by Sierra Hill
I try to slam the door and lock it, but his reflexes are just fast enough that he wedges a booted foot between the door and frame and then shoves it back open, sending me flying to the ground.
“Where the fuck is your mother, you stupid cunt?”
David Wetherby, my ex-stepfather leers at me from above, his bloodshot eyes full of vengeance and hatred, wearing a look that could kill.
Chapter 38
Brody
This all feels strangely reminiscent to a week ago when I flew in from New York to Phoenix in pursuit of the girl I love.
I must have tossed that word over and over in my head a thousand times on the flight. Love, love, love.
I love Peyton.
All I want to do the minute she opens her door is throw my arms around her, lift her off her feet and never let her go. And then afterwards, I’ll scold her gently for leaving me before I had a chance to explain my position on the ex-wife and clear the air on her misunderstanding surrounding Charlotte Blankenship.
The Uber driver pulls to the curb in front of Peyton’s complex and I grab my overnight back and get out, hand on the roof of the car to bend down to peer into the front seat.
“Thanks for the ride, Deb. Drive safely.” I double-tap the roof and shut the door behind me, walking the short distance to the stairwell up to Peyton’s apartment.
I sent her a text right after I landed and was waiting for my Uber, asking Peyton if she was at home but I didn’t receive a response. I then texted Garrett on the off chance she might be at his house tonight but from his reply, they are on their way to Mexico.
Inhaling a deep breath, I take the first step on the exhale and make my way up to her apartment door.
As I reach the landing and turn to her front door, I glance down at the doormat that says, “Unicorns welcome. Humans only by appointment.” I shake my head and smile, wondering if that’s Peyton or Kyler’s sarcastic wit. I’m taking a wild guess that it’s Kyler’s, based on what I know of him so far.
I raise my fist to knock but just as I do, I hear a crash and a yelp comes from inside. My first instinct is to barge in, but I don’t know what caused it and I certainly don’t want to walk in on something personal that is not for my eyes.
Holding my breath, I lean an ear to the door and clutch my phone in my hand.
“Please don’t do this, Dave. I already said I have no idea where she’s at.”
I hear the scrape of a chair pushed across the linoleum floor as it topples over.
“You lying bitch,” returns an angry voice. “You know where she is and just won’t tell me. You’re such a stupid worthless whore. I should’ve put you in line when I had the chance.”
Now having a sense of exactly what’s going on, I dial 911 and give the short responses as to my whereabouts, the situation and the need for immediate assistance. Thank God I did my preliminary stalking and know Dave’s last name because I’m able to spout it off to the dispatcher, informing her of the order of protection that’s in place.
The dispatcher tells me to stay put and remain on the line, but I’m not about to let something happen to Peyton as I wait out in the hallway like a coward.
I check the door handle and it jiggles open. Using the element of surprise, I swing the door open to find Peyton backed up in the corner of her kitchen, facing me, holding a chair in front of her for protection. Dave, a large hefty man with greasy longish hair that reaches to his shoulders and a leather biker vest stands a few feet in front of her.
The only positive at this point is he’s not within physical reach of Peyton, as there is a small breakfast table between them.
Because of Peyton’s location, she sees me come in, her eyes veering from the mad man who has his back to me, and they land on me in shock.
It happens in slow motion – or at least it feels like it does. The minute our eyes meet, I pick up a vase from the end table and shout, “Get the fuck away from her, asshole!”
Dave turns, mouth agape and contorted, making his yellowish-teeth visible in the ghoulish scowl he wears.
“Who the fuck are you? This has nothing to do with you, motherfucker.”
And then he lurches forward with an unusually faster speed than I would’ve predicted from a man his size. He lunges at me, but I spin on my feet and jump behind the couch for protection. His hand raises in the air and that’s when I see it. The glint of a knife he grips in his hand.
“It has everything to do with me because that’s the woman I love.”
I hear a gasp from Peyton, but I keep my eyes trained on Dave and his knife-wielding position. From outside the doorway I hear pounding boots tromping up the stairs and before he can utter another word, an officer barges through the doorway with the words, “Maricopa County Sheriff! Drop your weapon or I’ll shoot!”
That one-second flash that registers in Dave’s dark, menacing eyes makes me fully realize what Peyton and her mother had to live with all those years. His glare spoke volumes of the type of monster he is and was and the ‘fuck-all’ attitude he possesses.
One minute he stands in front of me, an evil grin tipping up at the corners of his mouth as he takes an infinitesimal step toward the officer, and the next thing I know, he’s sprawled out on the floor, arms flung wide, knife still clutched in his hand.
They shot him with something. I don’t know if they shot him with a gun or a taser, but I don’t care. The only thing that matters right now is getting to Peyton.
I throw the vase on the couch and rush to Peyton’s side. She still has the chair in her hands, both shaking uncontrollably. She stares wide-eyed over to the floor where Dave is now being handcuffed, as panic seizes her in her stance and rips through her with convulsions. I know she’s in shock.
“Peyton, baby. It’s okay now. You can let go of the chair, sweetheart. I’m here.”
