by CORY CYR
“You fucking bitch, did you honestly think I wouldn’t find you? You’re not only stupid, but also incompetent! Did you really think I’d give you a divorce?” he cackled in my face and slapped me so hard that it sent me flying across the room, crashing into the fireplace. I wavered as I tried to wipe the blood from my mouth, losing my balance and falling onto the woodpile. He stomped towards me, reached down and yanked me upright. If I weren’t so overwhelmed, disoriented and nauseous, I probably would have crumpled to the floor in a heap of despair and tears. I just couldn’t give him that satisfaction.
“You’re living with someone—fucking someone?” he screamed, as his spittle flew into my face.
I shook my head jerkily. “No, it’s just me—”
Garrison held me up by my shirt and backhanded me; I heard the bone crack in my cheek, and the ring he was wearing sliced across my face, causing blood to drip onto my chin. My neck whipped backwards as he gripped me tightly to keep me from going down, from getting away from his fury.
“Let’s just go see if you’re telling the truth,” he said snidely as he gripped my elbow, shoving me in front of him. “Where’s your fucking bedroom, whore?” he snarled. When I motioned towards the upstairs, he grabbed me by my hair and dragged me up the stairs. Once we got to the room, he threw me on the bed. I rolled to one side and tried to sit up, but he hit me again—with a closed fist this time—in my right eye. Pain exploded in my face, and the rising bile burned my throat. I squinted through my rapidly swelling eye as he stalked around, inspecting my bedroom. I scooted towards the headboard and sat there with my arms wrapped around my knees, shaking, still stunned from the last strike.
This was it . . . what I had always feared. He was going to kill me. I blinked away tears as I thought of Trina and Shea. There were still so many things left unsaid. I watched as Garrison rifled through the drawers and closets, trying to find evidence that he could use as an excuse to continue to hurt me. When his back was turned, I rolled myself off the bed in an effort to get to the stairs, but he caught me, shoved me down again, and then dragged me, by one leg, along the carpet, stopping briefly and planting his foot on my chest.
“Either that girl who contacted me was yanking my chain or your boy toy left you,” he smirked. His smile was cold and cruel as he reached down, hauled me up, and tossed me back on the bed. “It’s been a while, Ryan.” His crazed eyes raked over my body lecherously, and the strong grip on my arm kept me from escaping the hand that shot out and roughly groped my breast.
His eyes stopped short and he tore down the shoulder of my shirt.
“What the fuck is that?” he thundered as he ripped my shirt down the middle. I tried to squirm out of his grasp, but he was too strong, and his rage had escalated to critical levels.
“So, you got a tattoo . . . well, isn’t that special? And what . . . the guy you’re fucking . . . his name is Shea?” Garrison twisted my bicep around and he jabbed Shea’s name with his finger while he seethed. He straddled himself across my battered body and lowered his head to mine. His rancid breath rolled over my face, and my nausea increased ten-fold. When he tried to kiss me, I jerked my head back and forth, desperate to prevent his mouth from touching my lips in any way. Frustrated, he grabbed my chin and held my head in his punishing grip.
“Hold still, bitch! Since you like it so much here, after I’ve fucked my fill of you, I’ll leave your ass buried in Alaska,” he said, between his clenched teeth, as he forced my legs apart with his thigh.
I went crazy and started screaming, scratching him across the face as he tried to pull my zipper down. It would better if he killed me—I wouldn’t survive if he raped me. At least the people I cared about would know I fought—that I never gave up trying to escape this man.
His fist came down on my face so hard that my ears began to ring and I saw stars. My body went limp as I tried to fight the darkness attempting to take me. I knew if I passed out I’d never wake up. Garrison’s weight was crushing me as he wrapped his hand around my throat and tried to spread my legs further apart. I struggled to breathe as his hand pressed tighter on my neck, and my hands clawed at my throat weakly as I realized my strength had waned along with my will. I closed my eyes then, deciding to abandon myself to the inevitable.
