Hetch (Men OF S.W.A.T. #1)

by River Savage

  “Oh, my God! Hetch is here.” Her eyes whip around the pub, searching him out like I did only a few moments ago.

  “Hetch is here?” Payton turns in her seat, following Fee’s gaze.

  “Give me my phone back, Fee.” I don’t bother answering Payton. My main goal is to stay calm against my rising panic and retrieve my phone.

  “What’s he doing here? Is he following you?” Payton stands, trying to get a better look.

  Seriously, I’m going to fucking kill her.

  “Ohh, you have another text.” My mouth dries and my hand tingles while she reads it over. “He says, Fee, give Liberty the phone back.”

  I don’t have a chance to laugh like Pay and Sophie, my panic still barreling forward when Fee starts typing out a reply.

  “Don’t, Fee.” The words are a plea, one she doesn’t heed, so I stand, ready to crawl across the table to grab my phone if I have to.

  “Fee,” Sophie warns, “give it back to her.” It’s barely a reprimand, laced with no anger and definitely not a threat, but Fee must see something in it, something big enough for her to stop typing and reluctantly hand it over.

  “Fine, you’re no fun.” It’s her turn to sulk. She slides my phone across the table, and I reach out, snatching it back.

  “This isn’t a joke, Fee. It’s my life.”

  My phone vibrates again, cutting off her reply. And like an addict scoring a fix, I briefly close my eyes and allow the thrill of this soothe me.

  Jesus, I think I need help.

  Hetch: Meet me near the restroom.

  Every muscle down to my toes flexes ready to stand and meet him, but something stops me.

  My heart.

  Am I ready to see him?

  It’s one thing to engage with him via text, but it’s another to see him face to face.

  “What’s he saying now?” Sophie asks, but unlike Fee, her query is gentle, not mocking.

  “He wants me to meet him.” I glance around again, still unable to find him.

  “Ohh, a booty call,” Fee teases, not understanding the seriousness of our issues.

  Of Hetch’s issues.

  “Seriously, Fee. Shut up.” I stand, not in the mood for her judgmental juvenile bullshit. Fee shifts uncomfortably in her chair, while a heavy silence, thicker than my own frustration, settles over the table.

  There’s no logic to my irritation with her. I know she doesn’t get it; it’s who she is. Fee can always find a way to inject her unique humor into anything with her smart mouth, and normally I can take it. Normally, it doesn’t rattle me. But tonight, she hit her mark.

  Is Hetch only looking for a hookup?

  Realizing the night is getting away from me, I direct my eyes down at Sophie.

  “Can you take me home, Soph–?”

  “Lib.” Fee cuts me off. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.” Her apology seems genuine, but I’m done.

  “Come on, Lib. Sit down.” Payton tries this time, but it’s one of those moments where there isn’t a way to come back from it.

  Not right away.

  “It’s fine, Fee. I just don’t think making a joke out of my situation is funny.” I don’t make eye contact, knowing it’s going to upset me to see her hurt by my coldness. “You guys can stay. I can take a cab if you’re not ready to go, Sophie.”

  “No, I’ll take you. You’re sure, though?” She thinks I’m leaving because of Fee, but the truth is it’s not Fee who has me running.

  It’s Hetch.

  I’m not ready to see him.

  Just like yesterday when I discovered he was coming to visit Mitch. I ran.

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” I reach for my bag, tucking it under my arm, then lean down and kiss Payton’s cheek.

  “Thanks for getting me out. It helped.” It’s a lie, one I offer anyway because I know she’s disappointed I’m leaving early.

  “Message me when you get home.” She stands and gives me a hug. Glancing briefly at Fee, I watch her slide out the booth, coming to stand in front of me when Payton steps away.

  “I’m an asshole, you know? I feel terrible you’re leaving.” She wraps me up in her arms and squeezes hard.

  “You are an asshole, but I still love you.” I return her hug and then let her go.

  “You guys have a good night,” I tell them before following Sophie out to the car.

