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Inside the cop car Matthew saw everything and slammed his shoulder against the unmoving door. He raged, “
Goddamn you, Angela!
”

“Keep it down!” Randy warned, tapping the window. But he strode over to his little sister and with none-too-gentle movements caught her upper arm and ordered, “Angela, get a grip.”

Angie twisted out of his grasp and stalked away, giving Matthew a venomous smile as she passed the car. Matthew was out of his head with anger as he watched helplessly. Erica was kneeling over Bryce, and as others clustered around, he lost sight of her. Randy made the car lunge as he climbed in with all of his bulk and slammed the door.

“Goddamn it, is she okay?” Matthew growled at him, tears stinging in his eyes.

Randy grunted, put the car in gear, and didn't say another word as he turned right towards Rose Lake.

Rose Lake, Minnesota – Friday, June 30, 1995

H
alf an hour later, on
their own front porch and blessedly alone, Wilder and Erica stood in their finery in the warm orange glow of the light, around which moths were beating as fast and uncontrollably as both of their hearts. Wilder moved in slow motion and sank to the swing as though his knees had suddenly turned to cottonseed. Erica pressed one hand to her throat and could hardly even look him in the eye. The car ride home had been the most silent and tense of their entire marriage.

“There's got to be some kind of mistake,” Wilder said a moment later, and his voice was nearly unrecognizable. Erica looked hard at him then; he sounded the way Daniel had the night of his heart attack…but it was just the shock. She forced herself to move closer and sat carefully on the swing beside him.

“Matty…and
Bryce?
” Wilder said, in a childlike tone of utter bewilderment. “How could…when did…”

Erica still had not spoken and Wilder felt a flash of anger, which burned some of the shock away. He said, “What the devil was he thinking? I'll kill him.”

“Wilder, watch your mouth!” she said at last, letting the anger sweep into her blood too, far more welcome than the coldness of disbelief.

“Erica, Jesus Christ in heaven!” he half-yelled at her. “This was going on under our noses! How come you didn't notice?” he demanded then, unreasonably.

Erica huffed out a laugh. “So this is my fault.”

Wilder hooked the fingers of both hands and shoved them hard through his loose blond hair, demanded, “What the hell do we do now?”

Erica said, “Well, we get changed and I'll go bail out Matty.”

***

He was
released to her 45 minutes later, and Erica bit down a gasp at the way he looked coming out from behind the security doors; she had never seen his eyes like this before, flat with despair. Both of his hands were enveloped in round, inhibiting casts, just the upper joints of his fingers showing. Erica rose slowly, wanting to verbally tear into him just as much as she felt the urge to hug him, hold him close to her like a little boy and tell him that everything would be all right. Though she hardly saw how.

“Where's Bryce?” he demanded immediately, his voice hoarse.

Shit, shit, shit
, she thought, her heart clubbing. Bryce was at the county hospital, waiting for word about Wade's condition. Randy Strickland had told them that the man's jaw was badly broken. And Matty had done that to him. Erica could hardly believe what was happening, knew she would never erase the picture of Matthew blasting through the crowd like an avenging angel, effortlessly vicious as he took Wade to the ground and smashed his face alternately with both fists. The fact that he had done so because he was in love with his half-niece, Michelle's own daughter, was something she had carefully shelved until she felt she could even begin to comprehend it, to deal with it. Right now she would take things one at a time.

Relax, Erica
, she thought, repressing a shudder, and drew herself together. She said quietly, “She's at the hospital with him, with Wade.”

“Is she all right?” he demanded, and for the second time that night Erica felt that the men she'd known her entire life sounded like utter strangers to her.

“Yes, she's just fine,” she told him, trying her best to look stern. But he appeared to have been crying his eyes out and Erica caved and said, “Oh, Matty…honey…”

He shook his head dismissively at the sentiment, jaw clenching. Erica could see the effort it took him not to let more tears fall.

“Come on,” she told him, and led the way outside into the cricket-pulsing night.

