Summary: He picked up the phone. He ignored the shake in his hand as his thumb pressed a series of digits he’d long ago memorized, just in case he ever had to call you from a phone that wasn’t his, on a line that couldn’t be traced. This was one of those times.
AN: This can be a stand-alone one-shot, but it fits well in the Every Second Counts-verse — between Bubbly and Breaking Point. (Inspired by 3x22 but not set in that episode.)
Posted on Patreon: May 29, 2026
Word Count: 2.7K
Tags & Warning: Angst, blood, “last words,” Colter sighting, hurt/comfort, tinge of spice and implied smut
You were really gonna kill him this time.
A grunt passed between his lips as he moved his hand back an inch, catching a gnarly glimpse of oozing blood and raw flesh under the soaked bandage square.
Yep. Smothered in his sleep, that was his bet. Or maybe a little Raid sprayed on his food—that would be creative. Because you knew he couldn’t resist your cooking.
Russell groaned and tried to push himself off the wall, but his body wouldn’t budge.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
He was a sitting fucking duck here. Literally.
A labored breath escaped him, along with another rivulet seeping through his shirt. His free hand itched for the cell phone lying beside him on the cement. Backup was on the way, taking a bit long though.
Time was always the question and the challenge. The decisions in between were what he was usually good at, even in moments like these.
He picked up the phone. He ignored the shake in his hand as his thumb pressed a series of digits he’d long ago memorized, just in case he ever had to call you from a phone that wasn’t his, on a line that couldn’t be traced. This was one of those times.
The line rang so long, he was losing hope that you’d answer.
Until your voice finally greeted him, with a raspy clearing of your throat and sleep-laden confusion.
“Hello?”
His lips raised toward a smile. “Hey, sweetheart. Sorry I woke you.”
“Russ? Hey…what’s this number you’re calling me from? You okay?” you asked. He heard the shifting of fabric.
He could imagine you sitting up in bed, leaning on your elbow as the sheets slid down your body a little. He closed his eyes. He could pretend he was there with you, sliding in from behind and burying his face in the familiar hollow of your neck and shoulder. Your hair would tickle his forehead, but he’d get the flowery mix of your soap and body lotion stuck in his nose, rather than the copper tang of blood.
“Yeah, everything’s cool,” Russell said. He bit the inside of his lip as the gray ceiling momentarily turned charcoal in his vision. There was numbness in his fingertips. “Just had a minute, wanted to check up on you.”
“I’m good,” you said. “Miss you though.”
He was trying to keep his breathing shallow, but he needed a deeper one then.
“Miss you too, baby.”
“When will you be home?”
“Soon as I can,” he said, stifling another pained grunt as he shifted against the wall. “Keep the lights on for me.”
“Yeah? Last time you said that, you were held up for three weeks," you said wryly. "Think I need to collab with Dory and invent a virtual lie detector."
“You know what, maybe you should just tell me what you’re wearing. Give me some ideas on how to make it up to you when I get home,” he teased, though it ended on a shallow cough.
His gaze wandered the warehouse. It looked like it hadn’t been in use for a while, but he could smell the remnants of sawdust and mildew in the air. The only light came from the slivers filtering in through the closed exit doors, and a small window for ventilation near the ceiling.
He didn’t think he’d go out in a fucking backwoods middle of nowhere place like this, but it was as decent as any he could expect in this line of work. Good enough, if he got to talk to you first.
But you didn’t laugh like he expected.
“Baby,” you said. Concern crept back in. “For real, are you okay? You don’t sound right.”
“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “Just a little tired. Waiting on someone to get here, so we can get this show on the damn road.”
Just then, he heard the sound of wide tires pulling to a stop outside the warehouse. Russell didn’t relax just yet. That could've either been his backup, or his target's delayed reinforcements. He tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder on his right side, wincing at the pain the movement caused as he reached for his gun.
“Actually, they just got here. Gotta let you go,” he said.
“Russ, wait.”
“I love the sound of your voice, you know that?” he said, flickering at a smile. “And I love you.”
“…I love you too,” you said, on a slightly unsteady breath.
He knew he hadn’t convinced you that everything was fine. You were too smart, knew him too well by now.
Regardless, he had to hang up. Then he raised his gun at an angle that still kept his elbow steady, resting against his side.
The door scraped against the ground as it opened. The man’s tall gait came in swiftly, then picked up speed. Russell’s vision might've been blurring on the edges, but he recognized that blonde head. He was able to relax, lowering his gun.
“Russ,” Colter said, grabbing his brother’s shoulder that didn’t have a hole shot through it, just inches below. “Hey, you with me?”
“Mhmm,” Russell said, as his eyes closed on him for a second. He forced himself to stay awake through sheer willpower. “Not goin’ anywhere, little brother.”
“That’s right,” Colter said more firmly. The worry was clear in his brown eyes, but he smiled anyway, digging into the small duffel he brought with him. He went for the antiseptic and the bandages first, then the pliers. “You’re lucky I wasn’t too far.”
He moved back Russell’s jacket, then tore at the collar of his grimy, blood-stained shirt.
“Who me? I’m fine,” Russell said. “I’ve had way worse than this.”
“You don’t look fine,” Colter said, trying to gently pry Russell’s hand away from the wound. “Here, let me see.”
“I’m good.”
“No, you’re not. Move your hand so I can see?”
Russell smirked. “So bossy.”
Despite himself, Colter shook his head in amusement.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle. You should see the other guy.”
“Right. That’s why you called me, because you have this all handled.”
Russell’s body seized up with a flinch at Colter’s pliers seeking the fat piece of bullet still lodged inside his chest.
“Hey, have a heart, huh?" Russell complained. "Some anesthetic, please.”
It was another 18 hours before Russell’s Chevelle Malibu crossed the threshold of Wyoming’s state line, and another two before he stopped in the driveway outside the modest house he now called home.
He was slow moving as he hefted his duffel bag. Every step was a calculated trudge up the wide, white stones of the pathway. The neighborhood was quiet after dark, but the porch light was on. It was his target, and his beacon.
He unlocked the front door with his keys and found mostly darkness, except for the warm glow of the hallway light. He didn’t have time to make it there though—not when you were already hurrying out from the master bedroom to meet him.
He smiled at the sight of you in a tank-top and your most well-worn sweatpants, but you looked more relieved than happy. The kind of relief that wasn’t calm, even when your hands were on him, gripping his leather jacket like you were making sure he was actually there. He let his duffel fall those few inches to the hardwood floor.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, though he stiffened and grunted in pain when your hands landed on his shoulders. Specifically, his left.
You pulled back on reflex, gasping softly. You stared up at him in worry. He looked so pale...
“It’s okay,” he said, holding you by your waist. “It’s just—”
You didn’t wait for his inevitable lie. You were verging on angry as you carefully pulled down the zipper of his jacket.
“Uh, wait a minute,” Russell said, but you couldn’t be placated. You wouldn’t let him stop you from finding whatever he didn’t want you to see.
Soon, you almost wish you had.
“Oh my God,” you breathed, though it was choked by tears as you took in the blood covering the entire left side of his gray plaid.
He had a red-tinged bandage covering the area just above his heart. It was held in place by medical tape and stretchy gauze that wrapped around his shoulder and under his arm. His chest and stomach were stained with crimson blotches leading from the wound. He smelled like rust and antiseptic, grime and sweat.
He watched every shade of your reaction, from shock to dismay. In hindsight, he should've at least tossed the shirt.
“Russell, what the fuck?” you said shakily.
His hand raised to cradle your cheek, earning your attention back up to his face rather than his body. His thumb caressed your skin, brushed away some tears.
“It looks worse than it is,” he said.
You shook your head. “You need to go to a hospital."
“I already got patched up. It’s okay, just need to sleep it off,” he replied. Colter had stabilized him enough to take him to the closest ER for the stitches. Colt even stuck with him until the doctor was done, probably to make sure Russell actually sat through the whole process.
“It’s not okay,” you snapped. “It’s not fucking okay.”
You stepped away from him and retreated back into the bedroom, holding a trembling hand to your mouth as you went.
He didn’t exactly know if he was welcome, but he really needed a shower and a solid night’s sleep, and he never slept better than when he was beside you.
But you avoided looking at him as you got ready for bed, haphazardly ripping off throw pillows and pulling back the comforter. Russell noticed your laptop on the nightstand, no less than three half-drunk mugs of coffee pushed back by the lamp, as well as a small hoard of candy wrappers and a bowl of popcorn on the floor. It was near four in the morning, and you hadn’t even tried to go to sleep. Or more likely, you couldn’t.
Russell carried the weight of that guilt into the adjoining bathroom, where he started by slowly trying to take off his jacket. He got halfway through peeling the sleeve off his left shoulder before the sharp pull of his wound forced a hiss from between his teeth.
“Fuck,” he said under his breath. There were more grunts and struggles, though he tried to keep it quiet. Once the jacket was a useless pile on the floor, he got a better look at his tattered shirt and released a steadying breath, almost shrugging at himself. All right, here goes.
He pulled back the collar of his shirt, but dried blood had adhered the fabric to the sensitive skin around his wound.
“Goddamn it,” he said lowly.
The bathroom door slid open. You paused in the entryway and crossed your arms, taking in every ridiculous part of this.
For once, Russell didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to upset you (anymore), and he had a feeling you’d appreciate a you should see the other guy joke even less than Colter had.
“Sit,” you said, pointing at the closed toilet lid.
“I got this,” Russell said. But you pinned him with a sharp look.
“Russell, sit down.”
He quirked his head. “Okay. Yes, ma’am.”
Your lips almost curved upward, but you remained firm. Your hands were gentle though; they grasped his arm and helped him sit. You started with the easiest part, kneeling down on the tile floor to unlace his boots.
Russell wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to do it, but he also didn’t want to rile you up again. Instead, he steadied himself by grabbing the edge of the counter. Guilt twinged more heavily in his heart as he watched you slide off his left boot. He tried to help you with the right one, hooking his foot behind the heel, but you laid a hand on his knee.
“I’ll do it,” you said, your gaze flicking up to his. “Just stay still.”
Russell paused, but he conceded. Soon you’d worked off his boots and socks, then slowly, his shirt. He held you to him afterward, by your hips. You saw that even his hands were stained pink. Either he’d scrubbed them raw or hadn’t scrubbed them hard enough.
“What happened?” you asked.
“Just…you know, got clipped,” he said. “It’s no big deal. As you can see, I’m fine.”
You shot him a flat look. “How did it happen?”
He sighed. “You know I can’t tell you that.”
That you did, but you hated it anyway. Your gaze once again drew to the web of bandages wrapped around his right shoulder. Your fingertips landed just beside the thickest padding above his heart. Russell’s hand covered yours.
“Thank you...and I’m sorry,” he said at last. “Didn’t mean to worry you.”
Your lips pursed. You took his face in your hands, a touch softer as you stroked his bearded cheeks. He was still too pale, but nonetheless, unfairly handsome.
“Please don’t do this to yourself anymore,” you said. “Don’t do this to me. You promised you’d be done with Horizon by now.”
Russell nodded. “I know.”
“You know?” Your brows rose. “Do you know what the past 24 hours were like for me since you called me in the middle of the night like that? I could hear it in your voice. You weren’t sure you were going to make it home.”
Your voice wavered as tears welled up in your eyes again, despite your attempts to blink them away with a sniff.
Russell didn’t have a clever retort this time. No way to downplay or tease. He had come back with a few scrapes and sprains before, but this was different. That look on your face when you opened his jacket, saw the blood and bandages, probably picturing a horror show underneath...
He wasn't ever going to forget that look. And it was better he didn't. He had to remind himself that you were a civilian. You weren't used to all this shit, the hazards of the job.
“You’re right. It’s not fair to you,” he said. “Just uh…give me a month or so to wrap things up. I already signed on for a couple more contracts.”
“You better mean it, Russ,” you said. You tilted his face upward, making sure he met your eyes. “You gave me your word.”
“I know, and I’m gonna keep it,” he said, squeezing your hips. He smiled. “To prove it, how about we reseal the deal, huh?”
You stared down at him, heaving a more exasperated sigh.
“Come on,” he said, biting his lip on a smirk. “We both know you wanna kiss the hell out of me.”
You wanted to slap him, more like.
You shook your head and pressed his face between your hands, grunting in sheer annoyance. But you still bowed your head and kissed him.
He smiled against your lips. His arms slid around your waist and trapped you against his body. He hummed at the feeling of you, of every soft curve that fit just right against him.
Your fingers slipped through his hair, gently at first. But you reminded him of your resolve with a tighter grip.
“I'm serious,” you warned, between kisses. Each one meant something different—relief, fear, yearning, passion, love, and long-suffering all at once.
He nodded, though he groaned, palming your ass as your tongue slipped against his.
“I got it, sweetheart,” he said. "Not happening again."
His hands then wandered down your back, dipping under the waistband of your sweatpants. He found you bare underneath, no panties. He was pleased at the thought as he pressed a line of open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down your neck, earning your soft moan. His fingers trailed under your tank top next, pushing the fabric up higher and raising goosebumps in his wake.
“Take a shower with me?” he asked, with lips pressed to your skin.
“Hmph. You definitely need a shower,” you said through slightly panting breaths. You helped him stand so you both could work on getting off his jeans.
He grinned. “So that’s a yes?”
Your lips threatened a smile in return.
“That’s a, get your ass in there,” you said, but you grabbed his elbows to steady him when his broad frame teetered on his feet. “Be careful.”
His hand fell to your shoulder gratefully.
“Yes, ma’am.”
AN: lol what are we gonna do with him? 😅 I think this helps make even more sense why reader's so mad at him in Part 1 of Breaking Point.
And I seriously hope Russell comes back more regularly for season 4. That twist at the end of 3x22 is more interesting than any other episode/arc in S3 imo. Until then, hope you enjoy some angsty hurt/comfort!
Let me know what you think in the reblogs/comments! 💙🩵💛
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Summary: Russell made you a promise, but “getting out” of government contract work is even more difficult than he thought it would be. Is he willing to put the past aside, or is this going to be your breaking point?
AN: Welcome back to the Every Second Counts-verse! After the events of BP Parts 1 and 2, we're finally closing out the show on this story. Get ready for a rocky ride...
Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Romance, smut, angst, perilous situations, family drama, blood and violence, PTSD, and other chapter-specific tags.
Chapters:
⌖ Part 1: One Step Ahead of the Past
⌖ Part 2: One Chance
⌖ Part 3: Aftershocks
⌖ Part 4: Never Rules
⌖ Part 5: Echoes & Answers
⌖ Part 6: Gordian Knot
⌖ Part 7: History vs. Science
⌖ Part 8: Close the Show
Series complete!
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Join My Patreon ⊹ Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories. Top-tier patrons can even send me requests!
Summary: Welcoming Russell home, where he belongs.
AN: Here it is - bonus drabble time!~ This can be a stand-alone, but it’s really a snippet missing from Lost Time in the Every Second Counts-verse. Using the GIF above from 2x02 specifically for the hair flip. It did things to me... 😮💨
Shoutout to @impala-dreamer who helped inspire this in our @jacklesversebingo chat. 😂
Word Count: 900
Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Smut and feels, small tinge of angst. Russell's hair. Tattoos. Everything really.
💜 Series Masterlist
“Welcome home,” you whispered into his mouth.
All Russell could offer was a breathless sound, caught somewhere between an agreement and a groan of pleasure. He was being treated to a feast of the eyes as you rode him slow in the comfort and safety of your bed.
Your lips didn’t quite manage to connect with his in a kiss, with heavy breaths in between and a deliberate roll of your hips against his. He’d been letting you control the pace of him sheathing home with your every drawn-out thrust.
He was enjoying the show—your hair wild, your pupils blown wide with arousal, being able to palm at your breasts and tease your hardened nipples, kissing your flushed, dewy skin.
But you could feel him getting desperate. His hands moved down your body over soft curves, just for his fingers to squeeze into the flesh of your hips and ass, trying to ground himself in you. His eyes shut and his head fell back into the pillow. You bent down and fastened your lips to his neck, kissing and sucking hard there. He slid a hand up your back and buried it in your hair.
“Takin’ me so well, baby,” he said, his voice deep and rough, and a bit strained. “But you’re torturing me a little bit.”
You giggled breathlessly into his neck. Your tone was playful and coy when you replied, “What do you mean?”
You made a show of raising your hips, letting his hard length slide out of your wet heat all the way to the tip, before you slowly sunk back down. You shifted your hips along the way, until the thick head of him was nestled deep and pressing against your cervix. You both panted for breath. Even your arms were shaking while holding yourself above him.
“Yeah, think you’re trying to kill me,” Russell uttered. “Suppose there’s worse ways to go…”
“Fuck,” you muttered, releasing into a moan. The languid drag of his cock against your inner walls was good, but nowhere near enough at this point.
Maybe you were done teasing him, as well as yourself. Maybe you were done punishing him for taking one contract job after another, taking so long to get back, and making you worry about him and his safety. Your lips made their way back to his cheek, laying a sweeter kiss there.
“Okay.” You smiled against his skin. “How about you fuck me like it’s been three months, not three weeks. I wanna feel you come hot inside me—”
Russell wouldn’t even wait for you to finish the dirty whispers already setting his blood alight. His tattooed arm wrapped around your back and pulled you flush against his chest. He manhandled you seemingly without much effort, twisting you onto your back and having you laid out underneath him.
You let out a huff as your back met the mattress and made the springs squeak. Your head barely made it onto the pillow where his head had been, but your boyfriend wasted little time in grabbing your thighs and angling you just right, guiding you to wrap your legs around his waist. (You didn’t need any encouragement.) He took you hard and deep, making sure he hit that sensitive spot inside you with every thrust.
You gasped and clung to his broad shoulders.
“Right there, sweetheart?” he said near your ear. His voice was rich and gravel. A shiver ran through your body, goaded along with every other sensation he was drawing out of you. You couldn’t even speak. Just a nod and a broken, desperate whimper. Your teeth sunk into your lower lip.
You were holding on for the rest of the ride. If nothing else, Russell had precision, and he was a master of his craft. And that was whatever he set his mind to.
His hand slipped between your bodies for a moment, his fingers searching, and finding, then massaging your swollen clit between thrusts. You cried out in his ear and damn near choked on your own breath, your nails biting into his shoulders. It didn’t take much longer for that tightening coil in your core to finally snap, your inner walls throbbing around his cock.
A curse and a ragged groan fell from his lips as his body locked up on him as well. You felt his body stiffen and the warmth of his release deep inside you. The sensation elicited another shiver down your spine.
You were on birth control, but it still made you feel a bit wild sometimes, whenever he came inside you. You relaxed underneath him with your knees bent, your thighs a soft cradle for his hips.
Russell kept himself upright with his forearms resting on either side of your head. His long hair had slid forward, the brown silky strands tickling your forehead as his panting breaths mingled with yours.
You attempted to brush some of his hair back behind his ears, but it fell forward again, tickling your nose. Russell allowed it on purpose, making you laugh lightly. He grinned in response, but he lowered further to capture your lips in a kiss. He didn’t mind this one being nice and slow.
Even when he parted from you, you still craved more of him. More of this.
You slipped a hand over his bearded cheek, an affectionate caress. A softer smile drew across his lips. He rested his forehead against yours, and he chuckled a little.
“It’s damn good to be home.”
AN: Lol hope you enjoyed this one! ❤️🔥
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Summary: Russell made you a promise, but “getting out” of government contract work is even more difficult than he thought it would be. Is he willing to put the past aside, or is this going to be your breaking point?
AN: Welcome back to the Every Second Counts-verse! After the cliffhanger in Bubbly, I know you guys have been wanting this next part of their story. Get ready for a rocky ride — in two parts! 😅 (Also thank you again for all the birthday wishes. You guys are the best. 🥹💜)
Special thanks to the lovely Michelle - @luci-in-trenchcoats - for giving me tons of Tracker spoilers from the books that helped me shape the idea for BP! Both Michelle and Wayne - @waynes-multiverse have been incredibly encouraging and supportive in this one. 💚
Song Inspo: “Come in From the Night” by Chicago
Posted on Patreon: 3/28/2025
Word Count: 6.8K
Tags/Warnings: Fluff, angst, secrets and lies of omission, hints of Russell’s shady past, 2x02 events, and a twist…
⌖ Series Masterlist
Part 1: One Step Ahead of the Past
You paused in the middle of the grocery store aisle when you heard the thump. Yet another item dropped into the shopping cart.
You turned your head from the display of buy-one-get-one coffee brands and rose a brow at your boyfriend, trying not to smile.
“Uh, no. I don’t think so,” you said, grabbing the box of Zebra Cakes out of the cart.
“Aw, come on,” Russell implored.
“Babe, Dory and I call these cancer cakes. And you know what, for a guy who somehow keeps in like, Super Soldier-level shape, you’ve got a mega sweet tooth for all things junk,” you teased, and then smiled hard when he snaked an arm around your waist to try and distract you. You knew what he was really aiming for.
