Keagan (This is Our Life Book 2) Page 6

In this dream, this time she was paying the price. It didn’t matter. If she wasn’t there, it would be Sage, mother, or me. I never meant to get her in trouble. I love her.

  He had her counting. “Eighteen.” The belt connecting with flesh and Fallyn’s voice was hoarse as she released a cry of pain. Again, the realness of the dream is uncanny to the reality that I lived.

  My father’s voice continued counting. “Nineteen. Twenty.”

  Her screams became whimpers and I knew he’d finished giving her twenty licks with his weapon of choice: the leather belt. I hated it. His belt symbolized the brutality and viciousness we were forced to live with daily. He would always tell her that if she didn’t move and just took the lashes, then he wouldn’t punish me too.

  I hated him then, and I still loathe him now. He’s evil.

  “Go to your room and don’t leave until you have my permission. You’re not allowed out of this house for any reason,” Dad had said, continuing his punishing instructions. “You won’t be allowed to go to your slumber party this weekend, either.”

  I didn’t hear Fallyn reply as the bedroom doorknob twisted and the door opened. Fallyn gently walked to the bed and started climbing up onto the mattress. We parted, allowing her to crawl between us to lie down. Like so many times before, we carefully surrounded her and held her hands, not touching anywhere else. It was always the same after the punishments: brutal. The physical damage disappears, but the emotional scars stay forever.

  “Are you okay, Fallyn?” Sage had whispered.

  She sniffled and faintly replied, “Yes.”

  That was how Fallyn reacted. She was and still is in my mind the strongest person I know, besides my grandma.

  “Do you want a drink? I can sneak out and get you something,” I offered, my conscience wrestling with blame and sorrow after what she endured.

  “No,” she replied, shaking her head. “He would catch you.”

  “Do you still love me, Fallyn?” I asked her, scared of what her answer would be.

  “I’ll always love you, both of you. What happened wasn’t your fault, Jo. It’s his. We have each other and no matter what, that’s never gonna change. Remember, we’re the three musketeers. One for all and all for one, right?”

  We both replied, “Yes.”

  “I love you, Fallyn.”

  As the dream continued, she drifted off to sleep and I knew we had to stick together. Growing up, I’d stayed at my Aunt Polly Jean’s house and their family wasn’t like ours. Her husband didn’t whip his daughters like my dad did. I wish he would have been different for us. Every child deserves good parents but not every parent deserves a child; unfortunately for me and my sisters, my dad had three daughters at the time. My mind strays for a second, because now there’s Grayson and Addie in the mix. God help them, I pray.

  The end of my dream was strange this time. And it seemed so real. I was trying to wake myself up from the brutality and legitimacy of the hellish nightmare I lived and survived. A sense of desertion and emptiness enclosed around me. I found myself alone and scared. I couldn’t breathe. No Fallyn, no Sage, just me in the hollow blackness. Out from the dark a lone figure walked forward. I could barely make out his face until he got a little closer. It was Keagan. His expression was hard, fierce, but those crystal eyes betrayed him. The beautiful blue aimed at me, regarding only me.

  My breathing slows down, sputtering to its normal rhythm. It’s been a few months since I dreamed about him. This one was different, but it came just the same. It was like Keagan was there to rescue me. If I was teetering on the edge of whether this case is causing conflict within me, now I know for sure. I need to get myself in check. I’m not the helpless little girl from before.

  Despite my normal intake, I still feel as if I can’t breathe or catch my breath. It’s like I’m suffocating on the inside. It’s that need, the urgency to breathe and get out of the house that drives me as I throw the covers aside because going back to sleep is out of the question.

  I get up and go to the bathroom and splash water on my face, peering into the mirror. The woman who greets me is the same, but different. The familiar green eyes of a grownup stare back at me. I’ve filled out with womanly curves from top to bottom. Blonde hair with highlights of multiple shades streak through my tresses. I still keep it long, falling just above my bra line. The bags under my eyes reveal a different story, one that carries the weight of the world.

