Page 97 of Westin

“Just tell him,” I beg.

I don’t know what’s going on, but I want to go home. I want to be back in my little bed with a wire frame and worn sheets.

I want to be rescued.

I want my quilt, my Nana, the sweet scent of hay coming through my window as I fall asleep.

The garbled voices in my ears are split by a sound so loud, it makes me bite down on my tongue. A gunshot, so close to my head that it splinters my ears with pain. Avery is screaming, I’m sobbing, snot and spit running down my chin. Someone is talking, on and on.

Then, it happens again—bang. My head burns from the sound. My eyes flicker into focus. Avery is slumped to the side, blood dripping from his temple. It’s thick as it drizzles into his lap.

Everything goes still. My body shakes. I think I screamed, but my body is far below me. Inside, I’m curled up in my bed. Nana holds my head, running her ivory comb through my hair as she hums.

“Revenge belongs to God,” she whispers. “But sometimes, God is just a man who loves you enough to save you.”

I have to give in.

I have to let go.

These burdens I carry are too heavy for my shoulders.

My head falls back. Nana’s face blurs, and I’m being carried. The scent of Westin fills my nose and cold air bites my face. A horse snorts, white mist floating to the black sky.

I’m lifted up, up, up until I wonder if I’ve died.

But no, I feel the warm sides of a horse against my bare legs. It prances as Westin swings up to sit behind me. His breath burns through my hair, and his arm locks over my body.

“I have you, darling,” he says. “And this time, I’m keeping you.”

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.

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