Chapter Thirteen

Living Hell

Juliana

For a week, I have lived a hell worse than I could have imagined. One I am keenly aware is of my own doing.

Peter messages nonstop, threatens to come here, threatens to leave. One of them, I wish he would do.

Brandon is incredibly happy compartmentalizing everyone around. It breaks my heart seeing him do this. Breaks it more knowing I caused it. But while he’s laughing and messing around with Phoenix, I am bitter, so bitter. Gage and his interaction are as they always have been.

Brandon acts like a little man around him. I always found it endearing and took comfort in knowing he would forever be protected and grow to be protective. Without a doubt, Brandon will be a great man. A man like his father, his real father, once was.

With Mags, it’s belly laughs, silly stories, and when he insists, she allows him to dote on her. My little boy is a gentleman.

Grayson and him sit quietly. Well, their voices are quiet, anyway. The guitar that Grayson plays has become of great interest to Brandon. It’s fine. It’s good that he has interests in many things. That way, when he grows up, he will have experienced several things, and it will help him decide what he’s passionate about.

I know he spends time with Garrett. I know because I watch. Garrett watches him talk like he’s interested in nothing but what he has to say. I know it makes Brandon feel special. I know it because that’s how he was with me. Brandon will love him someday, if he doesn’t already. It’s impossible not to love him.

Well, it was, I remind myself.

Looking around, I force myself to take comfort in the fact that he will always be loved, protected, and have people around him who don’t want to use or abuse him.

The hurt comes from knowing that this time—the time I looked forward to while working so hard to become something he could look up to, after all my past failings, and the failings he would someday learn of—he will hate me. But never as much as I hate myself for not knowing where to go, what to do. And not as much as I hate Garrett for not being the man I thought he was. The man he clearly was no more. Hell, maybe he never was before.

For now, my focus is on Brandon. My sweet, sweet boy.

I look down at my plate and push the food around. I can’t eat; haven’t been able to for days. Everything I put in my mouth wants to make its way up and out.

“Sit right here, my boy,” Mags’ voice breaks through my trance.

I look over to see her patting the spot between us. Then I look up to see Garrett.

His jaw tightens as he walks hesitantly toward us.

I start to stand, to get away, but Mags stops me.

“You at least eat your vegetables before you can be excused.”

“Better listen to her, Mom.” I look up to see Brandon walking toward us. “She’ll sit with you until”—he pauses and lifts the hat up off his messy hair, rubbing his hand over it, deep in thought—”the cows come home.” He laughs at his joke and stops. “Or is it pigs?”

“Pigs fly, and cows come home,” Garrett says, giving him a smile as he sits down, leaving enough space between us to make it just shy of torture.

Mags tosses her head back in a hearty laugh. “You’d know best of the bunch.”

He smirks and gives her a little nod.

She looks at Brandon. “Garrett is the stubbornest of all three boys.”

“Not sure if that’s true,” he says, lifting his hat and rubbing his hands through his hair.

My heart hurts seeing the way Brandon and him are even more similar than just physical appearances.

I glance over at Mags, and she winks at me. I assume she noticed, as well.

“Sure as peas were your favorite.” Mags touches the tip of his nose.

“Mine, too!” Brand laughs.

“How do you feel about asparagus?” Garrett asks him.

Brand’s nose crinkles up. “Dad likes it.”

Garrett leans across the table a little closer to him and whispers, “And you?”

Brandon sticks his tongue out. “Not so much.”

My phone vibrates on the table, and I look down. A picture of Peter and I appear. I reach out and hit the button to mute it.

I notice Brand looking at it. Then he looks at me. “Is he coming here?” The way he elongates the word “he” drips with annoyance.

I shake my head.

“When do you have to go back?” he asks, voice still cold.

I shrug. “We have a full week still. I haven’t really thought about it.”

It’s not true. It’s all I have thought about.

My phone vibrates again. This time a message appears.

- I expect you to answer your phone when I call, Juliana. I expect a call now.

I flip the phone over.

“I don’t like him,” Brandon says.

I look up at him. “I’m sorry you feel that way—”

“Why?” Garrett interrupts. “Why don’t you like him?”

Brand scowls. “He’s mean.”

“He’s not—”

“Explain, Brandon. What does he do that’s mean?” Garrett asks in a rough, demanding tone, cutting off my defense for Peter.

Brandon’s eyes widen. “He doesn’t like me.”

I begin again, “That’s not true. It just takes time—”

“Then he better not step foot at Falcon’s Landing, and you, you don’t have to be around him,” Garrett says with fierceness in his voice, a fierceness I have heard before, a long time ago.

I look at Mags for help, but she’s looking at Garrett with concern in her eyes.

“Cool. I like it here way better, anyway.” Brand hops down from the bench and runs toward the sound of Grayson strumming his guitar.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, I turn toward Garrett. “You have no right.”

“Fuck I don’t,” he snarls at me.

“You gave up your right when you...” I stop and see Mags watching us. Fuck it, I don’t even care. “When you walked away from me, knowing I was pregnant.”

“No, you fucking took that right away when you hopped into bed with my brother. Didn’t even give me fucking time to process.”