  Pulling my hair tightly back into a ponytail and brushing my teeth, I gather my gear. After I pull the tight spandex running shorts and the Dri-FIT halter on, I lace up my pink-and-grey trainers and step out into the crack of dawn. My favorite time of day.

  The lightly painted pink sky delivers the sign that rain is coming. A storm is brewing off the east coast, one that is sure to bring with it destruction and mayhem—like my thoughts lately. The sweet smells of geraniums and dew on fresh-cut grass drift around me. This is my heaven, my reprieve from the hectic life I have chosen. Close by, the call of the mockingbird sings as he mocks me with his insistent call. Isn’t that amazing? Even birds don’t get me.

  I set off on a fast pace, pounding the pavement for the four mile jog around my neighborhood. My brain has its own agenda, leading me down memory lane, causing a fissure of pain directly stabbing at my heart and simultaneously filling me with happiness that came with knowing Keagan. Shaking my head from side to side, I smile slightly. Keagan was such a big part of my first high school experience. He wiggled his way into my heart and never left. The time we spent together as friends changed me for the better.

  But that was such a long time ago.

  I continue through one of the golf course tunnels, amped up, pushing my legs harder with every footfall. The burn in my chest and limbs calm my nerves. Coming out the other side, I catch a glimpse of the horizon over the pristine freshly-cut fairway. I watch as the sun peeks up and out saying hello to the world. I can see it just past the trees, announcing a new day. A fresh start.

  Looking at my phone strapped to my arm, I see I’ve been running for about thirty-eight minutes. Time to finish up and get back home.

  We’ve been traveling south on State Road 27 for over an hour or so with no conversation. I kinda got the feeling my new best friend Gunner was in some deep shit with whoever was on the other end of the phone call earlier. His mood reflects a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar, scared he’s going to get an ass whoopin’ for disobeying. I should know; been there, got that from my maw growing up.

  We pass a road sign announcing 40 more miles until Gainesville. We need to stop and gas up and I guess that’s a good place to grab some grub. The Pit-Stop is on the outskirts of the city, and a good friend of mine owns the joint.

  Ain't it funny how life changes and molds a person into what they became later on? No truer thoughts than the first time I took Jocelyn Blackwood out. That girl still plagues me. Little did I know how much that day would change me and the way I look at life.

  Bo, David, and I were waiting on Fallyn and Jocelyn outside the movie theater. Fallyn had Bo set up this “date” and I was hoping we’d get some time to talk. I wanted to know more about her.

  “Hiya, boys!” Fallyn shouted from across the parking lot. She motioned us towards her car as Jocelyn got out from the passenger side.

  We walked their way and David wrapped his body around Fallyn, kissing her neck and whispering in her ear. He guided her away from us, walking to his car they got in, and pulled out of the parking lot. Jocelyn was staring at the ground.

  “I’m outta here, y’all. Meet ya back here at eleven thirty,” Bo commented as he walked away.

  We were alone, standing in the middle of the movie theater parking lot staring at each other. She looked delicious. She had her pink boots on and a tank top paired with skinny jeans. I smiled at her. I don’t think she realized how beautiful she really was.

  “Do you wanna see a movie or go somewhere and talk?” I asked her hoping for the latter.

  “Um I �
�� um …”

  “How ‘bout a pizza? My family went to Vino’s Pizza Cafe a few weeks back and I’m in love. It’s soooo good,” I blabbered, trying to loosen her up some.

  She smiled and nodded. I motioned to my bronco and she fell in line beside me. I opened the passenger door for her and she slid up and in. I watched her long legs as she folded them and clasped her hands together. I knew she was unaware of the arousing feelings she was stirring in me. Her body language was tense and I liked knowing I was the one that was affecting her.

  We arrived at the restaurant and got a table.

  “Tell me about yourself, Jocelyn. I know there’s more than good looks behind your smile,” I used my charming voice and smirked. She looked startled by my words; she wasn’t expecting such a direct approach.

