by Crowe, Liz
But, she didn’t answer. Instead he heard a man’s voice, an unfamiliar one, with a tinge of anger to it that put him instantly on alert. He listened for Sara but could hardly make out the words. He walked away from the bench, put a finger in his other ear. Something was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Hey! Don’t…I’m…ow!” He heard her exclaim, fear and pain in her voice. He started running for his car without even looking back at the field.
He jumped in and headed downtown, cursing the traffic around Michigan Stadium and every red light he hit. He kept the phone on, as the man’s voice got louder he heard words. “Bitch can’t stop me from buying.” Came out clearly. And “I’ll show you and those fucking fags who’s in charge here.”
The next sound terrified him. Sara’s voice, came through loud and clear—but weak and scared. “Please, don’t….”
He hit the end button and then emergency 911 as he waited at yet another red light. He told the dispatcher to get to 405 South Main, the Stewart Realty office now, and threw the phone on the floor as he inched his way towards the office. Jack was due to land from a trip to St. Louis at any minute and so likely unreachable. He started to call Maureen, but realized there would be no real point to that. He screeched into the parking lot of the downtown realty building and pounded on the locked door. Of course the guy had come when the place was empty. And Sara had been working later hours, trying to get caught up in what was turning out to be a very busy early spring market Jack had told him, worry in his voice. “She hates being pregnant and this stage especially makes her nuts, stir crazy, so she works in the afternoon and evenings and just has the nanny come later in the day.”
He cupped his hands around his eyes trying to see into the gloomy interior through the all-glass door. When he heard a shout and the distinct sounds of female crying he ran back to his car and grabbed his soccer cleats, put one over his fist and punched his way into the lobby setting off a cacophony of alarms. He dropped the shoe, put his hand over his ears, and raced to the back with no idea where her office was in the maze behind the store-front. If it were possible to be blinded by loud noise, he was. The alarm bored into his skull and his arm ached from the blow with the glass. He had to clench his eyes shut against the clanging sound but kept moving, calling her name.
“Help!” he heard her then, her voice hoarse. He shoved his way into empty room after empty room until he came the last possible closed door. It was larger than the others and locked so he hurled his shoulder at it three times when it finally gave and he stumbled in just as three cops ran down the hall behind him. Sara was sitting at her desk, hands on her keyboard, shaking, with tears rolling down her cheeks. Some huge burly looking jerk in a ratty suit had his hands on her shoulders and was leaning way too close to her, practically rubbing his hips against the back of her chair. The guy looked up and raised one hand. Rafe caught the glint of something metal.
“Drop it, now.” The cops pushed him aside so he ran around to Sara and yanked her out of the guy’s reach. Once he saw the cops, the asshole dropped his weapon and held up his hands. “On the floor,” one of them commanded while he held on to Sara.
“Shh…,” he soothed, running his hands down her hair. “It’s okay. I’m here.” She sobbed and clung to him then he guided her out and into an adjoining room and down into a chair. She winced, holding her back. “Did he…are you….”
“He slapped me twice, yanked my arm nearly out of its socket. Until I agreed to email the title company and the seller and get the closing back on track without asking anymore questions. He’s…,” she sucked in a breath, and more tears flowed down her face. “The guy from the botched deal in Ypsi, the one who…” She sucked in a breath.
“It’s okay.” He said, crouching down and patting her leg. “Hang on.” She nodded but held onto his hand so he sat in the chair next to her and hit Maureen’s speed dial by rote. He listened, then let her talk to Sara, which nearly made the woman fall apart all over again. By the time he’d hung up after agreeing to call Craig and get her to the ER to get checked out he realized he was starting to feel pretty damn woozy. Looking down at the bright drops of blood on the carpet then noting they seemed to be coming from a giant gash in his arm; he cursed and grabbed some tissues to help stop the flow.
“Ow,” Sara gulped clutching her giant belly.
“Let’s go.” He held out a hand, used the number Mo had given him for the doctor, and piled Sara into his car. The cops called out that an ambulance was on the way, but he waved them off, alarmed by the way she was breathing in little whooshes and the look of pain that shot across her face.
