Make You Mine by K.T. Quinn

19

Charlotte

I jogged up the street and then down the little road. It was unpaved, made up of dirt and gravel rocks spaced unevenly into the woods. Dirt, kicked up by Jayce’s bike, hung in the air, stinging my eyes and making me cough. Sugarberry trees hung over the road like claws stretching out to grab me. If I wasn’t following Jayce, I probably would have been afraid to be out in the dark woods at night. But knowing he was up ahead filled me with courage. Nothing bad would happen to me if he was there. I just had to get to him.

The trees spread out and then the road opened up into a clearing. A wide brick wall stretched to my left and right, with an archway and metal gate in the middle. Jayce’s bike was parked next to the wall, where a faded bronze sign said, Eastland Cemetery.

Oh, I thought. He wasn’t bringing flowers to a date at all.

I moved as quietly as I could toward the gate, which was difficult with my shoes crunching on gravel. Using the wall as cover, I slowly leaned my head around the side to peer through the gate.

The cemetery wasn’t very large, maybe eighty feet wide and just as long. Most of the headstones were old, ruined pieces of stone. Like teeth that had been worn down over the years. Jayce stood in the middle of the cemetery, crouching down to a newer headstone of black marble. He placed the flowers carefully, stood back up, and then bent down again to reposition them. Leaning them against the stone just right.

It was shocking to see a hardened man like Jayce in such a tender moment. My heart went out to him for whatever loss he was mourning.

Then my curiosity turned to guilt in my throat. I was interrupting a private moment. He probably came at night so he could be alone. And I was invading that privacy.

I turned to go, but my hand knocked loose a fist-sized rock from the wall. It thudded to the ground.

Jayce whirled and pulled something from his side. A gun, aimed in my direction. “Show yourself or I start blowing holes in that brick wall,” he said in a calm, but dangerous, voice.

I showed myself immediately, hands in the air as I stepped out from behind the wall. “It’s me. Just me. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

His hand went back to his hip to holster his gun. “Well?” he called. “If you’re going to snoop, might as well snoop all the way. Get over here.”

I was tempted to turn and sprint back to the diner. Instead, I numbly walked through the gate and into the cemetery, full of embarrassment and shame. Jayce crossed his arms over his chest and watched quietly until I was right in front of him.

“Had to disturb my peaceful moment, didn’t you?” He sounded disappointed, but not angry. He seemed too exhausted to be angry.

“I’m sorry,” I said in a small voice. “If I had known…”

“Well?” He gestured at the grave. “Take a look. Might as well while you’re here.”

I turned my head to obey. The black marble made it difficult to read at night, so I had to lean down and squint.

Theresa Alexandra Hawkins

Born: March 1, 1994

Died: March 19, 2021

All the missing pieces about Jayce clicked into place. The cryptic things he’d said about Sid taking things from him. Why he couldn’t bring himself to leave this town. Why he stared at Sid not with fear, but with hate. Like a man who wanted revenge.

“The tattoo on your arm,” I said softly, touching the digits. 3194. They matched the birthday on the grave. “Sid killed your... wife?”

“Sister.”

“Oh, Jayce…”

“I quit the Copperheads,” he said in a voice tight with grief and rage. “Right after that, someone stole a bunch of drug money from Sid, which was shitty timing for me. Since I had just left, I looked guilty as hell. Sid started out by giving me a few idle threats, then stepping it up to a big show of force, like when we were picking up trash yesterday. Trying to scare me. He even had the sheriff plant some weed in my truck so they could bust me for that, which is why I’ve got community service. But it was all minor shit. I thought Sid was fishing for evidence. Trying to get me to confess. I…”

He shook his head and stared off. When he turned back to me there was a glimmer in his blue eyes.

“He went to Theresa’s house without any kind of warning. I don’t know what he originally intended. Maybe he just wanted to scare her. But my sister keeps a shotgun next to her bed, and when they busted down the door… It got ugly, and… They ended up…”

He trailed off, unable to say the words.

My heart melted for him. There was a lifetime of pain in his tone, more than any man should have to endure. I wanted to hug him until it hurt, and kiss the tears from his eyes.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Me too, Peaches. Me too.”

I went to him, embracing him with warmth. He lowered his defenses and hugged me back tighter than I expected. Just a sad soul clinging to someone else in their time of need.

Then the defenses went back up and he pulled away. “We can’t. Especially now that you see what they’ll do.”

I put my hand on his chest. “There’s nobody around, Jayce. It’s okay.”

“You don’t know that,” he said. “You don’t know what Sid’s men see. One mistake is all it takes and you’ll end up like her, just another dead woman thrown at my feet by a man too high to know which way is up.”

“I’m not scared,” I said, stepping closer. “Not around you.”

He shook his head and refused to meet my gaze. “You should be.”

“Maybe so.”

I hugged him again, standing on my tip-toes so that we were cheek to cheek, and this time I felt his tension fading away like the dying light at dusk.

“Don’t you feel better now?”

I felt his smile against my cheek. “A little bit, Peaches.”

“Good,” I whispered, feeling something massive settle in my chest. “I’m glad.”

He took a long, shuddering breath, and let it out slowly. “You’re special, Charlotte. Special in a way I can’t explain. I want…” He shook his head. “Now you know why I can’t get close to someone. It’s too dangerous. I can’t… I just can’t have someone else’s blood on my hands.”

“I understand,” I said, though I wished I didn’t.

“Thanks for not fighting me on this.” He brushed back a strand of my hair.

“If things were different…” I began. I wanted to hear him say more. It was what I’d needed to hear.

“But they’re not,” he said with a sad smile. “Maybe in another life, Peaches.”

“Maybe,” I said.

Jayce bent back to the grave and ran his fingers along Theresa’s name, tracing the letters chiseled into the stone. He laced his fingers in mine and we held hands while we walked back to his bike. It felt more intimate than any kiss.

Neither of us saw the Copperhead watching from the trees.