by Anna Brooks
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
As she scoots over, she tries to hide the wince. I grab the blanket off the chair and after settling on my side, her battered body in my arms, I toss the ugly white cotton over us. The beeping of the monitor would normally annoy me, but right now, it’s assuring me she’s okay. I fight the urge to hold her tighter, closer.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” I ask. “The police will show up at some point to get a statement.”
“Not much to tell. It was that guy who’s always lingering around. He caught me off guard, but then you came, thank God, and chased him away.”
I knew that motherfucker was no damn good. I saw the way he was looking at her. “I wish I would have been there so he couldn’t have gotten to you at all. I’m so sorry.”
She snuggles into me, and I avoid touching her ribs as much as I can. In the hallway, I hear muffled voices. Between that and the machines, the even rhythm of the noises begins to pull me under. But then she rolls to her back and turns her head so she’s looking at me. “Tell me about her.”
I stiffen beside her. Is it time? Should I tell her? If I want to try this with her, if I think she’s my absolution, then she deserves to know what she’s getting into. This is why I was coming to her in the first place. But now, I’m not so sure that it’s the right time.
“Polly, I don’t… I don’t know if I can.”
“You can, Erik. You can trust me.”
“I do, baby.”
“Then talk to me.”
When I exhale, I do it knowing that this is my chance. “She was Smith’s sister. His twin.”
“Was?”
“His family was killed in an accident, and the reason Sophia was with them was because of me.” I feel the pain but can hear it in my voice, too. “The reason she’s gone is because I pushed her away.”
“Oh, Erik.”
“I failed her just like I failed you, and I’ve thought about walking away and saving you from me, but I can’t do it. I just fucking can’t.”
“I don’t want you to walk away.”
She might not think that after I finish, so I continue to get it over with. “She… she always saw the good in me even though I tried to convince her I was bad.”
“You’re not bad, Erik.”
“Before Sophia, my parents died when I was fourteen. My father was my hero my whole life. I admired him. I emulated him. He taught me to be a fighter, he taught me how to protect my mom, and I… I couldn’t. I tried so hard. I tried. And I failed.” I swallow through the thickness in my throat and squeeze my eyes closed.
“How?”
“I couldn’t fight them all.”
“Who?”
“The men.”
“What men?”
Rapidly blinking, I gain my composure again. “My dad had left me in charge for an hour. One fucking hour and all I needed to do was make sure she was safe. He asked me over the phone if I was okay to keep her safe until he got home. I told him I was. Told him he could trust me.”
I know I’m not making sense. The two stories are intertwining somehow, and as much as I try to separate them, I can’t. I always associate what happened with Sophia as a direct result of my parents’ deaths.
“They killed my mom in front of me. I watched them do it, and I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t fucking stop them.” I was a teenager, and they were grown men. Still, I could hold my own, but I was no match. None. Outnumbered and without a weapon. Mom and I made dinner together that night, and then we were sitting on the couch, watching a goddamned movie, waiting for my dad to come home, when they came to the door.
“Oh, Erik. You tried the best you could.”
“I knew better. I shouldn’t have answered the damn door, but they’d already made it through security at the gate and I didn’t think. My dad came home shortly after they left. He came home and found his wife—my mother—in a pool of her own blood. He didn’t even look at me, and to this day, I don’t know if he realized I was there or not. He went right to her and dropped to his knees. It wasn’t even a cry when he saw her… He howled.” That sound haunts my dreams, too. My father. Such a strong man, a fucking warrior, and he crumpled. He died right then and there; at that moment, I already knew he was gone.
“Where were you?”
“They broke my arm then tied me to a chair and pistol whipped me unconscious. I woke up bound and gagged in the next room. I could still see, though. I could see it all. Hear it all. I heard her take her last breath, and I heard my dad apologize that he failed her… that I failed to protect her. That their son wasn’t strong enough.” A shaky breath comes through my lips, and I wipe the tears from my eyes. “And then I saw him pull her into his… into his arms. His hands were so steady when he put his gun to his own head and pulled the trigger.”
She gasps at my admission and tries to pull me closer to her. In my almost catatonic state, I’m able to recognize she’s injured, so I don’t move.
“So when I met Sophia months later, and she said she wanted me to be her boyfriend, I told her no. I kept saying no, even when she begged. I wasn’t good enough for her. I was a failure. My father even said so. I’d failed my parents, and I would fail her too… and sure enough, I did. She didn’t listen to me; she made me love her. She goddamned made me, even though I didn’t want to. And she loved me even when I pushed her away. I tried hard to get her to see that she could do better. We fought about her being pregnant, and she finally realized what a piece of shit I was and left. She died that same night because I didn’t go after her. I fucking told her I’d fail her eventually, and it cost her and our baby their lives. It’s my fucking fault. All of it! It’s all my fucking fault!”
“Erik, stop. Stop. It’s not your fault.”
