Beauty (A Midsummer Suspense Tale) (20 page)

“She’s going to be okay.”

She’s going to be okay.

Blood loss got to him then and he slumped to the floor before he’d reached the ambulance himself.

****

Bryar woke groggily with pain everywhere, and in a hospital bed.

An IV ran into her hand, the tape pinching her skin as she shifted. The room was dark, curtain partially drawn. Everything was silent outside her room as well, the hallway beyond dark with just a few lights. The room itself was spacious and single occupancy, with a defibrillator unit on a cart near her bed. They’d keep that there in case she had another reaction, she knew—the last time it happened, when she was a preteen, she’d spent a similar night in the hospital.

Vague recollections of the previous few hours were snapshots in her memory—a face here, a voice there. The back of the ambulance, Sawyer’s concerned pale eyes staring down at her.

Those same eyes were dark now in the shadows of her room from the wheelchair where he perched on her left.

“Hey,” she mumbled, her lips still feeling sore and swollen.

His fingers wrapped around hers. “Hey, sleeping beauty.”

Bryar snorted. “I’ve seen what I look like after anaphylaxis before. It’s not pretty.”

He lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips. “I actually find you breathing to be really attractive. The rest is just a bonus.”

She blinked a few times so she could see him better—yes, he was definitely in a wheelchair, his left arm in a sling. He wore a hospital gown.

Panic rushed through her. “What happened? Are you—”

“I’m fine. I mean, I got shot, but otherwise I’m fine.”

“Oh my God. The Dragon?”

“Also shot. And dead. So by comparison, we’re doing okay.”

Her shoulders sagged with relief. “Are my aunts okay?”

“Merry’s being treated for a concussion and cracked ribs. Lora and Donna have been taking turns going from your room to hers.”

Thank God they found Aunt Merry, at least. “Shouldn’t you be in bed too?”

“Eh, I got special favors. Being famous and all.” He grinned, the sight spilling even more relief through her.

She shifted to the right, easing her aching body over, and gave his hand a tug. “You should still be in bed.”

Sawyer obliged and climbed onto the single bed next to her, careful with his injury. They managed to curl up together, the warmth of his body against hers filling her with comfort.

“She might have employees to finish the job,” Bryar said.

“The hospital is crawling with police
and
Mike’s private security. They are literally stationed right outside the door. You’re safe. Your aunts are safe. Although I do have a question for you.”

“Anything.”

“Are there any other secret mortal enemies hunting you down that I should know about, Bryar? Or Talia? Whatever your name is?”

“We’d have to ask the aunts, but I’m hoping that’s it.”

His lips pressed against her temple and she sighed happily in return. “Good. ’Cause I was thinking of staying in Midsummer for a while but wasn’t sure if I should be planning for us to go on the run instead.”

Her heart seized, breath caught. “You mean it?”

“I’ll make other plans for us if we’re going to get shot at regularly by mobsters with grudges, but otherwise, yeah. If you’re sticking around too.”

She finally
could
run, she realized. She had a reason to. Her aunts would want to go anyway, probably. She could take off with Sawyer. Leave the town well behind forever. There was freedom within her grasp.

Or she could stay. Keep working her job. Keeping building her life, whatever it entailed. And just maybe keep the man currently wrapped around her. The threat that had terrified her aunts for so long was gone now—they might even relax their grip on her enough to breathe.

Maybe freedom meant, for now, choosing to stay exactly where she was.

“I’m sticking around,” she said, her eyes closing as she rested comfortably. “And it’s Bryar. Just keep calling me Bryar—I don’t want to hear the name ‘Talia’ ever again.”

Happily Ever After

Traffic had died down at the store a bit in the past few weeks. Enough to require Gina to hire Bryar for practically full-time hours, but not enough to leave them too exhausted at the end of the day. Bryar had only needed a couple of days to recover physically and any spare time had been filled with dealing with the police—not local but federal, as the organized crime units unraveled The Dragon’s real identity and what they suspected remained of her organization.

