Page 60 of Resilient Rhythms
It’s a text from Robyn inviting me to join her and Emily for lunch next week. They’re moving back to Emily’s native Florida at the end of the month. I smile, relieved I’ll see them at least one more time before they relocate.
When I look up, I falter.
Bran Burton looms across from me, not even fifteen feet away, leaning against the hood of a blue sports car.
“Mckenna Byrne,” he drawls my name. His position is casual, his legs crossed at the ankles, his arms hanging loosely by his sides. But I’m not fooled by his appearance. His eyes blaze with something akin to hatred.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I say, surprise evident in my voice.
Bran pushes off the car, standing to his full height, as he steps toward me. “Yeah, you’d think so, wouldn’t you?” He tilts his head, as if genuinely asking me to respond. “But I have eyes on you, Kenny. I’ve been following you for a while now.” He snickers. “If you give money to the right people, they’ll tell you anything. Even Rose.”
Rose? The receptionist? Warning bells ring in my mind and I press my lips together, my eyes darting around the deserted parking lot. There’s only five other cars and no people.
I don’t dare look over my shoulder. I know I’m too far from the office building to run for help. Bran would catch me before I could turn onto the sidewalk.
“You’ve made things hard for me, Mckenna,” Bran says, his voice quiet. Deceptively so since his expression is a mask of pure hatred.
“You’ve made things hell for me,” I bite out.
Surprise flickers through his expression as he rears back. But then, his eyes narrow and he strides forward, propelled by his anger. His hands wrap around my upper arms and shake me. “You asked for it. Your family fucking deserves it.”
“Fuck you, Bran,” I spit. Fear courses through my veins, but this time, I’m not going down without a fight. I’m not numb, I’m burning. And I plan to unleash all my anger and hurt, all my pain and doubt, on the son of a bitch glaring at me. He won’t get away with this again. I won’t fucking allow it.
His fingers grip tighter, digging into my flesh hard enough to leave bruises. I move to back up, but his hold tightens, keeping me where he wants me. He lowers his mouth to my ear in an intimidation tactic that works because fear skates up my spine. “I already did,” he growls.
I rear my head back and slam my hands into his chest, catching him off guard. As I move toward the sidewalk, Bran catches my arm and spins me, pushing into me until I fall to the ground. His heavy frame drops on top of me and I swear, screaming loudly.
His hand clamps over my mouth and for a moment, I’m back to that night. The sticky floor, the back of the brown couch, the flannel shirt. The weight of his frame, the feel of his fingers against my mouth, and the hatred in his narrowed eyes.
“Do you know the trouble you’ve caused between my dad and me?” he sneers. “If it wasn’t for my cousin…” He trails off, his eyes blazing. “You stupid fucking bitch. You wanted me. You wanted us. And then you had me shipped off to fucking Texas?” He straddles my frame, one forearm pressing into my chest, dragging up to my neck and cutting off my air supply.
I suck in a ragged breath, my mind whirling.
“I hate you,” Bran sneers. “And I’m going to fucking end you.”
My fingers fumble my keys, closing around the pepper spray I keep on my key ring.
As Bran continues to unleash his verbal assault, I focus on gripping the small canister.
He backhands me across the face. A quick snap of his wrist that I don’t see coming until it’s too late. Pain explodes in my head, causing me to see stars. But his shift in body weight allows me to grasp the pepper spray. I press the top of the canister, flinging my hand in the direction of Bran’s face and screwing my eyes shut tight.
“Argh!” he yells, shifting back. He’s still sitting on my legs, but I have enough space now to sit up, to drag in a breath that causes my lungs to burn because the air is tainted with pepper spray.
But it doesn’t matter. I need to get to the sidewalk. I will not go down like this again. Not by the hands of Bran or any fucking man.
Bran grasps for my ankle as I pull my legs out from underneath him.
I press the top of the canister again and hear his scream as he lunges for me. But I’m faster, propelled forward by fear and desperation andknowing.
My hip slams into the hood of a parked car as I run past. Bran tumbles into me a heartbeat later and I go down hard, my head hitting the ground. His hands come around my neck and squeeze as I stare up into his glaring eyes and twisted sneer.
My head swims and my throat burns. I need to breathe but I can’t suck in oxygen. I can’t catch it. Not with Bran’s hands tightening on my neck. I claw at his fingers, I scratch at his face, aiming for his eyes.
“I fucking hate you,” he wheezes. “I fucking?—”
He’s pulled off me in the next moment and I suck in a lungful of air. My throat is on fire and my vision blurs. But I make out Drew hauling Bran backwards.
I scoot back but there’s nowhere to go. My legs are too weak and my arms shake from the exertion of my small efforts.