“Shit.” He screeched out into traffic. The trip to the University ER was short but frustratingly slow. Sara kept wrenching his hand and yelling it was too soon, she couldn’t have the baby yet. He tried to reassure her but panic and his own pain was making him breathless. He ran the next two red lights and pulled up at the ER entrance. A team of nurses met her with Craig at the helm. Once she was bundled into a wheelchair, he gasped and leaned over his legs, trying to catch his breath. His fist was killing him. He looked down and saw blood still dripping down his arm. He dropped into a chair, staring at it.
“Rafe!” Maureen flew around the corner, panic in her eyes. “You’re hurt!” He watched her, her strong, long legs flashing under her business skirt, the curve of her hips making his mouth water. Suddenly pain flared up his arm, and he started to fade. Maureen and a nurse pulled him into a curtained room before he passed out.
After a couple of hours they had him stitched up and Sara stabilized. Maureen stayed with him, holding his hand but silent. “I miss you,” he said once, and put her hand to his lips.
When they heard Jack’s loud voice demanding to see Sara, Craig, any god damned body, she walked out to meet him as he barreled down the hall in full throated fury. About thirty minutes later Rafe wandered out to the hall and saw Craig and Jack talking, Jack’s face was pale and his shoulders shook. Rafe walked up to the men. “She okay? The baby?”
Jack nodded, ran a hand through his hair. Maureen put her arm around her brother’s waist. “Yeah, she’s good. False alarm. We’re going home soon. I can’t wait. I fucking hate hospitals.”
He pulled Maureen around in front of him, gripped her arms and stared at her. Their matching deep blue eyes were intent. Rafe struggled to process the scene. “You,” Jack pointed at his sister, “will marry him,” pointing to Rafe. “Or I will throw your sorry ass down the aisle myself.”
Mo tried to yank herself out her brother’s grip. “Let go of me, Jack.”
Jack let her go and stepped back. “I mean it, Mo. You are going to stubborn yourself out of this thing with a fucking great guy right in front of my eyes? I don’t think so. You’ve never listened to me before, but you are by god going to do it now.”
“Jack,” Sara’s voice floated out from the room. “Stop being a bossy asshole.”
Rafe swallowed hard. His arm and hand hurt like a bitch. He’d sliced a vein and had managed to nearly bleed out without noticing it thanks to the adrenaline pumping through his system in the melee. He cradled his wrist and pondered his options. “Fuck it,” he mumbled and yanked Maureen to him with his good arm, pressing his lips to hers weak with the sweet relief of having her near him, of tasting her again, smelling her dark, familiar scent. She molded into him, making him feel whole for the first time in months. “Marry me, god damn you.” He whispered, as the busy hospital traffic detoured around the little drama.
She nodded, tears in her eyes.
“Jesus, thank god that’s settled. Now, let’s get the fuck out of here before I throw up.” Jack declared, putting his arms around them both, then heading back into Sara’s room. “My love you are a vision, and if you ever try and handle that kind of a problem client on your own again I will kill you myself.” Rafe smiled at the clear relief in Jack’s voice and knew he was covering his own terror at having nearly lost everything he loved with angry humor. But that was how Jack ro
lled. And Rafe would admit now, he liked it
Chapter Thirty-One
Maureen gripped the bed rail. Her face was a rictus of pain and effort. Rafe put his hand over hers and he counted to ten until she relaxed against him. She gasped for breath. He put ice to her lips. The doctor spoke, music played, the lights were dim.
She leaned up, tears streaming down her face. Rafe kept his voice calm as he counted again, but the doctor looked up and shot him a worried look. His gut churned. How they had gotten to this point he still couldn’t quite process. The moment he’d come home from a frustrating day of managing the stable of prima donna jerk offs who peopled the new soccer team and she’d flung herself at him, furious and pounding his chest had been one he knew he’d never forget. He’d grabbed her wrists, pissed that he had to deal with this after such a shit day. “You god damned bastard I’m pregnant.” She’d said. He’d dropped her arms, and fallen, suddenly boneless, into a chair.
