by C. A. Harms
It never fails. Whenever I have moments like these, I always think of her. The thought of someone hurting her at any point in time enrages me, leading to me vowing never to allow her to ever be in this type of situation. I’ve always been protective of Reese. While we grew up, our mothers had always referred to the connection between us as sweet or cute. Now that we are older, the dynamic between us feels like so much more. She feels like so much more. It confuses the hell out of me. But, damn it, she is mine. It may be the wrong way to think, but it is also something that I cannot control.
Once the woman is secured, and the safety straps are in place, I step back, allowing Brad and Kevin to lift her and lead her out of the apartment building. Those from the building gather outside, watching as if what they are seeing doesn’t surprise them. The pity in their eyes as the young woman passes them makes my stomach feel hollow. It is an eerie feeling, really, because in my opinion, one should never expect to see anyone being hauled out on a stretcher after being a human punching bag for some douche canoe.
She suddenly begins to stir, crying out in pain and thrashing around.
“Ma’am we need you to relax.” Brad attempts to console her, “We’re here to help you.
She begins to mumble, and Brad immediately looks back at me for guidance. “What’d she say?”
“Baby,” Kevin says the word before Brad could, and my stomach feels like it has dropped to the ground at my feet. “She said to find my baby.”
Hurrying forward, I shift myself closer to the woman to ensure I can hear her as clearly as possible. “Do you have a child?”
She winces in pain as she slowly nods her head, tears forming in her eyes. Add that to my list of weaknesses; a woman crying gets me every fucking time.
“Upstairs,” she whispers, and I lift my gaze to meet Larsen’s. Instantly, something clicks within us. Before I can stop myself, my legs are moving. I take the stairs two at a time. With Larsen fast on my heels, we climb four flights of stairs. My heart races with thoughts of what we will find. If there is anything worse than a woman in distress, it’s a defenseless child trapped helplessly in the middle of the sad mess. Nothing guts me more than to see a baby, a toddler . . . hell . . . a twelve-year-old—it doesn’t matter—hurt or scared.
Larsen steps up to my side, almost as if he is thinking the same thing. He takes in one deep breath after another. It is eerily quiet, which only terrifies me more.
“Let’s just pray the baby’s sleeping.” I hang my head, closing my eyes tight to fight off the nauseated feeling that hits me like a punch to the gut as I offer a nod in agreement.
Channeling the inner strength needed for a job like this, we enter the apartment and find it in complete disarray. Inside we see a small coffee table turned over, broken ceramic pieces of plates, and a bowl that maybe scattered across the floor. It is apparent at one point that there was a struggle, and thoughts of Reese again fill my mind. Lately, Reese is consuming my mind much more. Her smile, her laughter, and even her irritated broodiness are always lingering my mind.
I look around the small space and see a door slightly ajar down a short hallway. It is my turn to take one deep breath and then slowly release. Please be sleeping. I say a silent prayer over and over in my mind.
I lift my hand to place it against the door panel that is cold beneath my palm. I can feel the nervous energy rolling off me, making my hands tremble in fear of what is behind this door. Larsen remains near; I know he feels much of the same things as me. Without any further stalling, I push open the door and immediately find a crib tucked in the far corner. My legs instantly feel like lead as I begin toward the crib. My heart is beating so rapidly that it feels like everything inside of me is rattling.
Peeking over the side, I see movement and release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Thank the Lord. Gripping the railing to hold on, I steady myself, sighing as relief washes over me. A little girl with hair as dark as night looks up at me. Immediately, her lip begins to tremble. Laughter bubbles from my chest, and I look over at Larsen to find him appearing just as relieved as me.
“I don’t think I’ve ever prayed as hard as I did over the last three minutes.” I know how he feels. I just promised all kinds of life changes and ways to give back if we just found this child unharmed, and here she is. Alive. Granted she is scared, but she is all right. At this moment, it’s all that matters.
I reach out, lifting her in my arms, and remain unphased when she cries harder near my ear. Instead, I soothe her to the best of my ability as Larsen and I join the guys downstairs.
Climbing up into the transport while holding her daughter, the battered woman begins to cry hard once she spots me. “Thank you,” she says softly, lifting her arm outward as she places her hand on the child’s leg. That simple touch alone is enough to calm them both. I just witnessed a beautiful moment, one that leaves me feeling accomplished even after viewing the type of terror they live day after day.
I enter the apartment to find Heather and Reese sitting in the middle of our living room floor. A significant amount of papers, books, and every damn color of highlighters and pens are spread out before them. Reese is wearing her glasses that she hates, but I secretly love. She looks adorable in them, almost like a nerdy girl or hot but demure librarian you want to corrupt because you know a definite wildcat lurks beneath that sweet exterior.
“There’s a large supreme pizza in the oven for you on warm,” Reese mumbles around the pen that she’s holding between her teeth. “I also got some of that Gatorade you like that should be cold by now.” She relays all this without looking in my direction, remaining focused on the educational explosion before her. Reese is very dedicated to finishing her degree and starting a veterinary clinic that has always been her dream. I spent our childhood watching her rescue and nurture poor defenseless animals when needed or sometimes not. She has no fear; it doesn’t matter what type of animal it is, as the girl loves them all.