Shocked by what he said, but angry as well, I retort, “For your information, I didn’t sleep with him.”

He laughs manically. “Oh, please.”

“I did what I had to do. I did the only thing I could do to make sure my son—your son—was going to be okay, you...you...asshole. You ran off to God only knows where. You fucked your way across the Midwest from what I hear.”

“You fucked your way into a house and a college degree.” He bares his teeth when he says it.

“At least I did something right. What did you do? Catch an STI?” I hiss at him.

“Your throat been burning?” he asks.

I gasp, and Mags busts out laughing, I stand.

“You sit your behind down and finish your vegetables, little missy.” She points at me. “And you, Garrett, you and Juliana need to talk.”

“Make her eat her damn chicken, then, too,” he huffs.

Chuckling, Mags pushes herself up and situates herself in her scooter. “I’m guessing by what was just said, she’s had her fill of protein. Eat your veggies, then the two of you take a walk.”

“I’m not going anywhere with her.” He crosses his arms.

“You will, or I’ll find a proper punishment.” She laughs as she starts to drive away.

I start to stand when she is far enough away, but he clamps his hand onto my bare knee. “Eat your fucking vegetables.”

I push his hand off me. “Don’t touch me again.”

He looks down, eyes directly on my chest, and lets out a silent huff.

I don’t even have to look. I know that every part of me caught fire the moment his large, callused hand touched my skin.

“You don’t get to call the shots here, Garrett,” I seethe out, trying to focus on what really matters.

He stands up. “Eat your damn vegetables, then you and I, we talk. I’ll be at the cabin. You remember where it is?”

Before I can say fuck you, he walks away.

Damn him.

***

Standing in the field, a hundred yards from the place I saw him again for the first time in years, I try to bury the hurt thoughts of a scared eighteen-year-old girl who knew no better, and beg for Juliana Falcon, the cold emotionless bitch, to come out and play.

As I walk closer, I see the sizable cabin in the light for the first time. It’s actually beautiful.

I hear the sound of running water and stop. When the sound ends, I see Garrett, wrapped in a white towel, rounding the corner of the cabin. A smaller towel is in his hands as he runs it through his hair; his biceps, abs, all working in perfect unison. Then I look at his pecs and notice his nipples are pierced.

I always wondered why the hell a man would do that; found it unattractive...until now. They aren’t big, awful rings; they’re barbells, and they are on him.

He was beautiful then, so beautiful. Now...God help me, now he’s amazing.

Holy hell.

I turn around and close my eyes, hoping he doesn’t notice me gawking.

“Come inside,” he grumbles.

At his demand, I slowly turn back and watch as he walks up the front steps and into the cabin, his muscular ass flexing with each step.

I contemplate running, but when I tried to escape into the house earlier after I ate my damn vegetables, Mags cornered me and told me, “Brand deserves a united front. Go fix this.”

It wouldn’t surprise me if she is sitting on the back deck with her damn binoculars, watching me now.

When I walk inside, I find Garrett sitting on a bar stool, still in his towel.

“Will you please get dressed?” I ask, eyes glued to his chest.

He flexes his pecs, and my eyes snap up to meet his.

“That’s disgusting, you know,” I lie.

“Yeah, a total fucking turn off.” He grabs a beer off the counter and twists it open while he eyes my tits.

I turn away from him, shielding my painfully erect nipples from his sight.

“You think women like that?” I huff.

“Wasn’t the fucking point in doing it.”

I hear the barstool move, and then he is walking toward the couch, where he sits and takes drink.

“Yeah, sure it wasn’t,” I remark.

“The day you put a ring—my brother’s ring—on your finger, I had my cock speared because I loved a girl and didn’t want anyone else. I was so fucked up that I wanted to fuck everything that walked to hurt you. My first, my fucking first, and you’d have been my last if I had my way. Had my cock pierced, knowing I wouldn’t be able to fuck for a long time. Some sick fucking way to make me believe my love was better than yours. That’s how fucked up I was, Juliana. Do you have any clue what the fuck that feels like?”

Tears stream down my face as I shake my head in answer.

“Fucking hurt. The nipples were nothing, Juliana. Nothing but an annoyance.

“You fucking haunted me,” he continues. “For years, you’ve haunted me. Been every fucking chick under me when I was feeling all the damn guilt I should, and every bitch taking it in the ass when I was blaming you.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” I cover my ears. “I don’t want to know what you chose over me—over us.”

He stands up and steps closer to me, pulling my hands from my ears. “Ask me how many bitches I’ve lived with, how many girlfriends I’ve had. Ask me how many women I’ve wanted to own.”

“That’s sick, you know? Wanting to own someone.”

He shrugs. “I don’t give a fuck how sick you think it is. Pretty fucking funny, though, that in my head”—he taps his finger to his head—”and my fucking heart”—he pounds his fist against his chest—”I owned your ass then. And you know what, Juliana? I took care of what I owned. You know damn well I did. You were every-fucking-thing to me. Everything!”

I jump when he yells, and he laughs in my face.

“You fucking jump when I’m pissed?”

“You’re scaring me.” My voice is a sob.

“Have I ever fucking hit you?”

I don’t answer him.

“Have I!”