Hell, Fire & Freedom (Fighting for Freedom) (27 page)

I look back to a very distracted and stressed looking Blaze and decide to relieve some of that stress for him. I close the door and walk over to his desk, spinning his chair around and dropping to my knees. Blaze’s eyes widen in confusion, but when I run my tongue over my lips, he seems to understand where this is headed. A smile plays across his face as he continues to argue with whoever is on the phone. He lifts his butt as I pull his pants down to his knees, effectively freeing his already hard cock.

I lick the tip first, slowly, watching Blaze’s face as I do. He’s biting his lip intermittently, but still managing to keep up with the conversation he’s having. That won’t do. I wrap my mouth around the edge and suck hard, swirling my tongue over the tip.

“Fuck,” he cries out. I giggle, watching as he tries to work it into the argument.

I pull him into my mouth, as far back as I can get him in, going slowly, so I can watch his face while I do. I wrap my hand around the base of his shaft and start to work him faster and harder. His breathing quickens and he starts answering whoever is on the other end of the line in one word, breathy answers. I work harder and harder until he finally clips out, “Gotta go,” hangs up, and throws his phone on the desk. He puts a hand on the back of my head, moving me up and down, and I let him control the speed. I feel him growing harder, and his cock starts pulsing as he shoots his release down the back of my throat. I swallow eagerly, milking every drop until he’s completely dry.

“Mmm,” I say, pulling away.

“Fuck, Brynn, that was unbelievably hot,” Blaze says with a smile, pulling me up for a kiss. He pulls away, and using one arm, effectively clears everything off his desk in one swift swipe. He lifts me up, laying me back on the desk and pulling my pants off.

“Your turn,” he says throatily.

~

We arrive in Oregon the morning of Ma’s funeral. We check into a hotel, and I leave early to go to the grave site to help set up. Blaze is bringing Marie before the service begins. I take the two framed photographs I have of her and set them beside her urn. I pull the medallion Mr. Howard gave me out of my pocket and set in inside the pre-dug hole. Someone has been looking out for me, and now it’s time for someone to look out for her. I’ve found my peace.

There’s nobody here yet, so I decide to sit down and talk to her for the last time. “I’m sorry you went out suffering, Ma. That’s no way for anyone to go. I’m sorry that I didn’t get to know you better and that you left so many unanswered questions for us. I wish we had gotten to know you better. I wish you didn’t let alcohol consume your life. Maybe then you would have loved me,” I say, letting a tear fall down my cheek.

“She did love you. I’m sure of that,” I hear from a deep voice behind me. I turn around, a little scared. The voice is coming from a man in his late twenties, and I wonder how in the hell he would know my ma. I’ve never seen him before in my life. He has dark brown hair, beautiful brown eyes, and a five o’clock shadow. He’s tattooed and looks like he’s led a hard life, but his eyes are gentle, and I don’t feel like I’m in any danger.

“Sorry?” I ask.

“The name’s Terry. I met Cindy at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting about five years ago. She talked about you girls a lot these past few months. If I’m sure about one thing, it’s that she loved you and your sister,” Terry says sympathetically.

“I think you have the wrong Cindy …” I start.

“Brynn?” he asks.

“Yeah, it is actually,” I say, now completely astounded.

“She didn’t say much when she first started coming in. God, she didn’t say much at all for the first few years. I always got the feeling she just didn’t want to be there, but every week she would show up,” Terry says, shaking his head. “She didn’t tell me much until she went into the hospital.

I’d go and visit her, try and keep her company, you know? Nobody should have to die alone. I thought she was a bitter old lady, until she started talking about you and Marie. She was proud of you both. She said you took care of Marie when she couldn’t, and Marie, she said she just never stopped trying. She still cooked for her every night, even though she couldn’t keep anything down because of the alcohol. Your ma thought she was a saint.”

I feel tears streaming down my face now, and I look up at Terry, pleading for him to continue. He sits down beside me in the grass and starts plucking the shards one by one until he speaks again.

“I really don’t know if it’s my place to say this, but there’s a reason she drank the way she did. She didn’t want to hurt you girls. She hated herself for it every day, but she just couldn’t stop, no matter how hard she tried,” he says, pausing for a minute as if he’s trying to decide if he should tell me or not.

