by A. C. Bextor
“I want you to know you’re safe.”
“Travis keeps me safe.” Although I don’t mention anything about last night as I pull the sleeves of my shirt down past my wrists.
“Do what you think’s right for you. I miss you a little, though.” He smiles, looking ahead in the distance.
“You miss me a lot,” I tell him but he doesn’t confirm. He doesn’t have to because I already know.
We sit in silence, listening to the area around us. Broken leaves rustling, cars passing by on the main road, and other mourners talking as they visit their friends and families in the last place they’ve left them.
A few minutes later, he starts to stand and asks, “Ready to go?”
His eyes scan the area carefully. Ace is always looking around, as if someone or something out there is waiting to attack and he needs to be readying himself for it.
“I guess.”
I stand next to him. He reaches out and his arm goes around my shoulders and brings me to his chest. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”
“Do I need to kick Trav’s ass?”
“Nah. I’ve got it.”
“I imagine if it comes down to that, you probably do.”
“It’ll be a challenge. If I need backup, I’ll call.”
Ace smiles down at me, swipes the remaining tears from my cheek with the front of his first finger. “Good, I’ve been lookin’ for a reason to kick his ass for some time now. That’ll give me one.”
Oh dear God in heaven. Ace, you have no idea what you just said.
When we got back to the apartment, Ace didn’t see me inside. He told me he was off to pick up Decklan from an overnight stay at Rae’s dad’s house. I sensed he needed what I did; time alone to process how seeing Bean’s grave made us feel. We both miss her so badly, and the space she left, to this day, still feels so empty.
CHAPTER TEN
Sarah
HOURS LATER, TRAV’S still not home. I’ve cleaned the mess he made with the swear jar, picking up every piece of glass and coin in sight. I’ve scrubbed the kitchen, finished the laundry, and vacuumed the apartment. I’ve done all I can do to keep busy, but the entire time I’m thinking about everything that happened earlier.
Travis’s temper toward those who hurt me will never go away. Vicious words of anger and denial can be revoked with an apology, taken back and forgiven. Emotions are different. You can’t deny how you feel in another person’s company or the emotions they stir inside. It’s undeniable. Feelings can’t be manipulated; they aren’t lies.
I felt Travis’s words as he thought through the idea of Devon hurting me. For whatever reason, he thinks I can’t handle myself.
The more I clean, the more pissed off I get. Grabbing my phone off the charger, I check for messages. There’s nothing from Travis, but a selfie from a waitress at the diner, Lettie. She’s my only friend there. She’s crazy and me saying that about someone other than me says a lot.
Hours later, when I look at the clock on the living room wall, I start to grow more concerned. It’s almost seven o’clock. Travis left at eleven this morning. I wanted to call Rae hours ago, but getting her involved in this mess would cause problems between her and Ace. I know it would.
I could’ve told Ace what happened, but moments of calm between Ace and me are few and far between. Having his understanding when my life felt dark has always been comforting. Knowing Travis, Ace will find out what happened with Devon soon enough.
If I called Hayden, he’d worry Lacey. If I called Toby it would be the same for Marlee. I’m stuck alone and Trav’s words of anger in my head continue to echo. So, I’m doing nothing.
“I miss you, Beanie,” I say out loud, knowing she’d be the first person I’d call to help me sort through this mess.
The door to the apartment opens behind me and I turn around to find Hayden standing in it. He looks stressed. His face is pale and his hands are clenched at his sides. He shakes his head as though signaling me to stay quiet. I wait him out.
His first words explain nothing. “Sarah, you need to stay calm.”
“Where’s Travis?” I look behind him and find no one.
His voice rises slightly in repeated warning. “Sarah, stay calm.”
Fuck. Why do men think it’s a good idea, for any reason, to say that to a woman?
Standing from the couch, I walk toward him and stop mid step when I see Travis.
