Midnight roots, p.1
Midnight Roots, page 1
Midnight Roots
Yolanda Olson
Copyright © 2024 by Yolanda Olson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Trigger Warning
Blurb
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Silver Creek Ranch
About The Author
Trigger Warning
Please note this story includes depictions of graphic torture and sexual abuse. PTSD is implied in some characters.
Please do not read this if you are easily offended.
Blurb
When I moved to Ironhaven I thought that things would get better, and for a while they did.
I managed to find work on a ranch, see the world for what it really was and not from the horrors that I remembered.
But the terrors came back, only in the guise of nightmares instead of walking daydreams.
Until I saw her.
Until I wanted her.
I have to convince her that I’m not a bad guy.
I have to convince her to give me a chance.
That talking to strangers isn’t the worst thing that could happen.
Ignoring them is.
Prologue
Heston
My body is covered in sweat as I wake up in a state of absolute terror.
Craning my neck, I glance at the clock on the bedstand next to me.
Twelve o’ three in the morning.
It’s always the same goddamn time lately.
Fuck, I think as I angrily swat my blanket away.
I thought I had finally managed to get these flashbacks under control, but they still seem to find me in my dreams.
Coming to Ironhaven and working for Mr. Harvey for a few years got rid of the day terrors, but the night ones still linger.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, angry that I can’t stop them no matter what I do, and walk over to my dresser. I pull out a fresh pair of boxer shorts from the top drawer, placing them on top before I walk back over to my bed and strip the sheets.
It's become something of a ritual lately.
Midnight showers.
Midnight laundry.
Midnight hopelessness.
Midnight regrets.
Once I’ve got the sheets piled up on the floor, I lean down, pull down my sweat-soaked boxers, and toss them onto the sheets.
I can feel my flaccid dick slap gently against my inner thigh and sigh in relief.
At the very least, I didn’t wake up hard over the nightmares.
Maybe I’m getting better after all, I dare to hope as I quickly bunch up the sheets and underwear in my arms and walk out of my room.
I make my way down the hallway and through the kitchen, using my foot to push open the door to the small room just behind it.
I set everything on top of the dryer, then reach up for the string above my head, pull it, and illuminate the room.
Once I can finally see what I’m doing, I make quick work of tossing everything into soak with a small cup of detergent, then go back to my room to grab the boxers still resting on top of the dresser.
I’ll feel better after I take a shower.
I always do.
Chapter One
Dillon
Catch + Candle.
It looks pretty plain from the outside.
It is made of shiny red bricks, large bay windows out front, and the diner's logo screaming at me from the sign that hangs above the door.
The neighborhood’s best café & grill.
I chew the inside of my mouth thoughtfully. I’ve never been a waitress before. Hell, I’ve never worked before, but I’m hoping that being new in town and having youth on my side will land me a job.
If they’re even hiring, I tell myself nervously as I push the door open and walk inside.
The smell of fresh coffee instantly greets me, as does the delightful scent of baked goods.
I can’t help but smile because it reminds me of the summers I used to spend with my grandmother. The scent of freshly baked goods, handing them out at the church mission on Sundays for the people who didn’t have enough.
I already feel at home here, and I haven’t even spoken to anyone yet.
The inside décor is a one-eighty from the outside.
There are a couple of large, wooden, picnic-looking tables, lightweight, aluminum cast chairs, and an old, rusted, black and white Winnebago mini-camper parked against the back wall.
I turn my attention back toward the register, where a pretty young girl, her dark blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, is smiling at me with big blue eyes.
I muster a small smile in return, determined not to mess this up. I walk over to her and glance up at the blackboards behind her, hoisted up on the wall.
“Cafe or grill?”
“Huh?” I don’t mean to sound as confused as I do, but she catches me off guard with that question.
She smiles kindly. “Cafe or grill, hon? If you want cafe, then you can stay here with me. If you want grill, you go through those doors,” she says, pointing to a set of double doors to the right.
“Oh!” I can feel my face blushing crimson, and I already know I won’t get a job if I ask for one, but I’m still going to try. “Cafe.”
“What can I get for ya?” she asks me brightly.
“Um …” Stop it, I scold myself. Clearing my throat, I try again, “Um, I’ll have a small latte and a breakfast pastie, please.”
She nods and turns to start entering my order into a screen on the long counter behind her, then walks half the length of the counter and starts up the latte machine.
I take the moment to glance around the diner again. It looks so much smaller from the outside that I would never have guessed an extra dining area would be just a double-door entry away.
“That’ll be seven dollars and eighty-six cents.”