“It is.” I finally pull in a breath and stand, pacing next to the bed. With my hands on my hips, I pause and look out the window. “For years, Polly, years, Soph and I were on and off. Snuck around. She didn’t want to hide it, but I did. I just figured she’d eventually get sick of me pushing her away or find someone better because she deserved better. A sick fucking part of me liked having her to myself, though. I liked that she was a secret and that nobody else knew about us. It gave me something else to concentrate on. I knew for a little while that she was pregnant, and I was trying to come to terms… I swear to Christ I was trying. But that night… the last night I saw her, the last night she was alive, I yelled at her. She died; Smith’s whole family died in a freak accident that night.”
“I’m going to start showing soon, Erik.”
I stand from the couch and go to grab another beer.
She slams the door to the refrigerator and stands in front of it. Even pissed off, she’s hot as hell. “Beer won’t give you the answers.”
“Jesus, Soph. I’m not looking for beer to give me answers. I’m thirsty.” She doesn’t move, so I turn on my heel and go back to the couch empty-handed.
She sits next to me and tucks her legs beneath her butt. “It’s time, big guy.”
“I’m not ready.”
“I’m not either. But we’ve got each other, right? That’s all we need.”
My elbows rest on top of my thighs, and I cradle my head in my hands. “They’re going to be mad. Smith is going to kick my ass.”
“No, he won’t.”
“Yeah, babe, he will. I’m not good enough for y—”
“Will you shut up with the martyr crap?” she snaps at me. “You act like you were supposed to be able to fight off three grown men with guns when you were fourteen years old. I get that it was tragic, but there was nothing you could have done. God, Erik. I love you so much, so much, and I want us to move forward with our life together. But I can’t keep doing this. My God.” The couch squeaks when she stands up. “We’ve been doing this for years. I can’t—”
I cut her off before she can finish the sentence. “Good. It’d probably be better if you just left because you shouldn
’t.” Finally lifting my head, I see the pain in her face.
“Shouldn’t what?”
“Shouldn’t do this anymore.”
My girl, my strong girl, wipes away a tear then squares her shoulders at me. “I wasn’t going to say I can’t do this anymore. I was going to say that I can’t wait until you see that you’re perfect for me exactly how you are.”
Fuck.
“It’s me, isn’t it?” she whispers, and covers her mouth.
“What?” I stand and take a step closer to her, but she backs away. “Soph…”
“You’re using that as an excuse. You’re using what happened as an excuse because you really don’t love me. You don’t want this with me.” Her hands protectively rub her belly. “You don’t want us.”
“No. God, no. I want you. Both of you. I thought you’d move on from me eventually and—”
“So all those times you promised that we’d tell were a lie? You were what? Stringing me along until someone better came along for you?”
“Not for me. For you!”
“You’re unbelievable. I can’t… I don’t even know what to say to you.”
“I’m sorry, Soph. Things have changed with the baby. I’m working on changing. I promise I’m trying to be better for you. I do love you, but I’m not good enough for you.”
She shakes her head as she reaches for her keys.
“Don’t leave,” I whisper. All the times I wanted to push her away, and when she really goes to do it, I fold. I want her to stay. I’ve always wanted her to stay. “Don’t leave me.”
“I can’t believe you were never serious about me. About us.”
“I was. I am.”
“You just said you were stringing me along.”
“For your own good, Sophia! But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” She screams at me, and I take a step back. “I have given you everything, and you can’t even give me the decency of being honest.”
“I have been.”
“No, you haven’t.” Her voice is still raised.
“I fucking love you!” I yell back. “I tried not to, but I can’t help it. I’m trying to give myself the credit that you do, but I can’t—”
“You won’t! You won’t give yourself the credit, because you think you don’t deserve it. I’ve tried, E, I’ve tried for years to get you to see, but I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.”
I take a breath and pinch the bridge of my nose. “I love you, Soph. So much.”
“Then act like it.” She opens the door and takes a step out then pauses with her back to me. “I do love you, but maybe you’re right. Maybe I do deserve better.”
Chapter 12
Polly
He blinks and the wetness is replaced with a wound tore open so big I’m afraid blood will begin pouring from his eyes. The last words he’s heard from the people he loved were telling him the things he says to me. “Come here.”
His long legs bring him to the side of the bed in one stride, and he sits down. I sit up on my knees and wrap my arms around him from behind, pushing through the pain in my side. I rest my chin on his shoulder, and his hands come up to his chest to overlap mine. “Thank you for telling me that.”
“She was the only one who knew.”
“Knew what?”
“What really happened with me. The entire story wasn’t public knowledge. Umm, my mom was Mae Anderson.”
“The movie star?”
“Yeah.” He lifts my hands to his mouth then pries them apart before turning. I sit on my butt, and he turns to face me. “My father was a boxer turned bodyguard. They fell in love and got married. Because I was still a minor, the media wasn’t allowed to report about my injuries, but they were more focused on the story of my parents. They called it the real life Hollywood version of Romeo and Juliet.”
“Erik…” What do I even say?
“My parents did a good job of protecting me from the media and keeping my life normal. To me, they were just Mom and Dad, ya know? My mother’s parents had both already passed, so I came here to live with my dad’s parents. I think I was numb for a little while, but Sophia pushed me, and I eventually told her the details about a year after I moved back here. Smith doesn’t even know everything. Not many people do.”