Reaching for the chair, my grip wraps around the front two legs and I gently pry it out of her grip. She lets go willingly, as I turn to place it at my side and then return to her, wrapping her in my arms in a tight hold.
She hasn’t yet processed fully what’s happened, but she lets me hug her, keeping her cheek pressed against my chest, her body shaking like a leaf caught in a windstorm.
An officer comes up to us with a notepad and hands me the business card with the precinct number and name on it.
“We’re going to need to ask you both some questions.”
I nod, pinching the card between my fingers and steeling myself to remain calm. I need to for Peyton’s sake.
“Of course, Officer. But can you give us a moment? She’s in shock and needs to calm down.”
“By all means,” he acknowledges, placing both hands on his hips. “Is she injured? Do we need an ambulance?” I notice he wears a safety vest. I wonder how many times these types of disturbances turn into gunfights and casualties.
“I think she’s unharmed, just scared.”
He nods. “When she’s ready, we’ll be right outside.”
I turn my attention to the other officer who is now assisting Dave up to his feet. They apparently used a taser to stun him and gain control and they now have him walking out into the hallway reading him his Miranda Rights. That’s not something I would have ever expected to hear outside of a TV show or movie.
Wrapping an arm protectively behind Peyton’s back, I assist her forward toward the couch where she takes a seat with my guidance.
She still hasn’t said a single word and it’s freaking me out. What’s also a little more than unnerving is knowing that if I hadn’t gotten Garrett’s call earlier today or been able to get here when I did, who knows what would’ve happened. What if…
Fuck, I can’t think about that right now. Not now or maybe not ever.
I sit down next to her, angling her into my side, inhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo mixed with the fear of her perspiration.
She hiccups once and then the sobs begin to rack her body and the tears flow down her cheeks, landing in droplets on her
chest and on her clasped hands at her lap.
I don’t say much, except that “I love you” and “it’ll be okay” in a repetitive fashion, murmuring whatever else comes to mind in my daze as I let her cry it out.
Her tears begin to lessen, and her body turns pliant, drooping against me as I hold onto her for dear life. Being her buoy and source of strength and comfort as she’s in this weak state of mind is the only thing I want to do in this moment.
Peyton finally begins to return to herself, lifting her tear-stained cheeks, her bright-blue eyes awash with something I can’t describe. Gratitude, maybe? Love? I’m not sure. But I’ll take anything over her pain and fear.
“You saved me,” she says, her breath hitching in her throat.
“No baby, you saved your mom. God, you were so brave and courageous to stand your ground. I’m so proud of you.”
“Yeah,” she whispers softly. “My mom’s safe.”
I kiss her forehead over and over again, rocking her in my arms.
“You’re safe, too, Peyton. I’ll always keep you safe. Because that’s what love does. It fills us with a sense of security to know you can always rely on that person. I want to be your person, if you’ll let me.”
Tears well up at the corners of her eyes, but this time I don’t think it’s due to sadness or fear. I hope it’s because she knows that I love her regardless of her past traumas or family drama, or emotional scars.
And then she confirms it.
“You’re my person, Brody Jensen. I love you, too.”
Chapter 39
Peyton
My last semester of college began two weeks ago. It’s not a light course load, but certainly not as tough as the hell I went through surviving the aftermath of the events from this summer.
If I were a freshman again and had to write my story for Comp 101, my professor wouldn’t believe a word of it to be true. It’s almost too crazy to be non-fiction.
Girl gets internship.
Girl kisses stranger at a bar.
Girl gives fake name and number to said stranger.
Girl starts new job.
Stranger is girl’s new boss.
Girl falls for boss.
Girl leaves internship due to misunderstanding.
Boss rescues girl from abusive stepfather.
Boss confesses love for girl.
Girl loves boss, too.
But here’s where the story gets more complicated because girl – aka me – still has a full semester left in school which happens to be a five-and-a-half-hour drive from Los Angeles. Assuming reasonable traffic conditions. Which is never.
After the ordeal that went down with Dave, Brody had me return to L.A. with him to stay out my remaining weeks of summer with him and Boss. I chose not to go back to work for him because I just wasn’t in the frame of mind to deal with it, still shaken by my encounter with my ex-stepfather. And I really didn’t want the emotional turmoil of knowing the rumor mill gossip about our relationship was swirling around the office every day.
It was actually a very healing period of time for me. During the day while Brody was at work, I hung out with Boss, who became my own white fluffy shadow, and I began working on my final design project for my program. It killed Brody not to see what I was working on, but I told him I had to do it on my own without his input.
He was a little sore about the fact, but when he learned that I wasn’t even sharing it with Kyler, it eased his mind and soothed his ego just a little bit.
Brody also suggested that I talk with a therapist about my PTSD from experiencing what I did throughout my life with my physically and emotionally abusive stepfather. The therapist gave me the courage to tell Brody about my other demons I’d kept a secret from him and share with him my struggle with bulimia.
When the time came for me to return to classes in Phoenix, I felt like I was on a solid road to recovery and a brand-new person. But leaving Brody behind was a hurdle that I had to work through.