That was fast, I think as I smile at her. She’s sliding my latte across to me as I put my clutch on the counter and open it. I fish around for my money, then hand her ten dollars in singles.
“Here ya go, hon. Your breakfast pastie will be ready in a little bit,” she states cheerfully as she attempts to hand me my change.
I shake my head and pick up my latte, toasting her, then go to sit at one of the picnic tables.
So, either I have to be fast, or it’s just slow in the cafe part of this place, I think as I set my clutch down next to me on the bench and look down at my latte.
That’s why it’s called Catch + Candle, I think with a grin.
The design she made in my drink looks like a taper candle with a flame at the top.
I hope those are easy to make.
I lift the cup to my lips and take a sip, wondering how it is that I’m worried about making designs in lattes without even asking if they’re hiring yet.
I nibble on my pastie, pleasantly surprised at how good it tastes. From the rustic look of the place, I guess I wasn’t really expecting it.
I finish it in a few bites. I didn’t realize how hungry I was when I sat down until now. I dab at my mouth with a paper napkin.
I glance up at the counter, hoping to catch her attention, but she’s not there.
Pursing my lips, I ball up the napkin and place it on my plate as I reach for my latte and take another sip.
And just over the brim of my cup, I see a lone man walk into the place.
His eyes are damn near hidden under his baseball cap, his stride as confident as I’ve ever seen.
Chapter Two
Heston
I rub the left side of my face tiredly as I head straight into the grill section of the Catch + Candle. I don’t know what it is about this place that makes it so easy for me to think, but having a few beers while I ponder life doesn’t hurt, either.
I take my usual stool by the bar and plant my ass where I know I’ll more than likely be for the next few hours.
“Hey, Heston!”
The cheerful voice that calls out to me makes me force a smile onto my face for her sake. Tessa has always been kind to me, even though she seems weary.
Rightfully so, I muse as I nod in her direction.
She lifts the bar flap, keeping the cheerful smile forced onto her face as she comes over to take my order.
“Whatcha having today?” Tessa asks me brightly.
I squint my eyes, rub them tiredly, and then drop my hand onto the bar top with a thud. I look past her at the selections behind her, then decide it’s better not to start drinking so early in the day. Not that I know what time it is.
“How about a burger, medium-
She gives me a nod and smiles as she takes a few steps backward, then turns away and heads over to the little computer on the other side of the island.
I’ve never given that girl a reason to be afraid of me, but it seems like she is. Maybe it’s the way I present myself. Tired but strong. Restless but collected.
“Hey, there, Cowboy Loooong.”
I grin and turn to my left as Cecelia takes the stool next to me. She’s a good one: friendly, kind, and always willing to sit and have a chat with me when she’s working.
“What’s up with that girl, Cece?”
She arches a curious eyebrow at me, so I nod toward Tessa. After casting an inconspicuous glance in her direction, she turns her attention back to me with a grin.
“I think she’s got a crush on you.”
I chuckle and shake my head, a smile on my face. That’s something I’m used to, though it’s not something I ever acted on once I got to Ironhaven. I guess dealing with my nightmares—day and night—is plenty of company for the time being.
Tessa comes back and sets the tall glass of juice in front of me, then walks away like a normal person this time. I reach for it and take a sip before setting it down and glancing at Cecelia again.
“And what about the other girl? The one that’s sitting out there by herself?”
Cece shrugs, “Just a customer.”
I have never seen her before.
“Alright,” I say as I take a deep breath and straighten myself up a bit on the stool, “are you going to have lunch with me, or are you just going to sit here and listen to me talk?”
Cece laughs lightly as she waves Tessa over and places a dainty order of a small salad and a glass of water.
It’s nice to have a friend like her, I muse as I remove the ballcap from my head and rest it on my knee, turning my body slightly toward her as she starts to tell me about her day so far.
Chapter Three
Dillon
I’ve been waiting at the front counter for the past ten minutes. I’m hopeful that the girl who took my order will be back soon so I can ask about a possible job. I’ve never done this kind of work before, but I’m willing to learn. Make sure you say that to her; being honest is what’s always worked in the past, I tell myself as I begin to drum my fingers along the countertop.
I glance toward the table where my dirty dishes are still sitting and chew the inside of my mouth thoughtfully. I’m feeling a little brave right now, maybe even a little forward, but I guess the best way to ask for a job is to show that I can handle the basics.
I lean over the countertop and reach for a large tray sitting just off to the side, then head back to my table to gather up my mess as best as I can. Once I’m satisfied that I haven’t left a scrap behind, I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, glance at the swinging kitchen door, and wonder if I should.
