I start crying in the first verse and by the time he’s done, I’m a sobbing mess. He sets the guitar down and folds his hands in his lap. Another gesture of nerves. And then he looks straight into the camera. “Those Company people, Sydney. They did this to you. They took away your right to a childhood. Your right to a father. I don’t have any daughters, Syd. But if we had daughters, I’d be good to them.” He stops for a moment, just enough time for my chin to start trembling as I try to pull myself together. “I’d be good to you too. I’d make everything up to you by breaking this cycle. And your daughters would never, ever have to have a conversation with a brutal killer like this. I would lay my life down for them.” He shrugs apologetically. “It’s all I’ve got to offer so I’ll understand if it’s not enough.”
He reaches out and turns off the recording.
And I have never felt so misled in my entire life. Have I been wrong about him all this time?
Another message makes the phone vibrate in my hand. He must have seen the delivery notice when I opened the video.
It says:
I swear to God, I’d be good to you.
“A real man knows how to treat a woman softly.”
– Case
I watch the message screen for several minutes, just hoping she will write something back. I hope, but I don’t expect it. Because nothing can make up for what I did.
And I’m just about to put the truck in gear and give her the space she needs when the back door of the bar opens. She peeks out and I know immediately that she’s crying.
She takes a step outside and sees me, waiting in my truck down the alley. I get out and walk towards her.
“Syd,” I say, stopping when she’s a few feet away. “I can’t prove myself unless you give me a chance to be the man I know I am. And you can’t know if you love me until I give you a chance to experience it.” I hold out my hand to her. “I don’t have a guarantee and I know I don’t deserve another chance. But I want one, Sydney. I fucked up and I’m sorry. I take it back.”
She walks forward and takes my hand and I pull her into a hug. I lift her up off the ground and let her wrap her arms and legs around me like an octopus.
“I’ll be good to you, I promise. I’ll do whatever it takes to set it right. I think you’re amazing. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met because you did it all alone. You pulled yourself up with no help at all. You fucking astonish me with your strength. And you’re so beautiful. I don’t understand how they never loved you. I really don’t. Hurting you is the last thing I want. I want to make you happy, make you smile. See the confidence I know you have. When you drove away out there in Montana, you split me in half, Sydney. You said you hoped I felt that pain one day, and I did. I felt it. You ripped my heart out when you drove off and I knew I fucked it all up. My father never recovered after he caused my mom’s death and I came here to beg for you. Fight for you. Because I don’t think I can recover if you never forgive me. Even if you walk away right now, as long as you know I’m sorry—”
She leans back from my embrace and stops me with two fingers over my mouth. “Hush.”
I let myself crack a small smile as I squeeze her. “It doesn’t work on me, cowgirl. It doesn’t need to though. Because I already love you.”
She kisses me on the neck and leans into my ear whispering, “It doesn’t work on me either. It never did, Case. I saw the man you could be back when I was sixteen. I just saw him eight years before you did. I put my trust in you for a reason. And maybe we didn’t fall into love the way most people do. And maybe it took us a lot longer than most to find our true selves. But I’m OK with that. We’re here. We made it. Together. I have always loved you and no word could fill me up the way you do right now.”
“I owe you a happy ending.”
“This might qualify.”
“So I guess we’re even.”
“I guess we are.”
I set her down and we walk back into the bar to close it up. Maybe not for good. But for now. All the mistakes we made need to stay where they belong. In the past. Because the only thing worth living for is the future.
We slip out of the darkness like that. We get in the truck and back on the road so I can take her somewhere bright.
We never look back.
We only look forward, our eyes fixed on the sun.
“You can live in the heat of hell and still be happy. As long as that hell is your home.”
– Case
“You know why we like the desert, Syd?”
She’s looking at my safehouse on the outskirts of Palm Springs with utter disgust as I try to find the right key for the front door. I don’t blame her. I have a four-million-dollar log home up in Montana and this is… well, I think the whole thing cost me seventy-five grand after renovations.
“Who’s we?” she asks, simultaneously shaking off a spider that is trying its best to crawl up her flip-flop and wiping the sweat off her brow. It’s ninety-seven degrees today. And it’s only late March. We’ve been traveling for weeks, just enjoying each other. And the freedom we have to be ourselves. But I’m ready to settle down, so I brought her here. My favorite place in the whole fucking world.
Plus, it’s nothing but sunshine for as far as the eye can see.
“Uhh…” Fuck. I’m not an assassin anymore, and I’m not here to dry out, either. But I already started to tell her that us assassins like to come to the desert to dry out after the kill. So I have to say something. “Me and you,” I answer back, recovering.
“It’s hot here.”
“It’s supposed to be hot. It’s the desert.”
“And this place, Case… I’ve lived in the woods for weeks on end at times. But”—she fans herself now as I try another key in the lock—“it’s hot here. Is this house even up to code?”
The door swings open and a rush of cool air hits her in the face. She remembers I was talking and looks up at me with a smile. I love that smile. “Why do we like it here?”
I pull her inside and watch her face as she takes it in. She walks down the stairs to the sunken living room and with each step, the temperature drops. Three-feet-thick adobe mud walls will do that for a desert house. Especially one that is mostly underground.
She takes in the comfy couches and the cool tile floor. There’s artwork on the whitewashed walls and a guitar over by the Spanish-tiled fireplace, which I use on cold winter nights. And then she wanders over to the archway that leads into the kitchen. A chef’s kitchen with industrial appliances, white cabinets, and a nice stone countertop. I follow her in there, enjoying her reaction.
“We like it here,” I say, pulling her attention and her body back to me, “because I’m gonna make love to you in every room here. And get you pregnant here. And we’re gonna raise kids here and build an oasis in the backyard with a pool and a water slide. We can do anything we want here. Be ourselves forever here. We’re gonna start our new life here, Syd. And that’s why we like it here. We like it here… because it’s home.”
Read other books by JA HUSS
Jana Aston, my seriously talented personal assistant and BFF, just messaged me on Facebook and asked if I was raised by killers. I shit you not. Well, first she asked me, all innocent like, “Dude. When u write shit do u worry people will think u r fucked in the head or r u past that?”