Graham shoved the chair back and took a fighting stance, the vein in his forehead visibly bulging. “Get the fuck out,” he snarled. “Get the fuck off my ranch.”
Zach unfolded himself from the chair and stared at Graham, who was clenching his fists reflexively, and looked to be barely restraining himself from taking his head off. “I’ll be gone in the morning.”
Zach turned and walked away from his best friend, closing the door on his past. Now, he just had to tell his future about his decision. And hope that her response was worth the friendship he’d just destroyed.
Graham embraced the rage and let it build until it drowned out the pain and betrayal that had swamped him at Zach’s announcement.This was her fault. She was the reason that the one living person he thought he’d always be able to count on—the one person who’d always had his back—was walking away. Graham had once again been judged and found wanting. He had to vent his pain on someone, and it might as well be the source. He couldn’t help but think, if she’d never stumbled into his crosshairs, then he wouldn’t be losing his best friend and feel like he’d been through an emotional meat grinder over the last couple weeks. Graham knew his thoughts weren’t rational, or hell, even sane, but he had to grasp onto something or he felt like he might break. And breaking wasn’t an option.
He threw open the door that Zach had shut with such finality and stormed across the inner compound, desperate to find Rowan and unleash his temper. His search didn’t take long; he found her in the mess hall, sitting at the dining table with Grace and Lia, watching the little girl color. He needed them gone. Because he sure as hell didn’t want an audience for this. He’d probably end up on his knees begging her to stay. No one needed to see that.
“Everyone out,” he said. “I need to talk to Rowan. Alone.”
“Graham?” Allison called from the kitchen. “Is something wrong?”
“Just need a minute,” he replied, his tone sharp and unyielding.
Allison bustled through the door from the kitchen; she tilted her head, studying his combative posture. She said nothing as she tugged Grace by the hand and backtracked into the kitchen.
“We’ll go check on the garden and pick some veggies for dinner,” she said. Lia trailed after them. She paused at the doorway, looking at Graham for a long moment and then back at Rowan. Graham saw Ro give her a nod, and only then did the woman cross into the kitchen.
“You’ve been avoiding me for a week, and now you can’t wait sixty seconds to clear the room?” Ro thrust away from the table and stood, wobbling slightly. “You’ve got to scare a five year old girl and a woman who is trying to claw her way back from being terrified of men? Smooth, Conan. Real smooth.”
Graham paced, gripping the back of his neck with both hands. “How did you convince him? That’s all I want to know. How in the fuck did you convince a man you’ve known for a goddamn second to desert everything that matters to him? To turn his back on his home and the men who’ve fought beside him—bled for him? That’s all I want to know. Then I’ll let you go on your merry way to live happily fucking ever after together.”
“What are you talking about?” Graham dismissed Ro’s confused tone.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know. You’re better than that. You’re so fucking good that you forced my best friend to choose, and let me tell you, he didn’t fucking choose me.”
“You’re speaking English, but I don’t have a clue what you’re saying.”
“Don’t you fucking lie to me, woman!” Graham roared, and he thought he heard a whimper.
Rowan backed up toward the wall, and Graham scarcely noticed her unsteadiness and rapid, shallow breaths.
He crossed the room and got in her face, gripping her by the upper arms and pressing her against the wall. She flinched, and he barely restrained himself from shaking her. “Tell me what you said to him,” he demanded. “And why the hell didn’t you say it to me? Am I just not good enough for you either?” His voice broke on the last words.
The metallic sound of a round being chambered accompanied the quiet voice that said, “Let go of her and step away, or I swear to God this bullet will end you.”
Graham jerked his gaze over his shoulder to see Lia leveling a shaking M1911 at him. “Do it now,” she said.
Graham released Rowan’s shoulders and stepped away, lifting his hands in the universal gesture for “Don’t shoot.” With the shape they’d found her in, and her habit of pulling weapons on him, Graham figured Lia had to be at least a little, if not a lot, unstable. With the torment he was feeling at that moment, he didn’t particularly care if she decided to pull the trigger, but there was no way he’d trust her not to shoot Rowan by accident. Even if Graham wanted to shake the living crap out of her, he’d never willingly expose Ro to danger. He might be able to live knowing that she and Zach were happy and making a life together without him, but he didn’t think he could live in a world where she didn’t exist.
Beside him, Rowan trembled and slumped against the wall. Her knees gave way, and she dropped, landing in a heap on the floor. Lia’s eyes went wide, and her finger moved to the trigger.
Torn between grabbing Rowan and neutralizing the threat, he hesitated. His training took over, and he surged toward Lia, intent on knocking the barrel of the gun away from its aim at Rowan and twisting her wrist to force her to drop it. But his split second of indecision meant that Lia was pulling the trigger just as he rushed her. The explosion of the shot at close range was deafening. Graham felt a sickening punch to his left oblique.
Fuck, that hurt.
He dragged Lia down and dropped to his knees, the gun thudding to the floor beside them. A scream pierced through the low buzz in his ears as Graham shoved the gun behind away, and Lia scuttled backward toward the kitchen. He touched his burning lower left side, and his hand came away red. He covered the wound with both hands, trying to staunch the steady flow of blood. He stumbled to his feet, heading for Rowan and praying to God she hadn’t been hit.
Ro’s brain had been moving at turtle speed all day. She attributed it to the pounding in her temples that made it nearly impossible to concentrate, even on something as simple as coloring with Grace. And then Graham launched into a tirade that was beyond Ro’s current capacity for comprehension. When he’d pushed her against the wall, he hadn’t gripped her arms tightly, despite the anger that had been emanating from him. She'd started to feel woozy, her knees had gone weak, and she hadn't been able to stop her ungraceful slide down the wall. Lia had looked like a virago, bent on protecting her, even though Ro didn’t need protection from Graham. Even in his pissed off state, Ro had no fear that he’d hurt her. And then it had all unraveled, each motion seemingly exaggerated as Ro took them in: Graham’s lunge, the flash of fear in Lia’s eyes, Graham’s swipe to the barrel of the gun, the muscles in Lia’s hand flexing, and then the discharge of the pistol. Ro screamed when Graham fell to his knees.
“Graham!”
“Oh God. Oh God. Oh God,” Lia chanted, awkwardly crawling backward away from Graham and the gun.
Ro snapped out of her haze long enough to croak, “Get Beau. Go.”
Lia disappeared into the kitchen, and Ro heard the back door slam shut behind her. Graham was coming toward her. The red trail in his wake reminded her of watching her dad almost bleed out days before.