CHERISH

by Dani Wyatt

  The past or the present.

  I’m sitting back on my bed. My limbs don’t feel like they are attached to me. Jeremy is talking, but I’m holding my head in my hands, trying not to absorb the meaning of his words.

  I’m not sure who I hate more right now.

  Jeremy is half-smiling as he lays out more information that I don’t want to know about Beckett.

  He grabs the little, white box off the floor and stuffs the diamond solitaire back inside and shoves it in his pocket like he’s an angry kid on the playground, taking his ball and going home. I follow him out into the living room.

  “I’ve done everything I can for you. I don’t even know if I want to marry you anymore. You have a lot of thinking to do, Promise. I’m beginning to believe Jordan is better off with them.”

  Those are the words he knew would hurt me the most, and they did.

  Bruce has Beckett corralled on the balcony in an attempt to give Jeremy a chance to get out of the apartment alive. Jeremy agreed to leave without calling the cops on the condition that he could tell me what he needed to tell me before getting out the door.

  Beckett refused at first. He even got his phone out and handed it to Jeremy with 911 already dialed, daring him to make the call. With Bruce’s magic smile and my pathetic pleas, Beckett gave Jeremy one last death stare and stomped out with Bruce pushing from behind.

  Now, Jeremy’s gone. He told me things I don’t want to know. Things that can’t be true. I’m not sure how I’m still standing—how I’m still alive—because I hurt down inside the marrow of my bones. I can feel my bone marrow, and it’s not good.

  I see Beckett's silhouette pacing on the balcony through the tightly closed vertical blinds. Bruce’s muffled voice rambles on, trying to keep Beckett from breaking through the glass and bashing Jeremy’s head until gray matter drips out his ears.

  I take a long moment and stare at the movement behind the glass. Then, instead of opening the door and joining Beckett and Bruce, I grab my backpack and head out the apartment door and down the hall in the opposite direction from Jeremy.

  Beckett

  After twenty minutes, I’m not waiting anymore. Bruce is on his fifth pretzel stick when I slide open the glass door separating the balcony from the living room of the apartment.

  It’s quiet.

  I should have never agreed to let her talk to him alone. Fuck.

  In ten steps, I’m in her bedroom. Nothing.

  Bathroom. Kitchen. Nothing.

  She’s fucking gone.

  As if the last hour wasn’t fucked up enough, now she’s decided to go solo?

  She’s in no condition for this shit. On top of that, I have no idea what other venom Jeremy spewed on her about me or who knows what else while I paced a damn groove in the cement floor of the balcony.

  I knew I should have beat that pathetic fuck into a weeping heap and just let it all be done. Now, I don’t know where she is, and that’s all that really fucking matters to me.

  Jeremy should know better than to raise the bounty on his ass. I saw the look in his eye. He’s a piece of shit. Always has been.

  If I had my way, I would have gone to my grave without her knowing I was there the night Steven and Brian fucking took everything from her. I hate myself for wanting to keep it from her. Secrets are cancer, but there was no fucking benefit for her to know.

  Hell, I didn’t even know myself for sure for a couple weeks after what had really happened, and by then, it was too late to go back and change things.

  I could have stopped it. I could have saved her.

  I’ve carried that shit storm of guilt with me all these years, and now it’s going to blow up the one thing I’ve always wanted. Steven and Brian were both convicted as juvenile offenders, and spend a year or some minor shit paying their debt. They pled down to assault, brought into question whether or not is was consensual. Bull. Shit. She was fucking twelve, and they were seventeen. It’s ten tons of suck for her because a year at the juvenile farm is nothing compared to the life of memories she has to carry.

  I’m sure Jeremy filled her head with more bullshit about me. Even what he said in the bedroom was shit. I hadn’t known it was going to be her. I had known those guys were planning to take some girl. I hadn’t known when, and I hadn’t even been sure they weren’t just talking shit.

  But, that night when I saw them in the alley heading through the back gate of the house where I knew Promise stayed, I was pretty fucking sure what was going on—what was going to happen.

