Blue Horizons (A Horizons Novel Book 1) (12 page)

“Good, because Bryce has been asking for you, and I’ve had no idea what to tell him.”

Thinking about Bryce, my heart squeezes. It’s been almost three months since I’ve seen the little guy and I hate that it’s been so long.

“Tell him I’ll be home shortly and I’ll be over soon.” Bryce likes it here in the mountains too. Clay can’t argue with that.

“I will, and if you’re not, we’re coming to you.” And she would too. She’s never been the type of girl to make a threat and not keep it. “For what it’s worth, I understand. I’m surprised it took you this long to throw in the towel. I’ve never understood how you and Clay can keep the schedule you do. Just following you on the calendar makes me tired.” Hearing that she understands in a world where I feel most people won’t, warmth floods through me. I’ve always known being a celebrity comes with a certain amount of responsibility, and for the most part I think I do a pretty good job; I guess I just didn’t realize how much I needed her and Clay to understand why this break was so important to me.

“I appreciate that, more than you know, although I’m not so sure the label and our fans feel the same way.” Picking up a stick, I throw it out for Whiskey, and he sprints off down the trail as silence lulls our conversation.

“Will . . .” she says hesitantly.

“Jules.”

“Am I part of the reason you needed this break?” I knew she’d mention our last conversation, but I guess I never thought she’d think I was hiding because of her. Maybe I should have called her sooner.

“No. Maybe. I don’t know. But being here without all the noise, I’ve thought about it,” which is the truth. I don’t ever want to lie to her.

“And?” she asks.

“We’ll talk about it when I see you next.” Which is my roundabout way of saying, “I don’t know yet, but I will soon.”

“I’d like that,” she says softly. “You know, there’s nothing wrong with taking some time to yourself. Don’t let anyone else tell you differently, okay?” She lets out a big sigh, “And you know I love you, right?”

“I know.” Juliet has always been very generous with her affections. I should return them more—it’s just not my thing. “I’ll call you when I get back to Nashville.” I’m ready to end this call.

“You better,” she fires at me and I chuckle.

“Later, Jules,” and I hang up.

Toward the end of the tour—and even into last week—I was ready to tell Juliet I’m in, but now that I’ve had a little time to clear my head, I’m starting to second guess that decision. Is it the right one? Or are we just taking the easy way out?

As Whiskey and I loop back to head in, there’s another runner a little farther up the trail just past my house and immediately I think, “Oh no.” Whiskey sees the runner too, and before I can get him under control, he takes off.

“Whiskey! Here!” He completely ignores me. Damn dog.

“Stop!” I yell at the runner.

Whiskey’s running, I’m running, and the runner’s still running. The closer I get, I can see it’s a woman and there’s no way she won’t be tackled if she doesn’t stop now. The chase has been too great and Whiskey is loving every second of this.

“Hey! Wait up!” Shit, my lungs are going to explode from running this hard.

“You need to stop running!” Either she doesn’t hear me or she’s ignoring me—either way, she begins to speed up. She has to feel us behind her, and then the next thing I know, Whiskey is airborne. He jumps and his front paws hit her right between the shoulder blades. The entire scene breaks down into slow motion and I cringe. I cringe for the girl, I cringe because Whiskey will have to be scolded, and I cringe for me. This has “lawsuit” written all over it.

The poor girl screams the second Whiskey touches her, and she stumbles forward, reaches out to catch herself, and crashes into the ground. Her hands try to soften the impact, but the momentum is too much, and she slides through the damp dirt. Her head bounces as it makes contact and her earbuds fly out of her ears. That’s why she didn’t hear me calling her. She whimpers in pain, curls up into the fetal position with her face buried in the ground, and begins to shake. Whiskey is standing over her like he won the biggest prize.

Skidding to a stop, I drop to the ground next to her and gently grab her shoulder. She jerks away from me, gasping for air. This girl is not okay. I pull off her hat, move her ponytail off her face, and see it’s Ava.

No, no, no! This can’t be happening. My heart crashes into my chest and aches at the impact.

Her face is red and dirty and she’s gasping for air. She’s having another panic attack, and I have no idea how to make it stop—and it’s my fault. My aching heart breaks for her and anger surges through me. What could have possibly happened to send her repeatedly into this kind of panic? Looking around frantically, there’s no one else out here, and I’m desperate for someone to help me . . . help her.

Doing the only thing I can think of, I drop down on the ground next to her, and get as close as possible without touching her.

“Ava, look at me!” Her eyes are pinched shut, tears are leaking out, and she’s breathing so hard it’s bordering on hyperventilation. A lump forms in my throat as it tightens and my eyes burn. Yesterday she was so composed and happy, and now she’s lost in this horrible moment, and it’s all because of me. No one should ever have to go through life experiencing this horror. I put my finger under her chin just like I did last time and speak a little louder to her.

“Ava! Open your eyes and look at me!” Her eyes flash open and lock onto mine. I’m met with dark blue waters. There’s so much pain and fear in them, my stomach dives. Removing my finger from her chin, with two fingers I motion back and forth from my eyes to hers. I want her to keep her eyes locked on me.