“Super soldier, huh?” A smirk curved his lips. “We talkin’ Captain America or Schwarzenegger?”
You laughed and tried to wiggle out of his grip. He had you trapped against the handles of the cart. He sneakily clawed a hand for the cartoonish black and white box of treats, but you held it just out of reach.
“If we have these in the house, you know I’m gonna eat them too, and it’s all just going to go straight to my ass, stomach, and thighs,” you quipped.
Russell hummed a kiss into your neck.
“I got no issue with that.” He squeezed your hips. “Just makes you softer to tenderize.”
A hot blush lit up your face, especially when an older lady gave you two some side-eye as she passed by with her cart. You bit your lip to temper your embarrassed smile, but you still reached back to pinch Russell’s side in retaliation. He just laughed and dodged your hand, ultimately wrapping his arms tighter around your waist.
“It’s true,” he whispered lowly in your ear.
“Hmph, I’m sure,” you replied in amusement.
Despite your better judgment, you tossed the Zebra Cakes back into the cart and kept it pushing, literally. Russell’s pleased grin had you almost rolling your eyes. Yes, he knew how to play you like a fiddle.
You grabbed a couple packages of Gevalia coffee and continued down the aisle, but you didn’t realize that your shadow had disappeared. Russell caught up to you after a little while, withdrawing a peach cobbler from behind his back. It was from the bakery section. Another goddamn dessert?! And how’d he get over there and back so fast?
“I know I might be pushing my luck, but what about this guy for tonight?” he asked. “At least it’s homemade, right?”
You chuckled. “Yeah, homemade. Right from the factory that delivered it to the grocery store.”
But you sighed and relented on that one too, waving a dismissive hand. Eh, it’s on sale. Pick your battles, I guess.
Russell took that as consent to place the cobbler carefully next to the carrots, broccoli, and asparagus. He was slightly mollified by the bag of potatoes.
“That’s a lot of rabbit food,” he remarked.
“Oh yeah, and it’s gonna go great with the steaks tonight,” you sweetly replied. You knew the only way you were going to get him to eat said broccoli was if he had a slab of meat to go with it. Again, pick your battles. Your man was many things, but health-conscious wasn’t exactly one of them. It surprised you, considering he’d spent most of his life in the military.
“Heeeeell, yeah. With the special sauce, right?” he asked hopefully.
“Yes, with the special sauce,” you smirked.
And no, that wasn’t a euphemism.
Russell smiled, that one that crinkled the crow’s feet around his eyes. His hand fell to a comfortable place on the small of your back as he fell into step with you. It was his habit whenever you two went out together—a familiar hand on your hip, your waist, or brushing your hair back to massage the back of your neck. You liked the contact; the reminder that he was with you, and that he wanted to be.
But his touch fell away after you entered the cereal aisle. You did hear a short buzz, but you didn’t notice until you were almost at the end, halfway through asking if he wanted oatmeal or Fruit Loops. When you realized you were talking to empty air, you looked over your shoulder and saw Russell stopped in the middle of the aisle, staring down at his phone with knitted brows.
His attention was wholly on the screen, where a brief message held more weight than it should.
Are you in?
Russell kept digesting the words.
“Russ?” you called to him, breaking him out of his reverie. “What’re you doing?”
Shit. He typed out a reply, and he sent it before he could think better of it. He pocketed his phone and caught up to you in a few of his long strides, his long hair bouncing along with him. His hand slipped around your waist and found purchase on a belt loop of your jeans.
“So with our soon-to-be three course meal, what’cha thinking on a movie? Wanna watch Terminator again?” he proposed.
You rose a brow at three courses, but you skipped ahead to pushing back on said proposal.
“God, no. We watched all six movies last weekend!”
“Aw, come on, get to the choppah!” Russell invoked his best Arnold impression, prodding at your waist all the while. Never mind that the line was from Predator, not Terminator.
You flinched, and a giggle bubbled up in you on reflex as you swatted at his hand. You pushed the cart onward to the checkout counter.
“All right, just the first one though,” you replied. “Then I want to watch Bridesmaids.”
He playfully groaned. “Gonna make me sit through another chick flick, huh?”
“Oh no. It’s hilarious,” you said with a snicker. “Though maybe it is better if we watch that one after dinner. There’s a scene with food poisoning from some sketchy-ass meat and…yeah. Anyway, you’ll like it, baby. I promise.”
Russell gave you an indulgent smile, but inside, he hid a guilty twinge.
“What was your favorite thing to eat growing up?” you asked.
Russell was helping you unpack the groceries in the kitchen in a familiar routine. He’d been living with you for almost a year now, and still, little questions like this sometimes helped you get a window into the man.
Key word being sometimes, because even now, he considered your question with more uncertainty than it should warrant.
"You mean, uh, on the compound?" he asked.
"Sure." You'd take any brief spotlight into his childhood.
“Uh…kind of hard to answer that one. We mostly ate whatever wild game we could catch,” he admitted. “A lot of rabbit. Which honestly wasn’t my favorite, but I learned to like it.”
He soon abandoned that thought to take out the peach cobbler from a grocery bag with a devilish cackle. You knew by the boyish look on his face that he’d be cutting at least two generous slices out of that one later.
“Maybe that explains why you’re such a foodie,” you wondered aloud. Because your man didn’t just like food. He was borderline obsessed with trying new spots with you, whether it was an upscale restaurant on the bougiest part of downtown, or a sketchy taco truck on the side of the freeway.
“Could be,” he acknowledged with a chuckle.
“What was it like having to hunt for your own food?” you asked. You’d studied history and ancient civilizations for both of your doctoral degrees, let alone your experience as a professor at Wyoming University, but studying hunter-gatherer communities was much different from having to learn how to survive for your next meal.
Russell set down the cobbler on the counter. He took advantage of the task of grabbing the vegetables next, handing them off to you so you could sort them the way you liked in the refrigerator.
“Wasn’t easy,” he said, “My dad was a taskmaster. And that wasn’t just about skinning rabbits and squirrels.”
You grimaced. “Squirrels too?!”
Russell nodded.
“We had these milestones…” he trailed, as the memory reappeared in his mind. “Heh. I remember being woken up and dragged out of bed in the middle of the night. Dad had me scale a cliff in almost pitch blackness. Couldn’t see the ground below me, could barely see a few inches above me. Was the day I turned thirteen years old.”
You paused what you were doing to meet his gaze. Jesus. Happy fucking Birthday, you thought, both in sarcasm and incredulous dismay.
Russell sighed and shook his head. He continued balling up empty grocery bags.
“That. That look right there,” he said, pointing at your face. “That’s why I don’t talk about this shit.”
You quickly recovered yourself and shut the fridge.
“I’m sorry, it’s just…” You turned to him and laid a hand on his forearm, sliding down to slip your hand into his. “I’ve given you the deep cuts, right? And my brother has no problem spilling all about my awkward teenage angst, and basically every embarrassing thing I’ve ever done since I was two. But with you, there’s still so much I don’t know, Russ. Not just about how you grew up, but about your life since then.”
Russell brushed his thumb over the back of your hand, but all he could really give you was a quirk of his lips.
“That’s classified,” he said, only somewhat joking.
“Look, I get that. I know there’s a lot you can’t tell me,” you said, “but give me the broad strokes, okay? Besides Doug, who have been the important people in your life? Where were you stationed? How many countries have you seen?”
Russell let out a deep breath. None of your questions had easy answers. He knew he needed to give you something, even if it was just broad strokes. But…he just couldn’t bring himself to look back anymore. There was too much tied to things he couldn’t, shouldn’t tell you. Mostly it was for your own safety, but selfishly, there were also things he didn’t want to let loose. If he did, maybe it would change the way you looked at him with those soft, loving eyes.
“Look, maybe that’s not something we should get into tonight,” he said.
Your expression shifted into disappointment. You seemed to be making that face a lot lately, whenever he told you about another job out of town, whenever he didn't come home when he initially said he would, whenever he closed up on you.
But this time, you closed up on him.
“You know what, it’s been a long day. I think I’m feeling too tired to cook,” you said. You tossed the wad of empty grocery bags under the kitchen sink and passed by him on your way out of the room, and over to the bedroom.
Russell blinked in confusion.
“Well, wait, what’re we gonna eat then?” he called after you.
“I don’t know. Make yourself a sandwich,” you said, just before he heard the door shut.
The loud thud made him sigh through his nose. He surveyed the ingredients you’d intended to cook with strewn across the kitchen counter and rubbed a hand over his bearded face.
“Shoulda saved that conversation for after dinner,” he mused.
You and Russell were still at odds as you got ready for bed that night. After what happened in the kitchen, you cooled off for a bit. You did end up making the steaks and watching Terminator with him, but afterward, you went back to the bedroom to read by yourself, leaving him to watch old reruns of Seinfeld on TBS.
It was never really the same without you and your colorful commentary, or the way you often burrowed into his side and commandeered most of the couch. (He didn’t mind, long as he got to cop a feel every now and then.)
He could read you all too well though. He knew you were still mad at him.
He now eyed you in your silky negligée, which he thought you’d worn to bed on purpose just to torture him a little. It was the sexy purple one with lacy edges. He bought it for you while you two were on vacation in California a few months ago.
Russell’s phone buzzing on his nightstand distracted him. He checked it before you had a chance to see what was on the screen. It was from his handler at Horizon, detailing a string of coordinates for his next gig—plus a ticket for his flight taking off in two days. Russell planned to tell you tomorrow after you cooled off a little more, though he knew it wasn’t going to be an easy conversation.
He tried slipping into bed behind you and wrapping his arm around your waist, kissing your bare shoulder. He nosed past the thin strap of your nightgown and inhaled the pretty, floral scent of your soap…which he totally didn’t use himself.
“Nuh-uh,” you warned without even looking at him. It was a firm no on the touching, to which Russell exhaled and leaned back on his pillow, carding a hand through his hair.
“Come on, baby. How long’re you gonna ice me out?”
“Until I actually know the man who’s in bed with me,” you snipped back testily.
“Hey, that’s not fair,” Russell said. He drew back in and kissed the side of your head, rubbing a hand down your shoulder. “You already know the important bits.”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?” you dryly replied. It was a struggle not to give into his touch, but this wasn’t the first time you two had a conversation, verging on argument about these things.
He knew it all too well.
Still, he hesitated. Like what? How I’ve spent a long time doing what I’m told, and not a lot of asking questions. Probably not as much as I should’ve.
He shook his head. “I’m not gonna lie, I’ve seen a lot of shit that would blow your hair back. But even though my growing up was…unconventional, to say the least, it’s made me good at what I do. Most importantly though…” He pressed another gentle, lingering kiss into your neck. “This is where I want to be. You’re the one I wanna move forward with.”
He felt you take a long breath. He hoped it meant that you were hearing him, that you were softening.
“How are you going to do that when you’re away on another job?” you asked.
Russell paused.
You moved away from his hold and sat up in bed. He followed suit as he noted the look on your face, tired and upset. His brows furrowed, despite the prickle of guilt bubbling under his skin.
“What’re you talking about?” he said.
“Don’t even try it. I saw the coordinates pop up on your phone just now!” you snapped, and you make a sound of frustration, rubbing your face with both hands. “You promised me, Russell. You promised you’d be done with contract work months ago now. So what is it? Is it that you need more money for your brewery?”
Russell swallowed. The truth was, he’d made the target goal on his business account months ago, but he’d also found one reason or another to accept the last few jobs out of town. There was pressure from Horizon to stay on. They didn’t want to lose a valuable “contractor,” after all. But it was also his own unwillingness to give up the feeling of knowing exactly what he was doing, what he had been trained to do, and secretly, the way his work kept him on the edge.
That flip in the stomach that forced him to make decisions in the breadth of a second?
Well, it was a hard feeling to give up, and an even harder life.
He rubbed a hand over his face with a tired sigh.
“Look, it’s more complicated than that,” he said.
“You know what, I don’t think it is,” you shot back. “I think you’re a lot like Charlie, except this—this kind of work is your fix.”
The accusation stung like a hot iron poker. Russell opened his mouth to sling back a retort, even though he knew your aim was deadly when you wanted it to be.
You just turned away from him and shut off the light.
In the morning, Russell woke to your side of the bed being cold and empty. It made him feel hollow, shitty, after the events of last night reared back up in his mind.
He lied there between the sheets and listened. He could hear your familiar movements in the kitchen. Letting out a deep breath, he forced himself out of bed.
After brushing his teeth and raking a hand through his messy bedhead, he cautiously approached the kitchen. Russell lingered in the doorway just outside of view. He found himself watching you putter around in your little nightgown, fuzzy slippers, and frizzy hair. Your fingers got tangled in it while your free hand grabbed the eggs from the fridge, your hip propping the door open.
You’d made a pot of coffee and even set out his mug for him, as was your habit. Your own mug laid half-empty on the counter. His mug was somewhat special, though not just because it currently had a spoon resting inside it, ready for his sugar and cream.
You bought it for him last time you blew half your paycheck at Marshalls; a home goods store he could rarely drag you out of within an hour. That mug featured all the major condiments, including sriracha, which was what made you think of him. It matched the sweatpants you found for him, covered in cartoony fries and burgers.
They might’ve been silly gifts, but he liked that. He liked that you thought of him in the little things that somehow added up into the big things. They reminded him that you’d given him a chance. You’d given him home cooked meals, and let him make you a few too. You’d watched virtually every popular ‘90s movie that had ever been made with him—or at least, every one you thought he’d might like. You had a list of the 2000s to tackle next.
You were an encouraging sounding board for him, whether it was talking about what he’d serve on the menu of his future brewery, brainstorming names, or even looking up what paperwork he would need to get started. You’d also been helping him navigate his relationship with Dory, and your brother Charlie, and even Colter, whenever Russell’s still admittedly distant relationship with his brother came up.
Russell washed your car and took out the trash and washed the dishes whenever you cooked, but standing here right now, it finally clicked just how much you actually did for him. How much you cared, and put your actions behind the caring part. You’d given him a place to come home to after decades in service, and years more on the road.
Hell, you were his home. You and his sister.
But now, he realized why you were so upset. You thought he had one foot off of the firm foundation you were trying to build with him. You thought he wasn’t wanting to fully commit here, to you, and to the things he claimed he wanted. You were struggling to understand him.
So Russell entered the kitchen officially, padding in on sock-covered feet until he could slip his arms around you from behind. You stiffened in his grasp and turned to look at him over your shoulder.
“Russ,” you warned, but he shook his head.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said. “You were right.”
You paused, allowing the fridge to close. Slowly you turned in his arms. You bit your lower lip and granted him a dubious gaze. Still, he counted it as a win when you tentatively held him back, slipping your hands over his biceps for stability.
“About what?” you rose a brow in challenge.
“I’m gonna start shopping around for real estate here in Laramie, but first, I’m gonna start making moves on the business proposal for the brewery. Would you mind looking it over for me?” he asked.
Your head tilted as you considered what he was saying, as well as what he wasn’t saying.
“But aren’t you…leaving?”
“I’m not taking that job,” Russell said. “I’m calling Horizon today, tell ‘em I’m retiring. For good this time.”
It took a while, but his words seeped into your mind and settled there on the ocean floor. Tears began to sting in your eyes, but you nodded and reached up on your toes for a sweet, lingering kiss. You stroked his cheeks and slipped your fingers through his hair when you hugged him. He held you back just as tightly.
He knew he hadn’t given you everything you asked for, but this felt like a good start.
Russell expected the call at some point, but half an hour was a new record. It was a Saturday, and he made sure you were busy in the laundry room before he took the call in your brother’s old room—AKA: Russell’s office.
Charlie had been out of rehab for a few months now, rooming with Manny, one of his old unit buddies. Your brother agreed to leave the family house to you though, since you’d always been the stable one who could actually take care of the bills and the general upkeep of the house. Russell joined Charlie and his friends for beers every so often, either at Charlie’s apartment, or a new bar close to downtown.
They traded stories and friendly fire at one another, Russell from his side of the branch in Special Ops, to Charlie and his friends in the Air Force. Dave and Manny could be especially loud-mouthed when tequila was involved, but Russell welcomed the good-natured ribbing with a few good pot shots of his own (he was still a little proud of “glorified flight attendants”).
Now though, Russell held the phone to his ear and answered the call.
“Hey, man. What’s up?”
“What’s up?” Adam intoned. “‘What’s up’ is that you’re leaving us high and dry, Russ. What’s that about?”
“Look, you know this was never a permanent gig for me,” Russell replied, speaking quietly just in case you were close by. “It’s high time I took a break, settled down, you know?”
Adam snorted. “You don’t have a civilian fucking bone in your body, Russell.”
“Well, that’s nice. I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
“Look, you’re the best man I ever worked with. The best CO I ever had. You pulled my ass outta the fire more times than I’d care to admit,” Adam said, “but you remember that last tour?”
Russell sobered. “You know I do.”
“And you remember what I had to do to get us out of that mess. Out of Nicaragua.”
Not like you’d ever let me forget it, Russell thought. Though it was nothing he didn’t see behind his eyes when he went to sleep.
“But when I got this gig, and they asked me who I’d recruit, you’re the first guy I thought of,” Adam said. “Well, you and Dougie. He fucking quit on me too.”
Russell was happy for Doug. He and his wife just had their first baby a few months ago. One chunky little boy.
“Look,” Russell said. “I’m grateful for…everything, you know that. But this is just something I gotta do. I’ve got other responsibilities now.”
“Yeah. How is your girl, huh? Been wanting to grab a beer with you, maybe get to finally meet her.”
Russell’s lips twitched. He didn’t talk about you as a rule, not to anyone in Horizon. Aside from Doug, Adam was the only one on the payroll who knew Russell’s real name, let alone about you. This was supposed to be a secure line though.
“She’s waiting on me, Adam. Can’t keep doin’ that to her,” Russell replied.
After a while, Adam sighed.
“All right, Russ. I hear ya. I’m fucked, but I hear ya.”
“You’ll be fine,” Russell smirked. “You’ll find someone young and fresh off the meat market.”
Adam scoffed. “Right. These kids. Half of ‘em anxiety ridden pussies or juvie fucking flunkies. Can’t hack even half the shit we went through in basic, let alone eight months in Baghdad.”
That led into familiar territory. Russell shot the shit with his old friend for a few more minutes before he finally let Adam go. The phone hung from Russell’s hand after, and he expelled a sigh. He felt a twinge of regret, like he was letting go of hell of a lot more.
After he left home and enlisted, it didn’t just become his life. It became who he was. Both his body and his mind were shaped by the structure of the chain of command, the mission, the follow-through. Muscle-memory.
Putting that aside had been harder than he imagined. After all, what the hell was he, if not a soldier?
Russell wrestled with that question longer than he cared to admit. It even had him getting up from his desk to consult a glass of bourbon he kept on the bookshelf.
…It’s for the best, he reasoned.
Even now, Russell didn’t get to see his little sister as often as he liked. Their work kept them moving in different directions, her busy teaching schedule not often gelling well with his more unpredictable one. But today, a Tuesday, he was taking her to lunch between classes.
She stopped short in the doorway of her office.
“Oh! Damn, I forgot…”
She meant to invite you too, but when she took her cell phone out to call you and see if you were busy, Russell laid a hand on her shoulder.
“It’s okay, she already knows I’m here,” he said. “But you and I are long overdue for some brother-sister time.”
Dory hesitated, but at his grin, she smiled back brightly and put her phone away. “Okay, then. Where do you want to go?”
He took her to a nearby café you told him about. It was one you and Dory frequented at least once a week, either for coffee and pastries, or for a nice protein bowl.
“Why is everything a damn bowl nowadays? They’re all just trying to be Chipotle,” Russell groused, but he ate his bowl of wild rice, steak, and arugula salad with just as much gusto as a carton of Chinese fried rice. He polished it off with a beer and tried to stifle his belch.
Dory rose a brow, but after a beat, she couldn’t hold in a laugh.
“Well, doesn’t seem to bother you that much,” she remarked. Her amusement slid into a teasing smirk. “Matter of fact, looks like you've been eating well since you started shacking up with my best friend.”
Russell grinned around the lip of his beer. "What're you tryin' to say, D? You fat-shaming me right now?"
"Aw, I wouldn't go that far," she laughed. "You just look like you're settling in to this civillian thing."
Russell smirked. He couldn't argue with her. According to you, he was in super soldier shape. Still, he knew you were being a little too generous. He had softened around the pouch a little since he’d stopped moving around from motel to motel, no time to get comfortable, as he was now. His hard work was also looking different these days—sitting at his desk or on the couch with his laptop. He wasn't a complete sloth though; he still worked out on the regular.
“Gotta admit, she keeps me well-fed,” he said. Though there was no mistaking the glint in his eye, or the waggling of his brows. Dory snorted and shook her head.
“Please, I don’t wanna hear about any of that. It’s bad enough I had to endure the beginning stages when you two couldn’t be in a room together without eye-fucking each other. Or sneaking off into a public restroom at our work Christmas party—to actually fuck each other.”