Where the confidence I just managed to muster wandered off to, I have no clue, but I also don’t want to make anyone mad by trying to do an on-the-job interview no one asked for.
I walk slowly toward the front counter and set the tray down before easing myself onto one of the stools and slouching forward as my shoulders drop.
One of the doors to the “grill” area of the establishment swings open, promptly followed by friendly chatter and a booming chuckle.
The first thing I notice is him.
Again, I think as a quick shiver shoots down my spine. Only this time, I have a moment to take him in before he disappears again.
The wavy, dark brown hair that’s partially hidden beneath his baseball cap. His tired, raw, cacao-colored eyes. The strong jaw that clenches tighter and tighter each time he fakes that chuckle for the sake of whoever is walking with him.
“You done, honey?”
“Huh?”
I tear my eyes away from his as soon as they meet mine and blush when the lady who’s helping now smiles knowingly. I don’t know where the one from earlier has gone to.
“I was just asking if you’re done,” she repeats kindly. “Were you all set?” she asks, mercifully letting the subject of him seemingly pass.
“Yes, but um … I had a question too,” I reply as I gently shove the full tray toward her.
“What’s that, honey?” she presses in a friendly tone as she slides the tray under the counter. I arch an eyebrow, and she wrinkles her nose, smiling and making a face. “Don’t worry, it’s not going to stay where I put it.”
I nod, feeling my mouth become dry as cotton. I take a deep breath and try to muster up the bravery I felt, which almost led me straight through the kitchen doors with my own mess.
“Well, I was wondering …”
Her smile doesn’t falter as she waits patiently for me to spit out what I have to say.
“I need a job,” I finally manage to say. She looks slightly taken aback for a second, and it disheartens me enough to want to turn and walk out the door and never come back. I’m used to being rejected for a lot of things, such as jobs, dates, apartments, hell, and even life, sometimes, but I’ve never learned how to handle it well. I usually just run away from the latest rejection straight into the next one—a vicious cycle of self-worth depreciation.
“Have you ever worked in hospitality before?” she asks me curiously.
I shake my head but refuse to break eye contact. I think I’m finally starting to realize that the only way to keep from falling into rejection after rejection is to hold my ground for once.
“I’m a fast learner, though. I’m very proud of any work that I do and put my best foot forward even if I manage to stumble over it a few times at first,” I reply, hoping that my voice sounds more confident than I feel right now.
She purses her lips thoughtfully for a moment and looks down at the tray on the counter. I watch as she uses the tip of her finger to trace my mug before she chuckles and looks back up at me.
“Tessa just quit, so we definitely have an opening now. How about tomorrow morning? I’ll be here so we can do some on-the-job training and see how it goes. And if it doesn’t work out, you’ll still get paid for your time,” she finishes with a shrug.
I grin and give her an enthusiastic nod in return, finally feeling hope for the first time in a while. After she shakes my hand and reminds me to bring some form of identification tomorrow, what time to be here, and to wear comfortable shoes, I leave the Catch + Candle just knowing that finding myself in Ironhaven may possibly be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Chapter Four
Heston
I hold the door open to my Ram 1500 pickup truck and nod at Tessa to hop in. She gives me a nervous smile as she reaches inside for the grab bar and attempts to lift herself in. I guess the fact that she’s about five-foot-nothing doesn’t seem to help much, so I gently place a hand on her backside and help her in.
As I close the passenger door securely behind her, I take notice of how her body began to shake when I touched her. I’m not surprised at that, and it’s only because of the way she throws herself at me whenever I’m in to have a drink or two and a chat with Cece.
Normally, I’d be oblivious to a woman’s advances, but Tessa, in what I’m assuming she thinks is a nonchalant way, could easily win a gold medal for desperation.
I’m not interested in Tessa in the way she probably hopes that I am, but if I’m going to go back to the Catch + Candle, then I’m going to have to brush the rust off and get ready.
Not for Cece, I’ll never do her any harm, but for the girl that I’m pretty sure has already taken Tessa’s place.
I walk around the front of my truck and pull open the driver’s side door before I reach into my jacket pocket to fish out the keys. I can’t get over how beautiful she is, and I know that’s going to stick with me while I work on Tessa. I’ll see her face instead of the one I’m taking home, and it’ll keep my mind on track for when it’s time to go back and buddy up to her.
“You alright?” I ask Tessa, giving her a quick glance before I start up the engine. She nods, but I can taste how nervous she is. She probably never thought I’d give her the time of day, but now that I have, maybe she’ll realize that some of the things that one dreams of turn out to be nothing more than cleverly masquerading nightmares.