  That night changed my life. She was all I could think about for the longest time. Last time I heard, Jocelyn had left Lakeview and moved to Gainesville, broken all ties with her family and friends. As many times as I’ve visited, I’ve never once run into her. I haven’t seen her since high school. And, as much as I would like to see what’s she’s up to now, I know it’s best to let bygones be bygones. She wouldn’t know what to think of the fucked-up mess I am today. I guess somehow along life’s path, we’ve changed roles.

  She was the lost one when I left the View, not wanting to exist once Fallyn disappeared. I knew they were close. Hell, we all did, but didn’t realize she would crawl into such a deep depression. I’m not depressed. I’m pissed. I carry around the guilt of seven men dying on my watch. I need a way to release all my pent-up anger. Killing Mustaff would help, but with the damage he’s done to my body, that’s something that won’t happen for me.

  Not only is Gainesville where Jocelyn lives, but it’s the city the Army shipped me to from Afghanistan for my recovery at the veteran’s hospital in the panhandle, honorably discharged and wounded. My gut churns at the memories that haunt my nightmares. I swore to avenge my brothers who died in the ambush that day, but that choice was taken away from me by the higher-ups calling the shots.

  General Fox’s last words to me before I left were: “Live to fight another day, soldier. Pick your battles carefully, go to bed with your enemies on your mind, and you’ll win the war. Every damn time.”

  I will never forget those words. I live by them. Every day.

  Gunner is cautious of me. Smart reaction from someone who acts like a dummy most of the time. The kid is in way over his head and doesn’t realize it yet. He occasionally glances my way and the drumming of his fingers on his upper thigh increases, a sure sign of his anxiety level spiking. The continual roaming of his wide eyes looking for someone to jump out in front of this two-ton moving truck is a telltale sign he’s about to freak the fuck out.

  He’s not sure where I draw the line. He doesn’t know me from shit, but the first sign of trouble has him packing his bags and hightailing it out of Perry with an unknown stranger. I know the true reason he left: the brothers allowed it. He’s under the radar riding with me.

  A police siren blares somewhere behind us, and his body stills. I glance at him quickly and a panic face emerges on Gunner when the red and blue lights flashing in the rearview mirror draw closer. Instantly, he’s back and demanding.

  “You gotta outrun ‘em. I can’t be caught, Crash,” Gunner exclaims worriedly.

  I have no intentions of running from the cops as I ease off the accelerator and slowly apply the brake.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Gunner yells in a panic.

  “This baby is fast, but not fast enough to get away from that souped-up Crown Vic engine back there.” I thumb at the vehicle over my shoulder. “Trust me, bro. I can handle ‘em. Just chillax and let me do the talkin’.”

  “She was right. Shit, I should’ve stayed in Perry. I’m a dead man walking. They’re going to kill me if I’m caught. Dead,” he mumbles furiously.

  I release a heavy sigh letting my aggravation show from his less-than-manly behavior. The guy needs a reality check. He’s acting like a baby. I edge off the highway, slowly come to a stop, and put the truck in park. The trooper’s vehicle stops behind me and the siren sound ends. A car door opens and shuts.

  I see two armed troopers walking towards us in the rearview mirror. The silhouette of a large dog in the back seat almost has me smiling. They break apart at the backend, circling each side of the truck.

  “Don’t panic, Gunner. Stay calm and I’ll handle this,” I whisper.

  He nods and exhales a long breath when someone taps on my driver’s side window. I turn and push the buttons, lowering the windows, and the humid Florida air rushes into the cab.

  “Howdy, gentlemen. What can I do for y’all?” I ask, glancing from the trooper on my left side to the one on the right side of the vehicle.

  “License and registration, sir,” the trooper standing at my window requests, eyeing the inside of cab and the man in the passenger seat, too.

  “Sure thing, officer. Mind if I ask why you pulled me over?”

  “Check point. License and registration?”

  I reach for the glove box, intent on retrieving my wallet and the documents requested. Gunner is squirming, so I give him a glare, hoping he heeds my silent warning. He rolls his eyes at me but remains quiet.

  I extract my license from inside the plastic holder and hand both items over to the trooper. He nods and returns to the back of my truck to verify on his CB radio while the other one stares at us.

