Every Breath

by Tasha Ivey

  But the laughter completely ceases once he enters my bedroom. He lowers me until my feet touch the floor, and he makes sure I’m steady before he lets go. After opening the curtains enough to let the moonlight it, he flips off the hall light. It takes me only a moment for my eyes to acclimate to the silvery light being cast over my bed, allowing me to easily see him tossing the extra pillows onto the floor and folding the blankets back.

  He turns to me, and I fall into his waiting arms. “Tesoro mio,” he whispers against my neck before kissing it. “Cuore mio.” He kisses again. “Anima mia.” He claims my mouth, filling it with the sweet taste that belongs only to him. “Amore mio.”

  I reach down to unfasten his pants and allow them to slump to the floor, revealing that delectable little “V” at the top of his boxers. I think that just became my favorite letter of the alphabet. “What’s it mean?” I ask, hooking my thumbs under the waistband.

  “What?”

  I giggle, proud that I’ve rendered him thoughtless. “What you just said to me.”

  He reaches around my back and unhooks my bra, flinging it across the room. Then, he bends to peel my panties all the way down my legs, pausing on the way back up to nip at my hipbone. Once he’s upright again, he shoves his boxers over his hips and steps out of them. He literally sweeps me off my feet and perfectly places my head on the pillow just before he slips in beside me.

  He hitches my leg up over his hip, so that we’re belly to belly. It takes everything I have not to mention that I dreamed this, from his amber eyes down to his soft hair tickling around my navel.

  “My treasure. My heart. My soul. My love. That’s what I said to you, and I mean every single word. And now I’m going to prove it.”

  I roll over, smiling because of the pleasant soreness I feel when I move. It’s still quite dark in the room, so I peek over at my clock. We probably didn’t go to sleep until one, so waking up at four on a holiday is just uncalled for. But what a Christmas present . . . waking up next to Sawyer in my bed.

  I stretch my leg in his direction, but all I come into contact with is a warm little ball. Darcy must’ve missed our bed, too. When I reach my arm over and find nothing but a cold sheet, I realize Sawyer is gone. I know he’s not a good sleeper, but I kind of hoped that, after last night, he’d stay in bed with me.

  Kind of disappointed and curious where he is, I decide that I need to pee anyway, so I get up and go into my bathroom. And damn, I look awful, so after I take care of business, I go ahead and brush my hair and teeth and wipe the smudged mascara out from under my eyes. I grab my robe from the hook on the door and slip it on, flipping the light out on my way. Because my eyes got used to the bright light, I can’t see a thing, and I narrowly miss the corner of the bed. But as I come around in front of it to go into the hallway, I can’t miss the naked man, curled into a ball and rocking back and forth in my floor.

  I hit the light switch and fall to the floor in front of him. “Sawyer, what’s wrong? Are you sick? Hurt? Say something!” His skin is beaded in sweat, his entire body is shaking violently, and he’s mumbling something unintelligible about a gun. His wide eyes look right through me as if he’s in another time and place altogether.

  “Sawyer, you’re okay. Just wake up. You’re having a bad dream.” I lightly touch his shoulder, and he slaps it away, snapping his head toward me. Just when I think he’s about to come after me, I see the realization finally hit that he’s looking at me.

  “Oh my God. Did I just hit you?” He jumps up, grabbing my arm to inspect the barely-there pink streaks. “I-I . . . I wouldn’t ever hurt you. You know that, right. I swear I didn’t mean to. I’m so so sorry. Oh my God.”

  “I surprised you, and you were dreaming. I’m seriously okay. But I need you to tell me what that was about. Have you been doing this every night? Is this why you don’t sleep?”

  “Shit.” He scrubs his hands down his face. “Every night? No. But often enough.”

  “Sawyer, you know that’s probably PTSD, right?”

  “I know it is. I’ve been diagnosed, and I have meds for it.”

  I’ve never seen him take anything, but I’m sure it’s because he didn’t want me to know about it. “Are they just not helping?”