Bryar honestly didn’t care about most of it. She felt badly for what the woman had gone through, was glad she was no longer a threat, and the rest didn’t matter to her. She wasn’t Talia Perrault, no matter what her real, unforged birth certificate said. She was Bryar Rosings and always would be.

Gina was working the front counter while Bryar sat in the kitchen taking a break. The kitchen door opened and she glanced up from her tea to see Sawyer step in.

He still wore a sling for most of the day. The bullet had hit his chest and fragments were pulled out of his shoulder. He’d require a bit of physiotherapy to get it in full working order after everything was healed.

Tabloids still followed him, of course—now more than ever since the story of his heroics, saving the woman he loved. It made for a good story.

And it was true. He loved her. She loved him. They didn’t say the words, not so explicitly, but it was in the way he wrapped his arm around her in greeting and pressed a tender kiss to her cheek. She’d seen it, envied it, with Brennen and Gina, and here he reached for her the same way.

“On break?” he asked, leaning against the counter at her side.

“Yeah. Almost over, though.”

“Maybe I could talk your boss into extending it by a few minutes.” He gestured to the screen doorway where she glimpsed her three aunts.

They
had
relaxed the rules a little, seemed to welcome not only her working at the bakery still and seeking her own place, but her relationship with fallen pop star Sawyer and the paparazzi it entailed. What they were doing at her place of employment, she couldn’t say, but she’d certainly talk to them.

“I’ll see Gina.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze and disappeared toward the front of the shop. The din of voices in there sharply increased at his presence and Bryar rolled her eyes. If Gina got him to serve a few customers, it would pop up on YouTube within ten seconds and they’d be getting delivery orders from across the damn country. Oh well, business was thriving. Nothing to complain about there.

Bryar slipped off the apron that hung over her white uniform shirt that was embroidered with her name and the store logo, and stashed it on the counter. The aunts stepped back when she reached the door, obviously indicating she was to come outside. Bryar grabbed her leather jacket from beside the door and did so.

“I said I’d be home for dinner later,” she said. “Did you need me to pick up...”

All three of them gazed at her seriously and it was Aunt Donna who took the lead and spoke up first. “Someone’s here to see you, Bryar.”

They parted.

A man and a woman stood just behind them.

He was tall and slender, built like Aunt Lora. A black goatee was peppered with gray, as were the temples of his shortly shorn hair. Long nose and full lips, dark eyes. Impeccable business suit.

And he smiled. Kindly. So did the woman—she was shorter with spirals of curly black hair, skin a few shades lighter than his, with a wide, wide smile hanging from full cheeks. She wore a wool coat drawn up close to her neck, and her hands were locked around one of his arms.

Bryar knew without a doubt she looked at her parents.

She’d spent twenty years thinking they were dead. Not even remembering them, never seeing a photo. And now, even knowing they were alive, in some ways they’d
stayed
dead in her mind. While she felt like it was expected she should run into their waiting arms, any childhood dreams of a reunion were dashed by knowing who they really were.

Not terrible people
, her aunts had said. Of course they’d say that. But at the end of the day, they
were
responsible for the death of that boy, Joseph. Probably responsible for other deaths as well.

Bryar cleared her throat to break the silence pressing down on her. “Mr. and Mrs. Perrault.”

Both of them winced and for a moment she wished she could take it back, but then she decided screw them. They didn’t get to hear her call them “Mom” and “Dad”, not after twenty years.

“They just want to speak to you for a few minutes, Bryar,” Aunt Merry said softly.

Bryar crossed her arms at her chest but nodded, took a few steps to the left to sit on the picnic bench off to the side of the shop’s porch, and waited.

Her parents sat opposite her while the aunts backed away, moving around the side of the shop to give them privacy.

The woman—her
mom
, Angelina—continued to stare at her with tears in her wide eyes, clearing wanting to speak though she held back. The man locked his gloved hand on hers. The contact seemed as if it was meant to be reassuring.

“You probably have a lot of questions,” Stefan said.

Bryar thought about it. “Not...not really. Google and my aunts filled in the blanks. I assume you realize that my boyfriend is way famous, security and police are usually right around the corner, and you’re still wanted by the cops all across the country.”