“Please,” I plead, and he nods his head.

“Your mom, she had a hard life growing up. She said her dad started raping her before she was even old enough to go to school. He threatened her, and he’d beat her when your grandmother wasn’t home, which she said was often since your grandmother was the only one who worked. She hid that pain for eleven years, the abuse almost daily, until he finally died. She was sixteen then and moved out on her own. She couldn’t stand your grandmother crying over him. Your grandmother never knew, and from what your mom told me, she never told a soul about it … until me. I’m guessing she only told me because she was on her death bed,” Terry says, and he truly looks like his heart is breaking.

Tears are now pouring down my face, and I don’t even attempt to wipe them. My whole life I hated this woman, and now I can almost understand where she was coming from. I spent five years, as an adult, with my husband raping me, and I still get lost in the pain. I can’t imagine dealing with that as a child, and from my own father no less. I weep openly, and Terry reaches over and rubs my back.

“I’m so sorry. I’ve been fighting with myself, wondering if I should tell you. I just couldn’t leave her story untold. She wasn’t a bad woman; she just had a lot of pain,” he says.

“Thank you,” I say, looking up into those caring brown eyes. “You have no idea what that means to me. I only wish she had told me sooner.”

“I can’t tell you why she didn’t. I do know that she only wanted to protect you both, though. That’s why you’ve never met your fathers and why she never had a man in your home. Even though she might not have shown it, she loved you both. Living in the same trailer she was abused in, though, was really tough for her,” Terry says.

I give him a little smile because I’m thankful for everything he’s told me, and I’m rewarded with one of the most beautiful smiles I’ve ever seen in return.

“You don’t seem like you belong in an AA meeting,” I tell him honestly.

“We’re not bad people, you know, we’ve just all got our own demons. Sometimes alcohol just helps those demons disappear,” he says thoughtfully.

I think back to the plane ride home from seeing Ma in the hospital and how easy it was to just have a drink and forget all my pain. I had too much to lose to keep up the behavior, though, and I guess I was lucky to have Blaze there guiding me.

“I understand that now, thank you again,” I say as I watch the priest exit his car and start walking up to where Terry and I are sitting.

“Well, unfortunately, I have a few other friends to visit here. I’ll be back for her funeral to pay my respects, though,” he says, standing up. He offers me a hand, and I take it. He helps me up and pulls me into a hug.

“Take care of yourself, Brynn,” he says warmly.

“You too, Terry,” I tell him, and with that, he walks off, moving on to another headstone.

I wipe the tears from my face and walk down to meet the priest. I’ve got something important I need to tell him.

~

Marie and Blaze arrive later, as do a handful of other people I’ve never met before. The priest speaks first before asking if anyone has anything to say. I hesitate a moment, trying to remember everything I decided to say after meeting Terry, but in my hesitation, Marie decides to speak. She moves up to stand beside the priest.

“Ma, I can’t tell you how much I’m going to miss you …” she says with a tear streaked face, but before she can finish her sentence, I hear a loud bang and watch in horror as Marie’s arm is torn open by what I can only assume is a bullet. I scream as I hear another gunshot go off, but there’s nothing I can do; I’m too far away. Terry, who is standing closest to Marie seems to notice where the shooter is standing and jumps in front of Marie, taking the second bullet in his chest. I rush to their sides as Blaze takes off in pursuit of the shooter.

I don’t have time to worry about Blaze, though. Marie is bleeding profusely but seems to be in better shape than Terry. I place my hands on top of Terry’s wound and scream for help. I vaguely hear someone on the phone behind me calling 9-1-1.

“It’s going to be all right Terry, it is. Please, please just hang in there,” I pray. His wound is gushing, and I do my best to apply pressure to it.

“How are you, Marie?” I yell out.

“I’m fine,” she says, and I look over to see someone helping her apply pressure to her arm.

Time seems to stand still before two ambulances arrive, pulling in one after the other. The paramedics rush over and one starts to work on Terry, while the other sets to work on Marie. I stand up, knees weak, wondering what the hell just happened. This can’t be real, it has to be a dream. I look around for Blaze, but he’s nowhere to be found.

