21. Gunner

21

Gunner

Twelve Years Ago

M y heart races while I drive down the road. Three missed calls. Margaret’s never missed three of my calls. When I answer, she knows to pick up on call number one. That’s our rule. Something’s wrong.

I grip my phone, getting ready to call Dallas when I pass the Devil on the road to her house. I turn my head to look at the car next to me, and it’s him. His black eyes stare straight through me, and I know I’m too late.

I face forward on the road again, nearly driving off into a ditch when I do so. My eyes burn, and my palms start to sweat. I should’ve never let her go to that house alone. But she insisted on moving in last week when I was out of town for work. Except I lied to her. I wasn’t out of town for work and was closing on the house I got for us. I was hoping I could convince her to change her mind about her grandmother’s home and move out of town with me. But I don’t know if I’ll have the chance to.

I knew he hated me, but I never thought he’d go after her. When the lane next to me’s empty, I floor it, not able to handle the wait any longer.

She’ll be okay. She has to be okay. My Margaret’s alright.

But when I pull in front of the house and see the front door open, I can’t lie to myself any longer.

I leave my truck running, bolting out of it. “Margaret!” I scream at the top of my lungs for her, hoping she’ll rush out of the house.

I slow down when I get to the front steps, dreading what I’ll see when I go inside. And as soon as I step over the welcome mat, I drop to my knees.

“No. No, no, no.” My breakfast rumbles in my stomach, and I spew it all over the white carpet.

“Margaret,” I sob. I feel like a statue staring at her. Her eyes are wide open, and she has two knives in her. One in her neck, and the other . . . the other in her stomach.

My baby. I’ve lost my Margaret and my baby in the same fucking day.

I scream at the top of my lungs, mustering up the strength to go over to her.

Her brown hair is soaked in blood, and her pale hands are ice-cold. I spoke to her last night before bed. How is this possible? I heard her voice and she was there. I talked to her. And now she’s gone.

I pick up my phone, wanting to call the police, but call the only person I trust instead.

“Gunner?”

I struggle to breathe while I sob over the line, telling Dallas how his little sister is butchered in front of me.

His loud yell makes my ears ring, and he catches his breath through sobs, telling me what to do. “You can’t call the police, Gunner.”

I stand up, pacing around the room while I stare at her. “I can’t let him get away with this.”

“If you call the police, he’s just gonna get off.”

“But—”

“He’s the goddamn sheriff, Gunner! And if you go after him, he’s going to keep destroying everything around you.”

“Then what the hell am I supposed to do?!”

He groans. “Bury her. Bury her out back. Momma can’t know she was murdered. She’ll never let it go, and she’ll spend the rest of her days looking for Margaret’s killer.”

I wretch again in disbelief that I’m getting ready to cover this up. I’m going to cover up this bastard’s crime.

Dallas keeps going, ignoring me. “You’ll man the fuck up and bury her, and I’ll burn the house later and make it look like an accident. As far as anyone knows, you didn’t get back in town until this afternoon.”

“But he saw me.”

“He won’t do a damn thing about it.”

I crouch down beside her, sinking my hand into her bloody hair. “I want him to suffer.”

He pauses and takes a breath. “He will. Don’t worry about him. I’ll handle him.” He ends the call, and I look down at my girl, feeling like the worst thing that ever happened to her.

I whisper to her while I close her eyes, telling her how sorry I am. Then I leave her in the kitchen while I grab a shovel from the garage and start digging a hole.

I can’t believe I’m about to bury her. I can’t believe Dallas is going to burn down this house. All I can think about is how nothing else matters anymore. My existence has no meaning.

I dig for over an hour, and when I have a pit deep enough, I pick up my baby, giving her one last kiss while I carry her body out back.

She’ll never forgive me. Her soul will haunt me as long as I live. And I deserve that. I try not to think while I place her in the ground, and I get her covered twice as fast as I got the hole dug. I’m seconds away from getting the fuck out of here when I see her .

That damn horse.

That goddamn horse sat here while my girl was getting murdered not doing a damn thing. That goddamn useless animal.

I pull my gun off my hip, getting ready to shoot her when I slip on the mud below me, remembering why I’m out back in the first place.

I can’t kill this horse. She loved this horse.

I put my weapon away, running back in the house. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I can’t be without her.

I go to her bedroom, and there are boxes everywhere still. I become numb while I pick up her shoes and start packing them into my truck. Her shoes were everything. I can’t let Dallas burn her shoes. I have to save her shoes.

I’ve got thirty pairs with me when I’ve calmed down enough to see Violet again. I’ve already been here too long. I need to get out of here before Dallas comes. I get Violet put in her trailer quickly, and I bring my truck to it to hitch her to me.

Without looking back, I get back on the road, heading to my new home to live out my own personal hell on Earth.

I sit on Colt’s porch, nursing my second beer while my heart rate starts to slow down. Montana’s been upstairs alone for an hour, and I’m dreading going back upstairs to see her. As soon as I release her, she’ll never speak to me again. That’s what I’m hoping for at least. I lost my right to happiness the day I lost Margaret. I didn’t deserve her to begin with, and I’m the reason she’s dead.

And when I got to my new home that night after I secured Violet and picked up Faye, I went up to my bedroom to try and blow my head off. When my rifle jammed, I knew then that I would face nothing but suffering for the rest of my days.

