Page 12 of Montana Silence

The thought that he could be out and sending me this? Another wave of sickness flooded my stomach and chest, and I just managed to hold it back. I kept myself on the road, following traffic laws, but barely.

It didn’t matter if Rayne had clients. I would wait. As long as it took until she could talk to me. If I could manage to get a word out at all.

A ring had wrapped itself around my throat like a hand squeezing. It stole my breath and my voice, and it wanted to take so much more from me. My safety and my happiness. My peace. The life I’d found.

Because that was the thing about brides of honor. Once you were chosen, it was for life. It didn’t matter how long the dress and veil took to complete, you belonged to them even if they couldn’t touch you yet.

If you ran away or tried anything else, like ruining the dress or getting someone else in the commune—or worse, someone outside of it—to want you or defile you so you wouldn’t be good enough, you were still theirs. They would just punish you.

I’d seen it more than once.

I flinched at the images flashing behind my eyes. Things I tried to forget and things I’d worked through with Rayne, but they rose like a tide through the barriers I’d erected, threatening to drown me. The bruises and the cuts, along with the blissful smiles of the brides in pain. Because she deserved it, and now that she’d paid her punishment, she was once again worthy.

Until they said she wasn’t and it started all over again.

I parked the truck in front of Rayne’s little house-turned-office on Main Street in Garnet Bend. Even from the outside, it was cozy, and I appreciated it. If the office had been in something like an office building or tucked into one of those little retail stores next to a dry cleaner, I wouldn’t have made it through the door.

Probably plenty of clients who came here felt the same way. With the judgment some people cast on therapy, it was hard enough to make yourself go, let alone go and feel like you were going into a store and picking up a solution off the shelf.

One box of therapy, please. Will that fix me? How long does it take to work?

If only it were so simple.

The world would be a better place if it were.

But the world wasn’t a good place. I knew that better than anyone. Montana might be the last best place, but outside of the ranch and the people who’d become my family? I shuddered. Bad people lived everywhere.

My hands shook as I leaned across the seat and grabbed the box. It was like forcing myself to reach out and grab a red-hot poker.

The front office was empty, as it usually was. Rayne had a front desk but no receptionist. The desk was more a place for her to keep the schedule and patient records than anything else.

Her office door stood open, but that didn’t mean she was free. The front door closed behind me, and her voice floated out. “Hello?”

Come on, Mara. Talk. This is the place where you need to be able to.

But my voice stuck in my throat like it was trying to force itself through an opening too small to fit.

Rayne’s footsteps sounded. “Hello? Oh, Mara.” She did a double take when she saw me. “Mara, are you all right?”

I shook my head. No, I was very much not all right.

“Come in, please.”

Hauling in a deep breath, I forced one word, painful as it was. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You came at the perfect time. And you know me, I don’t believe in coincidences. Would you like some tea? Or some hot chocolate?”

Something we did in our sessions—a ritual to ground me each time I visited. Similar to how I looked around and chose the things I heard, saw, felt, and smelled. The ritual reminded my subconscious I was here and safe. “Tea.”

“All right.”

I sat in the chair I used and didn’t move. The box rested on my lap. I didn’t want it there, but I also didn’t want it anywhere else, because as strange as it sounded, I wanted to see it. I needed to make sure it stayed where it was—like it was a dangerous animal I needed to keep in my line of sight.

“What’s in the box?”

“My—mm.” Pressing my lips together, I gripped the box tighter. Of fucking course. I was so messed up over all this that even in the place I was supposed to feel safe, I wasn’t going to be able to talk about it.

“Mara,” Rayne said, setting a mug of water and a tea bag on the low table in front of me. “I’d like you to do three rounds of square breathing with me, all right?”

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