Travis is a mess. The cut lip, caked with blood, has stained the shirt he grabbed on his way out. His hand is wrapped in a towel and it, too, is stained with blood. The top of his right eye is red.
“What did he do?” My question, aimed at Hayden, goes unanswered. Hayden moves aside to let Travis farther into the apartment.
“I need to go, Lacey’s waiting in the car with Liv. She’s pissed as fuck and to avoid her coming in here and making things worse, I told her I’d give him to you and be back out.”
“Hayden?” I call before he turns to Travis.
He doesn’t answer, but his head tilts to the ceiling as if he’s trying to avoid my demand for his explanation.
“He’ll tell you,” he answers, before walking out of the apartment, leaving the door open and Travis standing there. “If he doesn’t, call me.” Hayden looks at Travis with narrowed eyes. “I posted bail; my dad will handle the charges if there are any.”
Travis’s eyes come to mine, but he says nothing. I swallow hard, taking in his appearance, and ask, “Did you say bail? What charges?”
Hayden turns to Travis and puts his hand to his shoulder and squeezes. “He’ll tell you.”
Travis nods, and with the hand not bandaged, grabs Hayden’s as it still sits on his shoulder. He slaps it hard before Hayden looks back at me.
“Sarah,” he starts in a way I don’t appreciate. “Don’t freak the fuck out. He’s fine, but he’s going to be in some pain. If you need me to come back later, I will. Just call or text Lacey or me.”
“What did he do?” I ask Hayden again and watch as Travis makes his way farther into the apartment.
“He fucked up,” Hayden responds. “Love does that to people. I’d know.”
Fucking hell, Hayden knows about us now?
“I’ll call,” I confirm.
“Take care, man,” he whispers to Trav before closing the door behind him.
Travis comes the rest of the way inside. He takes a seat at the small dining room table.
“Can I get you something?” I ask quietly, wondering what he’s thinking. Other than the shame etched on his face, I don’t see any traces of the anger from hours ago.
“Ice and a towel would be a good start.”
Moving quickly, I turn to the kitchen and my hands shake while preparing what he’s asked for. I take a deep breath and finish rinsing the towel in cold water before going back into the living room.
I bend down and grab his hand carefully, open the cloth wrapping, and find three of his knuckles are split open. He winces in pain, but I keep going, removing the bandage as painlessly as I can.
“What did you do?”
“I fucked up, but it felt good.”
“Travis,” I whisper. “Tell me what happened.”
The cold cloth I’m using to clean the cut must sting, and he jerks his hand back. Without thinking of his pain, only infection, I grab it again and continue cleaning the area around it first before getting to the cut itself.
“I went to talk to your pal Devon, is what I did.”
Out of surprise and fear, I stop what I’m doing and squeeze his hand. My insecurities don’t matter; I can’t change what’s done.
“No. You didn’t do that,” I deny.
“I did,” he confirms.
“Why, Travis? Why would you . . .”
As Travis leans his body closer to mine, I take a breath as he winces from the pain. “Because he’s a fuckin’ asshole. That’s why. He’ll never bother you again.”
He sits back i
n his chair and stares down at me. I’m trying to avoid his eyes, but I can’t help myself as I start to cry. The tears fall, blurring my vision as I try to fix his hand.
This has been an emotional day and I feel as though I’m drowning in the chaos that Travis and I being together has already caused. This is what I feared and Ace hasn’t been factored in yet.
Taking his hand out of mine, he moves it to my face. Using his thumb as leverage he forces me to look at him. When I do, the care in his green eyes is what I was looking for from earlier but couldn’t find under all his anger.
Unconditional love.
“This was on me. Not you. Don’t accept the guilt I see can you’re feelin’ over this, Sarah.”
“I’m so sorry for what I said before. I didn’t mean for you to . . .”