  And, I chose not to stop it. I didn’t do what I should have done, and she paid with a part of herself that cannot be restored. She was fucking thirteen. That is a debt I will never be able to repay.

  With her not scheduled to work at Windfield again until Tuesday, she’s in the wind now, and I have no idea where she’ll land. All I know is that Tuesday is way too fucking long to wait to set things back to right.

  It’s Friday, and I take the next twelve hours to scour the streets without a break. I even stop in at that shithole where she’s been dancing and light into some scumbag named Tito when he gives me lip for asking where she is. She’s like dust, no one has seen her, and I’m losing my damn mind.

  By Saturday night, I’m completely undone. I’ve got Bruce on my side, but no matter how many damn times I check in with him, he still hasn’t heard from her.

  I’ve been stalking Jeremy’s place. I've driven by so many times; I’ve got it memorized. He wasn’t hard to find. I asked Louis to get me his address, and he did it without hesitation.

  I’ve watched that piece of human garbage come and go on his regular schedule, fighting the urge to lie in wait under his bed for when he goes to sleep. Ready to become his own personal nightmare. But instead, I watch . . . he comes and goes. No sign of her. If she was there, I would feel it.

  With every beat of my heart, I want to demolish Jeremy. To end him. The only thing keeping my hands from snapping his neck is the forty-to-life it would put between me and Promise.

  And, fucking Louis.

  LOUIS: We need to talk

  It’s the second fucking text he’s sent with that same bullshit. But, I fucking know better.

  Louis doesn’t want to fucking talk. He wants to drop a bomb on my ass. I shoot him a two-word reply.

  BECKETT: Not now

  I hear nothing more. Radio silence. I’ll deal with it when there’s time. Finding Promise’s renegade ass and making sure she’s safe is the only thing that matters right now.

  The rest of the world will have to fucking wait.

  When Monday night finally creeps around, and I haven’t found her, I’m about to tear the fucking City of Cleveland down. I’ve blown up her damn phone with god knows how many texts and calls. I even threatened the people on the help desk at Apple to see if they would give me her damn location.

  Where. The. Fuck. Are. You?

  By midnight, I’m back in the car because sleeping is impossible, and now I’m fucking scared.

  She doesn’t realize that for someone like me, what I feel for her can’t be undone. I’ll go without for the rest of my life rather than settle again.

  “Fuck.” I slam the Suburban into drive, light up the tires out of the basement parking structure and head out to do my loop around her apartment and Jeremy’s house.

  As soon as I round the corner toward Jeremy’s, something is different. All the lights are on. It’s damn near one o’clock in the morning, and his sorry ass has the lights out by 9:30 every night.

  She’s in there. I can feel it.

  Most people would try to sit here and figure out why she’s there. Get their ire up and let the green-eyed monster take over.

  Not me. I don’t get jealous. Jealousy is for something you want but don’t have. I’m possessive because I know what’s mine. And, I’m here to make that crystal clear. Whether or not she is in there or in the back of damn Santa’s sleigh, she belongs to me.

  She’s just a little off course, and it�
��s my responsibility to right her.

  There’s no way she’d let him take her. Put his filth on her. I know that for a fact.

  I saw the look in her eyes that day in the bedroom when Jeremy held that little gold band to the tip of her finger. Her eyes were dead.

  No one will ever put a ring on that finger except me. And if they ever do, God help them.

  We’ll get her brother. I don’t retreat, and I’ll take care of her until the last breath leaves my body.

  I still see the image of her sitting there on her bed with that snake about to slip a ring on her finger. If he’s touched her, he’s going to end up wearing his insides as outsides.

  I’m at the door in seconds, measuring every breath to keep them even. My heartbeat slows. I’m on a mission, and failure is not an option. His door is the only thing left between me and whatever is going on in there. I clench my fists, then stretch my fingers, shaking my head back and forth, trying to keep the darkness away.

  It’s time to show her exactly how steadfast I’m going to be. She’s in there. I might be deceiving myself, but I can fucking smell her.

