Page 28 of Wed By the Lumberjack

I’m running, or rather I had been. At the sound of my name, I trip over a tree root and stumble to my knees.

When I look up, I’m under a tree house. Our old treehouse.

Shakily, I ignore Heath and climb the steps to find the door already open. There are bean bags, but it’s clear they’re brand-new replacements. I sink into one and duck my head into my lap.

I’m not surprised to hear Heath come in behind me. I can’t face him when I say, “Heath, I think I might have killed my dad.”

Chapter Nine

Heath

“Dixie, that was three days ago,” I say gently once she’s calmed down enough to tell me everything. “Whiskey City is only four hours away. News spreads like wildfire in these mountains. If Douglas passed away, it’d be all over the news, especially because he’s a former resident of Moonshine Creek. I assure you, he must be fine.”

Tears fall down her cheeks and I catch them with my thumbs as she clings to my wrists.

“B-but you don’t know that for sure. I didn’t check if he was breathing. I didn’t stop the blood flow. Douglas, he’s a monster. You don’t know half the things he did to me,” she chokes.

“I don’t,” I whisper in agreement, feeling as helpless as I did whenever Dixie showed up injured.

“But I didn’t want to kill him.”

“I know.”

“But I did wish he was dead. I still do.” The sob that wracks her, makes me scoop her into my arms as I settle us on a bean bag chair.

“I’ve wished that a million times. But wishing it doesn’t make it true,” I assure her. “You didn’t kill Douglas. Neither did you destroy your Gran’s home. Douglas showed up unannounced. He broke into your home and ambushed you. Then he threw a damn tantrum when you stood your ground. Those were his cigarettes. That was his whiskey. None of that is your fault, peanut.”

“But–”

“None of it has ever been your fault. Not what happened three days ago, and not what happened over a decade ago. Douglas is a coward who doesn’t deserve the title of father.”

I can see the words are sinking in but Dixie’s lips keep trembling. Keep opening and closing to refute me like they did when we were kids whenever I tried to broach the subject.

“Dixie,” I say, tipping her chin up to meet my gaze. “Please don’t make excuses for him anymore. I won’t let you.”

A long moment passes between us before she says, “I won’t. I learned not to a long time ago. But Gran’s house... she raised me there from thirteen on up. Besides this treehouse, it’s the only safe place I’ve ever known. She loved that house. I loved that house and now it’s destroyed.” She shakes her head and swipes at a tear rolling down her chin. “I don’t even know how bad the damage is. After the fire went out and I saw Douglas just lying there bleeding, I grabbed my stuff and ran... straight into your truck. Damn, Heath, I’m so sorry–”

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