It was too hard to find the will to continue in a life without Shea.
Suddenly all the crushing weight was gone and air surged into my lungs. Out of the corner of my swollen eye, I saw Shea pummelling Garrison with his fists, and I could hear the resounding crack as Shea tossed him against the wall as if he were a rag doll. It was definitely him—my tall, dark, beautiful, and strong savior—but I barely recognized the man I loved. His face was a mask of fury that belied murderous intent, and briefly, I feared that if he killed Garrison, the evil would taint his pure soul and change him—he'd become his father.
“You motherfucker!” I heard Shea roar as he continued his assault on Garrison.
“I knew you lied to me . . . you cunt . . . ,” Garrison sputtered as he groaned, spitting blood as he tried to get away from Shea’s rampage. The pain was so bad that I couldn’t move, but I watched—with a certain degree of satisfaction, I admitted to myself—as Shea stood over Garrison, drilled his fist into Garrison’s face over and over again until his eyes rolled back, and then threw him into the wall again. There were no more sounds coming from Garrison—he was definitely unconscious. All I could hear was Shea’s labored breathing, and I stared at both of his hands, saturated with blood.
“Baby . . . oh my God. The ambulance is on the way, just don’t move,” Shea said frantically while he covered me with a quilt, and then kneeled next to the bed. He reached over and took my hand, pressing his lips to my knuckles. Blood trickled from his hands onto mine as I watched him caress my knuckles with a kiss.
“I love you, baby,” he said as tears ran down his face. I struggled to inhale as a soft sob escaped my throat. “This is my fault. Oh Jesus, I should have been here . . . I should never have left you. Don’t you fucking close your eyes, baby! Stay awake . . . don’t you dare leave me.”
“Don’t cry . . . please don’t cry,” I mouthed the words because no sound would come out of my mouth. It was too hard to breathe.
He held my hand until the EMTs arrived, and I was quickly assessed and put on oxygen. As I was being loaded into the ambulance, the police arrived. I could hear Trina answering questions and I saw the police take away a very battered and handcuffed Garrison. Shea rode with me to the hospital while Trina and Quinn followed behind.
I ended up having two cracked ribs, one of which splintered off and caused a tiny puncture in one of my lungs, a broken cheekbone, a black eye, and a split lip. My neck was terribly bruised and my throat was raw, and I probably looked like I went several rounds with a boxer, but I was alive. If Shea hadn’t shown up I would have been dead. Garrison would have killed me—I knew that without a doubt. Trina had heard just enough before the phone was smashed to suspect something was wrong. The two most important people in my life saved me from certain death—Trina had called the police and an ambulance, and she had sent Shea to find me. The hospital had wanted to do a rape kit, but I swore Garrison had never gotten that far. I knew it had been Garrison’s intent to rape me and then kill me, and there was no doubt that he was going to prison for a very long time.
I was in the hospital for a week and Shea never left my bedside. On the seventh day, I was going home, but I was given strict orders to rest and recuperate for another month. Since I looked like a mugging victim, I told the doctor I had every intention of staying indoors until my face healed.
“You should go home and get some sleep, Shea. Trina and Quinn are coming to pick me up, so you don’t need to stay,”
“I’m not going home without you ever again,” he said as his lips brushed against mine. Heat spread all over my body. I never thought I’d get another chance to feel this way again. It had been almost two months, and even though I was injured, I wanted to kiss him, to feel
his mouth meld into mine. I struggled to get out of the bed as he helped me set my feet on the floor.
“Trina gave me these to give to you so you’d have something to wear home,” he said, smiling as he handed me jeans and a shirt. A nurse came in to help me to help me dress.
“You know I could have helped you.” He grinned as the nurse gave him a disapproving look.
“Cute . . . boyfriend?” the nurse asked as she helped me into the bathroom.
“Possibly,” I said, closing the door, daring to hope.
When I was finally dressed, I found Trina and Quinn sitting with Shea in my room.
“Is this a party? If it is, don’t make me laugh because it hurts,” I said, clutching my taped up ribs.
