Why did I say that?

Off the top of my head and under such pressure and emotional strain, it was the only thing I could come up with to somehow relay to her, this is an act. I'm not going anywhere. I will get help.

I wish I could say it was nice knowing ya.

It was how she ended our first conversation at Saddlebrook's. Without a word out of place, I will never forget it.

I wanted to prove that she was heard and felt all throughout this debacle. But, if she didn't have the same recollection, I became the monster they were accusing me of being.

What else was I supposed to say?

I don't know.

What else was I supposed to do?

I'm off the property, so I suppose things could have gone a lot worse, like Bradford Ellis worse. It's no wonder Quinn nudged me when I said I'd stay. I probably would have earned myself a bullet within the hour. And what use would I have been to them, then?

I did dip into the nearest town a bit earlier in case anyone checked and because I needed some signal strength to call the local cops. I told them they're holding people against their will, there is evidence of abuse, and that someone might be dead. In response, they seemed to read something from a cue card. It's an ongoing investigation. Bullshit like that. They gave me the number of some FBI guy, who, of course, didn't answer his phone at this time of night. I left a strongly worded voicemail, and returned to that long, isolated dirt road, stopping just shy of rifle range. I've been sitting in my truck ever since.

Sitting is not the right word. Unraveling is more like it.

Annette was more spiteful than I remember, but it pains me to admit, she was not wrong. Not entirely. I was going to tell Taryn, someday, that I feel responsible for her father's death, but, you know . . . when would it ever be the right time?

It's not just the negligence but the context of that negligence. It's not forgivable, especially in light of everything that's happened since.

Hours go by. And nothing. No help. No progress.

The despair and exhaustion are getting the better of me when there's a tap on my window. It startles me more than it should.

Taryn is peeking in, one hand over her eyes.

When she wants out, she gets out!

I had considered that, but with all those guns, this possibility scared the crap out of me.

In her other arm, she has Quinn balancing there on one foot. Considering the distance and circumstances, they're in surprisingly good spirits.

I help Quinn get situated in the back, and then we make the loud, victorious U-turn out of there.

"I didn't believe her," Quinn utters, all song-like.

"Believe what?" I hit Quinn's gaze in the mirror and then glance at Taryn, who side-eyes me back with that spark of rebelliousness.

"That you'd still be here," Taryn answers.

"Did you really think I'd leave you there?" I ask Quinn. "I find that offensive."

"Those final words, though. Damn, Grady. That was cold. I got a chill to the bone!"

Taryn and I exchange a look of mutual understanding. "Yeah, you and me both."

Not long after, the thrill of escape fizzles out and the gravity of the situation takes over. We're all wide-eyed with shock and dead silent, staring at the long road ahead of us.

An hour or so later, I'm back to worrying about the future—how could she ever forgive me—when Taryn reaches over to my lap and rubs her pinkie against mine.

It may be a small gesture, but it means everything to me.

I respond by curling my pinkie around hers. We're not quite holding hands, but it's close enough.

When I catch Quinn's gaze in the mirror, she bobs her eyebrows and smirks knowingly.

She's not too torn up about it. I wouldn't change my course if she was, but it's still nice to know that, maybe, someday, when this all blows over, we could all be, well, family. With Quinn as a sister, there are a few extra things I can forgive . . . for Taryn's sake more than my own.

I don't think I'm fully at peace about it all, but I'm getting there. I don't feel angry anymore, not at Quinn anyway. I'm sure her life choices didn't help the matter, but at the end of the day, any malice in her heart was trivial. Keith's degree of evil would catch anyone off guard, Quinn included.

We're wiser now, but at what cost? Their own mother...

And then there's the time, money, and peace of mind down the drain, and that won't change for a while. I don't intend to sleep until that place is shut down and the worst of them are brought to justice for their crimes...

<<<>>>

By morning, we've made our way through most of Wyoming. I'm pumping gas, Taryn is inside the station buying refreshments, and Quinn is talking to some friendly campers outside a Subaru with Vermont plates.

"I escaped a cult," I hear her say to them.

She certainly looks the part, and she's Quinn, and they eat it right up. Whoops and hollers and high fives.

Two seconds later, she's wearing a Patagonia fleece that isn't hers, and has an expensive granola bar in her hand that she didn't buy.

When they're all scooting over, rearranging their stuff, seemingly to accommodate her presence, I'm there, tapping her on the shoulder before she disappears. "You're leaving?"

"You've done enough for me, Grady. I'll get out of your hair." She gives me a slight hug. "Take care of her, all right?"

"Don't worry. I have every intention." I reach into my pocket and take out the cash I was bribed with. "Here. You need it more than I do."

It's a strange moment for us, the role reversal, and what she appears to feel right now is shame. She was supposed to make it big. She was supposed to marry well. And here I am, her ex of five years, handing her cash. When she can't look me in the eye, I should feel pride, or something like that. Sort of an I-told-you-so, but, honestly, I feel as awful about it as she does.

When her eyes swell with tears, I realize there might be more to it. I've heard bits and pieces from other people, Taryn being the most reliable, but I really don't know the entirety of what she's been through. I've heard cheat and thief. Her parents tried to paint her as this stubborn, selfish, promiscuous screw-up. But, perspective matters, and I'd rather not have a warped one anymore. I just want the truth. As close as I can get to it, anyway.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Bradford," she blurts right away.

"Is he dead?"

She nods. "I didn't see anything, and they never outright admitted to anything, but I know. We were friends," she informs me, and I lift an eyebrow. "With benefits," she adds, rolling her eyes, well aware that I already knew that.

If he followed her all the way to Idaho, and was willing to enter that compound, he was undoubtedly in love with her.

"For the record, I didn't cheat until after my husband had already proven himself to be a bastard of epic proportions..."

