Page 65 of Breaking His Exile

“Lower the rifle.”

The command came from a stranger at the edge of the reception lights. His voice was familiar, but Rainey couldn’t⁠—

The radio.

He was the marshal they’d been listening in on.

Evander looked at the others gathered around them, then lowered the rifle by degrees until it was pointed at the ground. “You must be Brandt.”

“I am. And you must be Evander Cole.” The man turned to her. “Ms. Beckett. Deputy US Marshal Corbin Brandt.”

He wasn’t what she expected. Her mental picture of a US Marshal was something out of the Old West—lawmen who were almost outlaws themselves. But Brandt was a lean, watchful man wearing a dark suit jacket over a black T-shirt, no tie. His black hair was short on the sides, longer on top, and he had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.

“Are you here of your own volition?” he asked.

River made a sound from across the yard.

“Yes,” she said.

“Has this man coerced you in any way? Made threats, physical or otherwise, to keep you with him?”

She looked at Evander. His skin had gone gray, and sweat was beading over his brow, his left arm clamped to his side. He wasn’t doing the thing where he hid the pain, and that worried her.

She refocused on Brandt. “Rux Granger had a knife to my throat at the Dead Marshall, and Evander was the only one who stepped in to help me. I got into his truck that night because I trusted him. I’ve been on that mountain for a week because it was the safest place I could be, and because I chose to stay. He hasn’t threatened me. He hasn’t hurt me. He fed me and kept me alive and got shot at and stabbed protecting me from the Sons of Sin. I’m not a hostage.”

Brandt held her gaze three beats longer than he needed to, and she got the creeping sensation that he could see all the way through to the bottom of her soul with those uncanny blue eyes.

He nodded. “Okay.” He stepped aside.

As soon as he moved out of the way, River crossed the yard and yanked her into his arms. He held on too tight, the way he used to when they were kids and something had scared him. He said her name against her hair in a relieved exhale—just that, just Rainey—and under it ran eight years of guilt.

She let herself be held. Her arms went around him, her cheek against the lapel of his jacket, and she breathed in the familiar smell of him.

“I’m sorry.” His voice cracked. “Rain, I’m so sorry. I should’ve— I never should’ve left you with— I should’ve⁠—”

“River.”

“I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there, and you were⁠—”

“River,” she said more firmly and stepped back.

He let her go. His hands dropped to her arms, and he stared down at her. His expression carried the apology, the guilt, the need for her to tell him it was fine, that she wasn’t angry, that his leaving hadn’t cost her anything.

She loved him. She was furious with him.

He thought a hug would fix it. River had always believed that if he held something hard enough, the broken pieces would knit themselves back together. It had worked when they were kids and their father’s hand had left a welt across her cheek — River, eleven years old, wrapping his arms around her in the dark of their shared closet, whispering that he’d never let it happen again. He’d meant it. And she’d believed him. And then he’d left anyway, because he had to, because staying would have killed him, and she didn’t blame him for leaving but she couldn’t pretend his absence hadn’t cost her.

The guilt sat in him now like a stone. He was waiting for her to lift it. To tell him the past eight years hadn’t happened, that his sister hadn’t survived their father and Mal Granger and a week on a mountain with a man who’d nearly died protecting her, all while River built a life here that didn’t include her.

She loved him too much to give him the lie.

“I’m sorry,” River said again, quieter.

“Stop. Just— stop.”

Behind her, Evander swayed on his feet. She caught the movement from the corner of her eye and spun toward him just as he fell. He tried to brace one hand against the gate post and missed. His fingers grazed the wood, and then he was down, collapsing sideways, his breathing coming in short, ragged pulls that didn’t sound right.

“Oh my God. Evander.” She knelt in the dew-damp grass beside him. His face had gone bone-white, his jaw locked against whatever was happening inside his body.