  I don’t bother to knock. She’s here, and she needs to be out. Period.

  The door is no match for my boot, and it flies open and smacks against the inside wall as I hear a yelp.

  From him.

  My heart stops mid-beat. Then, it’s in my throat and dropping to my boots and slamming around inside of me as I try to keep the darkness from taking over when I see her. She’s sitting with her arms folded over her belly, legs crossed at the ankles, and she looks like a fucking zombie. There are dark gray circles under her eyes, her hair is hanging half over her face, and it looks like a smile has never touched her lips.

  “Hey! Get out!” Jeremy is squeaking and pointing toward the door, which is now hanging by one hinge.

  Promise is sitting. She blinks and looks at me without any visible change in her expression.

  And I’m dying.

  The little shit Jeremy immediately grabs a pillow and raises it like a defensive shield. He jumps off the couch where he was sitting with his arm around my girl like she’s available for that shit.

  “Get up. We’re leaving.” I say to her. I do what I can to keep my voice even, staring her down and taking another half-step inside the small living room.

  He’s got what looks like his grandmother’s light blue sofa along one wall. There are matching lamps from the Brady Bunch set with orange and brown ceramic bases sitting on the side tables. The place smells like an old man, and the only light is coming from the flickering TV and one of the sad 1960’s lamps.

  I need to keep this quick. I’ve completely lost my sense of humor in the last few days and the way this is going, I don’t see it coming back for a long damn time.

  “No. I’m not leaving.” Promise digs her heels into the floor, but I can see the little eye roll she lobs at Jeremy for leaving her sitting alone while he runs for cover.

  No? Oh, babe, that was the wrong answer.

  I’m fucking done.

  It takes me two more strides to reach her. Jeremy squawks like a damn hen in the corner when I pick her up and toss her over my shoulder.

  “Put me down you ass!”

  What does it say about me that even as I take a step out the front door with her kicking the shit out of me, my dick is already whispering in my fucking ear? Damn relentless when it comes to her.

  “I’ll put you down in a minute. Stop acting like you didn’t expect my ass to show up and do exactly what I’m doing. Where the fuck have you been for three fucking days?” For the twenty or so steps to the car, she’s cursing me like a fresh sailor and flinging her fists around trying to land a shot on my face.

  I hate to admit, but I like the fight. I want her to fight. Just not against me.

  “I’m doing what I need to do for Jordan. Please.”

  She’s screaming up a blue mile when I buckle her kicking and screaming into the back seat of the Suburban. I sit her back there so I can put on the fucking child safety locks because she’s acting like a child. This way, she can't open the door and hurt her fool self by jumping out of a moving vehicle.

  Promise lets out on me the entire ride back to the loft. I let her. One second it’s tears, the next it’s righteous indignation. She runs the spectrum of emotions and curse words until she wears her damn self out and slumps back like a rag doll.

  I forgive her. I’d forgiven her before she needed forgiving. That’s how much a part of me she is.

  Forgiving myself will come slower, but maybe she can help me get there someday.

  I keep up the caveman routine, carrying her over my shoulder up the stairs to the loft. By the fourth step, she finally lays off trying to bash my nuts inside out with her kicks.

  I keep my cool. Babygirl needs me. It’s just noise.

  The moment she took me into her body, I became this other person. Someone that will never waver, who will always be there, and who will teach her what she needs to learn.

  Regardless of whether or not it’s easy for either of us.

  And, the last few fucking days have been a living nightmare. If something had happened to her, I would be done.

  “Whatever this is with us, it’s over. It wasn’t real. Don’t you see this ring on my finger! That’s real.” She is screaming like an angel with her wings on fire, and suddenly through my rage, I can’t help but smile.

  Then laugh.

  Then laugh louder.

  “What the hell is funny! This is not funny, this is a felony. You can’t just take people Beck. It’s called kidnapping.”

  “You’ve got the ‘kid’ part right. Because you’re acting like one.”

  “Shut up, Beckett. All big man, big boss. What do you know? Huh? Jeremy told me all about you. You aren’t who you say you are.”