  “Nice weather we’ve been having. Especially with it being hurricane season and all. Usually we’ve had a hurricane or two swarming the waters by now. Guess we’ve been lucky so far,” the trooper nearest to Gunner says.

  “I’ve had the television channel set on the weather all day long, you know, with Hurricane Georgia out in the Atlantic and all. Forecasters are predicting it to be the worst storm to hit Florida in years. Warning people to batten down the hatches and all. Where y’all headed?”

  “South of Miami,” I say and catch a slight crinkle in the corner of his mouth.

  “Which way you traveling? Interstate or highway?”

  “I planned on taking 75 ‘til we hit the turnpike.”

  “Well, you might want to rethink that. It’ll be packed both ways with people panicking to get out of the state or fighting to get home. You know? Trying to get their homes boarded up and secured before the storm hits. They are saying landfall is expected in the next 24 to 48 hours.”

  “Thanks for the heads up. I plan to stop in Gainesville, gas up, and eat. Guess we can look at the map for alternatives then. We might have to find a place to stay for the next little bit. I know of a few good stops.”

  “Yes, sir. That sounds really good. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t wanna be caught when Georgia hits the shore. Never know what she’ll be bringing with her.”

  The other cop returns and hands the papers and license back to me.

  “Everything checks out, sir. You’ve got a busted taillight. You might want to have that looked at as soon as you can.”

  “You don’t say? I’ll have to find somewhere in Gainesville that’s open and try to replace it.”

  They both nod and walk back to their vehicle, get in, and pull back onto the highway. A few seconds later, the Crown Vic’s taillights fade away.

  For some ungodly reason, I can’t seem to get focused today. My head is on a trip and I feel like a yoyo swinging from one extreme to the next. This case is taking a toll on me.

  After my run and a hot shower, I’m feeling a bit better. The tension is relaxing in my shoulders and I can think clearly again. I have to concentrate on my game plan for the twins and try to figure out what is going on. In the end, helping those teenagers find their way is all that really matters to me.

  I’m thrust back into the past again to the day I finally realized it was time to move on, the day it was time to pull up my big girl panties and take on the world like I was meant to. Everything changed again for me one more t
ime.

  Stretching and yawning in my bed, I pulled the covers away from my body. I glanced to the window and saw that it was still dawn outside. Perfect. It was the time in the morning I could relax and enjoy the fresh air and my horses all alone.

  School ended two weeks earlier. Thank goodness. I’d been working on the ranch as much as possible to stay busy and out of my father’s way. I figured that if I did, he would certainly leave me be, and so far it had worked out beautifully.

  The past year of high school was rough and I was thankful for a reprieve. I couldn’t take anymore lingering looks of pity or snickers behind my back. People were cruel. Can’t really blame them. It’s in our nature, the instinct to lash out before someone does it to you. But it’s the choices we make that define who we are in life, like the choice I made to let Keagan go. A twist of discomfort brushed against my heart. At the time, it was necessary. I just felt numb and unsure. He made things brighter, even in my state of darkness. I should’ve told him so.

  I pulled on my jeans and t-shirt and slipped into my old worn riding boots. Heading out the side door so as not to attract attention, I inhaled a deep consoling breath as I absorbed the beauty that surrounded me in the early break of morning. From the roost of the chicken coup near the barn, I heard the crow of Red, the head rooster, signaling the start of a new day. The crickets were chirping their cadence along with the croaking of the bullfrogs down by the pond, sending a signal of peace and life out to the heavens.

  During the next few hours, I lost myself in the automatic actions of shoveling fresh hay into the stalls. I enjoyed brushing down Storm and Cyclops, my two best horses. Cyclops was a Palomino, a beautiful breed. He stood a whopping eighteen hands high with a coat that had varying shades of gold. His mane and tail were whitish silver in color. He was high strung and a whole lot of fun to ride. On the other hand, Storm was a Pinto. She’s a couple hands shorter than Cyclops. Her white coat was home to large patches of burnt orange and deep chestnut. Where Cyclops was hyper, Storm was laid-back.