“Matty!”
The lack of a response had me picking up my pace. “Matty, you answer me right now!” I shouted. I knew I was likely overreacting, but the thought that Matty could have climbed up into the hayloft and fallen through a broken floorboard flashed through my mind and I began running. I called his name again, but there was still no answer. And when I saw the barn door partially opened, I was gutted with fear and I shouted for Hawke.
But when I slid the door open wide enough so that I could fit through it, I was nowhere near prepared for the sight that greeted me.
Because there standing just behind my son in the middle of the barn pressing a gun against Matty’s head, was Denny.
“Sorry, Daddy,” Matty said, his voice uneven, and I knew he was just seconds away from crying.
At some point he’d found Storm because he was holding the quiet puppy in his arms. “It’s okay, buddy. Just hold on to Storm and be real still and quiet while the grown-ups talk.”
Despite my warning not to move, Matty nodded, but that was all he did. I lifted my eyes to Denny and shook my head. “Denny, please. He’s just a kid. Just let him leave and you and I can talk.”
“You shouldn’t have taken him, Chrissy,” Denny said, his hand shaking as he held the gun. “Pops, he was…you just shouldn’t have taken him.”
I glanced around the barn as subtly as I could, but didn’t see Buck anywhere. But I knew without a shadow of a doubt that Denny wouldn’t have had the forethought to do this on his own. Denny’s eyes were wide and glassy and I suspected he was high or just coming down off of something. And that fact alone had sheer terror rolling through me. Because Denny was wholly unpredictable when he was in that condition.
“I had to, Denny. You know what Buck would have done to him. What he would have turned him into.”
Denny pulled the gun away from Matty’s head so he could wipe his brow with his arm. A sliver of relief went through me when he lowered the gun to his side instead of putting it back to Matty’s head. But he still had his other hand clamped down on Matty’s shoulder.
“Things didn’t go well for me when he got home and found the kid gone,” Denny said accusingly.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think about that when I took him.”
Denny grew more agitated as he shook his head. “I told that stupid bitch to stay away.”
I dropped my eyes to Matty as Denny seemed to get lost in himself and I gave my son what I hoped was a reassuring smile and a brief nod. Matty was clearly terrified, but he managed a small nod.
Denny was still ranting and I could tell he was getting more and more frustrated so I said, “Denny, talk to me. Who are you talking about?”
My brother looked as me as if he’d just now noticed my presence and I was surprised to see his face actually fall. “I really loved her, you know?”
“Who?”
“She was supposed to be the one. We were gonna be a family. You remember that, don’t you Chrissy?” Denny said, his voice actually sounding dejected.
If the circumstances had been any different, I actually might have felt sorry for him.
“Daddy’s name is Tate,” Matty suddenly interjected, but instead of putting the gun back to Matty’s head, Denny actually looked down at Matty strangely and then turned him and knelt down in front of him.
“He’s not your daddy, Matthew,” Denny said as he reached up with the hand that was holding the gun and tried to stroke Matty’s face. Matty flinched and pulled his face away before Denny could make contact.
“Denny,” I said desperately and I took several steps forward to get Denny’s attention. The move worked and Denny jumped up and pointed his gun at me. “Talk to me, Denny,” I ordered as I held out my hands.
“Fuck!” Denny bit out and he lowered the gun again. “This is all your fault! I could have convinced Buck not to…”
Denny started shaking his head and then he slammed his closed fist against his chest. It was a move I’d seen him do countless times when he was pissed and trying to get control of himself.
“Convinced Buck not to what?” I asked when Denny settled again.
“No loose ends, remember?”
I stilled at that and looked down at Matty. I shook my head in disbelief. “No,” slipped from my lips as my father’s motto rang in my ear.
“He was a three-year-old kid, Denny!” I nearly shouted.
“No loose ends,” Denny repeated. “But I couldn’t fucking do it. Not to my own kid.”
I didn’t correct Denny that he wasn’t Matty’s father because I knew it was the only thing of value I had. But his statement was telling and based on what he’d said earlier, he’d cared about Matty’s mother.