  Not risking a peek around me, and with my phone carefully locked away in my purse, I have no idea if Hetch knows I’m leaving.

  Is he waiting for me? Will he be upset with me? Should I have gone to him? The questions roll over and over, each one casting more doubt over my need to run.

  It’s not until Sophie pulls up at the front of my place I see him pull in behind her. He followed me home.

  “You want me to stay?” Sophie’s eyes track Hetch when he exits his truck and hangs back, waiting for me.

  He looks good, too good.

  Dark jeans, tight Henley, five o’clock shadow. He stands tall, legs apart, arms crossed over his chest. I almost smile at how strong and handsome he looks until I remember he broke my heart.

  “I have to talk to him at some point, right?” I lean over and kiss her cheek good-bye. “I’ll be fine.” I offer what I hope to be a reassuring nod and then exit her car.

  She idles in the drive for another minute or two, before taking me for my word and backing out. Not ready to turn, I stay unmoving, my back to Hetch, my eyes on the retreating red taillights of Sophie’s car.

  Finally, when the lights fade to nothing, the car no longer in sight, I force a reassuring breath, turn, and make my way up to my apartment.

  I don’t make eye contact with him, unsure of what I can say. I almost expect him to ignore me until he calls out, ruining my easy getaway.

  “Liberty.” His voice travels across the darkened parking lot and wraps around me like I imagine his arms want to. “Can we talk?”

  “Oh, you’re ready to talk?” I spin around with the same amount of grace a three-hundred-pound linebacker would have on a balancing beam.

  “Sweetheart, I know you're angry, but I just want to explain.” He risks a step closer to me, and like a caged animal, I react.

  “For three weeks I’ve been sitting around waiting for you to explain.” I sweep my arm out in front of me, my finger slicing through the air. It’s almost like I have no control of my limbs. No control over my words.

  “Every day wondering where you were, if you were okay. I called, messaged, and knocked, and you ignored me.” He takes another step closer, but I don’t stop. I won’t stop. I can’t stop. I’ve been allowing my anger to fester for so long I need a release.

  “I wasn’t asking for much, Hetch. Just to know you were okay. I was worried. Fuck, I thought you were going to do something stupid.” I hate the shake in my voice, hate I even had the thought. Hate the heated flush of rage that covers my body from the inside out. But I was there. I held the man while he cried for his father. “Jesus, I had your mom and your sister out looking for you. Do you even care how sick to the stomach I’ve been? Do you care I couldn’t eat for days?”

  “Baby, I fucked up.” He brings a shaky hand out in front of him like he’s worried I’m going to make a run for it and he needs to approach with care.

  “Yeah, you fucked up. You fucked up so badly, I’m not sure you can fix it.” He’s in front of me now. My pulse is speeding and my muscles quiver, and in a brief moment of clarity, I see my own fear reflected back at me.

  “Please don’t say that, baby.” His hands cup my jaw, holding me steady in his grasp. I want to slap him away, scream at him not to touch me, but the warmth from his touch anchors me there. The gentleness of his voice, robbing me of any more fight.

  “Say anything you want, but don’t say we can’t fix us.” His eyes glass over, like the lake down behind my parents’ house in the middle of February, and it’s a stark contrast to the warmth I’ve grown to love.

  “You left, Hetch.” I fight the wobble
in my chin, the crack in my resolve. “You left me after you begged me never to leave you.” This time, I can’t control it. Over three weeks of anguish holding me hostage, finally pours out of me. I lash out, hitting him against his hard chest, releasing my anger and my heartache.

  Hetch doesn’t move, just stands there, taking everything I give: every hit, every word, every tear. It’s not until my head becomes too heavy, and my sobs too quiet do I realize he has me in his arms, holding me steady from my own volatile storm.

  “I’m sorry, I–” I start to pull away, his embrace too much for my broken heart, but like my soul, his arms don’t allow it.