  “No, because I’m not taking them. I deserve to live with it.” He stands up and kisses me on the cheek. “I’m going to go home and try to sleep an hour or so, and I’ll be back here by noon to go to your parents’ house. I’m sorry, Makenna. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you from having to see me like that again. I hate what I did to you.”

  He grabs his clothes and runs downstairs, and within a couple of minutes, I hear the beeping of the alarm’s keypad and the front door closes.

  “What the hell just happened?” I ask Darcy, who seems completely uninterested in anything but sleeping.

  I turn off the lights and get back into bed, crushing his pillow into my face. Just the hint of his scent is all it takes for the tears to start falling. I never suspected he was struggling with that, but what really hurts is that he doesn’t trust me enough to tell me about his demons. I shared mine. It should be a two-way street.

  I wake to Darcy’s swishing tail tickling my nose. She’s not quite up to swatting at the birds outside the window quite yet, but she’s enjoying watching them, nonetheless. Waking up to her usual antics is nice for a change. Although, it would’ve been just as nice to wake up with Sawyer next to me. Well, maybe a little nicer than that. Or a lot.

  I’m trying not to read too much into his abnormally moody behavior. Even though, it initially hurt my feelings, I’m sure he was just feeling embarrassed and vulnerable. Maybe now that it’s out in the open, we’ll be able to talk about it and even come up with a solution. I don’t get why he said he deserves it though. I’m hoping he’s going to elaborate a little more on that at some point.

  I rush around the house after showering, trying to look presentable enough for the hundreds of Christmas photos my mom will take, while also baking the two pumpkin pies she asked me to make two weeks ago. If it wasn’t for last minute, I’d never get anything done.

  I get the pies wrapped up and ready for the trip and start packing my parents’ gifts in the trunk of my car, including the little gift I got for Sawyer while we were out shopping yesterday. I glance down at my watch, beginning to wonder if Sawyer has backed out on me. We’re supposed to leave in five minutes. The trip is already three hours, so we really can’t afford to waste any time. I wanted to get down there a couple hours before dinner, so I could help my mom finish cooking.

  While I’m waiting, I decide to sweep through the house straighten everything back up. Little reminders of last night are scattered throughout my living room, and it makes me a little sad about how our perfect night ended, but I don’t regret being with him. I’m blissfully happy about it, actually. I haven’t felt this good in a very long time. When I walk past the pictures of Shane on the mantle, I pause and smile at him. It’s been a long road to get here, but I know I have him to thank somehow.

  “Ugh, he’s fifteen minutes late,” I grumble to myself. I refuse to believe he’s backed out. He’s not that kind of person. He practically told me last night that he loved me, so why would his bad dream this morning change everything?

  I dig my phone from my purse to call him, and I just get the number dialed when a car pulls up my driveway. But it’s not Sawyer’s. It’s the police.

  Grabbing my jacket, I step out on the porch, and I’m a little relieved to see the same officer that did the report on the break in at my house. I’m sure he’s just here to follow up. But on Christmas?

  “I’m sorry to disrupt your holiday, Miss Madison, but I need to you come with me.”

  “What? Did I do something?”

  “Oh, no, ma’am. You didn’t do anything wrong, but there’s been an accident, and we’re a little concerned for your safety.”

  I’m so confused. “Can you just tell me what’s going on?”

  He slips a
notepad from the front pocket of his blue shirt. “Sawyer Harris . . . is he your boyfriend?”

  Well, hell, how am I supposed to know the answer to that? “I suppose that’s right.”

  “He’s just been admitted into the hospital, ma’am. Multiple injuries, most likely caused by the baseball bat that was found outside of his house.”

  I’m so confused. “And you think I did it? Is he okay? What are you waiting for? I need to get to him!”

  “No one is accusing you. We already have a suspect, and we’re on the lookout for him. That’s why I need you to stay with me.”

  I step inside to grab my purse and lock the door before rejoining him. “Him?”

  He opens the passenger door for me, and then gets in himself. “Drew Pierce.”

  “Wait. Drew did this? Oh my God.”