“Oh yeah, and it’s filled with a month of trash TV, books and soft foods. Woo hoo!” Trina said, laughing. Shea helped me to sit back on the bed as Trina began to put my shoes on for me.
“Now that the family is all here, I think you owe me an answer.” Shea’s blue eyes pierced me as he spoke. Trina had a huge smile on her face as she continued putting on my shoes without looking up. Quinn handed Shea a box.
The ring box.
“You never gave me an answer,” he said, standing above me as he opened the box. He had kept the ring—he hadn’t returned it. My emotions soared as I stared at the ring, still not believing how perfect it was.
“You never gave me a chance,” I whispered, finally able to stand now that my shoes were on.
“Ryan Emily Chase, will you marry me?”
I looked around at Trina and Quinn, then up into the most gorgeous face I’ve ever known.
“No.”
Shea looked shocked, and then his demeanor shifted to pissed off then back to shock. I took the ring out as I watched the lights in the room dance off of the diamonds. I put it on the ring finger of my left hand. He looked at me, confusion clouding his face.
“But you said ‘no.’”
I sat back down on my bed, pulling him with me.
“Can you and Quinn give Shea and me a few minutes alone?” I asked Trina.
“Of course, we’ll just go down to the cafeteria. Call us when you’re ready,” Trina replied, taking Quinn’s hand. When they left the room, I turned to the man I loved with every fiber of my being.
“Shea, do you know how much I love you? I have never loved anyone until you, and I can’t imagine a life without you—”
He cut me off. “Then marry me.”
“Listen to me, please. I have no doubts that you love me, and I hope you believe me when I tell you how much I love you. I’m not saying ‘no’ for me, but for you.” I gazed at Shea, who still looked very confused.
“Here’s my offer. Let’s have a long engagement, and if you still want to marry me in three years when you turn twenty-five, then yes—I will marry you.”
He jumped off the bed. “Three years? You want to wait three fucking years to marry me?”
“Like I said, I’m doing this for you. I need to know for certain that this is what you want, that I’m what you want.”
“Three years,” Shea sighed heavily.
I stood up next to him, fisting his shirt so I could pull him down to my face.
“Baby, you waited for me for thirteen years, so three years will be a cake walk,” I said with a half grin.
“If that’s the only way you’ll be my wife. Geesh . . . three years? Fuck!”
“Hey, I’ll be heading towards the cusp of forty,” I said, shaking my head
His arms wrapped around my waist lightly as he whispered to me.
“I think I know how to make the time go faster.” His lips nudged my ear.
“You think I should be a little more healed first?”
Shea arched an eyebrow. “I got you covered—you just lie back and I’ll do all the work. Three years will go just like that,” he said, snapping his fingers.
Epilogue
Three years later, December 24th
“Come on, come on—let’s go! What the hell, Ryan, we need to be there by noon.” Shea stood with our front door wide open. I was rushing from one room to the next, making sure I’d gotten everything.
“Trina’s bringing the camera, right?” I asked as I tried desperately to get my heels on.
“Yeah and Quinn’s bringing his video recorder, so now can we hustle. Jesus, babe, it’s eleven fifteen.”
I glanced over at him as he stood at the door. He looked incredibly sexy in the dark charcoal suit with the crisp linen white shirt I had bought him. His hair had been freshly cut and now he had an actual short beard. Three years later and he never ceased to get me hot and bothered.
These last years had been wonderful. Shea was finally a partner in Protected Paws and I was still working at Christoff’s. I was no longer a receptionist; I was now teaching classes on acting to those girls who wanted to reach for the dream. My students were all between eight and fifteen years old. Even though I had never fulfilled my vision of becoming a famous actress, I was hopeful that I would be able to encourage and direct someone else’s dream. The job filled me with contentment and gave me a purpose.