The beauty of our situation and the distance between us during the week is that Brody owns his own company and doesn’t bat an eyelash when he either flies me out to L.A. or flies down to Tempe to stay the week with me, where he works remotely when he can.
Although, he does have a hang-up staying the night in my apartment when Kyler’s around. Brody will typically convince me to stay at one of the local 5-star resorts for the weekend or his mother’s house when she’s away, which happens to be this weekend. And who am I to complain about that set up?
A girl can get used to this kind of spoiled luxury.
Like now, for instance. We’re lounging out by his mother’s private pool after our morning workout and are now drinking daiquiris poolside as he reads through some reports and I try to study for my classes.
I flip over onto my stomach which garners the attention of my boyfriend, who peers at me from behind his aviator glasses with a sexy smirk.
“Getting restless, baby?” The deep, resonating sound of his voice and the evident connotation in his question sparks a flame of desire between my legs and I wiggle my ass to toy with him.
“I still have a chapter to finish reading for Parson’s class on Monday and a paper to write this weekend,” I bemoan, sticking out my bottom lip. “I don’t have time for restlessness.”
I turn the page of my textbook and grab the hat off the ground, covering up my head and shielding my eyes from the mid-day sun so I can read my required assignment.
No sooner do I do that, however, when Brody yanks the book out from my view and flings it to the ground. Then he’s on his feet and slipping his hands underneath my chest and belly, lifting me from the lounge chair and moving us toward the pool.
I know instantly what he’s about to do and I scream and wiggle in his grasp to no avail.
“Don’t you dare, Brody Jensen!” I screech, flailing my limbs and kicking in the air as he stops right at the edge of the pool.
He flings me up in the air and catches me again in his strong arms as if he were flipping a pancake. I take the opportunity to cling to his neck, my fingers clawing at his hair grasping for purchase.
Brody shakes his head and makes a motion as if he’s going to throw me in the pool, but at the last-minute pulls me back to his chest.
“Oh my God, you butthead! Put me down or I’ll…”
“You’ll what? You’re so bossy but none of your demands have any teeth.”
At that, I press my mouth to his warm neck and bite, to which he snorts out a laugh and jumps feet first into the pool, with me still in his arms.
We plunge into the pool, the cool water washing over our hot bodies, as I cling to him for support. His feet reach the pool bottom and he pushes us back to the surface, water dripping over our faces, seeping into our mouths that are open from our laughter.
But my laughter dies when his lips crash into mine, and I swing my legs around his waist, clasping my feet and heels snugly behind him. My center fits perfectly at his crotch and I can feel the hardness of him as he wades over to the edge.
We’re in the deep end of a private backyard pool, with no one else around, as he sweeps his tongue inside my mouth and punches his hips up so I can feel his thickness at my core.
“You know what they say about all work and no play, don’t you baby?”
He bites down on my bottom lip and tugs it between his teeth, which has my nipples pebbling against my bikini top. He notices this and uses his thumb to skim over the material and I moan with pleasure.
“I don’t know, what do they say about it, Brody?”
He smirks, toying with the material before untying the knot at my neck, yanking the top down to expose my breasts. Flicking my nipple leisurely before dragging his thumb over the swell of my breast, he cups it in his hand, kneading it seductively before he bends to suck a nipple in his mouth.
I arch up into him, moaning and gasping, feeling wanton. The pleasure and attention he gives my tits turns me inside out and wet with need. As if he realizes t
his, his hand finds my center, stroking me with purpose.
Since we’ve been together, we’ve had sex in a variety of unique places, exploring various positions and having fun experimenting. In fact, because he knew I was a virgin until sleeping with him, it’s been Brody’s mission to give me new experiences and teach me in the way of sexual positions.
We’ve had sex in the shower, over the back of the couch, on the kitchen counter, against the wall, in the front seat of his car one starry night and on many other surfaces. But not in a pool.
Not yet, at least.
I reach between us and untie the string of his swim trunks, loosening the drawstring and using my heels to push them down his thighs. When I successfully free his cock, I take him in hand, stroking a few times in my tight fist so that he curses wildly at the pleasure.
“Brody,” I say against his mouth, delighting in his own growl and his steely length in my grip. “I’ve never been fucked in a pool in broad daylight.”
His grin is wicked and his teeth glint in the sunlight.
Using his fingers to pinch the Lycra bikini bottoms, he tugs the crotch to the side as I guide his tip to my entrance.
“I think I can help you with that.”
He thrusts inside me and my heels dig underneath his ass. “Mmm, that feels so good.”
Our bodies are joined, naked from the pelvis up, flesh upon flesh, as the rays of the sun pour over us like liquid heat.
And I’ve never been happier or more content.
It’s as if I was destined to go through the dark times in the first half of my life in order to be prepared for the bright light that was yet to come in the second half.
Brody has changed everything in my life.
Changed it in irrevocable ways.
He’s also changed my heart and opened it up for the capacity to feel love, give love and be loved.
And loving him is the best thing I’ve ever done.
Epilogue
Brody - December