  “I hate I did this to us, Liberty. But I’m here now, and I’m not leaving again. I’m fighting for you. Fighting for us. Can’t you see?” A calmness settles between us, yet uncertainty still churns viciously around us. We’re stuck in the eye of the storm. One wrong move here could tear both of us apart, destroying everything we had and could have been in its wake.

  “Hetch, I nee−” I start to say, attempting to fight against my own wants.

  “Whatever you need, sweetheart.”

  “I need some time.” My words are the resistance my body doesn’t want to hear. Seconds seem to drag into minutes, and like a criminal serving time, I feel each and every one of them.

  “Then time is what you’ll have, sweetheart.”

  A simple promise with a simple concept.

  Time.

  It all comes down to time.

  A temporal length of an event or an entity’s existence, period.

  I’m not sure how it’s going to end, nor do I know for certain the duration of us, or the continuance of him and me, but judging by his curt nod and set jaw, he has a plan.

  And I don’t expect any less of him. After all, having a course of action and being able to see the big picture in order to focus on the outcome is Hetch’s specialty.

  Different scenario, but the same strategy.

  Something tells me I’m not going to stand a chance.

  I am his end goal.

  Hetch will find a way to cement his way back into my life.

  I just don’t know how or when.

  Twenty-Nine

  Hetch

  “What the hell do we need to go there for?” Fox grumbles beside me after I tell him to head to Cherry Lane Flowers across town.

  “Why else do you visit a fucking flower shop, Fox?” I try to keep my patience in check, but after four hours with Fox and his perpetual mood, I’m not doing too well.

  The minute I turned up for my first shift back and discovered I was patrolling with Fox instead of Sterling, my partially good mood was in jeopardy.

  “So, you’re still groveling like a fucking puppy?” He thinks we’re heading to Cherry Lane to order flowers for Liberty, but he would be wrong. The flowers are for my mom. Not only have I been a stupid fool with Liberty for the better half of a month, but I've also been a dick to my mom.

  For three years.

  From ignoring her calls months on end and missing memorials for my dad, to letting her knock on my door for hours only to leave her on the other side begging me to let her in. Thinking back on those moments, I wish I had answered the phone, showed up on the dreaded anniversary, but most of all opened the door and let her in. Maybe if I had let her in, the one person who hurt like me, I wouldn’t have pushed everyone else I love away.

  Maybe I would have let Liberty in from the get go.

  “They’re not for her.” I don’t know why I clarify. Fox doesn’t need to know I’ve not only fucked up with Liberty, but I've also fucked up in every aspect.

  My mom. My sister. My job.

  “So, you’ve sorted things out with Liberty then?” he presses, like every other time he’s tried to engage with me today.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  It’s only been two days since I promised Liberty space. Two days since I stood there, holding her in my arms while she laid into me. Two days of trying to figure out how I’m going to fix this mess I’ve put us in. I wish I knew what I was doing. If I could go back to the night I walked out on her, I would. But I can’t. And now I don’t know what to do. I’m torn. Part of me wants to march over there and demand she let’s me back into her life, but the other part—the part that’s scared I’m going to lose her completely—has me holding back. I have to figure out what she needs from me to trust me again.

  “Well, in that case, maybe you should open your wallet up a little wider and order two bouquets of flowers.” Fox, oblivious to my inner turmoil, continues to play with me.

  “Liberty’s not the kind of woman you win over with flowers.” I reject his jab. If my fuck-ups were fixed by a simple bouquet of flowers, I’d have dropped into Walmart for a ten-dollar bunch last week when she ripped me a new one about not showing up for Mitch.

  No, I need more.

  Something deeper.

  I need to be smart here and think this through before making my move.

  “Well, you got me there,” he agrees, clicking his tongue. “So, what are you doing to win her back?” The question is loaded. Careful, but also challenging.

  “I haven’t figured it out yet.”

  “Figures.” He laughs outright, and I weigh up the dangers of what a blow to his arm while traveling at eighty miles down the freeway might cause.

  Too much danger. I’ll get the prick later.