“Thanks, honey,” I say with humor in my voice as I toss my duffle bag to the side and slip off my boots. The moment the bag hits the floor, Reese lifts her head and looks in my direction. Instead of me acknowledging her judgmental gaze, I ignore it and move toward the kitchen.
“Are you seriously just leaving your dirty bag right there?”
That shit annoys her so much, so of course I leave it there to mess with her. “Yes, Sweet Buns,” I reply with a big smirk on my face, knowing she also hates when I call her little pet names. My life’s mission is to fire her up as often possible, only because I know I can.
“Stop with the names, asshole,” she retorts in her annoyed tone reserved for me, which not only makes me laugh but also gains a reaction out of her friend Heather too.
“You two are like an old married couple.”
“No way,” Reese barks, standing from the floor and walking toward my bag. I already know what she is doing. “If we were married, I’d be on trial for murder after the first year.” Ouch, Reese. That’s harsh. She heaves the bag that is almost as big as she is, struggling with its weight. I cleaned out my locker at work, so of course it is a little heavier than usual. Once she reaches my bedroom door, she opens it, tossing the duffle inside as best as she can. She uses her foot to push it a little further, but then she realizes it is in the way of closing the door. The small grunts that escape her only amplify my amusement.
When she turns back around to find me watching her with an amused smirk painted on my face, she narrows her eyes and blows the stray hair that has fallen from the crazy pile of curls on top of her head. Did I mention Reese is a redhead? A fiery, headstrong and sexier-each-day redhead. She is gorgeous—and I think she knows it too—though she hides that knowledge well. She isn’t one of those girls that has to try hard to be pretty; it just comes to her naturally. She is captivating but straightforward.
“Thanks, babe,” I offer her a wink, and she flips me off.
“Call me babe, honey, darling, sweet buns or peaches again and I will
nut punch you.”
We share a few quiet seconds in a standoff before she seems satisfied with my silence. I wait for her to get repositioned on the floor, with her book back in her lap, before I decide to dig one last time.
“I’m gonna go jump in the shower, kitten,” I inform her, playing with fire yet again. Her response is a growl that sounds more tiger than kitten, and I close my mouth tightly to hide my satisfied chuckle. “Thanks for the pizza and Gatorade, angel.” Now I’m about to get burned.
“He is such a . . .” Reese pauses, I don’t even bother turning around because I refuse to give her the satisfaction of looking back at her.
“Rude boy!” I holler and am met with complete radio silence. There is something here for sure, and not for a minute do I believe that she isn’t aware of the meaning behind that song. Reese has always been someone fascinated with the hidden meanings behind the lyrics of her favorite music. There is no way I believe the poor excuse she offered only days ago.
A huge part of me hopes that Reese imagines doing precisely the dirty things Rhianna sings about. I’d be more than happy to do a demo with her if she wants to give it a shot. All she has to do is ask. Hell, she doesn’t even have to ask me nicely. Forget Rude Boy, I’ll be her dirty boy. I mean, what are best friends for, right?
Reese
“How’s school going?” I sit on the edge of my bed, a towel securely wrapped around me, feeling so vulnerable. It is something I often feel when talking to my father, only because it brings back everything we’d lost.
“It’s going well, Dad,” I hate the defeated tone held in his voice. Before our loss, my father was always so proud, so self-assured of himself and the life he lived, but he'd lost that. My father was . . . is the greatest man I’ve ever known. But when we lost my mom, that man I’ve admired my entire life seemed to die too. He goes through the motions each day, but I can still feel his pain. I can see it in his eyes. “How are you?”
“I’m good.” His reply is always the same, but I know he is so about as far from good as you can get. “How’s that boy doing? Still saving lives and keeping my girl safe?”
One thing never changes though. My father loves Dawson. He always has, but so had my mother. I know part of the reason why my father feels so lost is that he blames himself. He was the one behind the wheel the night we lost her, but it was at the hands of a semi driver who had chosen to beat the clock versus getting the sleep he needed. One quick nod and he swerved over into oncoming traffic and collided with our car. The cries of my father haunt me still, as he had held my mother in his arms, begging her to come back to him. I lift my free hand up and run the pad of my finger over the indented scar on my forehead along my hairline; it is a constant reminder of that horrific night.
“Dawson is still as annoying as ever,” I finally say with a smile knowing that it would get a small rise out of my father.
“Annoying maybe, but the other half to your whole,” he responds, right as always, as I wouldn’t feel complete without Dawson. He’s been in my life so long that I don’t remember what life was like without him. It is also something I never want to find out.
“He still dating that girl?” My father asks almost robotically, and my stomach sours before I even have a chance to stop it. “What’s her name again?”
“Renee,” I say through clenched teeth and feel my lip curl. She is the one girl that did everything she could to come between the friendship Dawson and I share. She was always threatened by me, even though I’d heard him tell her more times than I’d like to remember that it wasn’t like that with him and me. “And no, they haven’t been together in over a year, Dad.”
I’ve told my dad this many times before, but it is always the same. I know most of the questions he asks are only an attempt to stay involved, but the answers given each time never genuinely register in his mind.
