We’re shrouded in darkness when Sterling pulls the truck away to drive over to the low crossing so he can reach us. I rock her bath and forth, attempting to soothe her. We’re both shaking from the wet cold by the time Sterling and Holden are able to drive the truck around to us. Holden jumps out of the passenger seat so I can set Dolly inside. She won’t let go of my neck, so I scoot in with her, settling her over my lap.
I try adjusting the heater to warm us up.
“Doesn’t work,” Sterling says. He leans forward, ripping off his button-down flannel and covering her with it.
She’s still vibrating, and I’m worried her heart can’t take the amount of adrenaline she’s crashing down from. Her teeth are chattering.
“Let’s take her to the hospital,” I say.
“N-no. I’m fine, just c-cold.” She presses closer to me, trying to feel my body heat.
We’re almost back to the ranch house at the speed Sterling is tearing down the road. He pulls the truck up right by the back door in the middle of the backyard. Monroe, Cash, Pops, and Rosie are there around the firepit.
Cash and Rosie start running toward us. Monroe stands, but she’s wrapped in a blanket with a cat on her lap. Pops looks confused by everyone jumping up.
“You stay here with her. We’ll take care of it,” Cash says.
I want to go with him and watch Matthews get buried in an unmarked grave, but I know Dolly needs me. I step out of the vehicle. Rosie gasps when she sees Dolly, who is still covered in dirt, blood, and now has tiny scrapes and bruises all over her body from rolling over the rocks at the river.
“Oh my God, oh my God.” Rosie’s voice is panicked as I stride toward the door.
Cash jumps in the truck with Sterling. The sound of the tires squealing away is all I hear before entering the house.
“Is he dead?” Monroe asks behind me.
“Yeah. He’s dead.”
34
DOLLY
Pops places his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. “You know, the older you get, the more you start to look like your mother.”
Tears prick my eyes. I look up at him. “Really?”
He nods, giving me a wrinkled smile. “Spitting image.” He kisses my cheek before slowly rising to stand.
“I’m proud of you boys. You know that?” He hobbles toward my brothers, who entered the house through the back door, covered in layers of blood and grime about twenty minutes ago, but have now showered and changed into clean clothes.
They’re each holding a tumbler full of whiskey, thanks to Monroe, who poured them while they were showering off. Sam left to go take his own shower, but only after Holden forced him to.
Pops claps a hand on Sterling’s shoulder before turning toward the hallway. “Don’t tell me what it was. Just glad you got it done, and we’re safe now.”
I watch his retreating form hobble down the hallway. Sam is walking the other direction, but he stops to grip Pops’s hand. They exchange a few words I can’t hear from here before Pops pats Sam’s shoulder the same way he did to Sterling.
It’s hard to judge how mentally present Pops has been lately, but tonight, he seems to be very aware that something big happened. Sam continues down the hallway. His curls are dripping wet around his forehead. He’s wearing Duke’s gray sweatshirt that saysHook ’emand has a faded Texas Longhorns logo on it. The gray sweats, slung low on his hips, make my mouth water.
How can I be even slightly turned on right now?
It feels wrong, but I can’t help the heat pooling in my lower abdomen. He looks delicious, and he killed a man with a hunting bow, which is the most insane thing anyone has ever done to protect me. My entire body feels raw and sore, and I know that what happened tonight is going to be hell to process.
I’m worried about him. I don’t even know how to bring up Matthews’s last ditch effort to get away with what he’d done by telling Sam he was his biological father. I’ve had a pit in my stomach ever since. Sam killed his own father to save my life, forfeiting any chance of ever having a relationship with him. It feels … twisted and fucked up, and yet, he’s walking toward me, a concerned pinched between his brows.
His ocean eyes rise to meet mine, dipping over me briefly in a way that looks like he’s making sure I’m okay before he settles in next to me on the sofa. The scent of clean, manly soap and mint mouthwash envelops me. Monroe walks over to him with a glass of whiskey in her hand.
I tried to reassure her that suggesting we take a sunset walk didn’t make what happened her fault. But she keeps crying off and on, clearly overwhelmed with guilt.
“Drink?” she asks.