Russell spluttered a laugh into his beer, making a slosh of amber liquid run down his shirt. Dory smirked and handed him an extra napkin. He coughed and blotted out most of the stain himself, but gave her an accusatory look through his amusement.
“You guys seem to be doing well though,” Dory said, her eyes softening along with her smile. “She told me that you finally quit Horizon.”
He rose a brow and set down the empty beer. “Finally?”
“Well, sorry, but she’s not the only one who worries about you, you know?” Dory grabbed her brother’s hand. “It’s been good to have you around this past year, getting to know you again. It feels like having a bit of home back.”
Russell smiled ruefully, squeezing her hand.
“Thought you didn’t like to think about all that.”
“It wasn’t all bad,” she admitted. Her head tilted in thought. “I remember, you used to sing to me whenever I couldn’t fall asleep.”
His mouth twitched, his eyes softening.
“Couldn’t blame you. That place made some weird-ass sounds at night,” he replied, though he sighed deeply through his nose. “You were just a kid.”
“So were you, Russ,” Dory reminded him.
He held her gaze for as long as he could stand. Eventually, he lowered his eyes. He released her hand and went back to polishing off the flourless chocolate cake she’d ordered for dessert.
“That night…you really recognized the man Dad was talking to?” Dory asked after a while.
Russell was a little surprised she was bringing that up, but he nodded slowly.
“I did, but hell. That was over twenty years ago.”
She bit her lip. “I still can’t believe Colter thought you…”
“That’s in the past too,” Russell said, his tone even more dismissive.
Hmm. Protesting a little too much, Dory thought.
“Did you ever tell her?” she asked.
They both knew who she meant. You.
“She knows the main bits, but you’re asking if I told her how our brother thought I killed Dad?” Russell scoffed. “No. Didn’t think that little footnote would go over well.”
Dory stared back at him with concern in her blue eyes. She didn’t like keeping things from you, even if it wasn’t her secret to tell. Unfortunately, her family had a lot of secrets.
“It’s not worth getting into, D,” Russell said. “That, or any of it…though I don’t know. I don’t think Colter’s ready to let it go. He believes me now, but he wants to know who got to Dad, and why. He’s tenacious, I’ll give him that.”
Unlike Colter, it seemed, Russell had an image of his father that had lasted in his mind. It wasn’t a good one.
Paranoid son of a bitch.
Russell couldn’t really blame Colter though. He was young when they were taken to the compound. He probably didn’t remember his friends, the house, the way they lived before.
Russell had been ten years old. He remembered being on the baseball team doing well as a pitcher, and having to lie to his coach and quit the team. Russell remembered saying goodbye to his best friend, Randy, who he never saw again. Russell remembered having to lock up his tears and help his mom take care of his younger siblings, and make sure they were settling into a musty old cabin in the middle of the woods.
“I’ve tried looking into it before,” he admitted.
Dory’s brows raised. “When?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “A long time ago, when I had government access to some things. Got a whole lot of nadda.”
“No good is going to come of it, and I told Colter the same thing,” Dory said, shaking her head. “Whatever happened, it’s better if we all just move on.”
She continued eating. After a beat of hesitation, Russell followed suit.
A couple of weeks later, Russell felt like he’d made good progress. He narrowed down his search to three different spots in downtown that were up for leasing, though one of them was a bit too close to Howley’s for your comfort, which meant he really had two options. Both were walkable, but one had more parking availability, while the other was a better price for the amount of interior square footage. It was a lot to consider.
You’d given him the number of a good commercial realtor you knew, thanks to your boss, Dr. Goldstein. Looked like that stuffed suit was good for something, other than piling his work onto your plate so he could get his monthly back wax.
You were still at work on a Thursday when Russell’s phone rang. He quirked a brow at the caller ID, but a grin tugged at his lips when he answered.
“Well hey there, Ms. Greene.”
“Russell, where are you right now?”
“Chillin’ at home. Working through some stuff on my new business venture. Though if the next question’s ‘What am I wearing,’ I gotta remind you that I’m happily off the market,” he teased.
“And thank God for that,” Reenie dryly remarked. “Listen, I need your help. Actually, I think Colter needs you.”
He detected the urgency in her voice now, and he sobered.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“I don’t know, but I need you to find him. He’s been missing for over 24 hours.”
“Looks like I’m gonna be a little late for dinner,” Russell told you over the phone. "Uh, okay, maybe a lot late."
“What? It’s kind of hard to hear you. Do you have the top down on the Chevelle?”
“She’s a Chevelle Malibu, baby. Well, technically, Malibu for short—”
“Russell, what’s going on?”
“It’s nothing to worry about. Reenie called, and it looks like Colter might be in a hard spot. I just need to go help him out,” he replied. Really, he was fighting his worry as he pressed his foot a bit harder on the gas. The sleek Chevy flew down the highway at a speed that would make you hit his arm, if you were here.
“Why does it sound like you’re giving me the kitty gloves version?” you asked him in suspicion.
Russell smiled ruefully. This was why he loved you—for your mind.
“Again, nothing to worry about. I’ll be home by the morning…probably.”
He heard your heavy sigh.
“Okay, Russ. Just be careful, please.”
“Hey, you know me. I’m always careful.”
“Right,” you snorted.
The curve of his lips kicked up into a grin. “I gotta let you go, but I’ll see you soon.”
“Yeah, okay…I love you.”
His face softened a fraction. “Love you too, sweetheart.”
You hung up with your boyfriend and slipped your phone back in your purse. An undercurrent of worry churned in your stomach. You knew Russell was downplaying whatever was really going on. Reenie wouldn’t call him for help unless Colter was really in trouble, or else why wouldn’t she call the police?
That rewardist work that Colter did, it had led him into some shady shit, according to Dory, like insidious cults, serial killers, and corrupt politicians. She talked to Colter now more than she used to, but even then, she knew he wasn’t giving her the whole story about most of his adventures.
Must be a Shaw family trait, you thought sourly.
With Dory on your mind, you decided to call her up and make tonight a girls’ night. You hung out at her apartment after work, splitting a bottle of wine and several orders of Mexican takeout while watching reruns of New Girl.
“Where do you think they are right now?” Dory asked, for a moment sobering from laughing at Jess’s antics.
You had your glass of wine poised to your lips in thought. “I don’t know, but I do know Russ wasn’t telling me the whole truth. I think Colter’s in trouble.”
Dory worried her lip. It clearly didn’t sit well with her that both of her brothers were MIA right now. You tried calling Russell earlier for a check-in, but his phone went straight to voicemail. Colter’s number didn’t even ring. It was just a dial tone, with a disembodied voice saying this number has been disconnected.
But there was nothing you two could do. Reenie had advised you to sit tight and wait for one of them to check in.
“You know, I may not understand them sometimes, but it makes sense to me why they are the way they are,” she said. “They had it worse than me growing up, either because I was the youngest or because I was the only girl.”
“What do you mean?” you asked, though you had a feeling you knew where she was going with this.
“I remember, Dad used to make them sleep outside sometimes. Somewhere in the middle of the damn woods, without supplies, without food,” Dory said. She actually began to tear up, her blue eyes turning pale and glassy. “I heard him and my mom arguing about it once. Finally he agreed to go out there and watch out for them—from a distance though, so they wouldn’t know he was there.”
You stared back at her in dismay. That hurt your heart so fucking deep. No wonder Russ didn’t want to open up about this shit. How can I blame him? How can a father…
You shook your head, resting a hand on her arm.
“But why? Why did your dad do all this? Russell said he was paranoid, but…what was he running from?” you asked.
“We don’t know,” Dory admitted. After a moment, she looked over at you and held your gaze. “All that we did know, was that his death wasn’t an accident.”
That revelation shocked you. Your mouth parted, though no words escaped.
Dory set down her wine and got up from the couch. Then, with a certain decision weighing in her eyes, she went over to her room.
“D?” you questioned. “You’re just gonna drop a fucking bomb like that on me and walk away?!”
Not getting an answer, you rose to follow her, where you watched in bewilderment as she dug into the recesses of her closet until she found a plain white shoebox. It was just some old cardboard, frayed at the corners, but Dory hesitated to even open it.
“What are you doing? What is that?” you asked.
“A few years back, a family friend gave this to me. Apparently it has some of my dad’s old stuff,” she said. “I’ve never wanted to go digging through it because I wanted to leave the past behind me. I think it’s been easier for me to say that, but not so easy for Colter and Russell.”
After a beat of hesitation, she handed the box over to you.
“Would you give this to Russell when he gets back?” she asked. “He can do whatever he wants with it. Look inside, try to piece together what happened, or just burn it all. Either way, I’m done. As far as I’m concerned, my dad wasn’t really my dad after he took us to live in that place. And my mom…” She laughed humorlessly. “She was no saint either. She went along with everything my father did.”
You took the box from her with some concern. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Honestly, I don’t even like having it here. It’s just a…bad reminder.”
You rubbed a hand over her arm in comfort. "You guys never went to the police?"
Dory shook her head. "Mom didn't trust anyone, least of all the police. She probably thought it was safer for us."
"God, I'm sorry," you said. After a beat, you set down the box and pulled Dory into a hug. She rested her chin on your shoulder and squeezed her eyes tight for a second.
"It's okay," she said. "...It's in the past."
Sure, you thought. But there were some scars that didn't fade, no matter how much you ignored them, banaged them, or tried to soothe them.
You took the box and left her apartment shortly after. She offered to let you stay the night so you wouldn’t be alone, but you declined. Russell installed a state-of-the-art security system in your house, making it feel like the safest place in the world to you. That was where you’d be able to sleep tonight, even with this mysterious old shoebox.
The drive back was devoid of traffic this late at night, but after what happened with Eddie Mendez last year, you always felt uneasy driving alone at night. A good part of you was also still trying to digest all of this.
On one hand, you could understand Colter and Russell wanting to know what happened to their father. If Ashton was murdered, the reason could explain everything they went through growing up.
With all of these thoughts rattling through your mind, you couldn’t even be completely relieved when you pulled into the driveway of your home. You walked into the house quickly, shut the door, and input the code to lock everything behind you.
Holding your purse on one shoulder and the box under your other arm, your first instinct was to find a good hiding place for it. You began to wonder if you should’ve accepted it from Dory at all. If her father’s death was no accident, then what was he killed for?
But…Dory had this thing in her closet for all this time without incident. Surely there was nothing diabolical about it. Ashton Shaw had been a professor too, right? It probably just held some keepsakes, a few old essays, some paperclips and 20-year-old dust bunnies…
You found a place in the house that a burglar would be unlikely to look for something valuable (again, really, what kind of burglar would want to steal a shoebox of old junk?), and you took a deep, calming breath in the middle of your living room.
You still hadn’t been able to get in touch with Russell. All your texts had been going unanswered. You grabbed your phone and began to find Reenie in your contacts, but you paused. You were reminded of something you forgot to do when you walked in the door.
Along with the coded door lock, there was an app on your phone where you could monitor the cameras strategically placed outside the house. However, when you checked the app, you realized that the camera feed said Unavailable. For every single camera.
Your brows furrowed. That’s weird…
Seconds later, the first bullet broke through your impact windows.
AN: 🫣 Oh sorry, did I not mention there was a cliffhanger? You can rant and scream in the comments, it's totally fine. 😂
As you can see, we're in the middle of 2x02, with my own twist on some things around it. Plus some material from the books making it into this part - and more heavily implied in the next part - coming next Sunday!
Next Time:
While the phone rang, tucked between your shoulder and your ear, you were forced to set down the gun. With trembling hands, you quietly rifled through your medicine cabinet for gauze or an ace bandage. Fuck, yes! Okay. This could work. You found the big square bandages that stick on. Russell bought them the last time he came home with a couple of nasty abrasions from a job.
Still, the phone rang.
Come on, come on, come oooon!
“Hello?” The lawyer’s voice was smooth and retaining a note of exasperation.
“Reenie! Where’s Russell?” you whisper-hissed.
“I have him right here. What’s wrong?” she asked. Immediately, her tone shifted to concern. You’d never met Reenie in person, but you knew she worked with Colter and, according to Russell, was damn good at what she did.
You didn’t give a shit about any of that right now.
“Put him on the phone, please!”
In a few seconds of shuffling, you finally, finally heard his voice.
“Sweetheart, what’s going on?”
A breath of relief escaped you in a rush.
“Russell,” you sobbed.
⌖ Keep Reading: PART 2 - One Chance
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Summary: Russell made you a promise, but “getting out” of government contract work is even more difficult than he thought it would be. Is he willing to put the past aside, or is this going to be your breaking point?
AN: Finally we're coming back to this series! lol I don't know how many of you have been wanting more of Breaking Point and the ESC-verse, but I really wanted to finish this for you guys — and for me! 😘💚
Posted on Patreon: 7/20/2025
Word Count: 5.9K
Tags/Warnings: PTSD/trauma, descriptions of violence, heavy angst, but also a lot of hurt/comfort, fluff
⌖ Series Masterlist
Part 3: Aftershocks
There the house sat, by all appearances unscathed. As you slowly made your way up the driveway, you tried to make sure your steps fell on the wide, white stones instead of the smaller pebbles in between. Your balance wasn’t totally steady just yet.
Your gaze flit over each window at the front of the little white house. They looked untouched, but too clean. New, just like Russell promised. Dory walked ahead of you while he guided you from behind. His left hand closed around yours while his right came to rest, gentle but secure, along your waist.
“Okay, small step,” he said.
“I remember,” you dryly replied, but you did steel yourself as you stepped up onto the red-brick porch. You winced when the movement jostled the stitches on your left side, just below your ribs.
You steadied yourself on the door frame while Dory unlocked the door itself. Your right arm, still broken, was bent at an angle and carefully tucked against your body. Your steps were small, measured, but you managed to cross the threshold and the transition between red brick to hardwood floors. The foyer gave you a panoramic view of the kitchen to the right, the living room to the left.
Terror scenes flashed in your mind against your will, overlaying the reality you saw in front of you with brutality. Your chest tightened; your steps became rooted where you stood.
You cringed at the sound of Russell shutting the door behind him, reminiscent of a gunshot tearing through your memory.
Where there had been glass shattered and blood staining the floor, there was now spotless wood. Your coffee table wasn’t here anymore, along with your couch that was made into a collage of stuffing and frayed threads. A new L-shaped sectional replaced it in mushroom beige, with some dark green cushions.
You felt Russell at your back, once again steadying you while your heart beat out a warning in your chest.
“You like it?” Russell asked. “D helped me pick it out.”
Dory sent her brother some stiff side-eye, but for you, she had an encouraging smile—the kind that tried to hide her sadness and guilt.
“From your favorite store,” she supplied.
You bit your lip. “It’s beautiful, but looks expensive. You didn’t have to…”
“But you like it?” Russell said. You could hear the hope in his voice as he held you by your hips. Your pinched expression evened out into a smile. You turned to look at him over your shoulder.
“Yeah, it’s really nice. Thanks, you guys.”
“Okay, good. That’s all that matters,” he said, his lips twitching upward. “You want to test it out, or you just wanna get into bed?”
You sighed. “Bed, I think. I’m tired.”
You practiced your walking in the hospital, but this had still been a lot of movement for one day. You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, wanting more than anything to banish the well of anxiety creeping up your spine, into your chest, and constricting your throat like a phantom hand.
You tried to block it all out—what it felt like to be dragged out of the guest bathroom by your hair, then by your neck. The man had worn a mask, so all you saw of his face were a pair of dark brown eyes. He towered over you, demanding to know where you’d hidden Ashton Shaw’s belongings.
“Where the fuck is it, sweetheart?”
The words choked out of you. “What? I don’t know—”
“Oh, you know damn well. Dory Shaw just gave you something that didn’t belong to you. Where is it?”
The cost of your silence was the man’s resigned sigh. He threw you to the ground, glass biting into your arm. He kicked you once, hard in the ribs. A cry forced itself from your lips, and you contorted in on yourself like crumpled paper.
As you now stood in the middle of your clean, beautiful living room, the rest of it tumbled through your mind in vivid, sharp clashes of color, no matter how much you’d willed yourself not to go there.
Turns out, trauma didn’t give a fuck about what you promised yourself.
“Hey,” Russell’s voice finally reached you, quiet but firm near your ear. A gentle squeeze on your waist, his thumb brushing your spine. “You with me?”
It took you a moment to calm your uneven breaths, but you gave a slight nod. You forced yourself to walk, to keep moving past the ugly tableau still at play in the living room, albeit from the corner of your eye.
Dory had to turn away from that ashen, haunted look on your face. Hiding her tears, she went into the kitchen to unload some groceries she bought to stock your fridge. Meanwhile, Russell helped you into the bedroom.
“Charlie’s gonna swing by later after work, have dinner with us,” he said.
You nodded. “Yeah, he texted me this morning.”
“He wanted to be there when they discharged you, but he’s all out of PTO.”
“It’s okay. Feel like I’m Beyonce or something. Got myself a whole posse,” you joked. You were trying—desperately trying to sound like yourself. To be yourself.
Russell’s demeanor lightened with a smile. He guided you to sit on the edge of the bed before he helped you lie back in a comfortable position, or at least, the most comfortable it was going to get for you.
“That’s right. You’re getting the star treatment, sweetheart. Anything you want, you get,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “So that being said, you hungry? I can whip us up some sandwiches, or maybe some Panera-type action, soup and sandwich. Or we can get real wild and order a pizza, Chinese, Buffalo Wild Wings—whatever your heart desires.”
You almost smiled, but you didn’t quite make it there. A great, shuddering wave of emotion nearly overwhelmed you, crashing against the well of anxiety that threatened to rise up and choke you. The sting of tears stung your eyes red and glassy.
Russell’s good humor fell into concern. He sat on the edge of the bed next to you and grabbed your hand.
“You know what I want?” you asked thickly.
“What’s that?”
You swallowed past the lump in your throat, where even now, you could still feel that phantom hand squeezing. You sniffled, grabbing onto the front of his shirt.
“Want you to hold me,” you confessed.
Russell’s heart clenched tight, almost painful, like jagged nails trying to tear the mottled thing out of his chest while it was still beating. The corner of his mouth quirked sadly. He leaned in to kiss your forehead.
“That, I can do,” he said.
It was careful work, but he pulled back the covers and slipped in beside you. He helped you lay down with him, his tattooed arm wrapping gently around your waist. You rested your cheek against his chest. A tear slid down from the corner of your eye and disappeared into the gray fabric of his shirt.
The hardest part was over…or at least, you hoped so.
Days later, your house still didn’t quite feel like home. But you were trying.
Frankly, it was taking all of your energy to get out of bed after you’d slept most of the day away, and not entirely because of physical pain.
You felt like the strength in your body had left you. Sometimes it was all you could do to take a few steps from your bedroom to the bathroom, brush your teeth, splash your face with one fistful of water (thanks to the cast on your arm), or drink a cup of coffee. By the time you did those things, Russell had typically finished eating his lunch and started working, his stern brows drawn into a line while he stared hard at his laptop.
He always stopped what he was doing when he heard you stirring in the bedroom though. He made you “breakfast,” helped you shower, get your clothes on, and treated the worst of the cuts that still littered your arms with antibiotic ointment. He not only did all those things without you asking, but he reminded you of when to do them.
For you, it felt like an unspoken reminder that you needed to start taking care of yourself. To that end, the first thing you did was take care of your job. You had called Dr. Goldstein to arrange for another history professor to finish out your semester course load. You were satisfied to know that for once, he had to do some of your work by taking on two of your upper level classes on Ancient Greece. There was only three weeks left of spring semester anyways, which meant you would have the entire summer to recover in peace.
You knew you shouldn’t rely on Russell for everything just because “you had time,” but…it was just too damn hard.
You’d always been a driven person. Your parents’ deaths—a car accident when you were just fourteen years old—had left you and your brother with the burden of survivor’s guilt, among other things. You had to grow the hell up in a way that most teenagers couldn’t fathom until they were old enough to (legally) get plastered in bars…and sometimes not even then. You had to learn how to survive, physically, mentally, and emotionally, long before you turned 18.
Somehow, that iron will had withered and died in you.
Russell saw the difference. You weren’t showing much anger or frustration. That he could’ve understood, but you didn’t seem to have much energy for anything, barely enough to eat.
He was worried as hell, and trying not to show it.
When he heated up some chicken tortilla soup for lunch, you didn’t show much interest. Granted, that could’ve been about his cooking. In his defense, he’d found some vegetables, opened up a couple cans of beans, cut up a packet of chicken, and threw it all in a big pot of other ingredients according to the recipe he found online. It didn’t smell the way it did when you made it, but hey, he was no Gordon Ramsay. Russell grew up on canned tuna and stews from wild game.
“Need more salt?” Russell asked. He swallowed down a spoonful of soup, tilted his head in contemplation at the flavor. “Eh, could use more…everything. My bad.”
Your lips twitched at a smile. “No, it’s good. It’s just that my stomach’s a little off. I have this headache too, probably from oversleeping.”