  “Apparently, Mr. Harris was able to remember that your name was said and something about breaking into your house. He was 100 percent certain that his assailant was Drew Pierce, and so far this morning, we’ve been unable to locate him. Just to be on the safe side, we think you should probably not be alone until we find him.”

  “Sawyer? Is he okay?”

  “He’s taken a bad beating, but as far as I’ve heard, he’s going to be fine. They suspect several broken bones, but nothing worse than that, as of when I left him.”

  Thank goodness. I should’ve known Drew would do something like this after the incident at the vet’s office. He’s so damn cocky that he just couldn’t stand the fact that Sawyer bested him. I just hate that I got him in the middle of all the drama with Drew. It’s my mess, so he shouldn’t have been the one to get hurt.

  Wait. He also said Drew was probably the one who broke into my house? But why would he . . . oh, I think I know exactly why. It all makes sense now. That happened the day after he caught me talking to Sawyer on my computer, which explains why my laptop was smashed instead of stolen, among everything else. He probably just destroyed the rest of the house, so it wouldn’t be obvious. I can’t believe he fooled me. I can’t believe I was with him all that time and didn’t really see the signs. The lies.

  I call my parents and give them very minimal information, saying that Sawyer was in an accident, and I’ll call to give them the rest of the details later. Now, it looks like I’m going to have to fill them in on everything that’s been going on with me lately. They’re going to be pissed that I’ve been keeping it from them. Worry is the least of the feelings they’ll have once I tell them what happened with Drew, the break in, the assault . . . I’m in deep, deep trouble.

  When we pull into the hospital, I get anxious, fearful of what I’m about to walk into. I don’t know what Sawyer is going to look like, and I’m afraid of what his reaction will be when he sees me. If he’s upset with me, I don’t blame him. This is all my fault. If I had just dealt with Drew on my own, instead of calling Sawyer and putting him in that position, this wouldn’t have ever happened.

  A detective stops me in the hallway on the way to Sawyer’s room. “You’re Makenna Madison?”

  “Yes.”

  “I need you to answer some questions for me, do you have a moment to speak with me in private?” His authoritative voice is almost demanding, like I’m the bad guy. I know how it looks. Two guys fighting over me, while I’m playing them both. I’m positive that’s what he’s thinking. Or maybe that’s just my guilty conscience talking.

  “I’m happy to answer your questions, but first, I have to see him. I need—” A hand touches my shoulder, and I spin around.

  “He’s in surgery.” Thank God, Dr. Hoover is here . . . er . . . Dalton. Whatever.

  I know I’ve only really spoken to him once, but I know he loves Sawyer, too. I throw my arms around him and start bawling like a big baby. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. “I’m so so sorry. This is all my fault. Is he going to be okay?”

  Dalton waves off the detective and mumbles something to him before leading me into Sawyer’s room and sitting with me on the extra bed. “He’s going to be fine, I promise. And I’ve heard all about what happened. It’s not your fault.”

  “But, if he’s fine, then why is he in surgery? Damn it, Dalton, it is my fault. And now he’s going to never want to speak to me again.”

  He rubs my back gently. “You’re wrong about that. He’s been worried sick about you. He refused to be taken into surgery until he got word that an officer made it to you, and you were safe. I thought I’d have to knock him out.”

  “What about the surgery?”

  “As far as the surgery goes, it’s very minor and won’t take more than a half hour. From what I’ve gathered, Sawyer was sleeping and was woken by a bat smashing into his abdomen and cracking a couple of ribs in the process. He threw his arms up to shield himself, and ended up getting some pretty bad contusions and a broken ulna—that’s the outer bone in your forearm. But while he was trying to get a hold on the bat, he also took a couple of hits to the face, which is the cause for the surgery. Somehow, nothing is broken, but he has a pretty significant rip in the skin and tissue above his eye. When they brought him in, there was a big flap of skin hanging there. Nothing stitches won’t fix.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening. I got him hurt.”

