by S. E. Hall
“And he’ll need every single one of them, I assure you.” He sets me down and places my hand in Laney’s. “Up to my office, door locked. Don’t test me, Emmett,” he points in my face, “and don’t fight Laney. Now go!”
We both jump at his harsh voice but immediately comply, Laney dragging me toward the stairs. I look back and start to cry; Sawyer’s already got one hand wrapped around the guy’s throat and is dragging him outside. All I can do at this point is pray Dane stops Sawyer short of killing him.
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THIS PIECE OF SHIT may not make it. Glaring at him, I see more than just his bad-mannered, prick self, but rather the manifestation of all the wrong that’s been done to Emmett at the hands of unmanly men. Her wide, terrified eyes were like windows, showing me that she too was thinking of a time when another man thought she was nothing more than a plaything.
He’s struggling against my grip around his larynx, using both hands to grab and pull at mine while his feet drag and try to gain leverage. Dane enters my vision from the side. “Sawyer,” he warns lowly. “Outside. I got the friends.”
No fucking shit. Where ya think I’m going?
I bash his forehead against the bar on the back door to open it, tossing him outside roughly. He’s not even off his back by the time I get my costume off—I’m not fighting in a fucking robe.
“Stand up!” I grab his collar and yank him to his feet. “That woman you put your hands on? That’s my woman, whom I love very much. She has rights. Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Fuck you.” He spits in my face. “Why don’t you chill out, man? Just having some fun. No big deal.”
The first punch is to the gut. When he bends with the blow, my knee comes up to clock his nose and I revel in the snapping sound it makes, the blood soaking my leg. “That’s for touching her!” I yank his head back up by his hair and return the favor of spit in his face. “You can’t be a gentleman, don’t fucking drink.”
He swings his right arm clumsily and I let him land it on the side of my jaw before I laugh. “That all you fucking got? Come on, big man, show me how you overpower people. Grab my arm, tell me what to do!” I push him away from me, letting him regain his bearings. Isn’t that what guys like him get off on, the power, the toying with them? “Come on, show me.” I wiggle both hands toward myself.
He roars, coming at me, both fists up…and that’s as far as he gets, his best effort. One crack, straight out and back, and I lay his lip wide open.
“Come on, Mary, you got it,” I taunt him.
All I see is a morph of this pudsmack, putting his hands on my sweet Emmett, and the other guy who thought it was okay to hurt her. I want to show them both what it means to hurt—how fucking dare they touch her! Her fear, her helplessness… She’s so tiny, so fragile… I have to swallow a sob of pain at the same time as my growl. I want blood. I want her revenge for her.
I lunge for him, but he’s backing up, waving his hands.
“I’m-I’m sorry,” he whimpers, wiping his mouth and spitting blood on the ground.
“Yeah, you’re pretty sorry all right.” Left, right, I make it rain, every blow for Emmett. “You,” gut punch, “don’t hurt,” another to the nose, “women,” right hook that puts him flat on his back. I stand over the top of him, pulling him up by his collar again ‘cause this kid can’t stay off the ground, and rear back my fist, punching him over and over…trapped in a haze of red. Red, my sweet girl. Punches, kicks, rage flows out of me in a rhythm over which I have no control…
“Sawyer!”
I leer down at this worn out, poor excuse of a man, hands on my hips, my chest heaving. I move to go after him again, but Dane stops me, both hands braced against my chest.
“He’s done, and so are you.”
“He fucking hurt her, he—”
“I know, I know, man.”
“Why do they think they can touch her?”
“Sawyer, she’s safe, bud. You took care of it. Breathe, man, she’s fine.”
He gives me a minute to walk around, my head back and my hands on my hips, sucking in fresh air.
“You good?” he finally asks.
I nod, shaking out my hands, consciously directing my breathing back to normal.
“Go on then, driver’s waiting. Straight to my house.”
“Emmett?” I look around, as though she’ll appear.
“Where’s Emmett?”
“Already on her way there. Go.”