You rubbed at your forehead. It also looked like your arm was bothering you. You kept flexing your fingers, shifting your shoulder and your right arm, as if you could somehow weasel it out of the uncomfortable cast. It hung awkwardly bent at your side while you tried to eat.
“Did you take your meds this morning?” Russell asked.
“Yeah,” you replied, but your brows furrowed. “Uh, I think so.”
“You think so? How many?”
“The usual. Two…”
Your uncertainty made Russell frown. He shrugged and wiped his mouth before getting to his feet.
“All right, where’s the bottle? I’ll count ‘em up,” he asked.
“Uhh, should be in the bathroom. Medicine cabinet.”
Russell went to look, but he didn’t find what he was looking for there. He eventually found the little orange prescription bottle of 800MG ibuprofen tablets between the bedsheets, peeking out from underneath your pillow. He counted how many you were prescribed versus how many you’d taken so far this week. He discovered that you took four more than you were supposed to.
He heaved a breath.
He returned to the kitchen table and showed you the bottle. You were down to six pills, when you should have ten.
“Look, it’s not a huge deal. Not like this is a narcotic, but have you been hurting more than usual?” he asked.
You looked confused. “No, not really. I could’ve sworn I just took two…”
Russell considered you for a moment. You weren’t the addict in the family, and lying didn’t come easy to you. He believed you.
“It’s okay. You probably just forgot when you took ‘em,” he said. He set down the bottle on the kitchen counter. Though he made a mental note to put an alarm on his phone for your daily doses, and he was going to keep a close eye on your pain meds from now on. Now he had to be worried about your memory on top of everything else. But was it just a result of the physical trauma you went through, or was this another symptom of the wounds that might not heal?
With that thought just digging into a proverbial wound of his own, he tried to distract himself. He opened the fridge and whistled lowly at its emptiness.
“All right, looks like I’m gonna need to step out for a bit.” He shut the fridge and meant to leave the kitchen to grab his wallet. First, he squeezed your shoulder where you sat. “I’ll be back.”
You grabbed onto his hand fast, a tendril of panic shooting through your eyes.
“Where’re you going?” you asked.
Russell paused. Your reaction took him by surprise, but he tried not to let it show. He squeezed your hand.
“Just need to make a grocery run. Plus, figure out what to do for dinner.”
“We can just order in.”
“Well, sure, but we need a lot more than just dinner, sweetheart. We ran out of eggs this morning, milk, coffee, a little something to fix my sweet tooth—”
“Okay, I’ll go with you.” You were already sliding your chair back, trying to push yourself away from the table and onto your feet. Russell steadied you with guiding hands on your arms, but he frowned.
“You sure you’re ready for that?” he asked. His gaze roamed over your face, every cut and yellowing bruise that still spanned from left cheek to brow. If you went out with him like this, people were going to think he was the one who did it to you.
“It’s only been a few days,” he said, rubbing your arms. “Why don’t you just stay here and chill, watch a movie. I’ll be back in an hour, tops. I promise.”
He leaned in to kiss to your cheek, but you wrapped your arms the best you could around his waist and clung to him with desperation. Tears sprung into your eyes and clouded your vision as you shook your head, then buried your face in his chest.
“Please.” The word burst out of you in a raw, broken, almost manic plea. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me here.”
Russell held you in his arms. Despite his widening eyes, he buried most of his surprise and concern under calm reassurance.
“O-Okay, sweetheart. Just calm down for me. Don’t worry, it’s all right.” After a little while of him rubbing your back, holding you securely, your weeping turned to soft sniffles. “Would it help if Dory came over and stayed with you for a bit? She’s at work right now, but after she gets off maybe. It’d give me a chance to get what we need.”
You shook your head. Another sniffle. “’S not safe.”
Russell’s heart shattered all over again. Just sweep the little fragments under the dining table at this point. Better yet, into the street. That was where they belonged, where he belonged. Dust in the fucking wind.
Russell cupped the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair. He breathed a soft sigh and kissed the unmarred side of your head.
“Okay. I hear you, baby. We’ll figure something out,” he said. Your fingers curled tighter in the back of his shirt. He continued to rub your back and try to soothe you until your tears ran out. Eventually you let him lead you to the living room, to your favorite corner of the new couch. He settled you in with extra pillows and a soft throw blanket to cover you from shoulders to toes.
“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, wiping your face. Russell frowned.
“Hey,” he said, drawing your shiny gaze. He settled a gentle hand on the side of your head. “No need for that, okay? How you’re feeling now is…it’s understandable. But you’re gonna get better. We’re gonna work on it, right?”
Slowly, you nodded. He brushed a thumb tenderly against your temple.
“But listen to me,” he said. “I’m not leaving you again, not like I did last time. Ain’t no where I’d rather be than right here. You get me?”
Another tear drew a familiar hot path down your cheek, but again, you nodded.
Russell didn’t want to leave you like this. He moved over and slid in behind you on the couch, where he wrapped an arm around your waist and gently caged you in against his chest. It not only calmed you down, but gave you the sense of security you needed to fall asleep while Legally Blonde played on the TV. The screen was just noise and colors to Russell as his thoughts turned and tumbled into one another like ocean waves during riptide.
Your recovery might be a longer road than he thought. He knew you were shaken, that you’d gone through hell, but he didn’t realize just how much. How deeply you were scarred.
There was one thing that wasn’t debatable in his mind.
When he found Adam, there wouldn’t be much of anything left afterward to identify the body.
Dory arrived a few hours later, promptly at 5:00 p.m. You were napping again in the bedroom, so Dory didn’t stray far from the front door. Russell gave her a shopping list and his credit card. She reviewed the former with an expression that seemed begrudgingly impressed.
“Wow. Strawberries, bananas, broccoli, eggs, Greek yogurt. Someone’s learning,” she said. He didn’t miss the edge of sarcasm.
He nodded, taking the subtle jab. “Thanks for doing this. I’ve been meaning to go over and check on you.”
“No need. I’m fine,” Dory said, cutting a dismissive hand. “Not that I mind doing this, but I could hang out with her here while you go to the store. I’ll even run that load of laundry for you guys.”
Russell caught the perceptive glint in her eyes. Dad’s eyes. She was testing his half-baked excuse on the phone.
“All right, I just…didn’t feel comfortable leaving her. It’s too soon,” he said.
“I understand,” she replied, after a beat. “But why do I get the feeling there’s something else to it?”
Damn. She always was the clever one. He let out a deep breath, carding his fingers through his hair.
“Russell,” Dory pressed.
“She’s having a hard time, okay?” he said, annoyance beginning to lace his tone. It was hard to escape the critical set of his little sister’s gaze. “She’s scared to be alone in the house.”
“You mean she’s terrified,” Dory said. “Because her house became the site of a fucking shootout. Because your friend beat her within an inch of her life.”
Her voice became laden with emotion at the thought. Tears made her eyes glassy. She covered her trembling mouth for a moment. Russell grasped her shoulder, both a gentle squeeze of comfort and another form of apology. He was grateful when she didn’t pull away this time.
“I’m going to find him,” he promised. Instead of looking relieved, she glared at him.
“No, you’re not,” she snapped. “Never pursue revenge. Isn’t that what Dad used to say?”
Russell blinked incredulously.
“You’re quoting Dad at me now?” he said.
“Well, you know what, he might’ve been a paranoid bastard, but not everything he said was wrong.”
Russell huffed, crossing his arms.
“Don’t you roll your eyes at me,” Dory said tersely. “The more you dig, the higher the risk. You can’t play with her life like that again!”
Russell bristled at that accusation. Frustration boiled under his skin. “I’m trying to protect her!”
“You better,” she said. Her teeth sunk into her lower lip. “She doesn’t deserve all this.”
“I know. Believe me, I…” He swiped a hand over his mouth, an anxious tick of his, Dory had noticed. “I’m looking out for both of you when I say, I need to find Adam.”
Dory wasn’t convinced, and they both knew it. She wasn’t convinced that he had this under control. She was more afraid for you than she was for herself. At least she had a good memory when it came to her training. In the years since, she had followed it up with jujitsu, kickboxing classes, and a membership at the gun range.
“You know, I’ve supported you guys from the beginning. I love you, and I get that you didn’t intend for this to happen. I do. But she…she’s the only person in my life outside of our family who knows everything, who understands me. She’s my only real friend,” Dory said. Her blue-eyed gaze on her brother was firm and filled with tears. “If you fuck this up again, I’ll never forgive you.”
She yanked open the front door with his grocery list and credit card shoved into her purse.
There Russell was left standing under the oppressive, spine-crushing weight of too many mistakes.
Russell heard his sister’s warning, loud and painfully clear, but there were some things she wasn’t seeing. Letting a snake escape into the tall grass didn’t mean it wouldn’t bite you in the ass later. No, the only surefire solution was fishing it out and crushing its conniving bastard head under his boot.
He had spent the last couple of weeks focused on taking care of you, but also on finding Adam Brody. Russell’s other contacts at Horizon wouldn’t answer his calls. It also might make even more trouble for himself if he shook down that tree. He highly doubted Adam worked for Horizon directly anyway—more like a partner, or even a subsidiary of his true employer.
So really, Russell felt there was only one other person he could call who might be able to find a loose thread that didn’t carry so much risk.
“What do you think?” Russell asked, as he held his cell phone up to his ear. He shifted in his swivel chair, tapping somewhat antsy fingers on his desk. His office had become his base of operations. He never kept the door closed, in case you needed him, but for this conversation it was only open a crack.
Doug blew out a breath. “I’m sorry, man. I’m just having a hard time believing it. How’s she doing?”
“Hmm. Well, it’s slow going but she’s uh, healing up,” Russell said.
It was more or less the truth. Your bruises were starting to fade, your pain easing up, which made you less dependent on painkillers. You were still sleeping a lot though. Still occasionally forgetting things. Still afraid of going outside of the house without him. Still afraid to be alone.
“Yeah. It’s a process,” Doug replied. “Not just the physical. The mental too.”
A snort. Russell uncapped a beer. “That’s ironic, coming from you.”
“Heh. Well, uh, don’t laugh, but I’ve been in therapy for a few months.”
Russell nearly choked on his beer. “Seriously? What, you smoke a little weed and have a kid, all of a sudden you’re in fucking therapy?”
“All right, Mr. Judgy Judge,” Doug chuckled. “I’m not gonna lie, it fucking sucks. Especially those first few weeks…but I don’t know. Tracy and I get along better. I sleep a little better. Feel like I can actually, you know, be present for my son.”
Russell hummed, acknowledging and contemplating.
“You know, we all did what we fucking had to do,” Doug said, “but with Adam…yeah. He could be joking and busting balls one minute, and a fucking steel trap the next. Kinda like you.”
Russell’s brows popped, but he nodded ruefully. “I guess we do have that in common.”
“Still hard to believe he’d turn on you like this. We went through some real shit together.”
“Yeah, well, something tells me that steel trap held a lot we didn’t know about.” Russell gulped down more of his beer, craving something stronger. “What else do you remember about the guy? Because for the life of me, I can’t piece together much about his background.”
“If I remember right, he said he was from Connecticut. That his family had money in real estate, or some shit, but his dad cut him off when he flunked out of college, forced him into the army.”
“All right, so pretty standard chip on his shoulder. If that’s true,” said Russell.
“Fair point. Who doesn’t have daddy issues nowadays?” Doug remarked with a chuckle. “I remember though. He complained about his dad being a corporate dickbag. How he didn’t mind if the army made him something else, long as it meant he didn’t become that guy.”
Russell had a moment of contemplation. Doug seemed to remember more about the guy than he did, but now some of that was starting to ring a bell. Namely the “corporate dickbag” dad.
“You know, I’ve looked up ‘Adam Brody’ in every civil database I’ve got access to, and not one match. Not even an Instagram profile. Can’t find a last known address. Can’t find his family. If the Brody name was that successful in the business world, you’d think I’d have found at least a hospital wing named after ‘em.”
“So he lied about coming from money,” Doug reasoned. “You can’t lie to the army about your name. Too many background checks.”
“Could be,” Russell nodded. “But a bigger question is what’s his relationship with Horizon, and what happened to him after our last tour. After Nicaragua.”
Doug quieted then, releasing a heavy sigh.
“He took the brunt of that fallout, and then…nothing. I don’t hear from him for six months,” Russell continued.
That had been an odd time in his life.
…All right, call it a low point.
His own discharge from the army had the bitter taste of that last mission. Formally, he was never charged with misconduct. By the military’s standards, the fault hadn’t been on Russell or his team. But the sting had remained all the same. After the paperwork was all filled and filed, he was then faced with that existential question.
What the fuck now?
After he thought he might just saw off his own hand while bored shitless on a construction job, he got a call from Adam, saying he had a good gig going and wanted someone he could trust for a contract.
Government adjacent, was how he pitched it.
“Let’s go back to what happened last month. What was it that he said exactly?” Doug asked.
Russell heaved a sigh, but he recounted that night to the best of his ability. How he had to break into your house, expecting to encounter some shady black ops agent, and instead found Adam.
“No,” he replied. “That gig was just our way of keeping an eye on you.”
Russell blinked, a new layer of shock rattling down his spine.
“What, Horizon wanted to keep tabs on me?" he said. "Before I fucking joined up?”
Adam didn’t answer him, but there was more there in his silence than his slimy words could’ve spoken. He slowly leaned over and grabbed up an old white shoebox from where it was placed on the arm of the couch.
“I’m here for this,” he said. There seemed to be real conflict in his eyes when he looked back at his friend, a man who once was his brother in the deepest of fucking trenches. “Look, Russ, I had a job to do and I did it. It’s really all just business.”
Russell’s eyes narrowed with cold fire.
“It’s never just business, you stupid fuck.”
“I just, uh…I didn’t recognize him, man,” Russell said. “He looked conflicted, sure. But not for hurting her. For turning on me. I mean, just business? That’s some fucking sociopathic shit.”
“But why’d he do it so messy?” Doug pointed out. “He could’ve come up to the house by himself, knocked on the door, introduced himself as your friend. She would’ve let him right in.”
Somehow that hadn’t occurred to Russell before. His head tilted, brows furrowing in thought.
“You’ve got a point. Why’d he make it a goddamn show?” he said. “Ran a higher risk of a neighbor calling the cops, being spotted, the whole nine yards. And how bad he beat her…it’s like he wanted to make it harder to cover up.”
That fell between the men for a long beat. The line was quiet, but their minds weren’t.
“Maybe they have something on him,” Doug said. “Or maybe, he just likes the job more than we thought.”
Russell shook his head. The remnants of anger slithered under his skin, weaving into his insides like a weed laying its roots.
“Well, that’s for me to find out,” he said.
“Oh, no. Don’t tell me you’re gonna try to do this by yourself.”
“Look, I appreciate you being a sounding board, but I know you’re out of the game. I’m not trying to get you pulled back into some bullshit.”
“Hey, you look. The truth is the truth, and I’m glad I know it, even if it’s…” Doug sighed. “Watch your back, Russ. If you get yourself into a tight spot, you needa call me.”
“All right, I appreciate that, Dougie.”
“Though I’d appreciate you not calling me that.”
Russell smirked. “Well, that’s just too late. Ain’t it, Dougie Doug? Give Tracey and the little man a kiss for me.”
“You mean my newborn who’s screaming down the hall right now? Yeah, I’ll relay the message.”
Russell eventually hung up with his friend, wearing half a smile on his face. He’d gotten no closer to finding Adam, but at least he knew that Doug was good. Better than good.
After finishing his beer, Russell left his office and went to check on you. Your eyes were closing while watching TV in the living room, but you forced yourself to wake up more fully when Russell came into view.
“Ready to go to bed?” he asked.
“Yeah, that’s probably best,” you agreed, nodding and stretching with both arms as well as you could do with one of them still trapped in a cast. He helped you stand, and you ended up wrapping your good arm around his neck and leaning against him in half an embrace. He held you to him, his hands spanning your lower back.
“Who were you talking to?” you asked.
“You heard that, huh?”
You rose a brow.
“It was Doug,” Russell replied. “His boy’s got a set of lungs on him. Nearly blew out my eardrums.”
“Hmm, sounds about right for a new baby,” you said.
Catching the small smile on your face, he began to contemplate something he hadn’t before as he held a light hand on the small of your back, all the way to the bedroom.
“You like kids?” he asked.
You peered over your shoulder at him. Another smile grew on your lips.
“Maybe. Do you?” you said.
His lips twitched upward. “Maybe. I mean…sure. They’re all right.”
You snorted a laugh—something he hadn’t heard for a hot minute. You sat on the edge of the bed and peered up at him.
“Kids, huh? Is that something you think about?” you asked.
“Not…uh, not really,” he admitted. He crossed his arms, shoulders shifting somewhat uncomfortably. But his gaze on you softened a little. “It could be.”
You nodded, a warm blush rising in your cheeks, along with your smile.
“Okay, we can put a pin in that one for the near future,” you said. Though you tugged him down by his arm, gesturing for him to sit beside you. “First, I’ve gotta ask you something.”
Russell’s brows drew together. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you said. “Look, I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop…exactly, but I did hear some of your conversation with Doug.”
Russell blew out a breath, shaking his head. He had a feeling he knew what was coming.
“Are you trying to go after Adam?” you asked. At his request, you’d stopped saying his friend.
It took him a moment to gather his thoughts, to figure out how he was going to have this conversation with you.
“Look, I don’t wanna lie to you—”
“But you don’t want to tell me the truth, either,” you surmised.
You saw that you were proved correct in the way he hesitated. He reached over and stroked your cheek. His thumb traced underneath your eye, where the worst of internal bleeding had made its mark in angry bruising. Now, the skin was almost healed.
“I can’t just let it go,” he said.
“And what if you get hurt?” you argued. “What if you…”
“I know what I’m doing. And this time, I’ve got both eyes wide open.”
“That may be,” you said. Tears fill your eyes as you grabbed onto his wrist. “But I told you, I’m selfish. I just can’t lose anyone else, Russ. Especially not because of me.”
He frowned. “Sweetheart, even if something did happen to me, and pardon the cliché, but that’s a big fucking if…it wouldn’t be because of you.”
He could see he wasn’t convincing you, but he still dried your cheeks and kissed your forehead.
“You don’t have to worry about that, okay?” he said.
“If you’re going to keep looking for Adam, then yes, I do.”
Russell took in a deep breath. He didn’t know what to say to you that wouldn’t upset you. And if you don’t got anything good to say…
“You promised you wouldn’t leave,” you said. There was vulnerability laced in your words, but your voice was steadier, stronger than it had been when it came to this. “Not for that kind of work. You can claim it’s different this time, and maybe it is, because it’s personal. But it’s still taking your life into your hands and damning the consequences.”
His frustration sparked, a well of upset rising in his chest. “You’re asking too much of me now.”
“Yeah, well, I think I have the right,” you shot back.
A flash of hurt and fresh guilt ran through his eyes, tensing up his frame. You softened, reaching out to grab his hand.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” you said, even though you both knew that you had. You did. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head, squeezing your hand. Yeah, that had stung, but it was a wound he felt he deserved.
“This is the way I need to protect you,” he said. “By making sure he can never come at us again. Him, and whoever he works for.”
You gave him a measured look.
“Russell. You know that whoever that is, they’re probably tied to your father’s work, and whatever it was that got him killed. I thought you were done with all that too.”
Russell couldn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say to make you understand. Although, if he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to acknowledge that you had a point either. He could say he didn’t care about solving Ashton’s murder. A good part of Russell really did believe that too. He had certainly meant it when he said it to Colter. But if it leads me to Adam…
“Every action has a consequence,” you reminded.
“Yeah,” he said. “So does every inaction.”
AN: 🥲 Yep, lots of angst in this chapter. Sorry about that! lol There's a little more to come, but a lot of healing too.~ But first, how do you think Russ is handling all this? He's kind of caught between his girl and his sister right now. 😅
Next Time:
He woke with a sharp intake of breath. He was lying on his back, his shirt sticking to his dewy skin while his chest rose and fell harshly. Fuck. He rose a hand to his brow and rubbed at his eyes.
You stirred beside him from where you slept on your stomach, blinking awake with a frown. You reached out to rub his arm.
“Y’okay?” you said groggily. The room was still dark but beginning to lighten with the dawn rising behind the closed curtains.
He nodded in wordless answer. He cleared his throat past the gravel of sleep.
“It’s been a while since you’ve had a nightmare,” you said.
Sure, since the ones you’ve known about, he thought, but he squeezed your hand when it moved across his chest.
⌖ Keep Reading: Part 4
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Summary: Russell made you a promise, but “getting out” of government contract work is even more difficult than he thought it would be. Is he willing to put the past aside, or is this going to be your breaking point?