  “Shut the fuck up, Fox. Like you have any better advice.” It may be an insult, but it also may be my way of prodding. Either way, I’m not about to admit I’m hoping he will share some sage advice.

  “I’ll have you know I was very romantic when I was married.” He takes my bait, and the downtown loop exit, driving us closer to our destination.

  “She turned out to be a bitch, so I stopped.” It’s my turn to laugh now. He shoots me a look that tells me while he may prefer to be rudimentary, there is well-hidden charm in there somewhere.

  “Okay, so what the fuck should I be doing?” I swallow my pride and finally ask for help. I’ve always been the type of person who’s never been comfortable asking for things. Before I started seeing Dr. Anderson, I would have shut down this line of conversation, but if I have learned anything in the last three weeks, it’s that asking for help isn’t a sign of weakness. Isolating myself for self-preservation doesn’t work. I needed help, in any form.

  “You need to remind her why she fell in love with you. Show her you’re willing to do anything she wants.” The concept sounds simple, but there is one fundamental flaw.

  “Yeah, well it’s hard to remind her of anything if she won’t talk to me.” I cringe, recalling how the last two nights I’ve resorted to talking to her through our bedroom wall. She hasn’t acknowledged me yet. But I’m not giving up.

  “Patience is overrated, Hetch. Stop being a pussy. Just claim her back.”

  Just claim her back?

  That’s all he has?

  “We’re not talking about a lost piece of property here, Fox. We’re talking about my woman. The woman I hurt.”

  “The woman fell in love with your demanding ass, didn’t she? She thinks she wants time. She doesn’t know what she wants.”

  He has a fair point. I did manage to get her in my bed by claiming what’s mine, but this is different. This is about respecting what Liberty needs. Sure, I’ve wanted and needed things so desperately before that I’ve taken them without any worry or repercussions, but there’s a saying my father used to quote, “You get the chicken by hatching the egg, not by smashing it.”

  Pushing Liberty too fast would smash everything we have. I’m not willing to do it, no matter how desperate I may seem.

  “She won’t go for it. I need something else. I need to prove to her I’m serious.”

  I wait for his wise words, but they don’t come.

  “Are you serious?” His words are dragged out, each one enunciated clearly. Not because he’s unsure of the question, but because he wants the question to be heard. “Or is
this some pussy you’ve got your head messed up with?”

  “Fuck you, asshole.” This time, I do punch his shoulder, the cruiser only shifting a little unsteadily from the impact. Fox curses before righting his arms back on the steering wheel.

  “Don’t talk about my woman’s pussy ever again, fucker.” He doesn’t have a chance to reply before the radio crackles with a code ten SWAT pre-call up and our conversation comes to a grinding halt. Fox turns the SUV away from the direction of Cherry Lane Flowers, heading straight to where we’re needed.

  It looks like Mom isn’t getting flowers today.

  And I’m not getting any advice.

  And now, I’m back to square one.

  “You still awake, sweetheart?” I ask the wall, hoping tonight is the night she replies. It’s a few days after my first shift with Fox. I just finished my weekly session with Dr. Anderson, and even though I’m drained from working a ten-hour shift, and surviving the one-hour session with the doctor, I still find myself wanting to talk to Liberty more than anyone else.

  “I know you’re there, sweetheart. I can hear your breathing from here.”

  “Hetch, I’m really tired tonight.” Her voice is low and trails slowly, revealing her presence behind a wall that’s been acting as her emotional barricade. I sit up and move closer. It’s the sign I’ve been waiting for, a small step in the right direction.

  “How long are we going to keep this up?” I ask, wondering how much more I have in me. I need to find a happy medium here. Liberty needs time but at the risk of jeopardizing everything, not too much time.

  “Hetch, I told you, I need some time. You can’t push this.” It’s a deflection if I ever heard one.

  Knowing I’m not going to get her this way, I'll try to hit her from a different angle.

  “Do you remember the night I saved your life? You know, after I risked my own killing that huge spider for you?”

  “I remember it differently, but yeah.” There’s a lightness to her tone, one I’ve missed so fucking much.