“What about,” I look to beaten man on the ground, “him?”
“I got it. Go.” He hands me my costume and I hustle the hell out of there.
LIFE AS WE KNEW IT
LANEY’S HOLDING ME, stroking my hair and singing, as I sob quietly but unstoppably with my head in her lap. She is a terrible singer, truly so bad that I can’t even think of a metaphor to describe the severity of her tone-deaf caterwauling, but she certainly puts her whole heart into it and knows every word to every song written for a Disney movie.
“Somebody’s here,” she whispers, taking a break from “A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes.”
I don’t even lift my head. I know it can’t be Sawyer, he’s probably in jail right now, so what’s it matter... Honestly, Dane’s house is so big, someone could be robbing the whole bottom floor and I doubt we’d hear it, so I think she’s probably mistaken.
“Want me to go see who it is?”
“Not really.” I clench onto her leg. “Stay with me, I think you’re hearing things.”
“No, the alarm chimed, somebody entered the code.” Oh, well that explains that at least.
Loud, heavy footsteps start to rumble down the hallway, in our direction, and I pop up. He’s here! I know it’s Sawyer, Dane doesn’t sound like a herd of elephants when he walks. I scramble to a sitting position and quickly swipe beneath my eyes; I don’t want him to see I’ve been crying. He’s had a rough enough night without my hysterics adding more stress.
“Emmett? Babe?” he shouts.
“Back here!” Laney yells back for me.
“Em?” His head comes around the doorway. “Oh, Em,” he bolts across the room, sweeping me into his massive, strong arms, “are you all right?” His words are muffled, his face buried in my hair.
“Me?” I push on his chest, needing to look at him. “Forget me, are you okay?” My eyes work frantically over, up, and down him, assessing any damage, of which I see nothing more than a small red mark on his jaw. I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but minus the barely visible scuff and some dried blood on his left hand, he looks the same as he did before the nightmare started. “Sawyer,” I gulp, sobs coming up again, “I was so worried. I thought you’d be in jail, or hurt, or… Well, not really hurt, I knew you’d win, but definitely jail. I’m so sorry.”
One hand rubs my back, the other wrapped around the back of my neck. “I’m fine, babe, shh.”
“I’ll, uh,” Laney mumbles, “I’ll be downstairs if you guys need anything. Is Dane here yet?”
“No,” Sawyer answers her, his lips still touching my hair. “Thank you, Laney, for taking care of her. Are you okay?”
“Of course,” she says quietly, and I can hear the tender smile in her reply. “I’m fine, no worries.”
The door closes behind her and Sawyer sits us on the bed, my arms and legs tangled around him desperately. I don’t ever want to let go. I don’t want anyone or anything to penetrate our happiness, tear us apart, or take him away from me. The thought of losing him is suffocating, a sadness so bone deep I can’t take a full breath. I don’t even remember who I was before I let him in. I don’t think I ever want to. The only Emmett I want to be is his Emmett.
“Baby, I promise it’s okay. I’m here, everything’s fine.”
“What happens now?” I lift my head from his tear-soaked robe. I need to see his eyes when he answers me, to make sure he’s not softening the blow to not scare me. “Are you gonna
go to jail? How bad did you hurt him? What if he presses charges?”
“If he does, he does, and we’ll figure it out. He had it coming, Em. Men who prey on women are cowards and need to be taught a lesson, especially if it’s my woman. I didn’t kill him, just kicked his ass good, and not half as good as I wanted to. You can thank Dane for that. He stopped me.” His chest moves my body with it as he takes a deep breath, rubbing his lips lightly back and forth on my forehead. “I just kept thinking about you, how you’ve been hurt before, stupid, fucking guys thinking they can do whatever they want. No one gets to touch you, Emmett. I’ll always protect you, or die trying.” He cradles my cheeks and uses his thumbs to wipe under my eyes. “I don’t want you to worry, all right? And it’s not good for you to get so upset.”