AN: Deep breaths, friends. It's about to be another angsty fun time. 😅
Song Inspo: “Come in From the Night” by Chicago
Posted on Patreon: 4/04/2025
Word Count: 8K
Tags/Warnings: 2x02 events, perilous situations, blood and violence, injuries, protective Russell, another Shaw sibling reunion, secrets and confessions come to light, major angst, but also major hurt/comfort…
⌖ Series Masterlist
Part 2: One Chance
You still hadn’t been able to get in touch with Russell. All your texts had been going unanswered. You grabbed your phone and began to find Reenie in your contacts, but you paused. You were reminded of something you forgot to do when you walked in the door.
Along with the coded door lock, there was an app on your phone where you could monitor the cameras strategically placed outside the house. However, when you checked the app, you realized that the camera feed said Unavailable. For every single camera.
Your brows furrowed. That’s weird…
Seconds later, the first bullet broke through your impact windows.
You flinched at the fracture of glass, the splintering corner of your Pottery Barn coffee table. Shock made your entire body stiffen.
But when the second and third bullet became lodged in your couch and finished shattering two windows, you screamed and dove for the ground. You crawled on hands and knees across the hardwood floor, no doubt cutting your palms on broken glass. The coffee table only somewhat protected your body, but seeing the edge of something black in the corner of your eye, you managed to grab one of Russell’s Glocks taped under the wood that typically held your empty wine glasses and lavender candles.
Your mad scramble took you across the living room and into the bathroom, where you locked the door and backed away from the door, to the farthest corner beside the tub. Your path on the white tile was streaked with your own blood.
You clutched Russell’s gun with shaking hands, your thumb just barely managing to pull back the safety. When you tried to shift your body away from where the bottom of the sink hung over your head, you whimpered at a sharp twinge in your side. Looking down, you realized that blood had plumed through your shirt, right along the curve of your waist.
You took one trembling hand off the gun to lift the hem of your shirt, and a shaky breath escaped you.
Fuck. You’d been hit.
You didn’t see the bullet, or even a hole puncture. You prayed that you had just been grazed.
But! You still had your cell phone. It was lodged in the back pocket of your jeans. Your hands were occupied though, so you had to make a choice—keeping your weapon at the ready, stopping yourself from bleeding out, or calling for help.
You heard the front door splintering open at a distance, footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors. Holding in a whimper, you heeded your instincts and reached for your phone. You tried calling Russell first, but it just went to voicemail. Goddamn it…
You considered calling 9-1-1, but in your manic desperation, all you could think of was reaching your boyfriend.
So you called Reenie next.
While the phone rang, tucked between your shoulder and your ear, you were forced to set down the gun. You quietly rifled through your medicine cabinet for gauze or an ace bandage. Fuck, yes! Okay. This could work. You found the big square bandages that stick on. Russell bought them the last time he came home with a couple of nasty abrasions from a job.
Still, the phone rang.
Come on, come on, come onnnn!
“Hello?” The lawyer’s voice was smooth and retaining a note of exasperation.
“Reenie! Where’s Russell?” you whisper-hissed. You forgot about the bandage for the moment.
“I have him right here. What’s wrong?” she asked. Immediately, her tone shifted to concern. You’d never met Reenie in person, but you knew she worked with Colter and, according to Russell, was damn good at what she did.
You didn’t give a shit about any of that right now.
“Put him on the phone, please!”
In a few seconds of shuffling, you finally, finally heard his voice.
“Sweetheart, what’s going on?”
A breath of relief escaped you in a rush.
“Russell,” you sobbed.
The raw panic in your voice made his spine stiffen. Every muscle in his body coiled in alarm. Russell sat up straight in the backseat of the SUV with Colter right beside him, along with the retired Scott Palmer, the conspiracy theorist they saved from a government black site. Reenie looked back in concern from the front seat.
“Someone’s in the house,” you said on the line. Every word was ragged, like you were trying to stay quiet, but crying all the same. “I got hit, bleeding a lot. I’m locked in the bathroom…”
In a beat of a second, Russell processed the words, I got hit.
The fucker was armed. You were shot. He wasn’t there to help you.
His blood turned to ice in his veins. A nightmare. A waking nightmare.
“Okay, it’s okay,” Russell said, immediately hiding what he felt under calm reassurance. His dark brows became a knitted line. “Were you able to get to one of my guns? Under the bed, under the—”
“Coffee table,” you said, in a tremulous voice. “Russ, what do I—”
Your scream was shrill in his ear after a gunshot went off, even making him flinch. His eyes never blinked though. He could hear the door ripping open, and a rustle of clothing preceded your startled yelp. Someone manhandled you to your feet.
Russell’s jaw clenched tight. His heart hammered under his ribcage as he followed every sound. He yelled at the driver of this SUV to fucking floor it.
The sounds reaching him on the phone fuzzed over then, like someone was grabbing the phone out of your hand. You screamed and struggled, but a man’s grunt and a sharp hit echoed in the phone speaker. Russell’s teeth ground together so hard, he could feel them creaking with strain. He shouted your name.
The call ended abruptly.
Russell felt every minute, every second that clipped by.
Another half hour would pass before he reached his car. In that time, Colter had to explain to Reenie why calling the police right now was a bad idea.
“The police are going to trigger them to react. It’s more likely they’ll take her and move her than leave her behind,” Colter said, sharing a grim look with his brother. “Worst case…”
Russell shook his head and stared out the window, his lips pursing tight. He didn’t need to hear that said out loud. He was already thinking it, his mind shooting off sparks of one scenario after another. Each and every one of them shredded his insides to ribbons. His fingers clenched around the interior door handle of the car.
“Okay, but who’s doing this? The shady-ass government operatives you just pissed off?” Rennie asked.
“That’s my bet,” Russell said gruffly. He could picture that blue-eyed smarmy dick in his mind’s eye too—the shadow government stooge who took his brother captive, and thought he could get the drop on Russell at that lab.
He was probably still salty about the way Russell broke his goddamn nose.
“This one’s coming out of their ass,” he groused.
“We can’t underestimate them,” Colter said. His tone wasn’t censuring, but a reminder. “They got to Dr. Blair.”
Dr. Blair was an astrophysics professor who had taken special interest in some of Scott Palmer’s theories, particularly into the idea of extraterrestrial life. The professor had been found dead in her own car that afternoon, barely a couple of hours after Russell and Colter questioned her about the missing Scott’s whereabouts and her involvement with him. The police had ruled it a suicide.
Russell did glare at Colter this time. What happened to that professor wasn’t going to happen to you. You weren’t directly involved in this mess…
Russell’s fists clenched at his sides. He slid a hand over his bearded face and thought hard. Whoever had you was going to answer to him. Anything they’d done to you was going to be a mercy, compared to what he had in mind for them.
Colter parked his truck and airstream just behind Russell’s Chevy in your neighborhood. They hadn’t parked directly in front of your house, however. They wanted to retain the element of surprise, just in case your captors were still here.
Looks like they are, Russell noted by the dark gray SUV parked on the street, right next to your mailbox.
If they hadn’t moved, it was because they wanted Russell to go into the house. They wanted to make a show of this, drag this out.
Russell could just see that arrogant fuck in his mind’s eye already, waiting for him, smirking at him when he walked in.
“Like your father, Ashton Shaw. You have a long family history of getting in the government’s way,” he’d said, while holding Russell at gunpoint.
Then Russell proceeded to talk a little shit, as was his specialty, followed by a thorough ass-kicking. Also his specialty.
But he was interrupted from that satisfying recap by Colter’s subtle tap on his shoulder. He pointed toward the house with two fingers. Russell nodded and signaled back, leading him in.
Both of them had suited up with bullet-proof vests and proper weapons, with Russell favoring his usual .45 caliber M1911. He called her Betsy. She’d take your kneecaps off if you weren’t careful, and Russell was always careful. Especially about kneecaps.
He and Colter cased the house and veered to the left, where they caught sight of the carnage that wrecked the living room. Whoever broke in must’ve used silencers on their guns, because surely in a residential neighborhood like this, someone would’ve heard the commotion and called the cops themselves. All three windows at the front of the house were shattered, littering glass across the floor. The couch was a Swiss cheese rendering of fabric and stuffing, with picture frames, candles, books and bookshelves, and other keepsakes battered, ruined, and scattered.
Russell was sorry to see it, feeling an angry twinge, but it only got worse when he saw who was sitting on the edge of the couch. The man was flanked by four other men in solid black uniforms and guns, their faces obscured by masks.
Russell’s eyes widened in shock at first. And then in anger, and steely determination. After giving his brother a nod, he and Colter split up without needing to speak or signal. Colter went around the back and stirred the men’s attention. Three of them split off and went toward the diversion of the back door caving in.
Meanwhile, Russell shot out the window near the kitchen. It allowed him to tumble into the house, protecting his head from glass as he went. By the time he rolled to a crouch, he had his gun at the ready to shoot the remaining two men—headshot for the first one, arm and neck for the second one.
Adam Brody stood ready to shoot him next. He wore tactical gear as well, but he didn’t bother to mask up his face.
“Hey, Russ,” he said, with a humorless smile. There was something melancholy in his blue eyes.
“It’s simple. Start fucking talking, or I start shooting,” Russell snapped. Inside, he raged at the betrayal. It roiled like acid deep in his gut and solidified like a stone.
Adam sighed heavily. “Trust me, this wasn’t an assignment I wanted.”
He shifted the aim of his gun away from Russell…and directly to the ground, just a few feet away from him. Russell followed the trajectory with his eyes, and his throat constricted.
You were lying there on the cold floor, half twisted onto your side. Your arm was bent at the wrong angle beneath your cheek. The left side of your face that Russell could see was bruised and bloody, and there were shards of glass in your hair. But the sight that stopped him cold was the large patch of blood staining your waist and stomach through your shirt. It was slowly getting worse.
Russell’s gaze flicked back to Adam, and it sharpened, his fingers tightening a fraction on his gun.
“Let her go,” Russell demanded.
“We got what we came for. I don’t think we need to take it any further than this,” Adam said. “Just consider tonight as a warning. And word of advice? Stay off of the fucking black sites. You could get into some real trouble out there.”
“That’s not fucking good enough," Russell seethed through clenched teeth. "Why this? Because I quit?”
Adam gave him a look that was slightly pitying. Like a teacher who secretly thought you were the dumbest kid alive.
“No,” he replied. “That gig was just our way of keeping an eye on you.”
Russell blinked, a new layer of shock rattling down his spine.
“What, Horizon wanted to keep tabs on me?" he said. "Before I fucking joined up?”
Adam didn’t answer him, but there was more there in his silence than his slimy words could’ve spoken. He slowly leaned over and grabbed up an old white shoebox from where it was placed on the arm of the couch.
“I’m here for this,” he said. There seemed to be real conflict in his eyes when he looked back at his friend, a man who once was his brother in the deepest of fucking trenches. “Look, Russ, I had a job to do and I did it. Believe it or not, this is just business.”
Russell’s eyes narrowed with cold fire.
“It’s never just business, you stupid fuck.”
Adam's face remained impassive, but he nodded in resignation. He knew the look in Russell’s eye. It held a deadly promise, marked right here and now. And as Adam knew better than anyone, Russell never forgot to make good on a promise.
Adam’s fingers slowly flexed over his gun. Before he could make a decision about Russell, he saw Colter coming out of the corner of his eye. Adam moved fast, shooting off a clip at Colter first. Colter manage to dive back behind the wall that led to your bedroom. Then Adam ducked and dodged Russell’s aim at his head, all while still holding onto the box.
Adam threw himself through the last remaining window in the living room to make his escape. Russell moved to follow him, but he spared a second to lock eyes with his brother and gesture at you.
“Stay with her!” Russell barked.
Colter nodded and was already kneeling by your side to check your pulse. It tore at Russell’s heart, but he couldn’t just let Adam go. Russell ripped the front door open and sprinted outside. Dawn was just approaching over the horizon, with rays of orange-gold peeking out behind rows of suburbia and picket fences. Adam was half a shadow getting into the black SUV parked out front.
Russell fired off a shot that somewhat made its mark. He couldn’t aim for the heart; Adam was wearing a bullet-proof vest. Couldn’t aim for the head; he was moving too quick. But when Adam opened the car door, the bullet caught him under the arm, where the vest couldn’t cover. The projectile could rip through the chest cavity and at least knick an artery, if not a lung.
Adam cried out in pain and grabbed at the bleeding wound, but he still managed to climb into the passenger seat and shut the door as the car sped off. The windows were tinted, so Russell couldn’t see inside. It didn’t stop him from emptying his clip at the car’s windows and tires as he ran into the street.
Russell’s dark brows knitted in anger as he watched the SUV drive on and turn the corner, even with a blown tire. 2Y5-M20 read the license plate. Russell muttered the number to himself over and over while he ran back inside.
There he found you and Colter in the same place in the living room, except that he had carefully turned you over onto your back and moved your broken arm into a more stable position. He also grabbed your favorite throw blanket off the back of the couch; he had the corner of it crumpled in his hand to put pressure against the wound in your side.
“She was grazed, no bullet entry,” Colter said, hearing his brother’s boots approaching. “I need to grab some stuff from the car to help stabilize her arm before the ambulance gets here. Police are on their way too.”
Russell’s knees hit the ground beside you, where he carefully took control of keeping pressure on your wound. He then gathered you into his arms. He stroked your bruised cheek with a gentle, half-gloved hand.
“Hey, sweetheart. Can you open your eyes for me? Huh?” he said.
When you didn’t respond, still unconscious, he had to check your pulse for himself. It was weaker than it should’ve been, but it was there.
You were alive.
While Colter ran back out to the car, Russell’s thoughts led him in exhaustive circles, questioning every word that had come out of Adam’s mouth, questioning himself and his choices, worrying for you, and what you would say when you opened your eyes.
It was good that Colter called the police too though. There would be no other way to explain your injuries at the hospital than a break-in, else they might suspect Russell himself as the culprit. Always the boyfriend, as they said.
Maybe that was the case in civilian life, but not in Russell’s. In his, it was much crueler than that.
A couple of minutes later, Colter returned with the supplies he needed. He found his brother holding you as tightly as he dared, his face deep and brooding as he rested his cheek against the side of your head. Between the brothers, they were able to stem the bleeding on your wounded side and stabilize your broken arm. Russell tried to rub some warmth back into your bare arms.
“Come on, sweetheart. I know you can hear me,” he murmured into your hair. There was a subtle shake growing in his voice.
Colter glanced up and met his gaze. There Russell saw the weight of concern, for you and for him.
The hospital room was tense from all angles while you slept.
Russell sat in a chair on your right side, Dory to your left. Again, he silently brooded with his hands folded under his chin, elbows resting on his thighs. Dory was slumped in her seat, head in hand; tear tracks remained on her pale skin. Colter leaned against the wall by the door.
None of them spoke, because they all knew what each other was thinking. All of them wore shades of guilt, along with underlying anger. Colter had some measure of a grudge at Dory for giving you a burden you weren’t meant to have. He thought she should’ve given that damn box to him or Russell directly. Dory carried that guilt in hindsight, but she was also angry at Russell, and to some extent Colter too, for exposing you to this kind of danger.
Russell could harbor resentment for both of his siblings right now, but mainly, he was angry at himself.
“So Adam doesn’t really work for Horizon?” Colter asked, keeping his voice quiet. The question was aimed at his brother, who glanced up at him.
“Not sure,” Russell replied after a moment. “Could be. Or could be that whoever he works for does business with Horizon. Either way, I think he might’ve been planted there to recruit me, then watch me, keep me occupied.”
To keep him from looking into his father’s death.
Colter nodded. He directed his attention to Dory. “We’re going to have to do a sweep of your apartment for bugs. Likely they were watching you too.”
Dory’s eyes widened. “That’s how they knew I had Dad’s stuff, that I gave it to her. But why did they want it so bad?”
“Dad must've been into some shady shit,” Russell replied, shaking his head.
“The question is what,” Colter said.
“Check…m’ cloth-s,” you interrupted.
All three Shaw siblings stirred to attention with concern, their heads swiveling toward you.
You finally clawed your way through the anesthesia to keep your eyes open. It hurt, even to speak. The bruising around your throat betrayed Adam’s iron grip, choking you halfway to unconsciousness. The left side of your face was one mottled, ugly bruise all the way to your eyebrow, your lower lip split near the corner.
Russell stood quickly, his chair scraping the floor. He drew closer to you and sat at the edge of your bed so he could gently take up your hand. Dory came up on your other side and touched your shoulder—the one not currently wrapped in a sling. The doctor told them you’d broken your arm in two places. Not only would you need surgery, but you would also be in a cast for several weeks. The bullet wound had been a graze, for which you’d still lost a decent amount of blood. You would need to stay at the hospital for a week, at least.
“What, baby?” Russell asked. But then he thought better of it. “Don’t worry about it, just take it easy.”
“Check…m’clothes,” you repeated, with slightly more strength. You blinked your weary eyes open and found Russell. Your lips twitched when he pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles and threaded your fingers together.
Then he shot Dory an imploring look. He’d rather it be her sorting through your bag of bloody clothing than Colter, and Russell didn’t want to let go of your hand.
With a small sigh, she grabbed it from under the hospital bed and sorted through, finding just your jeans, shoes, and underwear, since the Emergency Department has cut through your shirt and bra.
“I don’t…” Dory began to say, but she cut herself off short when she found a small, old-fashioned film tube mixed in with your panties.
You hadn’t just taken the box with you into the house. On the way home last night, you’d stopped at a red light. Your curiosity was insatiable at the best of times, and you couldn’t stop yourself from having a look inside the box.
You found a short stack of essays and a couple of small wood carvings, but you also found that film tube. It reminded you of the disposable Kodak cameras you used to buy as a kid, complete with a little container for undeveloped rolls of film.
You took out the little canister and examined it. When you popped it open, you found rolled up papers inside.
And then the light turned green, a car honking behind you. You shot the black SUV behind you a narrowed look of annoyance. Instead of tossing the thing back into the box, you folded the papers back up into the little canister, secured the lid, and slipped it into your pocket on reflex.
Later, when you sat huddled and terrified and bloody on your bathroom floor, you set down the gun and took out the film tube from your pocket. If this thing was important, if it had anything to do with Ashton Shaw’s death, then you didn’t want to give it up so easily.
You stuffed it behind the waistband of your jeans, hopefully for safe keeping. The thought was dubious at best, but it was still worth a shot, you thought.
Now, Dory stared at the tube with the cap popped open. She saw the papers rolled up inside, but didn’t bother to unfurl them. She didn’t want to know what they were, but she knew instinctively that this was what you almost died for.
She bit her lip and gazed back at you in apologetic sorrow. Handing the item off to Colter, she went back to you and laid a gentle hand on your shoulder.
“I’m so sorry,” she said tearfully. “I should’ve never given…”
Her tears sparked your own, welling up in your eyes. You managed to shake your head a little.
“Y’didn’t know,” you replied.
Dory tried and failed to stifle her weeping. Colter came up to your bedside as well.
"I'm sorry for what happened," he said. You managed to roll your head somewhat in his direction, your gaze reflecting some wryness.
“Why? ‘S not like you work…for Horizon,” you said, glancing over at Russell. He pursed his lips, lowering your hand to the bed.
Colter picked up on the vibe that you and Russell had things to talk about. Sharing a nod with Dory, he helped her up out of her chair and subtly led her out of the room with him. After the door clicked closed, Russell sighed, hanging his head.
After a moment, he drew enough courage to look up at your beaten face. His eyes were full of devastation, and the remnants of self-loathing.
“Sweetheart, I’m so—”
“Don’t you sweetheart me,” you warned. Your eyes stung all over again, and you sucked in a shaking, painful breath. “The world you’re a part of…you and Colter…it’s dangerous. I knew that full well when we got together, but…I naively thought you knew you what you were doing.”
Russell’s shoulders sunk. His gaze fell to his hands, resting on his thighs.
“You said you wouldn’t bring your work home with you,” you accused.
“I’m gonna protect you, I swear,” he vowed.
“From what? Horizon? Your friend? Whoever he works for? You don’t. Have. A clue,” you said. You still struggled for breath, for every word. “Regardless, you’re not breaking out of this life anytime soon. And I…I can’t do this anymore.”
Hot tears slid down your cheeks. They stung over cuts and nicks in your skin. But the distressed look on Russell’s face was what threatened to break you. His jaw worked as he processed your words. He looked away for a moment to gather himself, but he soon met your gaze again.
“I was just starting to turn things around, wasn’t I? Please, give me a chance to fix this,” he said.
You shook your head wearily. “Russell, there are parts of you that I’m never going to know. There are things that you either can’t or won’t let go of, things you can't control. I’m tired of getting caught in the crossfire.”
You didn’t know if you were being fair, but you couldn’t help how you felt. And yet, you also felt shredded from the inside just looking at him, knowing that you were breaking his heart as well as your own. But how else could you protect yourself at this point? It was all just too much.
“I need you to go,” you said.
Russell’s eyes widened. That was the one thing you’d never asked of him, no matter how pissed off you got. You might’ve wanted a little space in bed, but you never told him to sleep on the couch, never told him to go find a motel, or sleep in his truck. There was space, and there was space. This was fucking it.