He nodded. “We’ll keep this brief, for now. We’d...like to see you, now and then. If you’ll permit it.”

“We’re so sorry,” Angelina said in a rush, leaning forward. “So sorry. We never wanted to give you up, never wanted this to go on so long. We love you, Talia. We never stopped.”

The woman’s tears were getting to her. Bryar kept herself stony and looked away, letting the chilly fall wind dry her eyes out. “You didn’t want this, but you killed that woman’s kid.”

Her parents said nothing and she chanced a look at them, her gaze sliding from one of them to the other as they exchanged a glance.

Her stomach gave a twist. “What? Look, I know she was nuts, but she didn’t strike me as someone who would hold a grudge for twenty years without being really sure it was justified. I’ve seen the old articles about the fire and the dead teen boy.”

Stefan cleared his throat. “Joseph Cheung is still alive.”

Bryar blinked. Hard. And gave her head an internal shake. “What?”

“We...we were responsible for the fire, yes,” Angelina admitted. “We were also there. The building was supposed to be empty, but yes, he was in it. The fire crew managed to save him despite third degree burns, however.”

“Why in the
hell
wouldn’t you tell her that?” She looked at both of them again. “He’s alive? What—”

“He was badly burned, as I said,” Stefan cut in. “And Joseph wanted, more than anything, a life away from his mother’s business. He wanted to be dead, at least to her. He escaped into protective custody. I found out about ten years ago. But The Dragon was underground we had no way of safely sending a message to her—not one that she’d believe. And after all this time...”

“She would’ve blamed us anyway,” Angelina said. “Regardless of the circumstances, she lost her child. He’d escaped her, though. Wherever he is now, he has a life. One he didn’t deserve to be ripped from, any more than you did.”

So let the kids live in ignorance of the sins of their fathers, or at least as much as possible, until that past comes up to eat them whole.

Now that The Dragon was dead, though, at least it was over.

Bryar chewed on this, thinking it over. They might not be responsible for
that
death, but surely they were for others. The Perraults ran drugs, prostitutes. Had corrupted police in their pockets. Maybe not so much now that they’d been in hiding for twenty years but the file on them was massive and there was no pretending otherwise.

 “We’re just glad you’re okay,” Angelina whispered. She reached out her hand and Bryar stared at it for a moment.

They weren’t good people. Nor were they bad people. They were just people, both good and bad, and her parents at that. No matter what, they loved her.

She took a deep breath and reached out as well, let her mother fold her hand in her own. Stefan clasped his over the top of hers and emotion swelled in Bryar’s chest, threatened to crack her in two.

“We don’t want to put you in a difficult position,” her father said. “So we understand if you say no, or if you immediately go to the police to tell them you spoke to us. But we’d like to contact you once in a while. Make sure you’re okay.”

Bryar swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “Okay.”

Eventually they rose and gave her a long look but didn’t push for a hug, didn’t impose anything else on her. And she didn’t run into their arms for a final embrace—wasn’t ready, didn’t know if she ever would be. It wasn’t closure. Closure probably wasn’t even possible. But it was another piece of her life fitting into place, a hole of her past finally being patched up.

The Perraults disappeared into a nondescript parked car in the lot and moments later drove away.

The kitchen door opened and Sawyer stepped out, dropped to sit at her side. His arm came over her shoulder and she happily leaned into him.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

She swiped at the tears under her eyes and happily found she at least wasn’t still crying. “That was my mom and dad.”

“Yeah. Your aunts called me to meet them here and gave me like two minutes of warning so I couldn’t tell you ahead of time. How’d it go?”

“About as you’d expect. As long as the paparazzi didn’t get a shot of that, I think we’re good.”

He held her tight and said nothing for several long moments. The wind was cold, biting at the tip of her nose and drying any remaining tears from her cheeks. Winter was coming, the smell of snow in the air even if the flakes didn’t fall yet. She was cold and should head back inside, but the comforting silence out behind the shop kept her in place.