“Did anyone call the police?” I yell as I start to run off toward where I last saw him.

“I did when I called 911; they should be here shortly,” an older gentleman says.

“Send them this way!” I holler back.

I run through the cemetery screaming his name before I find him with the shooter pinned to the ground, punching him in the face, over and over again. The man has already lost consciousness, but Blaze continues to pound into him.

“Blaze,” I holler, rushing to his side and latching onto his arms. “Blaze, stop, it’s over, baby. It’s over. She’s fine, and hopefully Terry will be, too,” I say soothingly, and Blaze looks at me with a pained expression on his face. His knuckles are bloody, and his suit is also splattered with blood. I check for a pulse on the shooter—the asshole is still alive. That’s good news for Blaze at least.

“Who is this? Why did he do this?” Blaze growls.

“I don’t know. He looks like a scary homeless person,” I tell him as I hear the sirens approaching. “The police are here, though. Let’s get off of him, okay?” I ask soothingly.

Blaze climbs off of the shooter, and I finally get a good look at him. Scruffy grey hair, dirty beard, dressed in a black hoodie and jeans. I can make out some scary tattoos on his neck and hands. He looks vaguely familiar, but I just can’t place him. Why did he hate my ma so much … enough to hurt her innocent daughter? I can’t help but wonder.

I pull Blaze into a hug, praying like hell that this will all be okay, that everyone will make it out of here alive. I can’t allow myself to imagine any other outcome.

Epilogue

Two months later
…

The past two months have flown by since Ma’s funeral disaster. We decided not to bury her in the cemetery because of the bad memories now associated with her resting place. Instead, Marie decided that we should let her ashes go in the lake near our childhood home. Our grandmother told us when we were kids that Ma used to swim there every day when she was younger. I sell Ma’s trailer, and we donate the proceeds to the Cynthia McNeil Women’s Shelter. I say a tearful goodbye to Tara, and thank her for all of her help. I volunteer my time, if she ever needs it.

I make a mental reminder to ask the therapist about the ill feelings I harbor toward my ma. It’s hard when I feel like every bad thing that happened in mine and Marie’s life is a direct result of something she did, or in most cases, didn’t do. I never felt bad about these feelings until Terry told us why she acted the way she did. Even though I could never condone her behavior, at least I can now understand why.

Terry made a full recovery in the hospital. I visited him every day, even after Marie was released, until he was well enough to go home again. I often sat with his beautiful mother and watched the connection the two of them had. It was obvious they loved each other, and they never let a day go without telling each other so. I looked on, wishing I could have had the same relationship with my ma. I guess the best I can do now is use them as an example if I ever have my own children.

I asked Terry why he did it—why he saved Marie—and all he had to say was that nobody should ever hurt a woman. He’s a good man, and Blaze has been in to thank him, as well.

Marie and I moved whatever wasn’t smoke damaged into Blaze’s home. Unfortunately, it wasn’t much. The fire was put out before it destroyed the entire building, and luckily nobody besides Carl was hurt or killed. On the bright side, it did get Miss Rose moved into a seniors’ home quicker. I had profusely apologized to Tara and sent my condolences to the anonymous condo owner, but insurance would be taking care of them.

Blaze’s shoulder has also healed nicely, and he is back to work at the fire hall, and at Prescott Safety, as well. I feel like he’s really starting to enjoy the work his dad did. Oh, and he faced no charges in attacking the man at Ma’s funeral.

It took a long, full week to determine who the shooter was. It turned out Carl wasn’t lying when he told me he had hired a hit man to kill both Marie and me, even after he was dead. The man was actually Carl’s uncle, who was released from prison a few months before. He was charged with two accounts of attempted murder and is awaiting sentencing. They’ve also arrested Carl’s mother in connection with it, as it turns out it was her job to pay the uncle. I never did like the woman.

Last, but not least, Marie has also made a full recovery, thanks to Terry. The bullet wound just grazed the surface of her arm. Leave it to Marie to be happy it at least happened during her summer vacation, and didn’t interfere with her schooling. I think she’s actually more determined to become a doctor now than ever. I told her about what Terry told me, and we cried together. We cried because not only did our “grandfather” steal Ma’s childhood, but he stole ours, too.