I nod once.

"Bradford helped me get out of that situation. I was just going to lay low at my mother's for a while. I didn't realize I'd get trapped there, too. When I stopped communicating, he came to find me . . . and didn't have your luck slipping away. You played that perfectly, by the way. I was impressed."

"I didn't think so." I pocket my hands and lose the will to meet her gaze this time. I was a mess and needed to get out of there. It just happened to be the best thing for everyone...

"Well, we're all here, aren't we?"

I shrug and change the subject for my own benefit. "What was the scavenger-hunt thing all about?"

"I'm sorry," Quinn turns into the open car to say. "It'll just be another minute."

We get the "no worries" and "take all the time you need." One of them jogs back toward the station. They're in their own little world, and don't seem too perturbed by the delay or all that curious. It's probably too heavy for them, anyway.

"Once I had my mind made up," Quinn goes on to explain. "I hid some of my nicer jewelry, realizing the divorce was about to get nasty. It was the only thing I could do. My finances were too tightly controlled. Then, at the next prison, Keith was constantly pressuring me to earn my keep. He kept demanding the wedding ring, and would rub it in, all the reasons why I didn't have it on. The ankle was my failed attempt to escape. They technically didn't cause it, but they fully intended to make me suffer for it, no medical attention beyond what I could dig up in their sad infirmary. They got off on every attempt to brainwash me, but they really wanted Taryn. She was considered valuable to them. Keith has IRS problems from here to kingdom come. Anyway, if they asked Taryn outright, even for a visit, she would have refused. She and my mother were not on good terms. Given no other choice, I hatched a way to get both Taryn and the ring to Idaho, and Keith's henchmen put it into action. I just didn't warn them that you might be involved, too. And if you were involved, there was a little hope. I am sorry, Grady. If there had been any other way..."

"It was the right call," I throw in. "I'm glad you did."

I turn to look when a hand brushes my back, and I don't startle. I know who it is, and when Taryn steps beside me, I place a hand on her hip.

Then I give Quinn and Taryn a moment to say their goodbyes. Quinn promises to keep in touch as soon as she's able, and assures us, there's more jewelry out there. She's a dreamer and a survivor and she'll find a way to get ahead somehow. She always does.

<<<>>>

Once Taryn and I are enclosed in the truck, she tries kissing me and senses my reluctance. She pulls away and places a comforting kiss on my forehead instead and peeks at the scab on my head. It is still throbbing, and it gets worse, anytime I'm upset, like I am now.

"I already knew, Grady," she says to me, like she's read my mind.

At that, the dam breaks, and it just gets . . . ugly.

"That I let your father bleed out?" I somehow manage to choke out.

By the time I got there, it was too late. But that didn't stop me from trying. I was just covered in blood by the time the paramedics arrived. And it was all for nothing. He was pronounced dead at the scene.

"You don't really believe that, do you? You can't save everyone..." She goes into the glove compartment, and hands me a few of the napkins that she put in there.

I've forgotten what it's like to be taken care of. Maybe I don't need it, but I sure do like it when it's my turn to fall apart.

To make a mistake like that and be loved anyway. It's life-changing.

"It was a perfect storm of missteps." She rests a hand on my shoulder. "I was the one who got Misty all snarled up. I shouldn't have taken her off the trail. That Collins guy should have finished the job and not left his tools there. Quinn mentioned her whereabouts because of the guilt she felt. It was a spontaneous thing that she initiated. And, of course, my mother was high as a kite. Forgot to mention that, didn't she? All in all, there is plenty of blame to go around, but maybe we should all stop and live our lives. Fussing over it and pointing fingers won't bring him back."

I nod and do everything in my power to pull myself together. And before I put a dent in it, my phone starts ringing.

"Who is it?" I groan, resting my forehead on my steering wheel and burying my head beneath my arms.

"It's Knox."

I groan louder.

"I got it," Taryn says.

"Really?" my head pops back up to say. "Did I ever tell you how much I love you?"

"Not quite. And that doesn't count!" Then she answers the call. "Hi Knox . . . He's unavailable at the moment . . . Yeah, we're all right. It was a big to-do, but we got through it, and we're stronger for it . . . About that . . . yeah, I'm sorry . . . I've loved him for over half my life." She smiles at me when she says that. "He was a perfect gentleman until I gave him a reason not to be . . . I hope you're all right with that, because I'm coming home, and I'd really like for us all to be friends..."

She's a natural. I'm truly in awe. How could he say no to that?

"Of course, Taryn," is the reply I can just make out. "Thank you for telling me."

They end the call and then I kiss her for real. "I love you," I tell her as it tapers to a close. "Move in with me? Please? Until they're behind bars, I..."

"I can figure something out if you're not ready for that," she blurts when I pause. "It is a big commitment for the time we've put in."

In terms of emotional depth, I've never gone deeper, and that's all that matters to me. "If we can get through the worst-family-dinner-ever, I think I can handle a few scented candles and the strands of your hair on my clothes."

"And the significant-financial-burden part?" She's wincing while she's asking that.

I suddenly feel calm, alert, cleansed. "Won't be a burden at all. In a year, you'll probably be making more money than I will."

With the truck in gear, we drive off. My shift starts in less than twenty-four hours, and we have a lot of miles to cover.

She takes a deep, audible breath. "And that wouldn't bother you?"

"Not in the least."

"We'll save our pennies?" Now she looks excited, hopeful. Makes me wish we had time for a hotel room. "And get our ranch back?"

I love how she said our. "If that's what you want, I will do everything in my power."

"Just so you know, I will hold you to it." She says that mockingly, all prim and proper.

I chuckle and take her hand. "I'd expect nothing less."

Nate Smith - Wreckage

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