Today was Christmas Eve, Shea Michaels turned twenty-five, and I was about to become his wife. He had been crossing off the days on a calendar in the last year. Thank God for Quinn’s wealthy family ties, because that was the only way we were able to find a judge to marry us today, otherwise we would have to wait an extra three days. I hadn’t cared about a big church wedding, and Shea had no intentions of waiting one minute past his birthday. I’m sure if he could have mastered it, he would have found someone to marry us the minute the clock had struck midnight. The only thing that mattered was that I wanted to be his wife, and today that dream was going to happen.
I smoothed down the skirt of my silver dress, staring at my ring as it glided along the satin material. Since we were getting married in a judge’s chambers, I chose a simple, yet elegant dress. It was silver, with Swarovski crystals on the bust area as well as the hemline. It was tea length and I was wearing silver heels. I had done my hair with loose curls and worn it off to one side, decorating it with some silver crystal accents.
“Wife, you look edible and beautiful, as usual,” Shea said as his eyes studied me from head to toe.
“Not yet,” I joked, grabbing my coat.
Quinn and Trina were pulling up just as we got into my Toyota.
Fifty-two minutes later, we were Mr. and Mrs. Michaels, husband and wife.
I knew, without a doubt, I would be crying during the ceremony, but it had been overwhelming to see tears form in Shea’s eyes. He had waited for me for so many years, and I prayed that I would make it all worth it. Over the last three years, I had had time to contemplate my life, and I knew for certain that everything I had gone through had led me to Shea. I’d always felt that if I had stayed I might have been able to protect and shelter Shea from his father, but the truth was if I had stayed in that life, my life now with Shea would not exist. I finally made my peace with the fact that I was never meant to save him back then. I was meant to save him now, and somehow, he had saved me too. I gave him the life he always wanted, and he gave me the dream I never knew I needed.
As we got into bed that night, Shea snuggled tightly into me as we both watched the fire.
“So, how’s it feel to be my wife?” he asked, as his hand passed over my stomach and beneath my panties.
“Well, if you keep doing that, you know I’ll say anything you want me to,” I replied huskily.
He chuckled as his hand cupped my sex. I let out a soft sigh.
“Can I give you your Christmas gift?” I asked.
Shea looked at me with half-lidded blue eyes. “You are giving me a gift, trust me, and in another ten minutes or so I’ll be giving one to you.”
“No, I’m serious. I want to give you your actual Christmas present,” I said, removing his hand out of my panties and sitting up.
He looked at me with pouting lips. “Gee, I’d really like to
make love to my wife. I only had to wait three years—sixteen, if we want to get technical.”
“And you’ll get that too, but I want to give your Christmas present tonight.”
“I thought we were opening gifts tomorrow morning, on Christmas day?”
I reached over and pulled the drawer of my nightstand open. I took out a green foil wrapped box, and handed it to him.
Shea sat up in bed, pushing pillows behind.
“It must be pretty special if you’re willing to give up an orgasm.” He grinned as he popped the lid off of the box. He took out some tissue paper and unfolded it to reveal the article inside.
An array of emotions paraded across his face as his eyes centered on the photograph. I had to press my lips tightly to keep from smiling. Shea’s blue eyes filled with tears, and one fell from the corner of his eye. He quickly wiped it away, still gripping the photograph like he never wanted to let it go.
“Three months, and they’re pretty sure it’s a girl,” I murmured as I squeezed next to him, looking at the sonogram with him.
“I’m a husband and a father, all in one day?” His voice shook as he smiled.
“Well, you’ll have to wait another six months to be a dad,” I reminded him, smiling broadly.
Shea lay the sonogram down on his chest, pressed his head back into the pillow and closed his eyes as he squeezed my hand.
“I wish your dad were here,” he whispered. I put my head on his shoulder and touched a finger to the corner of his eye, catching a tear. “You know, I told him, right there in the garage, when I was eight years old, that one day I would marry you. I hope wherever he is, he knows that I kept my word, and that I will love you and all of our children until my last breath.”
“I have no doubt that he’s looking down on us, smiling. He could have never picked anyone better to love me or take care of me.”