In the car she turned the key in the ignition, but before she could shift into gear, Matthew pressed his forehead against the passenger window and his chest was suddenly heaving, forcing out choking, heart-rending sobs. Erica felt as though a gallon of scalding water had been dumped over her head.

“Matthew, it's okay,” she said, trying but failing to keep the fear out of her voice; in many ways he was like her oldest child, and she loved him dearly. She would get to the bottom of this, but it frightened her deeply to hear his anguish.

He rounded on her, eyes blazing. “IT WILL NEVER BE OKAY AGAIN!” he shouted at her, louder than he had ever spoken to her in his life, and shock flattened her back against the seat. In the next instant he said, “I'm sorry, Erica…oh Jesus Christ…” and he collapsed into sobs again, his huge frame shaking with the force.

Back at the house, Wilder had been frenetic, had Bryce's duffle bag at his feet on the porch as though to leave it in the house was too much for him. Matthew jogged up the steps and shouldered past his older brother without a word; Erica came bounding up the steps in his wake, heart clubbing as Wilder said in a tone she could not argue with, “Take these things to the hospital. I already bought Bryce a ticket on a flight to Oklahoma City…I don't think she should come back here.”

Things were moving far too quickly. Her stomach falling, Erica asked quietly, “Tonight, or ever?”

Wilder pressed his lips tightly together and studied the boards beneath their feet, his own eyes gleaming with tears.

“I think ever.”

But Matthew came striding back out, eyes purposeful, straight ahead. Without a word he marched down the porch steps. Wilder said, quietly but with undeniable force, “Matthew, get your ass back here.”

Matthew stopped, but he did not turn around. His huge shoulders were square and tense in a white t-shirt. Erica clutched her hands together, hating this so much.
Goddamn it…it didn't have to be like this
.

“Where in the hell do you think you're going, little brother?” Wilder asked him grimly. Matthew didn't move, nor respond, and Erica's heart seemed to freeze in her chest as she watched her husband's full lips press into an angry white line above his chin. Everything was sickeningly silent for a long moment; when Wilder's mouth opened, Erica started.

“I asked you a
goddamn question!
” Wilder roared at his younger brother.

Matthew whirled around and his eyes looked feral in the glow from the porch light, though he spoke quietly. “Wilder, you are my brother and I love you, I do, but you will not stop me, I am telling you that right now.”

“Give me those keys,” Wilder said, trying for calm.

Matthew's chest rose and fell, sharply.

“No,” he said, low and dangerous.

Erica hardly dared to breathe.

“Matthew, bring the keys up here, or so help me, I will regret what I do next,” Wilder said.

Matthew didn't move and Wilder's shoulders shifted, his arms tensed, and Erica couldn't stand it another second and raced between them, pleading her case to Matty. She was crying, and it hurt him to see that. He said, “Erica, please don't…please don't cry…”

“Matthew,” she cried, and caught his upper arms in her small hands. “Please don't do this. The police will take you back into custody if you set so much as a foot in that hospital.
You will hurt her if you do this!
” She stared up at him, her face shiny with tears. “Please, please listen to me…”

He shook his head like someone trying to wake from a nightmare. “Bryce,” he said then, stricken. Tears streamed over his cheeks and he yelled her name over and over, his voice harsh and hoarse. At last he seemed to give up, sank to his knees in the grass, tipped forward, and Erica bent and collected him close, her heart quaking. She thanked heaven that the kids were not here, would not have this picture in their memories.

“I love her…so much,” he gasped, over and over, clinging to Erica the way he used to as a small child, sobbing with all the force of his fractured heart, helpless before the onslaught.

Wilder stood on the porch with his hands braced on the top railing, head and torso bent forward in the manner of someone who might be violently ill. Erica could hardly look up at her husband, too terrified by Matthew's intensity, and instead held him tight against herself. But in the next moment he set her aside gently, rose and strode away, down the lake path, not looking back once.