Seeing me cry is something Travis has never been able to handle. Even when I was a kid and would get upset, he couldn’t be around me. If I fell, got in trouble, got my feelings hurt; whatever the reason, Trav had a difficult time coping. He avoided it and let Bean or Ace accept my emotional mess. When Bean got sick, I cried for countless hours in his arms. He let me because it was what he knew I needed. It was therapeutic for me to get those feelings of worry and anger out. When she died, he was there again without me having to ask.
Now I can assume that seeing me upset because of something he’s said or done is even harder for him to accept.
“Don’t apologize,” he tells me, wiping my tears away with his uninjured left hand. “And please don’t cry.”
“Did Devon do this to you?”
Sitting up further in his chair, he stalls before answering, “No, he didn’t.”
“Who did?”
“Three of his buddies.”
“Travis!”
“Sarah, I’m okay.”
“How did Hayden find you?”
“I wasn’t fuckin’ lost, Sarah,” he sighs. “I was beaten. I called him after the cops took me downtown.”
“Is your Jeep here?”
“Yes. Lacey brought Hayden to get me. She was waiting outside when he brought me in.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Stop sayin’ that. You didn’t do this, I did.”
“If I would’ve said something last night, though.”
“How about you don’t ever fuckin’ open the Goddamn door late at night if you’re alone again? If you do, I’ll personally kick your ass.”
“Well, by the looks of it, you’re not very good at that, are you?”
“By the looks of this . . .” he holds up his hand that’s still not bandaged, “you’re not very good at this either.”
“Stay here, I’m going to go get ointment and alcohol.”
Once I start to stand, Travis pulls me back down and I lose my balance. My hand braces on the table behind him, but I end up falling against him anyway. His breath is heavy and his eyes are hooded as he looks at me, searching my face for my reaction to the closeness. I skip a breath and wait for him to say something.
“I wasn’t angry with you, Sarah. I was an ass last night and I knew it. Part of today was me lettin’ off steam. Devon gave me the opportunity, so I took it,” he says with shame.
“Travis.”
“Sarah,” he says. “Let it go.”
“Ace came by today,” I tell him, changing the subject from one bad nightmare to another.
His reply is calm, so casual it’s eerie. “Did you tell him about us?”
“No.”
“Are you thinking of bolting?”
“No.”
“Then you should’ve told him.”
“I think we need to talk about that,” I state.
“Nothing to talk about. I’ll tell him.”
“When?”
“When I’m ready. If shit does go down, it’ll be ugly and I’ve fought Ace before but never for any good reason. You’re a good reason and he’ll likely want to do some damage.”
“Oh, God,” I breathe; losing the air I was holding.
“It’ll be fine, Sarah.”
His hand rests on my knee and I freeze in his arms.
“I need to fix your hand and face.” I tell him softly.
He doesn’t hesitate with his response. “In a minute, okay? I need you close for a second.”
“Okay.”
Closing his eyes, I watch Travis as he relaxes. I don’t know the extent of his injuries so I make minimal movement until he’s ready to let go.
Finally focusing back on me, he moves the hair from my shoulder and lays it behind my back, and demands, “Now go get the shit to fix me.”
Getting up, I stand above him and pause. I trace my finger around the eye not red from the beating. He smiles and grabs my wrist; I feel his lips kiss my palm briefly. “You used to do that when you were a kid.”
“Do what?”
“Trace my face.”
“Do you know why?” I ask, unsure if I’ll tell him the real reason, but he should know. Especially after what he did this afternoon.
“Do I want to know?”
“I was memorizing it.”
“What the fuck for?” he says with a half laugh and a half wince of pain.
“For when you weren’t there and I was scared about something. When Ace was gone all those months, and Bean and I were alone, I knew I had you even if I didn’t see you every day.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Maybe, but it helped thinking about you. I knew if you were close, nothing would happen to me or Bean.”
“What about Hayden? You do that to his face, too?”
I hear the jealousy and I hate that he remembers my mad crush on Hayden. I can’t make it go away, so instead, I try to ignore the comment. “Not nice, Travis.”