“Baby, come on. I’m not leaving you,” he said. His hand itched to take hold of yours again, but you moved it away from his grasp, resting carefully over your bruised ribs.
“No,” you said more firmly, even though it hurt to strain your voice. “Just go.”
Everything within him protested. But, at that hard, angry, broken look on your face, he rose to his feet. He forced himself to head for the door, briefly hesitating there. He cast you one last look, his jaw and his heart clenching in tandem at the sight of your watery eyes, your swollen face, your pained attempts for even breaths.
He left your hospital room.
But, of fuckin’ course, the man he ran into in the hall was Charlie.
“Hey, where’re you going?” Charlie asked, grabbing Russell’s arm. “What happened? You barely told me anything on the phone—”
Russell sighed. He led your brother a little further away from your door so you hopefully wouldn’t overhear, but he tried to explain it all in its simplest terms, avoiding any talk about his father’s death. He understood Charlie’s anger. It mounted and mounted in your hothead brother, until he was gripping Russell’s jacket in half a threat.
“It was my fault,” Russell said. He didn’t even bother to grab Charlie’s wrist. He fucking deserved the hit if it was coming. “They were using me, and I didn’t know. Just waiting for an opening to grab something they thought was important.”
“Did they get it?” Charlie asked. “What even was it?”
Russell hesitated. “It doesn’t matter. But I’m going to make sure she’s safe.”
Charlie made a sound of frustration and shoved at Russell’s chest.
“I fucking trusted you!” he shouted. “I thought you’d be the last one to let some shit like this happen to her!”
“I know,” Russell said, swallowing his shame. His eyes were stinging, turning glassy as his throat constricted. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Charlie paced in the hall like an agitated animal. He seemed to be warring with his instincts to throw that punch, maybe more than one. But Charlie saw the unshed emotion in Russell's eyes, and knew what kind of guilt was on his shoulders. Charlie still bore the weight of that guilt, even today. It would never leave him for as long as he lived.
So, Charlie simmered down, pressing a fist against the wall to try and calm himself.
“I’ve, uh…I’ve gotta go,” Russell said. He cleared his throat, blinked a little too fast.
Charlie frowned and glared back at him again. “You’re leaving?”
Russell met his gaze, but he couldn’t hold it. Otherwise, his guilt would break through the cracks.
“She asked me to,” he said.
Charlie shook his head. “Do you love her?”
“Charlie.” The look on Russell’s face warned him not to ask stupid questions. There was only so much he could handle right now.
“Okay,” Charlie nodded. “So are you gonna make good? Are you gonna protect her, or not?”
Russell didn’t know why, but he felt pinned to ground by that question. His heart, his soul, and his mind were all at war, pulling in different directions of what he should do, what he wanted to do, and what he knew he couldn’t.
Charlie’s frown deepened, with a spark of his anger returning.
“Make a fucking decision, Russell,” he snapped, and made the last few strides over to your room.
It left Russell in the hall, contemplating his next move. His fingers twitched at his sides. He stared hard at the linoleum, until the tiny blue patterns became smudges in his vision.
Then, he kept walking, even took the elevator downstairs. You’d told him to leave after all, but to go where? Back home?
That was your house. Hadn’t you broken up with him? All his stuff was still there though. Not to mention, your house was a mess. He wouldn’t leave it like that for you to come home to.
Even with all those thoughts swirling like angry coils of snakes through his mind, he stopped short of leaving the hospital. He stood in the way of the lobby’s glass double doors, his fingers flexing at his sides and nearly closing into fists. His jaw clenched and ticked with strain.
He turned back and took a seat in the lobby. He sat there for an hour, and then two. He passed time on his phone, but really, he was watching every single person who walked in through the double doors. He made a note of each face and scanned the way they walked and what they were bringing in the building with them. He checked each of them off as not a threat.
He couldn’t be certain that Adam would keep his word about backing off for now. If he realized that you took something important from that damn box…
Every muscle in Russell’s body wanted to go back up to your hospital room. He wanted to tell you again that he was sorry. Matter of fact, he’d be content if you just let him sit there beside you in silence.
Okay, maybe he’d try to crack a joke or two, see if he could make you smile. Extra brownie points if he could make you laugh.
Yeah, don’t bet on that one.
Russell sighed and rubbed at his face with both hands.
Colter came around to find him, first asking how you were. The look on Russell’s face was good enough of an answer.
Colter let him know that he’d just dropped off Dory at her place. He was going to stick around for a couple of days to keep an eye on her, just in case Adam came poking around.
“For the record, I don’t think he will,” Colter said. He took out the film tube you recovered from the box. Russell’s gaze fell to the little black canister.
“I had a look, and—” Colter began, but Russell raised up a hand.
“I don’t care,” he said. He slowly stood and met his younger brother’s gaze. “Look, if you wanna go chasing ghosts, that’s your prerogative, but count me out. I don’t wanna know about it, don’t wanna hear about it. As far as I’m concerned, Dad’s dead, and he ain’t coming back no matter what the fuck we find at the end of that tunnel.”
For once, Colter looked taken aback. It wasn’t a big expression, but it was enough to make his eyes widen a little, his mouth parting with almost nothing to say.
“You’re saying you won’t help me?” he asked.
“I’m saying if you open that door, you’re on your own. I’m not losing anything more to this,” Russell said. His eyes burned with his determination, and perhaps other emotions he wasn’t willing to let fly in front of his brother.
He lowered back down into his seat and crossed his arms. Colter watched him with a measure of dismay. But ultimately, he respected his brother’s choice.
“I’m sorry. Really, I am,” Colter said. He hesitated, and even drew closer to lay a hand on his brother’s shoulder.
Then, he left.
Out in the parking lot as he headed over to his pickup truck, Colter’s hand tightened on that film tube. In his mind’s eye, he already saw the map that was hastily scrawled on the curled-up page inside.
As for Russell, he spent the rest of the evening there in the waiting room.
A security guard eventually came over to tell him that visiting hours were over. Russell only pretended to leave. He waited until the guard was distracted, flirting with the receptionist, and Russell snuck back into the stairwell.
He found his way up to the second floor, then the third. He slipped down the empty halls. He didn’t intend to check in on you in your room, but that was where his feet ended up, stopping just outside of the door. It was open a crack.
When he peeked inside, he saw that you were sleeping after your surgery on your arm. Charlie was watching over you, so Russell pulled back. He stayed in the hospital all night, ducking nurses and doctors on the night shift. He retained some of his peace of mind, knowing you weren’t alone.
In the morning, Russell headed back home just to shower. He felt all right about it, knowing Dory was at the hospital with you today after relieving Charlie. Russell arrived at the house, just to remember that it was still an incredible mess after the police had cleared out.
Russell took the time to sweep up the glass, and mop up your blood from the hardwood floors in the living room and the bathroom tiles. He righted picture frames and whatever else he could. The rest, he stored in a big black garbage bag in case you wanted to sort through it later. Then he finally ate a sandwich and showered up. He hadn’t slept in 48 hours, but he kept pushing himself.
He took measurements of every window that got busted, and he went to the closest hardware store to buy replacements. He installed them himself.
Finally, Russell allowed himself to sleep for just a few hours. Afterward, he returned to the hospital. He resumed his seat in the lobby, and he subtly monitored who came in and out while looking busy on his phone. He never forgot a single face.
The cycle repeated itself. Three days.
He didn’t let himself see you.
Your voice was still weak and muffled, being that half your face was swollen, but you had enough energy to argue with your brother.
“Saving Private Ryan is more historically accurate than Jurassic Park is scientifically accurate,” you said, more than a little testy already.
“You’re giving me a stats-based argument,” said Charlie, “when all that really matters is the dinosaurs still look real! The CGI holds up—”
“Oh, please,” you huffed. “Lincoln, War Horse, Schindler’s List—Spielberg movies that actually matter.”
“Hey, tell my eight-year-old self that dinosaurs don’t matter,” he said. “Raiders of the Lost Ark, Temple of Doom, Close Encounters, fucking Jaws—these are the staples of Hollywood, my friend. Those are the movies people actually remember when they think of Spielberg and his Steve Jobs glasses.”
“Raiders is all right,” you grumbled, after a moment of deliberation. “At least it’s rooted in some real history.”
Charlie snorted. “You’re such a nerd.”
Your smile weakened. “That’s Russ’s favorite.”
Charlie perked up in attention, noticing your shift in demeanor.
“What, Raiders?” he asked. When you merely nodded, seeming lost in thought, Charlie smiled a little. “It’s a classic.”
You knew that it was one of the few movies Russell remembered watching before his father moved the Shaw family to that compound in the Sierra National Forest.
You tried to take in a deep breath. Letting it out was painful though, a sharp twinge in your side making you wince. Goddamn stitches.
“You okay?” Charlie asked. He was coiled and ready to spring into action, whatever you needed. “Want me to adjust your pillow? Or you want to lay on your side again?”
“‘M fine,” you managed. You both knew they were empty words.
The room fell quiet, save for the movie playing on your small TV screen that was mounted against the wall. Laura Dern was limping on one foot away from a velociraptor.
After lowering the volume, you turned your head on your pillow toward Charlie, even though you couldn’t quite hold his gaze.
“He’s still here, isn’t he?” you said. There was a knowing gleam in your eyes.
Charlie feigned innocence. “Who?”
You just gave him a look. Your brother’s lips twitched at a smile, and he leaned back in the recliner seat, folding his hands over his chest.
“Yeah,” he replied. “Your Mountain Man’s still here.”
You blew out a sigh of exasperation. “I told him to go home.”
“To an empty house that isn’t his, not knowing how long he’s gonna be able to stay there?” Charlie pointed out. “Did you break up with him for sure?”
You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. You knew you weren’t all that specific when you told Russell to leave, but…maybe it was because your heart hadn’t totally decided on the matter.
“You know, he finds a way to dodge security every night, just so he can keep an eye on you, make sure you’re okay when I’m not here,” Charlie said. “Hell, even when I am here. Don’t know whether I should be insulted by that one.”
You closed your eyes for a moment, fighting a swell of emotion. Looking back on that conversation after you woke up, you’d felt so raw and frayed. You knew what happened to you wasn’t exactly Russell's fault. He’d needed to help his brother. His own friend had likely sold him out as well as betrayed him.
You just couldn’t help the deep well of insecurity lying far underneath your skin, a bone-deep thought…
“He’s never going to be happy with a boring, normal life,” you said, with tears burning behind your lids. “I’m never going to be enough.”
Charlie frowned in sadness. For once, he felt bad for Russell. He opened his mouth to reply, but someone else beat him to it.
“Sorry,” Russell said from the doorway. “But that’s just categorically untrue, baby.”
Your eyes widened at the sight of him. Your breath stilled in your lungs. He entered the room cautiously, waiting for you to throw him out. When you just stared back at him with those weary, uncertain, glassy eyes, he tried to give you a smile.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
After a beat of hesitation, you nodded. It was barely a movement of your head, but he’d take it.
And Charlie took his cue to stand up, rubbing his hands together.
“Think I’ll get myself a burger or something,” he said.
On his way out, he and Russell shared a look. On Charlie’s end, it was imbued with a cautious trust.
One chance.
Russell understood full well. He nodded in agreement.
The door shut behind Charlie. Russell lowered himself into a chair and tugged it over to your bedside, resting his hand on the mattress. You still didn’t know what to say, but despite your reluctance, your heart swelled just to see him. You missed him beyond belief.
You slowly moved your hand toward his on the bed. Russell noticed, and he smiled. He took your hand with both of his big, calloused ones, and he laid a tender kiss across your knuckles.
You trembled inside as your tears spilled over, hot and unfettered. Your breathing shallowed with it, your emotions bubbling up and over the surface. On your first hiccupping sob, Russell moved. He got up to sit on the edge of your bed, and he cupped your uninjured cheek, so he could press a gentle kiss to your forehead. Your hand, still clasped in his, he pressed over his heart. He was sure you'd be able to feel the uptick beating of it.
Once chance.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he said. It was a confession from the very depths of him, laden with grit. “This is on me. But I’m done, you understand? I’m done with all that shit.”
You pulled away a little. “What do you mean?”
“I’m more than ready to be my own boss,” he said, grinning some. “When you’re feeling better, I’m gonna need your help tasting the menu for the brewery. Plus, the décor. You know me, I’m shit at figuring out what kinda lamps go with beige walls.”
You uttered a weak laugh through your tears. You raised a trembling hand to cup his cheek. Your thumb brushed tenderly there. All too soon though, your smile dimmed.
“Look, I know what I said, but understand if you want to find your father’s killer,” you whispered.
Russell released a sigh through his nose. He appreciated you for that, and even kind of marveled that you could say that to him from your hospital bed. But this was enough.
What he couldn’t tell you, not just yet, was that he planned to track down Adam Brody. Russell could care less who the man worked for now, but once he dealt with that unfinished business, he fully intended to devote the rest of his attention toward building a steadier life, that firm foundation. He wasn’t about to take this second chance with you for granted.
“I’m done with contract work, and with anything having to do with my father,” he said firmly, grasping your hand. “It’s not worth losing you.”
Your lips trembled. You were still a hint uncertain, trying to figure out if he was being sincere. You knew he wanted to protect you, to be with you, but could he really give up all the rest of it?
“Are you sure?” you asked.
Russell sobered further. He licked his lips, debating something in his mind. He could be honest about one thing, at least.
“When I was a kid, I saw a man up on that cliff with my dad,” he said. “You know that part. Now, I didn’t see what happened. Maybe they argued, scuffled. Maybe that guy was a part of what my dad was running from all those years. But when I got up there and I looked over that cliff, even in the rain I saw his body down below, mangled up…”
He shook his head. You squeezed his hand. Even now, you let him know that you were listening, that he had an anchor. He let out a slightly shaky breath.
“Colter was there,” he admitted. “He was just a kid. All he could do was try to connect the dots on what he saw, and that was me on the top of that cliff.”
Your eyes widened. “No, he…he thought you did it?”
Russell nodded. “When I got back to the house, my mom told me it’d be best for the family if I got gone. So, I left. And I stayed gone. Wasn’t ‘til last year that I could get Colter to hear me out, let alone believe me.”
“God, Russ,” you said in dismay. His mom told him to leave? How could she do that? What the hell was in her head?
Questions, too many questions…and you wondered if Russell had those same ones. How could he not? The more you learned about his parents, the more you understood his and Dory’s decision to try to bury it, and leave the past behind.
“My dad was a paranoid son of a bitch. You know, he even pulled a fucking knife on me once,” Russell said, earning your gasp. “Yeah. One of his little episodes. Mom calmed him down, but…"
He thought better of diving into that one, considering what you'd just been through. He met your gaze.
"No, the line for me was when he started going off again on his bullshit, grabbed my little sister and pinned her to the wall," he said. "I saw fucking red then. Pulled him away, made him snap the fuck out of it. That was the night he took off.”
Your lips pursed in shock. Russell shook his head at the old memory, though it still got to him. He rolled his shoulders and forced himself to relax.
“Man, I was fucking relieved when he did,” he said, an edge of anger lacing his words. “But I didn’t kill him.”
You nodded. There was conviction in every word, and your heart ached terribly for him. You tugged him closer by his shirt, so you could slip your good arm around his broad shoulders and pull him in for as good of a hug as you could give him. His long hair tickled your cheek and your neck, but you didn’t care. You sucked in a breath, your eyes glistening with tears, and you kissed his cheek. It was a weak press of your lips, but he felt it.
Russell couldn’t believe that you were the one comforting him right now. Grateful, relieved, those words didn’t even cover what he felt. His chest swelled with warmth, allowing him to let go of some of that bitterness. Some of that hurt, buried deep. His arms slipped around you, strong, secure, but gentle.
Eventually he pulled away, just so he could stroke your cheek and smile down on you. He took in the bruising around your eye. Your right arm, too, was still in a sling. The doctor would probably fit you for a cast next week, after the swelling went down.
“This is probably a stupid question, but how’re you feeling?” he asked, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
“I’m okay,” you replied. “Pain meds are awesome, when they want to give them to me.”
“They’re being fucking stingy, huh?” Russell gave you a conspiring look. “Want me to break into the pharmacy, grab you a couple of the little blue pills? They’re fun, I promise.”
You snorted a laugh, even though it hurt your side and your face. You winced in pain. Gotta stop doing that.
Russell slipped a hand over your hip in concern, and to try and soothe you.
“It’s okay, I’m fine,” you said.
He wasn’t buying it, but he didn’t press you either.
“Will you stay with me tonight?” you asked, your lips tugging at a smile. “Legally I mean, in this room. We can let Charlie go home.”
Russell met your gaze and held it.
“Sweetheart, I’m not leaving you. Not if you don’t want me to.”
Slowly releasing a deep breath, you nodded.
“I believe you,” you said.
Again, you tugged him closer with your hand on his cheek. He read the imploring request in your eyes.
Russell leaned in, carefully brushing his lips against yours. You felt bold enough to meet him a second time with a better kiss. It hurt your cut lip, just a little, but it was worth it.
You finally felt safe again.
AN: 🥹 whew! Okay, so perhaps a lot to unpack there, some 2x02 stuff, some plot stuff from the book cheekily making its way in here.
What did you think about Russell's decision? How do you think he could settle his "unfinished business" with Adam, considering it might mire himself deeper with Horizon/the "mystery" employer Adam really works for? Or should Russ leave well enough alone on that one? 🤔
(Hint: We both know he won't.)
Next Time:
“It’s okay. Feel like I’m Beyoncé or something. Got myself a whole posse,” you joked. You were trying—desperately trying to sound like yourself. To be yourself.
Russell’s demeanor lightened with a smile. He guided you to sit on the edge of the bed before he helped you lie back in a comfortable position, or at least, the most comfortable it was going to get for you.
“That’s right. You’re getting the star treatment, sweetheart. Anything you want, you get,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “So that being said, you hungry? I can whip us up some sandwiches, or maybe some Panera-type action, soup and sandwich. Or we can get real wild and order a pizza, Chinese, Buffalo Wild Wings—whatever your heart desires.”
You almost smiled, but you didn’t quite make it there. A great, shuddering wave of emotion nearly overwhelmed you, crashing against the well of anxiety that threatened to rise up and choke you. The sting of tears stung your eyes red and glassy.
Russell’s good humor fell into concern. He sat on the edge of the bed next to you and grabbed your hand.
“You know what I want?” you asked thickly.
“What’s that?”
⌖ Keep Reading: PART 3 - Aftershocks
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Summary: On your first vacation together, you and Russell take advantage of the hotel hot tub.
AN: This can be a stand-alone drabble, but it’s really set after More of This and Lost Time in the Every Second Counts-verse.
Posted on Patreon: 2-25-25
Word Count: 800
Tags/Warnings: Fluff and feels…tinge of angst?
“Careful!” you giggled, trying to keep chlorine water from getting in your (third) glass of champagne.
Russell was less tipsy than you, but his cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling. The hot tub water splashed when he vaulted himself back in. In one hand he held above his head, he carried a tray piled with assorted mini quiche, finger sandwiches, and his personal favorite, some mini buffalo chicken empanadas. When he lowered the plate between you, your eyes widened at the haul.
“Oh my God,” you said in a hushed whisper. “Did you steal that from the buffet?”
“Steal is a strong word. I prefer the term secured,” Russell whispered back. “Procured. Liberated, if you will.”
You bit your lip, but couldn’t stop yourself from reaching for the quiche. You still shot him a warning look. “The hotel’s going to liberate us from our suite if…”
The reproach died on your tongue as you watched him pull out an entire (opened) bottle of champagne from under his shirt. You gasped.
That’s why his other arm was bent like a chicken wing, you realized.
“Jesus, Russ,” you whisper yelled. You looked around discreetly to make sure no one was paying attention to you two on the far end of the pool site. But you were begrudgingly impressed. By that self-satisfied grin on his face, so was he.
“We could’ve just paid for another bottle,” you pointed out, even as you let him refill your glass, a smile playing on your lips.
“Now where’s your sense of adventure,” he teased. “Besides, this shit is way overpriced.”
He set the plate on the edge of the hot tub and stripped off his shirt again. He’d only put it back on to attempt his little foodie heist. After he submerged himself half under the water and into the seated spot beside you, he slipped an arm around your shoulders to guide you against his side. You went willingly, releasing a sigh. You rested your head on his shoulder.
“Here’s to us, sweetheart,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss to your temple. “Six months down.”
Your heart swelled with loving affection, along with your smile.
“Six months,” you echoed, clinking your glass with his. Half a year you had been with this man, and you two were finally on a nice weekend away together. The thought made you set down your glass.
You turned towards him and reached up for his cheek. His brows rose in question, but you just smiled and guided him down for a kiss. It was gentle, just a slow meeting of lips. Your thumb caressed his jawline, prickling a bit on his beard.
Russell set his glass on the edge of the hot tub so he could pull you tighter against him. His free hand slipped into your hair as he dove in for a deeper kiss. He tasted bubbly champagne on your tongue. He caught the faded scent of coconut lotion on your skin. His fingers slipped under the strings of your bikini.