***

Five miles
away, Bryce sat on a vinyl chair near Wade's hospital bed, her face set as stone as she tried again to wrap her mind around all that had happened tonight. Wade was sleeping, drugged up from the pain medication he had been given, his face swathed in strips of white gauze. He would make a physical recovery, the doctor had informed her, though she knew he would never forgive her, and would certainly want to kill Matthew the moment he was able, would never live it down. For the life of her, she could not believe that Wade had driven all the way here, had been ready to fight for her…

And Matthew…she would never be able to get the picture of him from her mind, the way he had taken Wade down as though Wade were a stick figure, had leaped onto him and beat his face like someone possessed, would have certainly killed him if not for the men who had dragged him away, all because Wade had hurt her. Despite the violence of the assault, she was touched to the resonant core of her being; Matthew protected her. He would do that and more to keep her safe. Her heart constricted at the thought of him, and she pressed her knuckles against her eyes for the countless time, determined not to give in to full-scale weeping again tonight. Her own head ached from the pain of two blows…Wade's elbow had knocked a large purple bruise on her left temple, and Angie's vicious slap had landed just below that spot.

And still that pain was nothing compared to the rending in her soul; tonight they had moved past the point of no return, of that she was sure. She felt dizzy with grief for a moment, certain she would crumple to the floor with the shifting, sickening weight of the feeling, and she thought,
I have to see him tonight or I will die. Where is he right now? Are his hands all right? Is he in pain? Is someone taking care of him? Oh God, is he lying in a jail cell?
Not knowing was driving her insane.

An hour later a light tap sounded on the door. Her heart seized like a fist before swamping her veins with hot frenzied blood; she had half-lifted off the chair, praying with all of her being that Matthew was somehow here, despite everything, but her aunt Erica, looking drawn and ghost-pale, stepped into the room a second later. Bryce felt her throat close up at the expression in her eyes, but she gamely rose to return the hug that Erica's outstretched arms were offering. The two clung for a minute. Erica could see that Bryce had been crying, and crying hard. She whispered against the girl's soft dark hair, “Bryce, I am so sorry.”

Bryce shook her head against Erica, unable to speak, anguish racking her. She kept thinking of what she'd said to him on the dock last night, the ways his eyes had looked as she broke both their hearts, of his strong hands now shattered and aching.

Erica pulled back and smoothed Bryce's hair. She tilted her chin at the duffle bag she'd placed on the floor, finding she couldn't look directly at the man sleeping in the hospital bed behind them. She said, “Bryce, I want you to know that we love you, okay? But I think it would be best if you go home for a while. Wilder is going to drive you to the airport—” Erica stopped abrubtly and drew a sharp breath, looking away from her niece's eyes. Tears filled her own, but she forced herself to continue, “To the airport in Minneapolis. He's waiting for you…we drove separately.” Erica couldn't admit to Bryce that she was unable to bear the long drive, that she would surely crack and make Wilder turn the truck around, and bring Bryce back home. She rushed on, “He…we didn't tell your mother anything. I don't know what to say, Bryce.” And then she sighed, eyes flashing expectantly back to the younger woman. She wished for a moment that she could sit down and demand that Bryce tell her the whole story.

Bryce had pressed both fists hard to her midsection at Erica's words and looked in danger of fainting, her face alarmingly pale. Wordless, she studied Erica with the exact same terrified and hopeless expression that had covered Matthew's face earlier. Erica gulped and said, “I have to go, Wilder is waiting. But Matty asked me to give you this.” And she passed a small, sealed envelope into the girl's hand. Swallowing back her anguish, Erica bent and kissed Bryce's ice-cold cheek, and then hurried from the room with no other offer of farewell. Crushed, Bryce clutched the envelope to her chest and then carefully eased it open, pulling out the folded, lined notebook paper with shaking hands. His writing was wobbly and shaky because of the cast on his right hand, the message short and to the point. She read: Bryce, Wilder told me you're going home. I think this is for the best. I'm sorry. Matthew.

She made a small, choked sound as she read the words again and again, realizing what they meant. She sank to the faded tiles of the hospital floor, her knees simply dissolving as pain and disbelief collided within every atom in her body.
No, oh please, no. Please don't do this to me, Matthew. I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it. Oh, God
. She could not even cry, her hurt ran so deep. Instead she pressed the words to her chest, and willed her heart to keep beating.