinks onto the edge of the bed with a groan that he tries to muffle.
I grab a spare blanket from the closet and settle on top of the comforter, as far from him as the bed allows. The house settles around us. Creaks and sighs of weather-worn wood finding its place. After a short while, my eyes start to grow heavy, and I find myself slipping into a fitful sleep. It’s in that space between consciousness and sleep that I swear I hear Calder apologize to me for what his father did.
I want to tell him that his apology doesn’t change what happened, or what will continue to happen, and that if he’s reallysorry, he will try to find a way to end this, to truly keep me safe, but I’m already slipping further into the darkness to make the words come out.
I wake to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows and the smell of coffee.
For a moment, I forget where I am. Forget everything that’s happened. Then it all comes rushing back—the rodeo, Roman’s rage, the beating, this house that’s supposed to be my new home. I roll over and find the spot beside me empty, the sheets cool to the touch.
I sit up and wince at the movement. Every muscle aches, and my face throbs where Roman hit me. Climbing out of bed, I catch my reflection in the dresser mirror and barely recognize myself. There’s a vivid bruise that’s formed across my cheekbone, my eyes are swollen and puffy from crying, and my hair is a tangled mess.
I look like a complete mess.
I hate how unkempt and different I am from the person I used to be. Will I ever find my way back to her? I guess only time will tell. I walk into the closet and find the racks filled with clothes. Some of them are my size, and others appear to be Calder’s.
I pull on a pair of jeans and grab a T-shirt, slipping it on as armor for the day ahead. With a sigh, I head downstairs. I’m not surprised to find Calder in the kitchen. He’s moving carefully, one arm wrapped around his ribs.
There’s coffee brewing and toast in the toaster. Domestic normalcy in the wake of violence. I suppose a person still has to eat, right?
“Morning,” he says without turning around.
“Is it?” I lean against the doorframe. “I didn’t really sleep well.”
“Yeah.” He pours two cups of coffee and slides one across the counter toward me. “Me either. Turns out sleeping is difficult with broken ribs.”
I take the coffee but don’t drink it. “Are you going to get them looked at?”
He finally turns to face me, and in the morning light, the damage looks even worse. “No point. Doctors can’t do anything about broken ribs unless they are in danger of puncturing something. It’s best to let them heal on their own. I’ll have to suffer through the pain.”
I’m sure his father knew that when he decided to beat the shit out of him. Anything to inflict the most suffering. It’s stupid, but my chest hurts thinking about how he knows what doctors do and don’t do for broken ribs so well.
“I don’t like that,” I say before I can stop myself.
“Me either, sweetheart, but I didn’t get to choose my punishment. If you’ve learned anything about Roman so far, it’s that it’s his way or death. I should be grateful that I’m still breathing. I’ve seen him kill men for lesser reasons.”
“I guess that means I won’t be able to get out of the branding?” I’m kind of proud of how steady my voice is when I speak.
“No, you won’t be able to get out of it.”
“I know it doesn’t matter, but I don’t want to do it.”
Calder’s jaw tightens. “I understand that, and if I had a choice, it wouldn’t happen, but I can’t do anything to stop him. This is tradition. If you don’t accept the branding, then he’ll kill both of us.”
“Is it really too much to just want to live? To not have to accept pain and violence in order to survive?”
“No.” He sets down his coffee and meets my gaze. “You aren’t used to this way of life yet, and you crave normalcy. My hope is to give that to you someday. Right now, though, we have to make it through this, survive my father, and whatever he throws at us. Together.”
“I don’t want to just survive, Calder. I want to live.”