You broke from his lips slightly and hissed in pain. “Careful, baby. Think I got sunburned.”
Russell hummed in sympathy. “Mmm, sorry. Let me see.”
He hugged you to his bare chest and swept your wet hair aside so he could take a peek at your back.
“Ooh yeah, you’re well cooked. Think I’m gonna eat you up with some butter,” he joked. “Maybe some chimichurri sauce. You know me. I’m a zesty kinda guy.”
Scoffing, you pinched his side in retaliation. He flinched with a laugh. You actually got him in the one place he was ticklish.
“All right, no need to play dirty,” he said. He gathered you tighter in his arms, so you couldn’t move yours. You laughed and struggled to get out of his hold. Your hands pressed against his chest, but it was no use.
“Russ!”
“Nope. This is penance. You’re gonna stay right where I want you.”
He had you trapped. And if you were a good girl about it, maybe he’d feed you an empanada.
Russell’s amusement softened into fondness. Part of him still couldn’t believe he’d been able to make it work with you for this long.
Just three more months, he’d promised you, and he’d be done taking contract jobs for Horizon. He’d be out, and he’d start working on his brewery. He’d start truly setting down roots with you in Laramie, building something that would stick.
For once in his life, Russell was optimistic about his civilian future.
If only he knew what was coming.
AN: 🤭 Yes, I do plan to continue this, don't worry lol. I don't have it written yet, but it's aaaaall up here. 🫡
Special thanks to Michelle - @luci-in-trenchcoats - for giving me tons of Tracker spoilers from the books that helped me shape the idea for "what's coming" next. 💜
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Summary: Russell made you a promise, but “getting out” of government contract work is even more difficult than he thought it would be. Is he willing to put the past aside, or is this going to be your breaking point?
AN: Here we go, the home stretch, friends. To those of you that have stayed with me on this story, thank you so much! Closing out the show on not only Breaking Point, but the Every Second Counts-verse has been challenging, bittersweet fun. I hope you enjoy where we end up by the end of the journey. 🥹💚
Posted on Patreon: 8/31/2025
Word Count: 8K
Tags/Warnings: Hostage situation, mentions of torture, blood and violence, death, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, and an ending…
⌖ Series Masterlist
Part 8: Close the Show
You paced the kitchen, every step filled with an almost twitchy kind of anxiety as the line continued to ring. The phone was hot pressed up to your ear.
Finally, he answered. “Hey.”
“Anything?” you asked.
A hesitation. Your bated breath…
“I’m sorry, not yet,” Colter said. To his credit, he sounded genuinely frustrated. It was rare for you to hear it in his voice, let alone see it on his face, but it was there. You bit hard into your lip, trying and failing to hold onto your tears. You covered your mouth and leaned against the kitchen counter.
“Please, I know it’s hard, but just stay where you are,” he said, as if he was reading your mind. “Right now, the compound is the safest place for you to be.”
You glanced out the cabin window and saw Dory and Charlie setting up some more bear traps—ones that could function as people traps, if need be. Charlie was also on the phone with his best friends from the Airforce, Dave and Manny. They were helping out with a crucial piece of the “BlackBridge Plan,” or at least, the one that hadn’t yet gone to shit. Rennie was on that four-way call too.
“It’s been 48 hours,” you said to Colter. “If you haven’t found Russell by morning, then I’m going back over to San Francisco and I’m helping you look.”
He tried to argue with you for a little while longer, but you hung up on him. Deep down, you knew you shouldn’t make his job harder. He was the expert tracker, certainly not you. But you couldn’t stomach the sickness inside you—in your soul—knowing that Adam and others like him had taken Russell, just plucked him out of rush-hour traffic in the middle of the damn day.
Every minute, every second was on the line here, and Russell’s life was at the end of it.
Russell had trained to withstand torture. He just didn’t realize how poetic it would be to have one of his own men holding the big stick. At least, metaphorically speaking.
Droon, one of Ian Helm’s pet psychos, grabbed Russell up by his hair and wrenched his head out of the dirty water basin. Old-school, but effective. White and red spots pocketed by darkness threatened to cloud his vision. He blinked rapidly and sucked in gasping breaths.
Adam stood by and observed.
“Again.”
This continued until Russell was chained back up to his very own Iron Throne—a rusty old chair in the middle of the basement. He was a little concerned about getting tetanus.
He shook his sopping wet hair back like a dog. He felt like one too, a mangy one. His feet were barefooted and raw where they’d been burned. Not entirely. Just the sensitive soles and sides. His arms and torso were stripped bare too, littered with bruises and lacerations. An angry welt nearly sealed his eye shut. But he hadn’t broken yet.
“You’ve always been smart, Russell. Strong. It’s what I admire about you,” Adam said. “It’s why I wasn’t all that surprised by your little fake out.”
“You liked that, huh?” Russell said, albeit with labored breaths. “The look on your face…fucking priceless.”
That moment when Adam opened the packet and found a bunch of printed papers, the words FUCK YOU listed over and over for twenty-five pages—oh, Russell would hold that memory of shock and anger until the day he died. Which, consequently, might be sooner than he initially thought.
“We’re going to find your brother long before he finds you,” Adam said. “Then, I think this’ll become a lot easier.”
“Good fucking luck. He’s smarter than you. He’s better looking. So am I for that matter. But mostly he’s smarter, good at dodging your uncle’s blunt fucking objects,” Russell said, nodding at Droon. The man was a pillar of stoicism. His actions were dictated by his pay-cut, and by the level of his precision and the eclectic nature of his tools, Russell knew that was a hefty slice.
Adam drew closer with measured steps, his arms crossed. “And what about your girlfriend. Your sister. Your mom. How good are they at hiding? We know they’re on that compound, and we know where to look.”
Russell’s eyes sharpened, but his devil-may-care smirk remained.
“Are you smirking to hide your anger, or your fear? I’m just curious,” Adam said, a smile playing on his own lips.
“Oh, I’m just keeping a tally,” Russell said. “That’s the third time you’ve mentioned my family. The fifth time you’ve mentioned my girl. Either you’re grasping at straws to crack me open, or you’re jealous of the fact that I actually have a family to come home to. You’ve got an owner tugging on the other end of your leash.”
Adam’s expression faded, a thinning of his lips. “You think you’re going home?”
“I think you know it’s not gonna end with me in this fucking chair.”
“You’ve always been a good bullshitter.”
Russell leaned back against hard metal and sighed, rolling his neck like he was just tired. Bored.
“Tell me something, Adam.” He licked his lips, a darker flash behind his eyes. “Did you know about my family the whole time we were in the same foxhole? Are you gonna claim that you didn’t know what your uncle was doing? That you didn’t know he was responsible for my father’s death?”
Adam didn’t answer.
In fact, he and Droon finally left him alone. They withdrew to the metal staircase that led to God knows where above. The lights in the basement clicked off one by one, until Russell was in complete darkness.
Water droplets slid down his neck and shoulders, drying cold on his skin. They fell from his hair and onto the ground. Any incremental shift in the chair pulled at his wounds, from mildly superficial lacerations to the seared meat of his feet, still pulsing with a branding pain.
He cursed Adam in his mind. He knew that this was worse than the special attention they’d been paying Russell: being here in the silence, deprived of his senses in the cloying dark, alone with his thoughts.
He remembered what you said about the kind of darkness that didn’t care if your eyes were open or closed. Well, he closed his eyes. He held onto that image of you curled up on his childhood bed and covered head-to-toe in those flannel pajamas, a lumberjack red.
He held that picture in his mind for a while, followed by other memories—Dory, Colter, Doug, and even his parents. He grounded himself with deep breaths and meditation.
The silence stretched on.
A wrought iron stairwell led Adam and Droon up to the first floor of the gated mansion, of which there were three. Adam ventured in the kitchen, where he wiped his hands on a hanging towel even though they were clean.
“I could keep working on him,” Droon offered.
“No,” Adam replied. “I want to try a different tactic.”
Droon didn’t voice his disapproval, but he didn’t have to. He ultimately nodded and went on his way to the security room, where he left one of his subordinates in charge.
Adam continued up to the second floor to visit his uncle. Already Adam could overhear the conversation from outside the door.
“Yes, we’re prepared to cut that check today, as long as the school board agrees to the name change.”
Adam guided the door open quietly. He found his uncle with a glass of bourbon in hand as he sat in a leather lounge chair and gazed out the large double windows. His office overlooked the San Francisco Bay.
“Yes, I understand the historical aspect of Abraham Lincoln High School, but the Helms School has a better ring to it, don’t you think?” Ian said. “For $3.5 million, it definitely will.”
Adam waited where he stood with his hands gathered behind his back. It only took another minute for Ian to end the call. He then turned to his nephew with a raised brow.
“How’s it going in the basement?” he asked.
“Still marinating,” Adam replied. “When we find his brother, Russell will break. All it takes is the right angle of pressure.”
“And what about the rest of the Shaw family? And the girlfriend you somehow left alive?” Ian said. “Have you applied the right pressure there too? What about the sister?”
Adam hesitated. “Disguising Colter’s death will be easy. He has a dangerous profession. But two young professors from a prominent university, well known in their community—”
“Is no greater challenge than we’ve dealt with before,” Ian finished. “I need you to do your job, son.”
Adam’s lips pressed together, until they became a thin line.
“I know very well what my job is, sir. I’ve been doing it a long time,” he said. “It was me who cleaned up your mess in South America. Me who found a way to keep an eye on Russell this long. I’m the one who keeps this place from falling apart.”
Ian huffed a laugh. He turned away from the view of the Bay and retrieved a cigar from a special case on his desk. Procuring a lighter from a drawer on the left, he took his time lighting up, a leisurely puff.
“And who do you think put you in the Special Forces? Was it your average marksmanship or subpar work ethic?” Ian said. Another rumble of sound that passed for amusement escaped his lips between puffs. “How much of my money slid up the chain of command to ensure you were placed exactly where I wanted you to be, at exactly the right time?”
Adam ground his teeth until his jaw clicked, but it barely showed under his skin.
“The one thing that’s special about you, son, is how much you’d fuck up my plans if I didn’t guide you. Just like your mother that way.” The man sighed and shook his head. “But it’s fine. Droon has already taken measures where the Shaw brothers are concerned.”
Adam’s brows rose. “What did you do?”
There was a moment of tension, in which Ian was reluctant to respond. Adam suspected it was his uncle’s reluctance to admit to any part of his guilt, even in the safety of his own home.
They were interrupted by Adam’s cell phone buzzing. A call from Droon.
What is it?”
“Security breach, sir,” Droon said on the line. “One of the north cameras are down.”
“Physically or digitally?”
“Both. We had some interference on our system. Gate Section A2 was somehow unlocked.”
Adam’s frown deepened, but he wasted no time in leaving the study. “Secure the perimeter. I’ll deal with Shaw.”
“Which one?” Droon asked.
Adam quirked a humorless smile. “Both.”
He hung up and booked it to those iron stairs, down to the basement. The lights were back on.
The metal chair in the center of the room was empty, devoid of even the chains bolted down to the floor.
The chain wrapped around his neck from behind. Adam’s reflexes allowed him to slip his hand under the metal before it could entirely block his airway, but still, the strength behind the chokehold was incredible and startling. He knew it instantly.
“Hey, Russ,” he choked.
Adam continued to struggle, but he managed to wriggle out of Russell’s hold, just to be faced with Colter’s gun when he turned around. Gritting his teeth, Adam grabbed Colter’s wrist and tried to twist the gun out of his grip, but Colter merely switched hands. Adam’s punch still forced him a step or two back.
Just as Adam got enough space to draw his own gun, Russell bat it away, forcing it to clatter several feet across the floor. He threw a swift combination of punches that knocked Adam back a couple of feet—nearly sent him to the ground. The men were able to face each other once again.
Russell was ragged where he stood, but his hands and ankles were now free, thanks to Colter, and he was still strong, fueled by adrenaline and the anger that lived just underneath his skin. Colter wore black tactical gear and held a gun pointed at Adam’s chest.
Movement sounded somewhere above their heads, making the Shaw brothers pause.
“That’ll be the security team,” Adam said. “T minus forty-five seconds, give or take, and you’ll be spending the rest of this little brotherly reunion down here. We’ll grab you a chair, Colter. Make you real comfortable.”
“Go, finish the job,” Russell said to Colter. His tone was deep and sharp, but his gaze was firmly on Adam. “I’ll wrap this up.”
After just a second spent, Colter nodded and headed up the stairs. It left Russell exactly where he wanted to be. Or at least, this was the first item of business on his list.
Adam saw his gun. It was several feet away, shrouded in darkness. Behind him were the stairs that Colter just ran up. It was the only means of escape, for both Adam and Russell. Only one would make it there.
A bare-handed, messy, brutal fight ensued under harsh overhead lighting and thick summer humidity. The problem was, these men had trained together, fought together. Each knew how the other thought, and the way they processed muscle-movements honed by years of hard-wrought experience—from play brawls between young men trying to find themselves in the camaraderie, to the failures and successes they built their careers on.
Adam was fresh, well-nourished and rested. That might have been more than enough to make up for Russell’s advantage on height and build. But again, never underestimate a rabid dog that was finally free of his cage.
Russell landed a blow to Adam’s ear that knocked him right out of his equilibrium, followed quickly by his legs being swept out from under him. He ended up on his back, his head thwacking hard on the cement. Russell followed him there, pinning him down and beating his face in until his hand started to grow numb and bloody.
It shouldn’t have been as satisfying as it was, but karma came in the form of a cheap shot Adam landed in Russell’s side, reminding him with painful clarity that he had three broken ribs. Russell wheezed with a grunt as Adam not only knocked him off, but gained the upper hand, slamming his fist into Russell’s already swollen eye. Once, twice, and a third that finished breaking his nose.
Just when he was about to lose the tenuous thread on his consciousness, Adam gripped his dirty collar and forced him to stay awake.
“Oh, no. Don’t go to sleep yet, because this is important,” Adam said raggedly, panting for breath. “Even if by some fucking delusion you walk out of this alive, it’s not going to be over, you understand? He wanted me to kill your girl, you know. Instead I dressed it up, made it messy enough that it would be a risk to try again.”
Russell blinked slow, clinging to survival instinct and the remnants of seething anger.
Messy. On purpose. Adam talked like he’d done him a favor by hurting you just enough to change you forever.
“I actually tried to keep them out of it, you know. Your sister, your mom. I figured taking you and Colter out would be enough,” Adam said. “But my uncle is very good at loose ends. He’s tying ‘em up over at Echo Ridge right now.”
Russell’s eyes widened, finally showing a sliver of fear. Not for himself, but for his family.
In that breath between the seconds, his mind firmed with resolve.
“If you want to know the truth, I wish it could be different,” Adam said. For the first time, there were shades of guilt in his blue eyes. There were deeper ones of regret, and other layers that would never be pried back. “But I don’t have a choice. I never did. From the moment I was fucking born.”
Russell’s eyelids started to fall shut. Adam shook his once, slapped at his cheek.
“Hey—”
Russell grabbed his wrist. He shot forward and headbutted Adam so hard that the resounding crack made both of them wince. But Adam was the one who cried out, pain and shock.
Russell flipped him into a headlock. The other man struggled and clawed and kicked, and even whipped out a knife from his belt to impale deep into Russell’s quad.
Before he got the chance, Russell closed a hand around that wrist and forced the five-inch blade into Adam’s chest. Russell felt the give of muscle, of Adam’s chest convulsing a little with the impact, his stifled intake of breath.
Russell forced air into his own lungs while he sat there on the ground, with his arm still wrapped in a stronghold around Adam’s neck. Russell slowly let go, moving not just his aching body onto its knees, but Adam’s to the cold ground. His blue eyes searched Russell’s for a moment, glazed with resignation…and maybe an apology.
Just a few seconds, and they dimmed into lifelessness. Blood continued to plume in his chest, a ravaged heart grinding to a stop.
Colter dodged security long enough to intercept Ian Helms trying to escape the property via the west gate, which overlooked the pool and patio area. After shooting both guards from behind, Colter closed in on Ian, who finally had his feathers ruffled as he tried to hide behind an outdoor brick oven.
“Ian Helms,” Colter called out. “The man who’s spent twenty years trying to cover up my father’s murder. What he knew could’ve topped your whole empire, right? Over a hundred years of Helms legacy, reduced to what it’s really worth. The dirt under our feet.”
Ian’s pride sparked into a glare. He stood to his full height, straightening his clothing.
“You have nothing,” he said. “I don’t know what you tried to pull the other day with that scavenger hunt in the woods, but it’s over. I’m going to have you arrested for breaking and entering.”
He talked a big game, but he kept glancing beyond Colter, searching for Droon and the rest of his security team presumably in the house. If Helms had it his way, Colter would never step off this grounds to make it into a jail cell.
“The intel my brother’s unit was given wasn’t flawed, was it?” Colter said. “You got a tip that the government was closing in on your operations in Nicaragua—one of many cartels you worked with to smuggle cocaine and heroin into the States, all the way here to California. So you told them to clean up shop. That way Russell’s unit came up empty on the search, and they looked like the dirty hand at the same time. You even got an encrypted message to your nephew, Adam, telling him to make sure no residual evidence was found in the village.”
Ian’s lips trembled in anger, his skin beginning to glisten with sweat. “What did you find?”
“A thumb drive filled with transactions and accounts, bribes to military officials, and even money wires to Horizon Group in order to sanction kills, among other things,” Colter said.
“Okay,” Ian said, raising his hands placatingly. “You know that if you pull this trigger, it’ll never be over for you. For your family. But I’m a reasonable man, Colter. Name your price.”
“For the drive?”
Ian slowly nodded. “For all of it.”
Colter smiled. “I’m no businessman, Mr. Helms, but I think you just showed your hand.”
The glass doors to the patio opened to a team of SWAT and FBI agents.
While they arrested the startled Ian Helms and the rest of his security team (Droon included), Colter headed back inside. He beelined in the direction of the basement, but Russell was already climbing up to the first floor. He was moving slow, bloody and ragged, but alive.
Colter immediately went to support him on his right, sliding his arm under Russell’s shoulders and taking on most of his weight.
“We need to get you to the ER—”
Russell grabbed his arm, meeting him with an intense stare that Colter had never seen before.
“We need to get back.”
THREE DAYS AGO…
After discovering the coordinates written in invisible ink on the back of Ashton’s letter, you all had a new problem. Colter said as much.
“What?” Dory asked.
Russell crossed his arms, sharing a look with his brother. “BlackBridge has eyes across this entire city for me and Colter. By now, even all of you.”
His gaze traveled to Dory, Charlie, and finally, your worried eyes.
“If we’re spotted, we lead them right to the evidence,” Russell added.
“So we need help,” Charlie said.
Russell nodded and turned to Colter. “What about Reenie?”
“I don’t want to get her in the middle of this,” Colter shook his head. “Plus, BlackBridge likely knows she’s connected to me.”
Russell smirked. “Connected, huh?”
Colter shot his brother a flat look, but chose not to answer.
“What about Dave or Manny?” Charlie said. “BlackBridge might know they’re connected to me, but they probably don’t have eyes on them like they do us.”
Colter frowned in thought. “The more people we drag into this mess, the bigger the risk.”
“We gotta recruit somebody,” Russell pointed out. He nodded at Charlie. “His guys at least know what they’re doing.”
And they didn’t have as many responsibilities or potential collateral, like Russell’s friend Doug.
Colter finally agreed with a nod.
“Okay, assuming they agree, here’s how I think we should play it,” he said. “First, we get Dave and Manny out to these coordinates, see if they can find what we’re looking for. Once we confirm the nature of the evidence, we can have Reenie bring it to the police. Better yet, the FBI. Russell, you have someone you trust as a point of contact?”
Russell thought about it. “Actually, yeah. I do. My old CO is over in LA now. Made a transfer to the Bureau.”
“Well okay, that’s great,” Colter nodded. “Then…comes the tricky part.”
“Putting a hit out on Helms?” Russell joked. The kind of joke that wasn’t really joking.
“Getting him or one of his people to make a public mistake, or even better, to confess,” Colter said. “We don’t have the power to tackle them head-on. If one of us can get close enough with a wire and pull it out of him, it’ll ensure that the company goes down quickly, minimizes the chance that he’ll weasel out of the arrest charges.”
Russell chuckled. “A misstep or a confession. That’s not gonna come easy.”
The rest of you agreed wordlessly. Colter spread his hands on the table.
“I think we need a decoy.”
Russell shot him a smirk. “I think that’s us, brother.”
NOW
You knew Mary Dove was tired of watching you sit across from her in the living room while she knitted a quilt, burnt amber threads twining with blue and green. The windows were open, letting in a warm summer breeze and diffusing the stuffiness inside. But you couldn’t be calmed. Your leg bounced while you pretended to read on your laptop. You checked your phone every 15 to 20 minutes, if you could even hold out that long.