“Huh?” was all he’d managed for about fifteen minutes while she paced and railed and cried and made all sorts of insane threats. They’d been married a year and a half, had a new house, and a new family member in the form of one beautiful little niece, Bethany and he loved everything about his life. But apparently fate had other plans and her birth control pill had failed.
“Are you even listening to me?” She’d stopped, her hands on her hips, her color high, hair scraped back in a ponytail.
He’d licked his lips, staring at her, as the fog slowly cleared from his brain, leaving a lovely intensity of purpose. He’d grinned in the face of her fury, stood and pulled her close. “Yes, my love. I am listening to you. Be calm. It’s fine.”
“No it bloody well is not fine. Christ almighty, I am forty one years old. I cannot do this. It’s…insane…it’s not safe…it’s….”
He’d kissed her gently. “It’s just right, Maureen and you know it.” He recalled sensing himself swell with pride, getting positively big headed at the thought of having done this—this perfect, amazing, natural thing with the woman he loved more than life. “I love you.” He’d put a hand on her flat stomach but she’d slapped it away and stomped into the kitchen muttering about “asshole macho Latino sperm.”
He gave her about thirty minutes of space, then pulled her up from the table, wiped her tears with this thumbs and carried her into their bedroom. They’d had some of the more amazing sex they’d ever had once she got her head around the fact that she was indeed pregnant, could continue to work, even after the baby was born as far as he was concerned. And the hormonal stew she cooked up made for some wild nights and days. By the time she’d hit month nine he’d been nearly as exhausted as she was.
“It’s taking too long,” the doctor interrupted his trip down memory lane. “Baby’s heartbeat is slowing, and she’s wearing out.”
“Shit,” Maureen whimpered. “Fucking god damn it. This is all your fucking fault you know. Ow! Shit!” Rafe held her up again, counted to ten and the doctor smiled and encouraged her. The nurse patted her arm. She cursed some more. Calling all the men in the general vicinity cock sucking assholes and whipping her sweaty hair around as she shook her head and declared that she couldn’t do it. That they should call the whole thing off and go home.
Rafe tried to hold it together, looking to the doctor for some assurance. The silver haired guy nodded. “Once more,” he said, patting her knee. “You can do it.”
She lunged forward, groaning and grunting, cursing and crying and finally a scream escaped her lips that made Rafe’s heart stand still. The glint of his wedding ring caught the light. And the sound of his baby’s thin first wail made his eyes burn.
The doctor pulled the red slippery infant up, set it on Maureen’s stomach then handed him a funny looking set of scissors. Rafe’s hands shook so much he almost didn’t take them. The baby stopped squalling, turned, and looked at him. He gulped at the child’s deep, dark gaze.
Maureen clutched at his other hand. “He’s okay?” She said, her voice thin and weak.
Rafe leaned over and snipped the umbilical cord where the nurse showed him. The baby flailed his arms, his mouth gaped open, and he started yelling again, nice and loud. Rafe smiled and touched his son’s wet face as tears leaked from his eyes.
“Better go out there and tell everybody.” The doctor said, still working between Maureen’s legs guiding her through the remainder of labor as the nurses fussed around the baby, weighing and measuring and cleaning. Rafe’s knees shook. He kissed his wife’s lips and brushed her hair off her forehead.
“Go,” she said lying back. “We aren’t going anywhere.”
Rafe looked over where his son lay screeching and waving his arms and legs around. His heart nearly burst as he pushed his way out into the hall. Several sets of adult eyes met his. A couple of little kids grabbed his shins. “A boy,” he said, letting tears flow down his cheeks. “It’s a boy. Blake Inez has joined the family.”
