Chapter Thirty-Two - Diane

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

DIANE

I'm out for two days.

In the periphery of my eyes, I catch glimpses of Westin as I move in and out of sleep. He sits on the bed, smoothing back my hair. He gives me water. Once, he asks me to eat. I can't get any words past my cracked lips. Inside, it feels like I've been stripped raw enough to bleed.

Nana visits me. She sits in the corner in a rocking chair. She doesn't speak, but it feels like she's telling me she's pleased.

She just hums that tune, sweet and low.

It's early morning some days later when I finally surface and stay conscious. The bedroom is empty, and the curtains are pulled back. Through them, the world is covered in a thick blanket of glittering white, so intense that I have to squint.

My mouth tastes like dust. My head is light, but the sense of impending doom in my chest I've had since I married Thomas is gone.

Every joint in my body protests as I push myself up to sit against the pillows. I'm in a man's t-shirt, and it smells like Westin. The faint scent of coffee tinges the air. My stomach tightens in response. For the first time in weeks, I think I might have an appetite .

I want to get up, but I don't trust my legs to hold me.

Instead, I lean back and pull the quilt up around my waist. My chest is empty, like it was scooped out with a big spoon. I'm raw and so tired. My head tells me I must have slept for days. My body is begging for me to curl back up and sleep a few more.

I hear boots on the step.

My mind goes into overdrive. It's Thomas or Avery.

I have to get up and run.

The door opens, and Westin leans in the doorway. He's in one of his worn blue button downs, work pants, and boots. I can tell he was outside—he smells like winter.

He fixes those bright hazel eyes on me, and my chest heaves.

"I have to go back, don't I?" I whisper, tears welling up.

He's at my side in a second, pulling me into his arms. My cheek presses into his firm shoulder, and I sink deep into his embrace.

"No, darling," he says. "You never have to go back."

"But what about Thomas? What about the farm?" I gasp, tears slipping down.

"Thomas is dead, and you're safe," he says.

I hear his voice, feel it rumble in his chest, but I can't absorb it.

"My farm?"

"I promise, I'll handle it."

The little bit of strength I have left wants to get dressed and go down to Carter Farms. My brain tells me that makes no sense. There's several feet of snow outside right now. It's the dead of winter. David could sell, but no one will try to build a road through my farm until spring.

Mercifully, I have time. I pull back. Westin brushes my hair from my face.

"I want you to eat something," he says.

"Avery? What happened to Avery?" my voice cracks.

"Sovereign shot him," Westin says.

It hits me like a wall of bricks crashing down. I never have to go back. No more nights with a rope around my wrist and a gun under my bed. No more living on high alert, waiting for the sound of tires on the driveway. No more trying to guess if Avery and Thomas are drunk enough to hurt me, or if they'll just fall asleep.

"What happens now?" I whisper.

He brushes his lips over my forehead. "Nothing until the winter breaks."

A sob claws up my throat. I cover my mouth, but it's too late. He turns me in his arms, forehead knitted. I cover my mouth with my other hand too. Tears break free and spill down my cheeks.

"Darling." His voice is so gentle.

No man has ever spoken to me as gently as Westin does.

He pries my hands away, and the sobs release like a dam crashing down. My body shakes. I can't breathe. I'm a limp mess against his chest, crying so hard, I can't tell what's snot or tears or saliva. His shirt is soaked. His hand is on the back of my neck, his arm around me.

"I was so scared," I burst out, my words slurred.

"I know, I know, baby girl. I'm so fucking sorry," he says, his voice a hoarse rumble. "You're never leaving me again. You're safe."

He doesn't tell me to stop crying. He's the first person to let me sob it all out.

I'm so deeply hurt. Marrying Thomas, living in fear of Avery, laying awake and longing for home in the dark, watching Sovereign blow a hole in Avery's head—it changed me.

I'm not the girl Westin met all those months ago. I think I might have too many wounds to ever be that girl again.

My sobs quiet down. Finally, I can breathe evenly. I touch my puffy face, the skin tender. Westin shifts me in his lap and turns my chin up. The gaze he fixes on me is sober, the lines of his face around it stern.

"You've been fighting against giving up control for a long time, Diane," he says. "That's done."

"Westin—"

"I said, it's done."

My voice falters, and I fix him with a teary stare .

"You let me handle this situation from now on," he says, not unkindly. "It's not your job anymore. I fucked up. I never should have let you stay in that house. From now on, you let me keep you safe. Understood?"

I don't know how to be taken care of. Numbly, I shake my head, but I can't come up with the words to tell him that. He studies my face for a moment before picking me up and taking me to the bathroom. I sit in the chair by the door while he runs a bath.

My head is fuzzy, my eyes sticky. My fight is all used up, washed away by my tears. When he takes my shirt off and lifts me into the tub, I let him move me like I'm a doll. I just lay with my head against the porcelain edge of the tub while he untangles my hair.

My heart is numb. His touch is the only thing holding me together.

"I tried," I whisper. "I did try, Westin."

His fingers go still, and then his lips graze the top of my head.

"I wish I knew how bad it was, darling," he says. "I'm taking this out of your hands now. Understood?"

I swallow, throat dry.

"Say it," he urges gently.

My lips part, my eyes close, and all I can see are the branches of the willow tree moving in the breeze over Nana's grave. I hear the hum of cicadas in the afternoon, the soft chirp of crickets at night. Through it all runs the soft current of the river where he kissed me for the first time, the swimming hole where he caught me in his arms and made me his in the dirt.

Slowly, I sit up and turn. Our eyes meet.

"Are you really a bad man?" I ask.

I still sound so childish. He clears his throat.

"I don't know, darling," he says. "But even if I am, I'm in your corner."

I touch his shoulder, moving my hand under his shirt, over skin warm like sunshine. The hard ridges of his scarred brand brush my fingertips.

Gunslinger .

I think that, even if Westin is a dangerous man, he might be a good one. The world hasn't been kind to him, but he's not like Thomas or David. His shoulders might be heavy, his body scarred, but he's not bitter.

No, he's bright, like the sun—pure and lethal.

My dry lips part. "I understand."

He doesn't speak after that. I'm exhausted enough to let him do whatever he wants. His mouth is set in a grim line as he washes my body and dries it. Then, he pulls a clean shirt over my head and puts me back in bed.

He wants me to eat. I'm starving, so I obediently let him feed me broth and toast. One spoonful, one bite, at a time. When I'm done, he pulls the covers up to my chin.

"You sleep," he says firmly.

He moves back, but I take his hand. When he crouches down, I'm acutely aware of him in a way I haven't been before. He's big, his presence filling the room. It's warm skin, rough fabric.

It's home.

I look down at his hand in mine. He's always had so many scars. I assumed they were from barbed wire, but now, I'm not so sure.

"Promise?" I whisper.

He doesn't ask what he's promising; he just nods. I release his hand and burrow down under the covers. The world is cold and frightening, but I'm safe here with him.

Hazily, I see him across the room in the chair by the fireplace. He's sitting with his long legs stretched out, just watching me until I finally close my eyes.