Renee and Dawson were together for close to two years, and I’ll admit that time was one of the hardest on our friendship. It was the turning point for me, the one that made me face the fact that I did have feelings for him. That these feelings I hold are much more profound than those any friend should have for another friend. I’ve never been so insecure or so jealous of any other person in my entire life. I hated Renee, but during that time, I envied her too. She was the first girl that Dawson ever loved, which was heartbreaking for me. But because I love him, I tolerated her. I did my best to be kind, even though she was a catty and condescending bitch. I think she could see right through me, which she took full advantage of as often as possible.
When they broke up, it was the happiest I’d ever been. It was a party in my mind for days. Even during Dawson's drunken phase where he tried to wash away the memory of her, I still felt a joy that she was gone. I should have felt like a terrible friend, and I guess part of me still does, but it never outweighed the other.
“Yeah,” my father’s haunted whisper reminds me that I am still on the phone with him. “I think I remember you saying that now.”
We spend the next few minutes going through our regular series of questions and pleasantries. When we hang up, I feel empty. I’d lost my mother, a woman that knew the boundaries between a mother and a friend, and played each roll better than anyone I knew. She was on my side always, my biggest cheerleader. She had dreams for me, she was so proud and made sure I knew it every day. But when she had to be a mother, when she had to step up and correct me, she did that too. She was the kind of woman you listened to because her words meant something. Not only because she had that ‘take no shit’ attitude that you knew better than to challenge, but also because everything she said and did came from the most significant place: her heart. She was rational; she didn’t act first and analyze it later. She was kind with a touch of badass. She was perfect. My mother was amazing—that was the only way to describe her.
Hot tears run down my cheeks, and I hang my head, giving in to my emotions. I didn’t hear the door open or notice Dawson entering until the bed dips at my side. Looking over at him, he doesn’t hesitate for a second before pulling me into him and hugging me closely.
“You would think after two years it would get easier,” I say against his chest as I relish in the comfort he offers. “But each time I hear the sadness in his voice, it breaks me all over again.”
“I know,” he softly says. He really does get it. Dawson knows more than anyone. He suffered that loss with me. He stood by me, slept next to me for nights holding me in his arms and allowing me to fall apart over and over again. It was one of the moments that I think began to break him and Renee apart. Because in her mind, it was so much more than a best friend supporting another. She didn’t understand my need for him. She would swear she saw an intimate connection unfolding between us that was never even a part of that situation at the time. There was no hidden agenda I had to steal her boyfriend, but I needed him more than she did at that time. I needed him to hold me up. I knew if he let go, I would’ve crumbled right alongside my father.
Dawson holds me like he has so many times before, allowing my tears to fall as they soak into the material of his t-shirt.
“You always seem to know when I need you,” I say immediately, thinking maybe I shouldn’t have.
“Always gonna be here, Reese,” he assures me, placing a kiss on my temple, making my heart feel like it’s skipped a beat. “We made a pact when we were ten,” he says matter-of-factly, smiling against my forehead, “with spit and everything.”
It is my turn to smile for the first time in the last hour. I wrinkle my nose, remembering back to the time he’d convinced me that a deal wasn’t a deal unless there was spit involved. “You also made a deal that you would buy me a cute little yellow convertible too.”
“I’m working on it,” he says, chuckling.
Silence settles over us, and I concentrate on him, trying to tuck away the memories of my phone call. Dawson’s cologne is something I find comforting because it feels like home to me. He feels like home to me. The masculine
scent that I’ve grown accustomed to over the last six years settles me, something always recognizable and something I never want to forget.
“Are you smelling me?”
“Shut up,” I say as I nuzzle in closer. “You aren’t allowed to poke at me and make fun.”
“I was just asking.” I don’t have to look at him to know he is smiling with that cocky look on his face.
“For your information, I kinda like the cologne you wear.” I ignore the way his lips brush over my temple again, and the way his hand hooks my waist a little tighter, eliciting a warm feeling over me. It is nothing, I tell myself. My mind wants to imagine things that aren’t there. It is a reaction I often have when it comes to Dawson. Wanting someone you know you can’t have or desiring a person you know doesn’t feel the same is my daily struggle.
“I was gonna meet the guys for a few drinks,” he whispers. “Wanna tag along?”
“No,” I quickly reply. I want you to stay here with me just like this. “I’m gonna get my pajamas on and find the funniest romantic comedy I can.”
I am met with seconds of silence.
“I’ll be fine, Dawson,” I assure him, knowing he is now worrying. “This helped.” More than I can ever explain.
“I love you, Reese,” he softly says. I bite the inside of my cheek to hide my reaction to his words. “You know this right?” I nod because I am afraid to speak, afraid if I do that my words and feelings will betray me. He loves me like a sister, like a lifelong pal, a friend. My mind may be begging for that I love you to mean more, but deep inside, I know it doesn’t. “Maybe I should stay around here tonight.”
“Or you should go out with the guys and leave me to my night of crazy chick flicks.” I finally sit up and somehow force a smile. “I’m good, I promise. I needed a few minutes of weakness and now I’m better.”