by S. E. Hall
“Not just now! A long time ago. Emmett knows.” I chuckle, not sure why. “Hell, Emmett saw.”
“I don’t…” Evan mutters, looking to Zach with a plea of help in his eyes. “Any idea what to do with that?”
Zach steps up and grabs my arm. “Storytime’s over. M girl, go home. Sawyer, where’s your bike? We’re gonna get it loaded and you home.”
I point to my bike, I’m almost positive, and let Zach drag me that way.
“You better be so glad we got here in time, you dumb shit,” he growls in a low voice, squeezing the hell out of my arm. “If you’d have gotten in the car with some chick Emmett knows blew you before, she’d have never forgiven you.”
Zach would know all about the pains of cheating— what’s her twin had done a number on him.
“I know, I know. Thanks for saving my ass. Why’d Evan call you?”
“To help load your precious bike. You’re no help,” he shrinks me with a glare of condemnation, “obviously. We’re both breaking curfew right now for this bullshit, by the way. We get caught or benched and you’re a dead man.”
WHILE SHE WAS SLEEPING
SAWYER,
My eyes are closing as we speak, so I will no doubt be asleep by the time you get home. The girls wore me out today, how fun are they? Oh, and between the four of us, the crib is all finished! (Don’t worry, they all pinky swore to give you all the credit.)
Hope work was okay tonight and I’ll see you in the morning. xo Em
Work wasn’t great tonight. Mariah came in and tried to show her ass, literally…but the note Emmy left me suddenly makes it all better. The paper holds the slightest trace of her Red scent and one sniff calms my nerves. I creep down the hall, being as quiet as I can, and find her in bed. She’s on her side facing me, one hand tucked under her cheek, the other on her stomach. I’d never mention it first, but lately, there’s a tiny bump emerging and I love it. Call me crazy, but with Hayden, Parker’s wife, it was like the bigger she got, the hotter she got. Emmett’s already the most beautiful girl I know, and adding in the whole growing a baby thing, well…Damn.
Stripping down to my briefs as quickly and silently as possible, I climb in beside her. Remaining still, I make sure I didn’t wake her, then scoot down in the bed until my legs hang off the end of the mattress so my face is even with her belly.
“Hey there, sport, or princess, or whoever you want to be, no pressure.” Off to a great start. “What I mean is, hey you in there,” I whisper. “I’m gonna be your dad. And one day, maybe you’ll hear things, like I’m not your dad dad or something, but I’m hoping by then I’ve taught you how to see through that bullshit. Oh sorry, I mean, that crap. Being a Dad means more than you’ll ever learn in Biology. I’m gonna do my damndest to show you what all those other things are. And if you’re a son, I’m gonna show you how to love a woman right, the way I love your mama. And if you’re a little girl, I’ll show you what to expect from a man.”
The feel of a hand on my head, rubbing softly, tells me I’ve been caught.
“I love you,” she whispers.
Kissing her stomach, I shift up even with her. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I thought I was whispering.”
“You were.” She smiles sleepily, stroking my head. “It’s fine. That was worth waking up for.”
I lean in and touch my lips to hers. “Go back to sleep, babe.”
“Who taught you to be such a fine man?” she asks softly. “You’ve never told me a thing about your family.”
“Sure I have, I told ya I wouldn’t go there. The Crew’s my family, especially Dane.”
“What about your parents? Grandparents? Aunts, uncles?” She keeps pushing and the curious sympathy in her voice makes my skin crawl.
“Can we not do this? I just wanna hold you and fall asleep.” I wrap myself around her, hoping we’re done.
She fights it, probably biting through her tongue for about three minutes until she can’t take it any longer. “My story was ugly, but at least I told you,” she says through a sigh.
“Em, this is not one of those ‘please drag it out of me cause deep down I really wanna talk about it’ things, I swear. I simply don’t care. I really don’t. I had a birth mom, she sucked, mostly for meth. When I got big enough to block a few blows and maybe give a few back to her dick of the day, school saw bruises and I landed in foster care. That was my gig ‘til I was eighteen, then I got out, fucked off, met Dane, and here I am.”
