Page 95 of Bull Rush

The gunshot rings out in the night, and the spray of blood against the barn wall is brilliant red. Splattering against the wood and the bull’s head that’s mounted on the beam above her. Dripping slowly down the bony face until it threatens to return to its owner again.

“Holy fuck!” Bo shouts, finally making himself known again from the corner of the barn as Amelia’s body slumps forward in her chair.

The rope binds are the only thing keeping her from sliding to the floor at my feet where she belongs as Lev stares down from her side. I want to see her skull as mutilated as my mother’s was when I found her, pieces of it everywhere on the porch and embedded in the furniture. Nearly unrecognizable if it hadn’t been that she was wearing the same apron she always did when she made us dinner, and her tortoise shell hair clip still neatly holding her hair back from her caved-in face.

I raise the gun to shoot again. To make sure she suffers the same fate. I want her wandering hell faceless, her jaw hanging from her skull while she tries to explain how she could have been so coldblooded and cruel.

“Ramsey…” Hazel says softly, her hand on my forearm as she looks up at me. “She’s dead.”

“I want her more than dead. I want her in fucking pieces.” The gun is shaking in my hand, and I realize I’m crying, sobs racking my body. I feel sick. Like I might throw up. I can imagine my mom seeing someone like Amelia at the door, smiling at her. Inviting her in to get her out of the heat of the day. Offering her a cold drink and a comfortable chair. Letting her sit at the dining room table and serving her a piece of pie. And she killed her. She fucking murdered her in cold blood.Over what? Money? Greed? An endless cycle of hate between these families that never ends.

“Let me have the gun, please.” Hazel’s pleading with me, and I look down and see there are tears in her eyes. I take in a sharp breath, trying to assess why she’s crying, and then I see the blood that’s splattered across her shirt and arms.

“Oh fuck…” I mutter, turning to her. My hands searching over her body and trying to wipe the smears off her skin. She takes the gun from me gently and hands it off to Bo. His eyes drift over both of us and, for the second time today, I can tell he’s worried. The reality of it sets in. That I’ve made my poor innocent wife who loved horses and taking old ladies bird-watching an accessory to two murders in one day. Fucked up her whole life so fucking quickly she barely had time to process it before I was making it worse. “Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Darlin’, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. I didn’t think… I’m sorry.” I hit my knees and press my face to her stomach. We’d spent so much time trying to make sure we’d cleaned her up and kept her safe after Curtis, only for me to fuck it up again. All I can seem to do is fuck up her life. She takes pity on me despite it, and her fingers run through my hair, and she wraps her other around my neck.

“It’s okay. Shh. It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.” She presses closer and rubs small circles over my back. “I’ve got you.”

I lean into Hazel’s warmth. Her touch is the only thing keeping me grounded right now when the whole world feels like it might slip out from under me. I turn my head and stare across the barn, watching as several more drips of blood tumble off the bull skull to the ground at Amelia’s feet.

“Tell Anson it’s a two-point safety now,” I hear Grant mutter to Bo; the three of them exchange looks, watching me like I need the vigilance.

I can’t make sense of much in this moment, but I do knowone thing—my mother and father’s killer is finally dead. I’ve made sure of it. Too long and too late for it to serve any real good. It couldn’t bring her back to me. My kids will never know her through anything but stories and old photographs. My dad will never get to see me play pro. But at least I’ve managed to do the thing law enforcement never cared enough to bother with—I’ve gotten them both the justice they deserve.

FORTY-SEVEN

Hazel

Our brothers arebusy taking care of the mess we made today. I feel a flurry of guilt as I drive Ramsey and me back to the house, feeling like we should have stayed to help somehow. But Ramsey needs time to process; he’s still unusually quiet, and he’s apologized a half dozen times to me for what happened. No matter how many times I promise I’m okay, he doesn’t seem sure enough, and I want his mind off everything that happened. I can’t stand to watch him spiral into despair the same way I have before, and if I have to be strong for both of us until I can bring him out of this, I will. Our brothers can hold the fort down in the meantime. Plus, if you can’t rely on your family to take care of the dead bodies—what kind of family are they really?

“Are you doing okay?” I ask. The night is late, and the moon is starting to fade over the horizon.

“I’m fine,” he answers, his voice muted as he stares out the window.

“We need to get ourselves cleaned up. Burn the clothes. Take a shower.”

“Yes.” He nods. “I don’t want any traces of this on you.” He looks over at me, worry coloring his face. “I wish you hadn’t been out there with us. It would have been better. You didn’t need to see that. Losing both of them that way in one day.”

“They weren’t who they said they were.” I try to shrug it off. I don’t want him worried about me right now, but he’s not wrong. It had sliced straight through my heart to find out two people I’d trusted and cared for so much had turned out to be manipulating me. It’s something I’m not sure I’ll ever fully recover from, but it’s something I can keep marching through. After all, this is life—one hard thing after another. We just have to keep finding our way through to the other side. As long as I have the people I love with me, I can find a way to make it through.

“You’re too good to people, Haze. They don’t deserve you. They abuse it, and I wish I could fucking kill them again for it.” He shakes his head, wincing at the thought, as he runs his fingers over the back of his knuckles.

“You don’t have to worry about it anymore. They’re gone, and I’m wiser for it. It’s a shock, but I’ll be okay. It was a surprise for all of us… what you found out about Amelia…” I risk a glance at him as we pull down the small dirt road, getting closer to the house again.

“I’m glad it was me. That I could end it. That’s fucked up, I know. But it felt… good. Both times I’ve had to do it… It feltgoodto put an end to the misery those people brought on the world. I don’t know what that says about me.” It’s a vulnerable admission on his part, one I’m sure he wouldn’t make to mybrothers or his. The kind of truth he’d only trust to me, and one I have to be careful with.

“I think it means you loved the people you were protecting,” I say, turning to him as I put the truck in park.

“I’m sorry you had to make that choice with Curtis. He deserved it, that and worse, really, but I’m sorry it had to be you.”

“I’m not. I’d do it again,” I say softly, staring up at the stars through the windshield. I didn’t feel the deep satisfaction from it the way Ramsey does, but I certainly don’t feel any remorse. Good isn’t a terrible word to describe it either.

I’m sure I should feel worse than I do. That someday this might hit me like a ton of bricks in a therapy session three years from now while I bawl my eyes out into a mound of tissues on the coffee table next to the therapy couch. But right now, I’m the therapist… “I know what you mean when you say it felt good,” I add. His eyes meet mine, deep pools of empathy reflected in them, and he holds out his hand for mine, squeezing me tight when I return the gesture.

“Let’s get cleaned up.” I tilt my head toward the house, and he nods his agreement before we climb out of the truck.

The steam rollingoff the water fills the shower room in our master bathroom. I’m on my second round of soap and shampoo, trying to make sure every bit of Amelia and Curtis is washed off me. Ramsey has barely moved, leaning against the shower tile and letting the water run down his back. There’s a sharp red line on his skin the rivulets of water follow as they make their way to the drain. I slip some conditioner into the ends of my hair and make my way over to him.

The gentlest touch startles him, and he looks back over hisshoulder. His eyes are rimmed with red, and his face is still tight with worry. This shower isn’t doing nearly as much for him as it is for me.

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