It had been a few hours since you spoke to Colter. You picked up your phone to text him. Then, thinking better of it, you decided to just call him for a more immediate response.
Mary sighed.
“If Colter hasn’t checked in, it’s because there isn’t news,” she said. “And if he doesn’t respond, it means he’s in the middle of something. It could be dangerous for you to keep distracting him.”
You frowned at her. You knew she had a point, but it was her attitude that raked at you sideways. It had from the very start, and not once had she spoken to you with anything but cold, thinly veiled judgment, as if she was just barely holding back another criticism. Either that, or she was silently assessing you whenever you entered a room, trying to pick you apart from the outside in.
“Are you even worried about Russell at all?” you snapped. “Don’t you care that your son is in the hands of the people who murdered your husband?”
Tension hung in the air between you and Mary as you stared at one another—you in a heated glare, her with a calmer expression. The only sign of her annoyance was a small tick in her brow.
A metal snap of what sounded like a bear trap echoed in the forest clearing. One of her “alarms” was tripped.
The Walkie Talkie beside Mary’s hip crackled to life.
“Incoming. Hostiles are approaching from the southeast,” Charlie said. “It’s go-time.”
An unsteady breath escaped you. You didn’t have time to dwell in fear though.
The two of you got to your feet, but Mary quickly went to you and pulled you along by your arm to a room in the back that functioned as both the pantry and the “armory.”
“Grab a shotgun,” she said.
Dory and Charlie had been teaching you to shoot, but it didn’t mean you were all that comfortable with a gun. Still, you did as she said. Dory quickly joined you both and grabbed her own shotgun, and a modern crossbow.
“Why shouldn’t I be surprised you know how to spear someone with that thing,” you said. Worry still claimed your lungs, but Dory’s smile (and her hand on your arm) reassured you.
“Later remind me of the time I shot Russell in the ass with a BB gun,” she said.
You snorted. “How old were you?”
“Seven,” she smirked.
Mary urged you and Dory outside into the forest. You all hiked several yards away from the cabin, away from the direction Charlie said the intruders were coming. He was already on the roof of the cabin with a rifle, ready to take out the two SUV carloads of hired men pulling up to the house, sent courtesy of BlackBridge.
Meanwhile, Mary led you to a ladder posted against a tall tree, up into a duck blind. It was really just a better vantage point for sniping people from the high ground and the cover of the trees. She continued by herself to the next one, but you and Dory climbed up into the first.
A bullet nearly took your head as it landed in the tree between you and Dory, splinters of wood hitting you in the cheek. You jerked back and nearly tumbled out of the blind, but Dory hooked a hand around your arm and tugged you back to her side. She nearly lost her shotgun in the process, but she slipped her foot under the shoulder strap at the last second, stopping it from going over the side of the platform.
You and Dory caught your breaths while you clung to each other.
“Wow, you’re good,” you said.
She smiled thinly.
But your heart fell into your stomach when you heard tires screech. You looked up and saw several more black SUVs pulling up to the cabin.
Colter glanced at his older brother in the passenger seat and noted his bouncing knee, his white-knuckle grip on the interior door handle.
“Almost there,” Colter said.
Russell nodded. “You sure Charlie’s got it handled?”
“He’s working on it right now.”
“And my car,” Russell said. “You’re sure she doesn’t have a scratch on her, right?”
“She?” Colter said in amusement.
A faint smile raised the corners of Russell’s lips. “That’s right. She. We’ve been through a lot together.”
“So have we,” Colter pointed out.
Russell gave a stronger smile at that. “Yeah. Thanks for the, uh, interception. Although, I’m the one who saved your hide in the first place.”
“Hey, we had a plan, and you deviated.”
“We would’ve never made it to the target zone, and you know it,” Russell argued. “Just admit it. I saved your ass again.”
Colter rolled his eyes, but he smiled. It only dimmed when he caught another glimpse of Russell’s swollen eye, re-straightened nose, and the edge of lacerations disappearing underneath his collar.
“Sorry it took so long,” Colter said.
Russell glanced over and gave him a knowing look. He reached over and grabbed Colter’s arm, squeezing once.
“Nothing I can’t handle, little brother.”
In just a few minutes, the calmer turn of the air between them only solidified again with tension. The truck veered off-road into the Sierra compound and soon approached their family’s cabin at Echo Ridge. They saw the red and blue flashes of sirens through the nearing trees.
When Colter finally came to an abrupt stop, Russell’s boots were the first out of the truck and hitting the ground. His limping strides brought him past the large SUVs under the caution tape. He closed in on Charlie, who Russell saw speaking with Reenie and a lead FBI agent on the scene. Bodies were being zipped up in black bags and hauled off into the SUVs.
“What happened?” Russell demanded to know. The agent’s tag read Faraday, and she turned to him with a sharp, curious gaze.
“Excuse me, who are you?” Agent Faraday asked.
“Russell Shaw. Looks like he just escaped captivity,” Charlie informed her, while clasping Russell’s shoulder. “You okay, man?”
He opened his mouth to answer, even though his eyes kept searching beyond Charlie. They eventually found you.
“Russell!”
And there you were, coming out of the cabin in some jeans, boots, and a loose red flannel over a black tank top. His little lumberjack.
Your hair was a wild mess. Your face was stained with a smudge of dirt and the paths of your tears, but your eyes shone with abject relief. Dory and Mary weren’t far behind you when you started toward him at a run.
Russell met you in the middle, but he didn’t quite expect the force with which you vaulted yourself into his arms; he grunted, his eyes shutting tight at the pain. He gathered you up anyway. But you gasped and pulled back on reflex.
“I’m sorry!” you said. You caressed his cheek, sorrowful and careful when you took in every injury. You were sure there was more you couldn’t see.
“God, look at you. Are you okay?” you asked tearfully.
He grinned down at you with his usual bravado. “Like a thousand bucks.”
“Just a thousand?” you asked, sniffling. “Not a million?”
“Well, after a shower I’m sure I’ll be worth a few more pesos.”
He truly did smell terrible, but you hugged him anyway, burying your face in his neck. He sunk his fingers into your hair and held you as tight as his busted ribs would allow. Though he made room for his sister when she came up on his left and kissed the side of her head.
Colter stopped beside Mary, who touched his arm in greeting and offered him a smile. She glanced over at Russell, there with you and Dory. Mary couldn’t help the sliver of hurt that nestled in when he barely looked her way, but she didn’t voice it. She supposed she deserved it.
“It’s over,” Colter said, squeezing his mother’s shoulder.
Tears welled up in her eyes. They never left her eldest son.
The bodies were eventually cleared out along with the FBI. They took with them the evidence Dave and Manny had hand-delivered to Reenie and the authorities a full 24 hours before Russell and Colter staged their little play at Glen Canyon Park. The lockbox Dave and Manny found held a thumb drive with decades of transactions from offshore accounts, bribes, memos, evidence that documented BlackBridge’s relationship with local gangs in California, as well as cartels in Colombia and Nicaragua, and the companies that benefitted from BlackBridge’s “brokerage” deals on their behalf, like Horizon Group.
Among all this evidence was Ashton Shaw’s letters, detailing the schemes to cover up the murders of six Berkley professors and one government official, himself included.
BlackBridge was already in the process of being seized and frozen, with its CEO, Ian Helms, arrested. He would later be held without bail. For today, however, news of his arrest on Charlie’s phone was satisfying.
“The company’s net worth is substantial,” Charlie said, while he and Russell smoked a cigar out on Mary’s porch. Colter was inside with the ladies, helping to clean up dinner. Dave and Manny were helping too, though Manny was taking every opportunity to flirt with Dory, going so far as to let her know that he owned his own construction company.
“Who’s to say Helms won’t just bribe himself out of a conviction? Or more likely, cut a deal and help the FBI catch a bigger fish,” Charlie said grimly.
The corner of Russell’s mouth rose.
“Well,” he said, puffing out smoke. “He could always die in prison.”
Charlie was a hint surprised, but he slowly smiled. From the look on Russell’s face, he knew how to facilitate that kind of unfortunate incident.
Charlie inclined his head. “That’s a possibility.”
“Mhmm.”
The following morning saw a soft sun of molten gold rising out of the clouds. Shades of violet and pastel pink streaked through the trees. Peeks of orange filtered through the leaves, painting over the cabin, the mottled ground, the broken branches, and remnants of the battle ravaged here just a day before.
Russell’s body woke him with the dawn, the way it always used to when he lived here. He left you in bed to keep sleeping, but he stretched his pained, aching body before he went out into the kitchen to make some coffee.
Mary was already there, seated at the reading nook by the window as she watched the sunrise. A mug of coffee was still steaming in her hand. Her head turned toward him when he entered.
“Sorry. Didn’t think anyone would be awake,” he said quietly.
“You don’t have to apologize. This is your home too,” she said.
“Is it now?” Russell said. He grabbed a mug and poured some sugar and creamer in. He sat at the table, just a couple of feet away from her nook.
She glanced away from him. “I suppose I deserve that.”
Some tense silence passes between them, mother and son.
“Your father was proud of you,” Mary said. “You had it the hardest, and he knew that. It’s why he was toughest on you. You had the most to learn in the least amount of time.”
Here she sighed.
“In the end, I think he knew he wouldn’t survive. That stress destroyed him long before BlackBridge.”
Russell stayed quiet, though she eyed him knowingly.
“You want to ask if I helped them do it,” she said.
“Three kids. Unstable husband. His affair,” Russell said. He caught her look of surprise, albeit muted. She reminded him of Colter in some ways. “Yeah, I know about that. Objectively speaking, I could understand why you’d do it. Protect your kids and yourself.”
She shook her head. “I can’t say the affair didn’t…sting. Claire Hawking was a political scientist who shared our passion for activism, like her husband. She was also a friend of mine. Or at least, I thought she was,” she said. “But I ultimately understood what kind of pressure your father was under. What we all were under.”
She met her son’s gaze.
“I sent the last box of Ashton’s papers to Claire in his name, thinking she might be interested in the last of his research. I did it because I also wanted those final threads to be as far away from our family as possible.” Her eyes became glazed over in memory. “I meant what I said, son. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done to try and protect you, your brother, and your sister. But I was selfish too. I wanted Ashton’s fight to die with him.”
“Why didn’t you burn the papers then? Why’d you give them away?”
“That’s a good point,” she said. “I suppose I could’ve burned them. I don’t know. Maybe part of me knew we might end up here one day.”
He nodded as he took that in. He still didn’t know if he bought it yet.
"Okay. How about the fact that I saw you talking to that man," Russell said. "That fucking hitman Horizon sent after Dad."
Mary shook her head. "He claimed he was a hiker, new to the area. I pointed him in the direction back to the trail. He must've circled back to find our cabin after I left."
Russell almost smiled. "Hmm. A little convenient."
"It's the truth," she said, sharper this time. "Why would I lie to you now? Frankly, I'm lucky he didn't decide to kill me right there... Maybe he wanted to try and reason with Ashton first, see what he knew."
Russell considered that. She could've been lying to keep up the martyr role, or even just to save herself from losing the last one of her kids who still wanted to see the good in her.
“All right. If all that's true, where were you that night they came for him?” he asked.
Mary sighed.
THEN...
The day her family shattered was strange in her memory. Some parts had long fuzzed over, like the edges of a photograph. Others were sharp, like Ashton’s hand closed around her wrist. She had one hand on the door knob, poised to leave the cabin, the other ensnared.
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
“I told you. I have to go into town,” Mary said. She kept her tone even-keel, as always, hiding the small trill of unease underneath.
“It’s not safe in town,” he said.
“We need food,” she said, “and you need your medication.”
The vegetables she grew sprouted a fungus, so they weren’t edible. The pantry was down to a single can of peas, which neither Russell nor Dory would eat. Colter was the only one who stomached them alongside venison, or in a bit of rabbit stew.
After another long moment in which Mary held her breath, Ashton finally let her go. He became gentler, more the husband she knew when he squeezed her hand.
“Just be careful,” he reminded. She nodded and smiled thinly.
It was becoming harder and harder to even let him touch her. There were days when she didn't even recognize the man she married. There were days when she hated him for what he'd done—to their family, and to her. This was one of them.
So she took the opportunity to leave the cabin, however brief, for what it was. She had just enough money to decide between vegetables and healthy snacks, new winter jackets for the kids, and her husband’s medicine.
As she drove away from Echo Ridge and into the city, she mentally filed his medicine under necessity, and would have to forgo the fresh vegetables for canned. She tried to remember if Russell’s jacket had more than one hold in it, or if it was something she could patch herself with her shoddy sewing skills.
A deep exhale left her lips, but didn’t steady her.
Two hours later, she had her groceries. She was also sitting in traffic, having a very familiar debate with herself. Ironically, she was a psychologist who could only be her own sounding board. She no longer had peers. She didn’t even have friends.
The inner debate was simple.
How much longer can this go on?
Sooner or later, the boys were going to get old enough to start questioning their father. Already there had been an alarming episode with Russell. Ashton wanted Dory to free climb one of the cliffs, at night. It had been a dangerous challenge for the boys to attempt it as part of their milestones, but Dory was still far too young.
Russell had put his proverbial foot down, and his body between his sister and his father. Ashton, in one of his crazed moods, had pulled out a knife on his son.
Mary had barely gotten there in time to defuse him.
Now, the very air in the house between her husband and eldest son hung by a tenuous thread.
Her phone rang loudly, disrupting her thoughts. Of course, it was Ashton calling. She groaned aloud in aggravation. She could never have just one afternoon for herself.
She let it ring, and ring, frustrated tears forming in her eyes. Finally, she pulled off the highway and ended up in the parking lot overlooking Ocean Beach. She got out of the car and sat there on the hood, staring out at the ocean and its tourists as dusk settled over the water. The wind whipped at her face, but it wouldn’t dry her tears.
It was a selfish moment, and she knew it.
She should’ve gone home.
NOW
“It’s not a good excuse, I’ll admit,” Mary said. “When you all needed me most, I wasn’t there.”
Russell shook his head in thought, weighing the sincerity of her words. He was inclined to believe her. He felt something give way inside him; not entirely, but enough.
“For what it’s worth,” she added, “I am sorry…for everything.”
“Everything?” he asked.
She gave him a look, one with a crushing weight. He knew what she meant, but he’d still like to hear her say the words.
“For all these years you were alone,” she said.
Russell was struck into silence.
He didn’t know how to take that in. It felt real though. It felt true.
When she looked away from him, breaking down as she wiped at her tears in vain, it stirred something inside him.
Mary didn’t realize he had gotten up out of his seat until he was sitting across from her. He reached across the narrow divide to cover her hand with his larger one. She was shocked to find him there, but a tenuous smile graced her lips. She curled her fingers around his, squeezing his hand.
Two days later, Russell’s Malibu came to a rumbling stop in the driveway. You and Russell climbed out of the car, with you helping him more than he would’ve liked to admit. A few hours spent at a hospital back in San Fransisco had treated his burnt feet and lacerations, but he was still moving slow.
You two grabbed the bags and suitcases and traveled up the well-worn driveway up to your little white house for the first time in almost two months. The long summer was over.
Russell fished his keys out of his pocket to open the door, but he stepped aside to let you in first. You crossed the threshold, running on a triple espresso, half a bagel, and not much else. Russell dropped his bag off unceremoniously by the front door. You couldn’t even chastise him for it, because you were ready to drop where you stood.
After locking the door, Russell surveyed the house. Everything looked as it should have, like the day you guys left it all behind. He made his way to the comfort of the living room and plopped down in the middle of the couch. You meant to get by him and head to the bedroom for a shower, but he dragged you down into his lap, making you laugh.
His black eye still looked horrible. You sighed and kissed his cheek gently.
“You okay?” he asked.
You nodded. “Yeah. You?”
“Mhmm.” He closed his eyes and tipped his head back onto the couch cushion.
It really was damn good to be home.
.
.
.
ONE(ISH) YEAR LATER…
You and Russell basked in the remnants of Shaw Brews’ opening night.
Well, by now it was five in the morning. All the patrons had cleared out about three hours before, and even Colter, Reenie, Dory, Mary Dove, Charlie, Dave, and Manny had left after helping with the cleanup.
Russell was still having too much fun babying his new bar.
You were just coming back from the bathroom. You hopped up on the counter while he finished drying the glasses and wiping down every available surface. You swung your feet a little, admiring the apron still tied around his waist, the dark wash jeans and the black dress shirt you bought him, rolled up on the sleeves.
He caught your eye. “What?”
“I like to see a man at work,” you teased.
Russell thwapped the cleaning rag onto the counter beside you and made you jolt, despite your giggle.
He drew into your orbit and made room for himself between your legs, his hands smoothing up your thighs. You cupped his face with both hands.
“You know how proud I am of you?” you said.
Russell smiled. “Oh, yeah? For what?”
“For starting over,” you said, pecking his lips.
“For reinventing yourself.”
Another soft kiss.
“For working incredibly hard for what you want, even when we almost lost our damn minds on renovating this old-ass building,” you said, smiling into his lips for another, more lingering kiss.
He’d bought what used to be a warehouse and turned it into his dream; the only one he’d ever had that was truly his own.
“Yeah, well, none of this would’ve happened without your help,” he said, curling a strand of hair behind your ear. “Lots of late-night brainstorms. Lots of trips to HomeGoods that my wallet’s hurtin’ for.”
You laughed softly, a bit of mischief in your eyes. “It was my pleasure to be your interior decorator. It was a lot of fun, actually! I got to go on a shopping spree with my man’s company card, like a proper trophy wife.”
Russell shook his head in amusement. You’d been a hell of a lot more than a decorator (let alone a trophy wife). You’d helped him with a lot of the paperwork, permits, connecting him with a business accountant, all the things that Russell had no experience in. He enjoyed learning it all together with you. He felt that this place wasn’t just his. It was yours too, something you two would continue building together—especially now that you’d taken his last name.
“Something’s been bothering me though,” he said, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on your thighs. It made the band of his wedding ring shine under the lamplight. You tilted your head in question.
“What?”
“All night, I didn’t see you sipping on not one drink,” he said. “Just some mocktail I made for Tracy.”
Doug’s wife was pregnant again, due in the spring. The correlation wasn’t lost on Russell, and he rose a brow at you.
“Now either my wife doesn’t like my beer, or you got something to tell me,” he said slyly.
You bit into your lower lip. Your hands slid down to his chest, just bracing yourself.
Russell had talked a good game of covering his nerves, but now he watched every shift of your face.
“Well, I might’ve taken a few tests this week,” you said.
“How many we talking?”
“Three,” you admitted, a smile tugging at your lips. “I know it’s not the timing we talked about. And I know I said I’d help out on some weekends, but to be honest, the smell of tequila is already making me a bit nauseous. Anyway, I wanted to tell you sooner, but tonight was your night, and I just—”
“Sweetheart,” Russell gently interrupted, holding you by your hips. “I just wanna know where you want the nursery. In my office, or yours?”
Your eyes glistened with tears. A smile brightened up your face, and made his throat constrict too. He kissed your forehead.
“I’m really pregnant,” you sniffed. “I didn’t want to say anything, but I puked in the basin where we kept the ice bags. Couldn’t make it to the bathroom.”
You had spent a while in there afterward, cleaning yourself up and washing out your mouth.
“I know,” he said, smiling as he rubbed your back. “I cleaned that out while you were in the bathroom. Been waiting for you to come out ever since.”
"Ugh. Gross, I'm sorry." You laughed through your tears and rested your head against his chest. You should’ve known he’d notice. Russell rarely missed a thing.
He gathered you in his arms and let out a contented sigh.
“You know what? Better yet, we can build an addition to the house,” he said. “Manny’s guys are pretty damn good. We just need to be really specific on what we want, and they’ll go to town—”
It was your turn to interrupt him, with your lips on his. Your arms twined around his neck, your legs wrapping around his waist. He held you to him strong, but gentle at the same time.
“Never forget,” you whispered; your code word for the only never rule you ever made up.
“Oh, I haven’t forgotten,” he said with a smile. His eyes softened. “I love you too.”
To him, you’d done it all. You took him in, gave him a home, helped him reconnect with his family, and forgave far more than you should’ve. You’d become his wife, and now you were going to make him a father. Whether he felt ready for that step or not (hint: he really fucking didn’t), he knew he’d have to step it up for you. For his kid.
He wasn’t running from his past anymore. He wasn’t passing time. He was just…living.
Really living.
AN: All right, friends, what did you think? From Colter breaking out his bro, to Russell having his final confrontation with Adam and Mary, to finally Russ and reader getting to move on with their lives on solid ground. 🥰💓
I'm genuinely going to miss these two!! 💚 It's been over a year since I first started writing for Russell Shaw, back in May, which coincidentally was the start of my health battle. But now I can happily say I've got my health back, and kind of my life back too.
Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this!! On Wednesday you'll get the "end for now" on 'Til When Do Us Part (after writing 10 straight chapters of Mark Meachum angst, I need a little break 😆).
Then I'll be working on a new little series for Professor Dean. 😏❤️
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