I nod, putting on a stoic face for him, and grab the sides of his head. “Thank you,” I whisper, kissing his lips softly. “Thank you for being exactly who you are and loving me exactly how you do.”
“I don’t know about all,” he chuckles with a small frown, “but I will always love you the best I know how.”
My head rests in the crook of his neck and shoulder, my eyes heavy with exhaustion. I can feel the tension in his tightly drawn muscles dissolve slowly as we embrace in silence.
“You better now?” he murmurs with a kiss on my jaw some time later.
“Mhm?”
“Can I go get a shower and something to wear besides this damn robe?” He shakes his head. “Of all the nights to get in a fight.”
“Are we staying here or going home?” I climb off his lap, settling into the bed so he can go get cleaned up, pretty much answering the question for him.
“Do you mind if we just stay here tonight, babe? Neither of us has a vehicle and it’s late. I kinda need to talk to Dane anyway.”
I’m already snuggled under the covers, he knows I’m fine with it, but he’s too considerate not to ask. “Here’s fine. Get your shower. You know where to find me when you’re done.”
He stands, but stops to lean onto the bed and kiss me once more. “I love you, Emmett.”
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“FUCK!” The flesh of my knuckle rips open, blood dripping down the tiles. What a shitstick I am…punching Dane’s shower, running around in a goddamn robe almost killing dudes, letting my girl be whisked away to a strange house where she now lies in a foreign bed, crying, worried I’ll be taken from her.
Tonight I put everything that’s important to me at risk. Going to jail is a real possibility—yeah, that’ll help Emmett and the baby out a lot. Fighting at Dane’s club—we pay people to stop that shit from happening and here I am the one doing it.
Am I losing my mind? Apparently, since I’m going vigilante at my job with a baby on the way. What if I had killed him, what if I do get locked up…who will take care of Emmett?
Sure, Dane will most likely fix my mess, like always, and I’ll probably never spend a day behind bars, but what kind of father has his friends clean up after him? And sign his checks? And loan him cars?
I’m a fucking joke. She deserves better than some half- cocked punk who can’t provide enough to keep her from having to serve drinks to handsy pricks in a bar.
A knock on the door saves me from my own mental beating. I know who it is.
“Come on in, Dane.”
“Hey,” he says quietly and I hear him close the door behind him. “Girls are both asleep; I just checked on ‘em. You all right?”
I’m too strung out to give him shit about being a perv and wanting to see me in the shower. I think about it, though, and decide it’s a good sign; there’s still some “me” left in there somewhere. “Dandy. So?”
“So, broken nose, cracked rib and eight stitches for his lip and above his eye. All fixed up now. He won’t be pressing charges and neither will she. Cool?”
“You’ll have to make sure that’s fine with Emmett, but should be.” I brush my hands over my face, pushing the water from my eyes. “Thanks, man, I owe ya one.”
“You don’t owe me a thing; the prick deserved it. Her car’s in the driveway now. Get some sleep.”
He fixed it, but I already knew he would. Like it never happened.
If you get used to someone else fixing your little shit for ya, how do you learn how to handle your own big shit?
“Hey, Sawyer?”
“Yeah?” I say too loudly; I thought he’d already walked out.
“You almost lost it tonight, bro, you had me worried for a minute. When’d you get so volatile?”
“When I found something worth fighting for.”
“SAWYER, HONEY, WAKE UP.” I’m shaken from my slumber. “Hm? What?” I look around, senses slowly coming to me; Dane’s guest room, Emmett beside me. “Wh—you okay? The baby?”
Her warm hand soothes across my chest as she sits up over me. Dark strands fall over her worried eyes so I reach up to tuck them behind her ear. “We’re fine. You were having a nightmare.”
“I don’t have nightmares, Em. Go back to sleep.”
“But you were. You were thrashing around and yelling about being a man.” Even in the dark, I can clearly see the concern lining her face.
“Only thinking, Em, not a nightmare and nothing for you to worry about. Okay?”
“Okay,” she whispers, lying back down and snuggling into my side.
“I got it, babe, I promise. Get some sleep.”