Matthew looked up at the announcement. Katie sat on his right, playing checkers with Gabe. The little boys were nearly five and both so bright and charming it was frightening. He held out a hand and Beth took it, their many years of silent communication telling her he needed her touch. He leaned down and kissed his baby granddaughter’s soft black hair. One-year-old Bethany laughed and screeched for her Da to pick her up. Beth leaned into him, put a soft kiss on his cheek as Jack swooped over and pulled the pretty little girl into his arms. “Thanks.” Beth whispered into his ear as they watched Sara, Jack, Craig, Suzanne, Evan, Julie and several of the kids crowd around Rafe.
“For what?” He asked.
“For everything.”
Rafe looked shell shocked. Sweat beaded his forehead. Jack handed him a lit cigar and he stared at it, his apparent confusion making everyone laugh. Ella gave him a huge hug. Matthew turned to look at his wife, surprised at the tears standing in her eyes. “What is it?” he asked, wiping them away then kissing her hand. “Don’t cry, my Beth, please.”
A familiar wail of dismay hit his ears interrupting their moment. He turned in time to see his grandson Brandis flipping the checkerboard up with one hand, sending the game pieces flying across the room. Katie leapt up and started to grab her brother, but he darted away. “Don’t worry,” Gabe said, rolling up his sleeves, the look of a serious adult on his small boy face. “I’ll get him. I always get him.”
Matthew laughed and joined the scrum around the new father, congratulating him before slipping into the delivery room, the never dormant doctor in him wanting to see for himself that Maureen had come through the long difficult delivery all right. She sat, holding her baby, bawling her eyes out. He walked up to her. “You okay? Need me to….”
“No, no, Matthew, I’m fine. I’m happy. Everything is perfect.” He nodded, familiar with the wild swings of emotion women experienced after childbirth.
The boy let out a thin cry. Rafe appeared at his elbow, his eyes glowing at the sight of his wife and child. Matthew patted the man’s back. “This is what it’s about son.” He said, putting a hand on the infant’s head. “Never forget it.”
And he turned and walked out, back to his large, boisterous family. When he caught sight of his wife, tall, slender, beautiful Beth, his heart pounded. She looked up from between Gabe and Brandis, playing peacemaker in their latest battle, caught his eye and winked. And he was happy.
Epilogue
“You are telling me this now why exactly?” Gabe’s chest ached. He kept his fists clenched, hidden in his track pants, and glared hard at both his parents or the people he thought were his parents. His entire eighteen years he’d been aware of the odd relationship his mom and dad had once had with Blake Thornton. He’d kept a picture in his room of himself as a newborn held by a handsome, darker haired man with green eyes. When he’d turned fifteen, his friend Brandis got into one of his shithead moods and told him that Rob Freitag was not his father. He’d dropped the bombshell as they sat and drank illicit beers on the lawn after Brandis’ grandfat
her’s funeral. That episode had devolved into one of their more intense fistfights, neither the first nor the last but a particularly bad one. He put a hand to his face, as if still feeling the pain his friend had inflicted there and in his heart with his cruel words.
He’d let it drop then, figuring it for Brandis being a dick, as usual. Besides what did it matter? Rob raised him, was his father, no matter which man had impregnated his mother. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, fury gathering at the base of his brain. They were on their annual winter break vacation with their extended family. Jack, Sara and their three kids plus Maureen, Rafe and little Blake were along with Gabe, his sixteen-year-old sister Blair and their parents. He’d turned eighteen back in the late spring and had been on a downward spiral of emotion since then, getting his Oregon State acceptance for the brewing science program and accepting a near full ride soccer scholarship. Brandis had been furious with him, in their typical love/hate way, because he claimed Gabe was abandoning him and their plans to attend Michigan State together, like their fathers had done. He took a deep breath, tried to calm his zinging nerve endings.
All the hours he had spent with his father and mother, in The Local, learning the business from the back to the front of the house had given him a deep, abiding love of the beer brewing process about the time he was filling out college applications. Rob had told him about Oregon State and he’d jumped at it. And now, he was about to move far away from everyone and everything he knew and loved. Plus, his parents felt a need to dump this bombshell in his lap. “Well? Why now? Why does it even fucking matter?”