  If anyone ever told you love is easy, throat punch them.

  I’m not laughing anymore. I hate his name. I hate it more when she says it.

  I manage to dig the key to the loft out of my pocket while carrying my little, ivory angel; hell bent on destroying me, up the stairs. She’d resigned herself to the ride I was giving her, but she was still huffing and puffing and letting me know she wasn’t done with her little fit.

  Inside the door, I spin around and re-lock the entry, even putting down the hundred-pound, inch thick, steel security bar and locking that fucker in place. She’s not getting out of here until we get her wire straightened out, and that could take a minute.

  “You can’t keep me here.” She’s got her inner tween voice going on, and I stifle another smile.

  I set her cranky ass on terra firma and can feel the strain on my lower back where she’d laid her little fists into me about a thousand times.

  I’m good at a few things.

  One of them is ignoring the noise. The bullshit people throw off to avoid the real stuff. The chatter and defensive ploys she’s been throwing in my path don’t raise my hackles or deter me from my goal.

  She’s still learning. I’m a willing and patient teacher.

  “Okay, first of all,” I take her right hand in mine. I’m not touching the left one until we emancipate it from the growth on her finger.

  I’m dragging her toward the kitchen, and she’s pulling back and jerking her arm half out of its socket, her hair flying around her head like white-blonde flames. “You’re only going to hurt yourself doing that shit, Promise.”

  I’ve got one hand latched around her wrist while I use my free hand to grab the bottle of olive oil off the counter. I wrangle my Tasmanian devil over to the sink, and she sets her eyes on me.

  “What are you doing? Are you going to cook me? You’re not that great of a cook, either. My eggs were rubbery!”

  Snap.

  “Alright.” I flash my dead, killer eyes at her. “I’ve taken a lot of shit from you the last twenty-five minutes, but that is enough. You can say what you want about me, but you insult my cooking, and we’ve got a real problem.�
�

  Maybe my sense of humor isn’t quite gone. I didn’t say it was good, just not gone.

  I meet her eyes and for the first time since I threw her wailing ass over my shoulder, she doesn’t look away, and I’m drowning already.

  Sure, I’m pissed. But, I’m first and foremost here for what’s best for her. And right now, I feel like we need a little breather. A little humor. It takes her a second, but I see the way her locked down eyebrows give a little.

  I’ve got her by the left wrist now, and I dump the entire bottle of olive oil over her hand, aiming it at her left finger.

  “What the heck are you doing?” Her voice loses a bit of its sharpness, and she takes her free hand to brush at the wild strands of blonde hair still stuck to her face from her thrashing.

  “I’m purging you of a sickness. Relieving you of a shackle.” I pinch the ring for a second between my thumb and forefinger, wiggling it until it is over her middle knuckle. Then, I shake her hand until it gives the rest of the way. It clatters into the bottom of the sink, and I send it down the drain. I shake my hand and let out a disgusted groan like I’ve just touched a steaming pile of dog shit.

  “Hey! Oh, my god, that’s a diamond!”

  “That chip of a yellow rock is nothing. It means nothing. It never existed. Now, we need to deal with a few things.”

  I towel the oil from our hands before lifting her up and setting her beautiful, grumpy ass on the counter. I shift to get my body between her legs, but the little shit sets a pout to her lips and locks her knees and ankles together with a huff.

  “Open your fucking legs,” I growl and shift sideways, bumping my hip into her, finding the wedge spot. I’m a machine, and her little body is no match for what I bring.

  With one more shift and a carefully aimed swat, I’ve got her legs open, and I set my hips like an anchor between her legs.

  “Ouch. You’re a jerk.” She sneers at me, but I can feel her façade breaking.

  “Maybe,” I answer. She’s not going to get to me. I’m too damn happy to have her back in one piece.

  She can’t help but look in my face when I settle my hands on both her cheeks, forcing our eyes together, our bodies touching. It is impossible for her not to feel what I feel because my dick is already on the starting blocks.