25. Homebound - Rafe
“He’s going to hate me.”
Alex sat in the passenger seat of the Jeep, her expression sullen. Maybe it was wedding jitters, or anxiety about returning home, but she’d been fucking moody as hell lately, ever since we’d gone into town for the gown fitting two weeks ago.
“He won’t hate you.” I darted a glance into the rearview and spotted Jax’s black pickup keeping pace behind us.
“I sent you to prison. Why wouldn’t he hate me?”
“That’s history, babe.”
She leaned her head against the window and watched a train chug along the Washington side of the Gorge, its colorful boxcars lined up like blocks on the hillside.
The truth was, I didn’t know how my brother was going to react to meeting Alex. Adam and I weren’t that close, and other than the few phone calls to check in and let him know I was still alive, we’d had little communication.
But he’d had a hand in restoring the island, and he’d welcomed the idea of using the vineyard as a venue for the wedding. I hadn’t detected any harsh feelings from him toward the woman who would become my wife. If anything, his tone had been neutral.
He knew the history.
The fact that she’d thrown me under the bus for something I hadn’t done. He might even suspect that she’d had something to do with the fires on the island and at the vineyard, since the arson committed against our family’s legacy had never been solved, and she’d re-entered my life about the same time.
But he hadn’t asked about it.
Fuck, for all I knew, Alex’s worry was justified, because there was a lot my brother didn’t know. A lot I could never tell him as he had no idea how sick and twisted I was down to my soul.
Alex had been wrong to lie all those years ago, but Adam had no fucking clue about my destructive, downward spiral after I got out. He didn’t know his own flesh and blood was a kidnapper, a step below a rapist. I might not have fucked her by force, but the threat had been there. It was a reality I often ignored, pushing it into the darkest corners of my mind to never resurface.
But the question emerged now.
What if she had fought me? What if she’d said no? Would I have fucked her anyway?
Probably.
Trampling over her protests was what I did best, and shameful or not, that wasn’t changing.
The landscape of high desert gave way to forest, and soon the island appeared on the river, a shadow against a deep blue in the wake of the setting sun. I pulled onto the shoulder and motioned for Alex to get out of the car. The driver’s side door dinged as I stepped out, and I left it open as I rounded the hood and met her at the railing, arms winding around her waist from behind as we both stared at the island.
“Just a few more days,” I whispered into her ear.
Jax came to a stop behind the Jeep, but neither he nor Angel got out of the truck. Maybe they recognized a private moment when they saw one.
“It doesn’t look as bad as I remember,” Alex said.
“Some of the trees on the north side got lucky.” But others hadn’t escaped the lick of flames. The newly built cabin was in full view of the highway now, unobscured by the trees that used to offer privacy. We’d replant. The island would heal, same as us.
At least we had a home to return to in the meantime.
“I can’t wait to see it.”
“You will, on our wedding night.”
“That’s still three days away.”
Laughing at her whining tone, I ushered her back to the idling Jeep. She wasn’t the best when it came to patience.
We arrived at Mason Vineyards a few minutes later, and my brother came out of the main house on the grounds before I had a chance to open the driver’s side door.
“I don’t know whether to beat the shit out of you, or hug you.”
I pulled Adam into a bear hug, making the decision for him. “I know. It’s been too fucking long.”
“That’s your fault.” He slapped me on the back. “Where the hell have you been?”
“We went on an extended road trip. Picked up some fights in California and Nevada.” That was the short version. The longer version included how we’d been on the run for weeks, never certain that Shelton wasn’t on our heels seeking retribution for his burned down barn, among other things.
A few months into our vagrant lifestyle, it became clear he’d moved on, and after traveling through a string of towns and cities, I’d taken Alex to the woods to just fucking be for a while.
“It’s good to finally have you home.” Adam’s attention veered to where Alex stood on the other side of the Jeep, one hand clutching the door as if she might need to dart back into the safety of the rig. “So you must be the bride,” he said, nodding to Alex.
“It’s nice to meet you.” To someone who didn’t know her the way I did, her voice came out strong and steady, but I heard the underlying quiver in her greeting. “I’m Alex.”
“I know who you are.”
“Adam,” I said with a warning.
“Can you blame me for wondering how all of this happened?” He gestured between Alex and me. “Considering the circumstances?”
Jax had impeccable timing. He pulled into the driveway and killed the engine, also killing the tension in the air.
“There’s a time and place for explanations, but now’s not it.” I reached Alex’s side and slid an arm around her waist. “We came here to get married, not deal with an inquisition.”
“Fair enough.” Adam attempted a welcoming smile and directed his next words at Alex. “It really is good to meet you finally.”
“You too.”
Jax and Angel got out, doors slamming, and after another round of hugs and introductions, the five of us headed toward the wraparound porch of the Victorian style house.
Adam and I had grown up in this place, but a lot had changed since I was a kid. The house had gone through a remodel since the fire, despite escaping serious damage. The ugly tan siding and blue shutters were gone, traded for a tasteful white and dark grey. Adam had also refinished and extended the porch.
Off to the right, the tasting room had been painted to match, and to the left an expanse of well-maintained lawn drew the eye to the view of the Gorge beyond.
Adam had been busy.
“By the way,” he said as he swung the front door open. “A package came here yesterday for your fiancé.”
Alex’s face paled, and I grabbed her hand, lacing our fingers. “A package from who?”
“Her father.”