“Breathe with me.” I overexaggerate my breathing just a little and watch as tears roll down her face leaving streaks through the dirt. All I want is to gather her in my arms and tell her that nothing bad will ever happen to her again . . . only I can’t.

IT DOESN’T MATTER how many years go by, how many therapy sessions I’ve had, or how badly I just don’t want to be haunted by this anymore. There are just certain things that trigger the panic and I am instantly transported back to that awful night again.

I love running, and I’ve found the lake here in Horizons Valley is one of the most peaceful places there is. Every trip up here, I get lost on the trails around the lake and up into the mountains. The dirt is always freshly packed, the air clean and devoid of humidity, and in the mornings, the orange glow of the sun reflects off of the water providing enough light to find my way. Mornings are my favorite time of the day, reminding me that it’s a new day, anything is possible, and that makes me feel hopeful.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been running before I begin to feel as if someone is behind me, chasing me. I can’t hear them over the music, but I can feel them hitting the dirt and total panic sets in. I run harder and faster, my feet trying to match the pounding of my heart, but it doesn’t matter, he’s going to catch me—he always does. Flashes from that night start slipping into my vision, the cool morning air becomes the mist from that night, and the thumping becomes his shoes on the hardwood floors. I can no longer see where I am or where I’m going. I’m running down a dark hallway and it never seems to end.

The second my back is hit, my heart stops beating. I feel like I’ve died, but I know I’m still living because he’s here, it’s him, it’s that night all over again. I barely remember hitting the ground, but I do remember his fingers as they grab and yank on my hair, the heat from his breath as it covers my face, and his knee jammed into my back to hold me down. Please . . . just make this quick.

“You know what?” his voice comes up from behind me and slithers under my skin, “I think that sounds like a great idea—let’s go to bed.” His hands wrap around my arms and he squeezes, pushing me. Tears blur my eyes as the pain and fear take over.

Refusing to go in the house with him, my knees bend and my feet dig into the concrete. “Let go of me, Chris; you’re hurting me.” I wanted these words to come out strong and assertive, but instead they sound more like I’m pleading.

“It’s supposed to hurt,” he hisses in my ear.

“Why do you want to hurt me?” He’s leaning against me, draped across my back, and my toes push back as hard as they can to keep us from going forward.

“Because it’s the only time you’ll listen to me, and dammit, you
will
listen.” He shoves and the point of my left heel catches on a crack in the driveway. The heel breaks and my ankle twists, throwing us off balance. Flashes of white streak before my eyes as I cry out in pain, crumble underneath him, and reach for my ankle. Chris loses his balance and falls on top of me.

“Shit.” He scrambles up and stands hovering over me. The mist surrounding us turns to rain, soaking my hair, skin, and clothes. Time passes and I think he’s calmed down. Nope. “Get up!” he demands.

“I can’t, Chris, it hurts so bad.” Tears are streaking down my cheeks, but I refuse to look at him; he hates it when I cry. Always has. He used to want to slay dragons when I got upset, now he just gets angry and calls me weak and pathetic.

“It can’t hurt that bad—all you did was trip. Get up!” He jams his foot into my side, kicking me. The spaghetti strap on my dress breaks, and my bare shoulder scrapes across the driveway giving it road rash. Lying in a ball with one hand on my ankle and the other on my shoulder, I just don’t understand how we got to this place. Glimpses of past memories flicker through my eyes: moments when he was gentle, kisses that were tender, and a loving smile that was just for me. My stomach clenches as I prevent the sob that wants to break free.

“Why don’t you just leave? Go home, Chris! I want to be left alone!” I keep my face hidden, but I’m loud enough where I know he hears me.

“Go home? Are you joking? After what you said to me in the car there is no way I’m going home. I’m never going anywhere. It’s you and me, babe, for life . . . and you need to be reminded why we are so good together.”

More tears fall, just like the rain. What do I do? How do I get him to leave? If I can just get inside, I can lock the door and call for help. I’m not sure who to call, but at this point anyone will do.

“Fine,” he snaps. “But don’t say I didn’t give you enough time to get up.” With that, my head jerks backward as his hand wraps around my ponytail and he pulls me toward the door.

Screams pierce the air around us and when his other hand comes down and slaps me in the mouth, I realize they are mine.

“Shut up!” Blood floods my mouth as my teeth break the skin behind my lips. He pulls harder as his other hand grabs my arm. I bounce across the ground trying to get up, but it isn’t working. My ankle won’t support my weight, so my knees and the palms of my hands drag across the ground.

Every part of me hurts. My hair, my face, my mouth, my shoulder, my hands, my knees, my ankle . . . but mostly my heart. He was my best friend and the love of my life. How, after a lifetime together, he could treat me so horribly hurts worse than any physical pain he could ever inflict on me.

I look up into his face, his handsome face that once meant so much to me, and I see someone I don’t know looking back at me. I want to help him, and I want to save him from this person that he’s becoming. It’s not him, I know it’s not, but what do I do? And why do I even want to after the way he’s treated me?