I’m two beers deep getting ready to go grab my third when my old friend pulls up to his home.

Colton steps out of his Bronco with his black shirt torn and dirt on his jeans, clearly up to trouble. His black hair is as long as mine, and his blue eyes look as tired as mine probably do.

He sits next to me in a rocking chair and leans back. “Brother. What the hell are you doing in Utah?”

Colton’s like a brother to me. I met him two years after Margaret died at a liquor store, and we’ve been close ever since. I knew when I called last minute needing a place to stay, he’d be there for me. That’s just the kind of person he is. He’s like Margaret. Like she used to be .

I give him the rundown of everything with Montana, and he whistles while he takes off his black hat. “Damn. Where the hell is she?”

“She’s . . . upstairs. Handcuffed to your bed.”

He whistles again, misinterpreting my meaning when I decide to unload on him and tell him why I left her like I did. “Montana was a virgin before tonight.”

He claps his hands and smiles. “ Alllright .”

“No. Not alright. This is not something to celebrate.” I feel my neck heat, beyond embarrassed that I’m getting ready to discuss all of this with him. What I did to Montana and how Margaret’s tied up in all this. But Colt always listens, and he always cares. Where Dallas always has my back, Colt always offers a shoulder to cry on. Even though I’ve never cried on it. “I need more beer.”

He hops up eagerly, getting two more cold ones so he can drink with me. When he returns, he faces his chair toward me. “So why aren’t we celebrating?”

I take a sip, looking away from him. “What should’ve been a special and memorable experience for her was anything but special. But it’ll be memorable.”

“Go on.”

I fiddle with the ring on my right hand that I bought myself one year after my attempted suicide. Promising myself I’d keep moving forward. “I got caught up in the moment and—and I hurt her. It was quick, dirty, and unromantic. I didn’t know she hadn’t done anything like that until we were done, and I felt guilty. So I put all the blame on her and told her she should’ve told me and that I can’t trust her now.”

He looks at me like I fell from the sky. “So, she’s handcuffed to the bed alone because you’re an asshole.”

I take a large swig of my third beer. “Yeah.” I feel even more stupid after explaining it.

He presses his lips together, trying not to laugh. “The hell is wrong with you? Do you even like her?”

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m probably just fucked up because my father killed my mother, my sister died in a car crash, and my father slaughtered my pregnant girlfriend. I never sought therapy and tried to off myself, and then I started killing people for money.

I look at him, leaning back in my chair. “I can’t stop thinking about her. Margaret. I turned down Montana twice because I felt guilty about wanting her when Margaret died so young and in such a horrible way, and as soon as I allowed myself to go there with Montana, I lost all control and scared her. Then I made her feel like she didn’t matter to me because I couldn’t apologize, and I’m scared that if I open up to her fully that I’ll fall too hard too fast, tarnishing what memory I have left of Margaret, and I’m scared that something will happen to Montana and I’ll lose her too.”

Colt nods his head understandingly and sips his drink slowly. “You forgot about the part where you left her chained to my bed in tears.”

“I never said she was in tears.”

He gives me a knowing look which really hammers down how much I’ve fucked this up.

Colt looks off into the distance, rocking slowly back and forth. “Margaret wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your life as a dead man, Gun.”

I finish my third drink and toss my bottle on the ground. “You didn’t know her.”

He lowers his voice, softening his tone. “I know I didn’t know her. But I know what you’ve told me about her. And if she loved you as much as you told me, she would hate to see you like this. She’d want you to be happy. She’d want you to let that ice melt off your damn heart.”

I close my eyes, and when the wind blows, I can almost feel her hand on my face and her hair wrapped around me. Tears stream down my face, and I lean forward, rubbing my eyes with my hands. “I miss her so much.”

“Some part of you will always miss her. That’ll never go away. That’s okay.”

I rub my nose with my shirt. “I want Montana just as much as I miss Margaret. I only met the girl a few days ago, and I don’t want to go to sleep without her ever again. And I feel so terrible because I feel like I need her more than I needed Margaret. Margaret needed me, but I didn’t need her. I need Montana. Is that wrong?”

He sighs and stands up, leaning against the porch. “It is what it is, man. Margaret and Montana are two completely different souls. Quit trying to compare the two and measure out your feelings for them. You loved Margaret. You were in love with her. However, she’s gone, and she’s not coming back. That doesn’t mean that love between you two doesn’t matter or that it wasn’t real or that you’re a phony for feeling how you do now.

“That girl upstairs is here, she’s breathing, and she’s hurting. And if you want to have any chance with her, you better get up there and right your wrongs.”

I stand up, not wanting Montana to stay up there another moment alone. Colton steadies me, looking me in my eyes. “Remove the cuffs, clean her up, and let her have some space. Take one of the guest rooms, and talk to her in the morning.”

I want to ignore him. I’ve spent the past four nights with Montana, and I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep without her .

But I know he’s right. I do need to give Montana space. I’m in no condition to be honest with her or comfort her right now, and the last thing I need to do is make things worse. He holds out his arms, and I give him a quick hug before heading back to the front door.

“One more thing, Gun.”

I turn around, feeling the weight of the day catch up with me. “Montana is not Margaret. Margaret wasn’t Montana. There’s nothing right or wrong about that. Don’t try and make them be each other. They never will be.”

I give him one more nod, wiping my shoes on the mat before I walk back through the door.