Page 14 of Mountain Man's Redemption

But God, I hope not.

Once we’re back home,I make Daphne a cup of hot chocolate and start a fire in the hearth. Then we sit on the couch, close enough to touch, the room silent but for the crackle of flames. Snow is falling outside, just a few flakes, a gentle breeze shaking the trees around my cabin. It’s calm. Peaceful.

But I’m not.

My stomach is in knots, my fists clenching and unclenching as I try to find the words to start my story. It’s been twenty-three years since I confessed it all in a police interview room, and I haven’t repeated it since. Not to anybody.

“Take your time,” Daphne says gently. “There’s no rush.”

Her voice gives me a burst of courage, and I swallow hard.

“Remember how I told you I grew up with nothing?” I say. “Well, that’s how life was for me and my mom when I was growing up. My dad left when I was still in diapers. Good riddance—he was a piece of shit. Used to hit her.”

Goddammit, this is hard.

Each word feels like I’m ripping open my throat, but I force myself to continue.

“Anyway, we lived in a trailer up in Montana, just Mom and me. It was always just the two of us, and even though we didn’t have a damn thing, we were happy. We had each other. And she tried so damn hard to give me a good childhood. Worked so many shitty jobs, worked herself to the fucking bone…”

Daphne’s hand grips mine tightly, and I take a steadying breath.

“Despite all that, we were managing okay. But then, the day after my nineteenth birthday, I got hit by a car.” I hear Daphne gasp from beside me. “It was late, and I was walking home from work—had a lot of jobs back then, just like Mom—when some asshole knocked me down and drove away. I almost died. Collapsed lung, fractured ribs, fractured pelvis, hell, fractures all over the place. Internal bleeding, too.”

“Oh, Garrett…”

I squeeze her hand. “I made a full recovery. A couple of scars, that’s all that’s left. But the medical bills…those did way more damage than the damn car. Thousands and thousands of dollars that we couldn’t afford. Then came the debt collectors, coming to the trailer and harassing my mom. She got so desperate that she borrowed some money from a guy called Dex Mercer. Told me he was a friend from school, but she just said that to protect me. The guy was a loan shark.”

I feel a wave of nausea as I remember the first time I saw Dex. Shark was the right word for him. Those cold, dead eyes…

“Well, you can imagine what happened next,” I say, an ache growing behind my eyes. “The money she borrowed barely made a dent in the medical bills, and now Dex needed paying too. The interest on the loan kept rising, and the deadlines were so damn close that there was no way we could have paid it back in time. I was still in bad shape, couldn’t work, so there was only my mom’s tiny income to rely on. God, she was distraught. Terrified. It was fucking horrible.” My throat tightens, and I swallow back tears as I remember my poor, sweet mom making calls, begging everyone she knew for help. But the people we knew were just as poor as we were. There was nobody to help us.

“The debt collectors for the medical bills were pretty persistent,” I continue, “but they had nothing on Dex. That bastard made our lives hell. When my mom missed the deadline, he had one of his guys break into our trailer in the middle of the night and wave a knife in our faces. Said we had three days to cough up the money, or he’d come back and cut off our fingers.”

Daphne raises a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror as she listens.

“That’s when Mom and I decided we needed to skip town. Run away somewhere Dex couldn’t find us. We talked about changing our identities and crossing the border into Mexico, then Belize. Trying to make a new life for ourselves down there. There wasn’t time to make a plan. We packed our stuff, ready to leave the next morning. But that night, Dex came. Didn’t send one of his men this time—he came himself.”

My blood runs cold when I think of the fear on my mom’s face. The terror when she saw him in our trailer, staring at us with those blank eyes.

“He saw our bags. It was pretty obvious we’d been planning to run. He just laughed, called us pathetic. Said he’d find us. Follow us wherever we went. And then he made a mistake.” Iclench my jaw so tight my teeth ache. “He laid a finger on my mom.”

The memory is still vivid even after all these years; the frightened animal sound my mom made as Dex strode toward her.

“First, it was just words. He called her a whore. Worthless trailer trash. Said he’d make her pay one way or another, and if she wouldn’t pay with money, then he’d find other ways…make her do things. Then he reached out and pulled her up by the hair. Spat in her face. That’s when I snapped.”

The blind rage. The white-hot fury. I’ll never forget it.

“Dex was a big guy—bigger than I was at nineteen—and I still wasn’t fully healed. But it’s like adrenaline took over. I could have lifted a damn house. And I grabbed Dex by the throat, pulled him away from my mom, and started punching. He tried to fight back, but I didn’t stop…” I force myself to look at Daphne. “He died. I killed him.”

Criminal.

Convict.

Killer.

Her mouth is open in shock, eyes red-rimmed, and suddenly, I can’t bear to look at her. I focus on the fire instead, staring into the flames.

“Mom and I got as far as San Antonio before the cops caught up with us.” I sigh deeply. “Not far enough. I was arrested. Charged with second-degree murder. Spent eighteen years in prison and got out three years ago.”

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