UNSWEETENED NOVEMBER
SAWYER HASN’T HAD ANOTHER NIGHTMARE, at least not any bad enough to wake me up, but I swear he’s not getting any sleep. He’s not so much looking tired, but he seems at odds with the world, not absent-minded really, but definitely more distracted. So distracted that half the times I’ve asked if he’s all right, if he wants to talk…I’ve had to ask twice just to get his attention and often don’t even get an answer.
So although he’s home early tonight, when he heads to bed still chewing his last bite of the dinner I’d made, I don’t even suggest a movie. Instead, I clean the table and load the dishwasher as quietly as possible, giving him time to get settled. With school and work, I understand he’s carrying a full load, but a quick kiss would’ve been nice. I refuse to complain though; I haven’t forgotten that I’d been the first to doubt us and withdraw into myself. Sawyer had been sure from day one, so now it’s his turn, and I need to keep reminding myself that turnabout is fair play.
I deserve this.
I’ve stalled long enough, straightening couch cushions and wiping counters for a good thirty minutes before I decide it’s time to join him in bed. I tiptoe down the hall to the bedroom, trying to shoo the hope out of my heart.
At least I didn’t wake him up. He’s lying on his back, hands under his head, staring at the ceiling.
“Hey,” I mumble awkwardly, heading to the dresser to find something to sleep in.
“Hey,” he turns his head to look at me, “you coming to bed?”
“Yessss,” I hitch up the flirt in my voice, totally receptive to anything he’s about to suggest.
“Cool, will you turn out the bathroom light?”
I have to stop my jaw from falling open as I watch him roll over, punching at his pillow before closing his eyes. Even with only one case study under my belt, this I know for sure—men are uncomplicated, predictable creatures. Much like a baby, all you have to do is run through the “checklist,” and the box left unchecked at the end—that’s their problem.
I fed him. He used the restroom earlier. And now he’s going to sleep.
The box not checked? The voice in my head is a bit fuzzy, so I’m not sure if it’s Gramma or one of the Real Housewives, but somebody says, “If he’s not getting it at home, he’s getting it somewhere else.”
Surely not…said the naïve, stupid woman in each and every Lifetime movie, seconds before she came home unexpectedly on her lunch break and heard suspicious moaning coming from the back of the house.
Seriously thoug
h, he hasn’t “left early” for class, and I work with him a solid four days a week. His phone is on top of the dresser, inches from me, unguarded, and he doesn’t madly dash for the shower right when he gets home. Am I missing something? Again, had Lifetime not taught me all the signs?
Maybe I’m a fool. I debate with myself the entire time I get ready for bed, changing my clothes and brushing my teeth, but find myself confident enough in his character and that he really is just spread too thin and tired that I crawl into bed beside him…after turning off the bathroom light, of course. His back is turned to me, so I lightly kiss his shoulder goodnight.
“WHAT THE,” I jolt awake and upright from a deep sleep and instantly feel it again. Stretching my arm out blindly, I find and flip on the lamp then push the covers off me hurriedly, not quite sure yet what’s happening.
This time, I feel it and see it, a massive bulge rolling across my stomach. My thin shirt hides nothing, rippling with the baby’s movements. “Sawyer!” My hand fumbles for him as my eyes stay trained on my stomach in awe. “Sawyer, you gotta see this, babe! Wake up!” Shaking him with one hand, I squirm around, pulling up my nightie with the other.
“Hmm?” he grumbles, rolling toward me. “What is it?”
“Watch this, watch my stomach!”
He sits up and rubs his eyes, a small “hrmph” trying to penetrate my bubble—not happening, buddy. With baited breath, I will Alex to do it again, to show him the fabulous new trick.
“Come on, little one,” I urge, tapping my hand on the side of my belly.
I feel like Jacques Cousteau on a whale watching expedition. Any second now, the hump will emerge, breathtaking and majestic, then slowly roll back down, out of sight into the depths.
“I don’t see anything, Em,” he frumps. “What was it?”