“I know,” he answers, letting me off the hook. “You’re almost perfect when you’re sweet, you know that?”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“I would if you’d let me.”
When he releases my wrist, I turn to get what I said he needed, thinking that he too is perfect when he’s sweet and I could get used to it if he’d let me.
* * *
Travis
Pulling a beer from the fridge, I use my good hand to crack it open and my chest to keep it steady all while I listen to Sarah in the bathroom rummaging through the medicine cabinet looking for what she needs to patch me up.
To be honest, a visit to the ER would’ve been a smarter decision, but I didn’t want to bother explaining to the staff that I’m an idiot for thinking I could take on three men at once. It took me six hours to find the fucker, an hour to wait in the parking lot for him to finish his drink and come out, fifteen minutes to get my ass beat, and a fuck of a while to get charged for public disturbance and another twenty minutes to be released from the station. I’ve had a self-induced bad day.
Devon Wilson didn’t walk away unscathed, though.
That asshat knew I was pissed and before his rich bitches got to me, I was able to get a few punches in. Thankfully, a passerby saw what was about to go down and called the cops before the fun really started. The police ended up getting there shortly after shit really started to get interesting.
When Hayden and Lacey picked me up downtown, my body was done being numb. I was succumbing to the pain of the beating I took. Lacey was frantic, Hayden was cautious. I’d never done anything like that without having someone, namely Ace, at my back. I wasn’t thinking of what could’ve happened, only what had already been done to Sarah.
Hayden called his dad on the way to get me. Brian’s a lawyer and hopefully he’ll help lessen the charges or make them go away.
My phone buzzes in my pocket so I set the beer on the table and carefully pull it out and find it’s my sister.
“Are you still okay?” No greeting or salutation offered. Lacey was livid when I called to ask her and Hayden to come get me.
“I’m fine, Lace,” I answer, taking a needed drink.
“You’re not fine! You’re an idiot!
”
“You mentioned that in the car, Lacey. Anything else?”
“How’s Sarah?”
“Fine.”
“Can I talk to her?”
Looking behind me and hearing Sarah cuss from the bathroom, I smile into the phone. “No. She’s busy.”
“Doing?”
“Getting shit to fix my hand.”
“Well, okay,” she says in a calmer tone.
“Okay.”
Her composure doesn’t stay intact long. “You’re an idiot.”
“You’ve mentioned that twice already.”
With a heavy sigh, she offers what she can. “Call me if you guys need anything.”
“Kiss my niece for me.”
“I’ll tell her it’s from her idiot uncle,” she says right before hanging up on me.
A few minutes later, I move to the couch, trying to ease the ache in my ribs and back. I hear Sarah come out and she’s hauling more medical supplies than a soccer team would need for an all-weekend tournament.
“Who was that?” she asks, nodding to the phone beside me.
“Lacey,” I answer, then ask, “What the fuck is all that shit?”
“Brought out everything we had,” she says as she kneels in front of me, dropping all the shit haphazardly on the floor. “I’ve got alcohol, bandages, tape, these—” she holds up small, thin bandages, “—white butterfly-looking things, cotton balls—”
“Sarah,” I stop her because the smile I’m trying to hide hurts my lip. “Can you shut up and just fix me up?”
“Shut up,” she repeats. “Would’ve thought you’d have gotten some of your rudeness knocked out of you, but guess not.”
She grabs my hand, harder than needed, and spreads my fingers out on my knee. The beer bottle sits in my good hand and I look at the ceiling to relax as she cares for the cuts no longer bleeding.
“Men are stupid,” she mumbles.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” she confirms quickly. “Way dumb.”
I didn’t notice when her hands were full, but when I look down at her, I see what she’s wearing.
My shirt.
I half smile where I’m not cut and wait for her to look up. While waiting, I watch how careful she is with the alcohol and cotton, using gentle strokes so she doesn’t re-open my middle knuckle. When she exhales after finishing, she looks up to find me staring.