  Dalton puts his arm around me and squeezes. “No, you didn’t. Sawyer told me everything while we were waiting for the officer to make it to your house. I know that guy forced himself on you. He even told Sawyer that he went in and ransacked your house to keep him from talking to you. He was wearing a mask, but with his size and voice, in addition to what he said about you, he knew it was that guy, Drew.”

  “The police officer mentioned that. But what stopped it?”

  “Sawyer’s spent his entire life fighting, although not by choice. I know William told you. He’s wired to do whatever it takes to survive, so while most people panic in situations like that, he’s calculating, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike back, to end it. He was able to get that bat away and even take a few swings himself before the guy ran out of there. He tried to chase him, but he was in such pain, he wasn’t fast enough to catch him before he drove off. And I know he would’ve gone after him, regardless of his own health, but his tires were slashed on both the bike and the car.”

  I slump over my knees and bury my face in my hands. I’m stuck in a perpetual bad dream. Every time I think my life is headed in a good direction, something horrible happens. I can’t take anymore tragedy or drama in my life. Why can’t everything just be normal? Fall in love, get married, have kids, and spend my Friday nights debating on where my husband and I will go for date night. Is that too much to ask? I want boring. Boring would be exciting to me right now.

  The door is bumped open, and a whole team of nurses pushes Sawyer’s bed into the room. I jump to my feet, ready to apologize and beg for him not to be angry with me, but he’s still sleeping. Which is a good thing because, after I see what shape he’s in, I don’t think I could talk anyway. Half of his face is bandaged, leaving only one eye visible, but I can still see the dark blood crusted in the hair above his forehead. He also has deep purple bruises along his jaw and a split lip that’s slightly swollen. They have a sheet pulled up to his chin, so I can’t see his body, but part of the soft cast on his broken arm is sticking out of the edge of the sheet.

  Dalton steps out in the hallway to speak to the surgeon while the nurses hook up his monitors. I guess everyone has heard that I got him beat up, judging by the dirty looks one of the nurses is giving me.

  “Thanks, ladies, I’ll take it from here.” Dalton shoos them out and shuts the door. “Dr. Velasquez says the surgery went fine. He’ll probably have a nice scar to go with the rest of them, but it should heal nicely. He actually should be able to go home tomorrow, as long as they’re able to put his hard cast on in the morning and he’s comfortable enough.”

  I join Dalton at the side of the bed. “How long will he be asleep?”

  “Uh . . .” He stops to look at his
chart. “Probably not long. He wasn’t given anything real strong.”

  I reach out to touch him, but I’m afraid to hurt him, so I end up resting my hand on the bed rail instead.

  “Do you want to see? You don’t have to, but I thought it might help, so you’ll know where he’ll be sore.”

  I nod, unable to speak.

  Dalton pulls the sheet back slightly and pauses. “Umm, they haven’t put a gown on him yet, so if there are any parts you haven’t seen yet, we’ll keep this a strictly PG tour.”

  “No, I, uh . . . I’ve had the full tour.” Dear Lord. Did I really just say that?

  He snickers and pulls the sheet down to the top of his hips. All I want to do at this point is cry, and quite possibly kill Drew myself. He’s peppered in bruises, all ranging from bright red to nearly black. The one at his ribs is especially gruesome, and I know it has to hurt him to even breathe.

  When Dalton pulls the sheet down over one of his hipbones, he looks confused for a second, and he walks around to the other side to inspect the other hip. “Mmmhmm.”

  “What? Is something wrong?” I walk around to the other side of the bed.

  He looks over at me, then down at my hands, and blushes ever-so-slightly. “Nope. I just think I found a souvenir . . . you know, from the grand tour.”

  I peek under the edge of the blanket and see three perfectly parallel scratches along the outside of his hip, and I don’t really grasp what Dalton’s getting at until I see the matching set on the opposite side. He wasn’t looking at my hands; he was checking to see if I have fingernails. If I could crawl under this bed right now to hide my glowing, red face, I would.

  Dalton clears his throat, fighting a smile while he pulls the sheet back up. “Uh, anyway, so as you see, he’s mainly just bruised. Once he’s ready to go home, I’ll give you some instructions that will help him stay a little more comfortable.”