Page 47 of Save Me

"Brant, you can't listen to the shit they say, man."

I tug on strands of my hair, trying to think. "I'm fucking lying right now. Jesus Christ. It's like I've said it so much, it just rolls off my tongue. I don't give a shit about his memory."

"What are you saying?" Dalton asks.

"I'm saying I hated the prick. He was an addict who got off on beating me and my mom," I murmur quietly. "And I'm saying I saw the men who killed him in the parking garage. I didn't fucking know what they were there for, and I didn't really care. I drove off without trying to figure out what they wanted." I swallow hard. "When I got the call that he was dead, I fucking smiled."

"Jesus, Brantley," Priest rasps.

"The only thing I regret is the fact that Isla's sister was there." My brows furrow. "That's not true. I regret not telling Isla the truth. The way she found out… it's fucked. I don't know how the fuck I'm supposed to fix it. I'm tired of keeping his secrets."

That's the real truth. Keeping his secrets is killing me. I'm tired of the world thinking he was something he wasn't. I'm tired of being the one who pays for his crimes. I'm goddamn tired of trying to hold it all up and failing.

His secrets are poisoning me because the longer I keep them, the longer all this shit keeps building up inside. And the longer I keep them, the more I fuck up, trying to hide from what it's doing to me. If I'm ever going to have a chance of fixing thingswith Isla…I can't keep doing that. I can't carry the burden of his shame and my own.

But I don't know how the fuck to stop, either. My mother has sacrificed enough. She's survived enough. I can't ask her for more just to set myself free. And yet…it's what I need to do. I don't think either of us will ever really move on until it's done.

"You don't fix it this way, brother," Priest says, clamping a hand down on my shoulder.

I immediately jerk away, my heart pounding as anxiety shoots through me in a cold wave. "Don't touch me," I snap. No one is allowed to do that but Isla. Her hands are the only ones that don't hurt.

"Shit." Priest grimaces, his expression full of apology. "I'm sorry, brother. I forgot."

I jerk my chin in a nod, inhaling a deep breath. Trying to calm myself back down and quiet the anxiety. It's…not as bad as usual. It's not screaming at me, demanding I fight or flee. It's just uncomfortably there, sitting in my chest like a knot of fear.

"That shot isn't going to solve a single goddamn one of your problems," Priest says after a moment. "You know it won't."

"Yeah," I sigh. "Why the fuck do you think I called you? You're my intervention."

"Then let's get the fuck out of here. We'll call Daniel and figure this shit out somewhere without a shot in front of you," Priest says.

"What the fuck?" Dalton growls suddenly, jumping to his feet.

"What?" Priest asks.

"That motherfucker has his hands on my fiancée."

Priest and I both turn, confused as hell, as Dalton growls, storming across the bar with pure murder stamped on his face.

"He has a fiancée?" I mutter.

Priest just shrugs.

We watch as he charges toward a cowboy who has a petite, curvy brunette backed into a corner. The cowboy raises his hand like he's going to hit her, and she cowers.

"Oh, fuck that," Priest growls, climbing off his stool.

"Hell no," I snap at the same time, jumping to my feet.

Dalton reaches the girl—his fiancée—and grabs her around the waist, hauling her out of the way.

"You motherfucker!" he roars, plowing into the cowboy.

Priest and I don't say a word, already heading that way. This isn't what I came here for but fuck it. No one tries to hit a woman and walks away from it without earning a few bruises. And the mood I'm in? Well, I'm more than willing to help Dalton teach this motherfucker some manners.

By the time the police break up the fight, Dalton's in cuffs. So is the cowboy and several of his friends. But I feel calmer than I've felt all damn day. My head is clear for once.

And I know exactly what I need to do. While Priest takes Dalton's girl home, I go to see my mother. She isn't surprised to see me when I step over the threshold. It's almost like she was waiting for me.

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