“And she still wanted to be with you.”
His head falls. “Yeah.”
“And I still want to be with you.” Wordlessly, he moves his head in an acknowledging gesture. “Do you want to be with me?”
“Yeah, baby. I do.” Finally looking directly at me, he repeats himself. “I want to be with you. And if I had stayed, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“You can’t blame yourself.”
“It’s true, though.” I open my mouth to say something, but he cuts me off. “I’m using that. I’m using the fact that I was a pussy as ammunition to finally move the hell on.”
“You weren’t a pussy. It makes you stronger to be able to tell me about this. It will make us work, Erik. It’ll help us both heal from our pasts and move on. Together.”
“I just, I don’t—”
“Kiss me,” I demand.
He leans over to me, gently cups my face, and skims his lips across mine. “We’re not good for each other.” His thumb traces across my unbruised cheek and then across my bottom lip. “But we are perfect for each other. And I can’t wait to prove it to you. Because even though I’m not good enough, I know no other motherfucker out there is either. Nobody cares about you more than I do.”
He kisses me again, and just when the tip of his tongue caresses my lips, there’s a knock on the door. “Ms. Madison?”
A man with khakis, a black polo shirt, and a badge around his neck walks in. “I’m Detective Manor. Is it okay if I ask you a couple of questions?”
“Sure.” I turn to face him, and Erik sits next to me, an arm wrapped around me in a show of support and comfort.
“Can you tell me what happened tonight?”
“I was walking to the outside door, and some guy started asking for money. I ignored him, and he apparently didn’t like that because he started yelling, and then he grabbed me.”
“Do you know his name?”
“No. I’ve seen him hanging round my place before, but I don’t actually know him.”
“Do you remember any details? What he was wearing, any scars, tattoos?”
“He was in the same thing I’ve seen him in before. Dirty jeans, layers of jackets, and ratty old black boots. I didn’t notice any visible tattoos.”
“Sir.” The detective directs his attention toward Erik. “Could I get your first and last name?”
“Erik Anderson.”
The man whips his head up and studies Erik for a second before he asks the spelling then jots his name down. “Did you see anything?”
“Not much. He ran off as soon as I got there.” The veins in his neck throb. “Shoulda fuckin’ gone after him.”
The detective focuses on Erik for a moment. “No, it’s better that you didn’t. We’ll catch him, and he’ll be punished. Legally.”
Erik doesn’t take too kindly to the implication and opens his mouth to argue, but I grab his thigh. “I’m glad you didn’t; I needed you.”
He leans over and runs the pad of his thumb over my cheekbone.
“Okay, then.” Detective Manor takes out a card and hands it to me. “If you remember anything else or see him lingering around, please call me. I’ll be in touch over the next couple of days after I talk to the owner of the building to see if we can get any security footage.”
“Okay, thank you.”
He walks out and a nurse walks in. Erik gets off the bed and excuses himself from the room. After my vitals are taken, I rest my eyes until I hear Erik’s heavy footsteps. He pushes some hair off my face, and I smile at him before opening my eyes. “Hey. Where’d you go?”
“Hey.” His fingers trace over my cheekbone again before he removes his ha
nd. “Just called Brad and filled him in. He’s going to call Rayne. While you sleep, I’ll go pack up some stuff for you to bring to my place. Is there anything particular you want?”
I feel like I should protest a little bit, but it’s not even worth the effort. I want to be with him. “I don’t have much.” That statement is truer than I like to admit to myself, let alone out loud.
“Okay.” He leans down and kisses the top of my head. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“Okay.”
* * *
“I can walk, Erik.” I huff against his chest as he carries me up the stairs.
“I know, but I want to carry you, okay?” He asks, but it’s really not a question. “You need as much rest as you can get, and the less you jostle your ribs, the faster they’ll heal.”
Knowing I won’t win this argument, I nuzzle closer to him and soak up the sporty cologne he wears. He’s been doing this the past couple of days that we’ve been back at his house. When we were driving here from the hospital, he informed me that I was sleeping in his bed every night from here on out.
When we get to the room, he walks through and sets me on the tile floors in the bathroom. I take care of business and leave to find the covers already peeled back on his bed. He holds my hand as I sit down and he helps me get my shirt over my head. On his knees, he takes off my shoes and socks, and after I lie down, he removes my leggings. I’m left to rest in my undies and a cami.
I track him as he walks to the bathroom. When he closes the door, a small crack is still visible, so I twist my neck to get a better view. He reaches behind his neck and pulls his t-shirt off, and as he turns to throw it in the hamper (seriously, he throws his clothes in the hamper), he catches me gawking at him.
Not fazed in the least, he goes to the toilet and lifts up the seat. I laugh as I turn my head, and a few minutes later, he comes out of the bathroom and slides in next to me. With a gentleness I wasn’t aware he possessed, he scoots close to me. His fingertips trace my skin and when he gets to my belly just beneath the hem of my cami, I giggle.
He lifts the material and presses a kiss right next to my navel then scoots back and props his head up on one hand. “You’re gorgeous, Polly. Do you realize that?”