“I’m so sorry, Sawyer.” She tries to roll over but I hold her still.
We are not doing this. I do not want her to look at me like that right now.
“Your story wasn’t exactly pretty, babe. Nobody I know has postcard parents, except maybe Evan. Bennett’s aren’t bad either, but other than that? You and I are the norm, not the exception. Everybody’s got their own shit.”
“You’re right,” she relents, “I won’t ever bring it up again.” She scoots further back against me, pulling my arm around her snugly. “Night, Sawyer.”
“Night, babe.” I kiss her hair, smelling her girly shampoo. “I love you too.”
IN NO TIME AT ALL, we have eliminated thirty-two pages of the baby name book she bought. There’s not even one option we both like. I’d love to meet the person who made up half those damn names—are they just gunning for kids to get ridiculed? I mean come on, work with me, people!
Alex is only a nickname, so I’m honestly afraid our baby is going to end up being named “Baby.” Every time I bring up this crucial point, Emmett laughs and says “then we can’t put them in the corner.” I have no idea what that means, but nobody better even think about putting my kid in the corner anyway, lest they want my foot up their ass.
Much like the crib (if anybody asks), I single-handedly put together the bassinet we got for the bedroom, using every single part in the box! And I hid the breast pump straight away. That thing looks like a medieval torture device and will not be going anywhere near my favorite set of beautiful boobs. I will happily milk her.
She didn’t like it when I said it, either.
Overall, things have been great, but I’m restless. Every once in a while, I stop and look around. I find my phone, my keys, my Emmett…nothing’s missing, but it doesn’t help. Something’s off and I can’t shake it.
“You think I’m just looking for something to go wrong since I’ve never had great?” I kick my shoes up on the edge of Dane’s desk while he stares at his computer screen.
“Maybe, that sounds like you. I wouldn’t worry until there’s something to worry about, though. You could be me. Laney’s harder to pin down than an angry bear.”
“I bet.” I chuckle, enjoying his predicament.
“Seriously,” he runs a hand through his hair, pulling, “I know she’s only twenty, but it’s not like I’m fifty, and I’m ready. I want to take the next step. She wants to plant her feet in cement.”
“What next step? You mean like married? It’s only been a year, bud.”
“Bullshit,” he grumbles, banging on the keyboard. “Relax, you don’t have to get married tomorrow. You guys got a good thing the way it is, don’t rush it.”
“Says the man about to have a baby?” He stares at me pointedly.
“That was all the universe, brother,” I explain, holding my arms out with a flourish. “Fate dealt, I called. What you’re talking about is jumping the gun.”
“We could have a long engagement.”
“You could.” I nod, letting my feet fall and sitting up straight. “Maybe ask her to move in? I’ll be leaving the duplex officially real soon.”
“You’re moving in with Emmett?”
“Well yeah, douche. Kinda thought I’d live with my fiancé and child. I’m crazy like that.”
“Fiancé? When the fuck did that happen?”
“Hasn’t.” I grab a mint from the bowl on his desk and pop it in my mouth, standing. “I’m waiting for my moment. Later.” I head to the door, laughing the whole way. I thin
k it’s hifuckinglarious that the one man always in control, able to make just about anything happen, fell flat on his ass for the most stubborn, independent hellcat of a woman I’ve ever met.
Hifuckinglarious.
ROAD TO REDEMPTION
WHEN I WAKE, I’m in my own bed, face down in the pillow. It takes a minute to get my bearings and collect my thoughts, considering my head feels like I used it as a battering ram, but it starts coming back and it’s not pretty. Parts of last night are fuzzy, but you’d think I’d remember someone shitting in my mouth, which is exactly what it tastes like. Pushing myself up with great care, at the speed of smell, I turn over and scrub my hands over my face. I feel like busted ass…and what is under my ass? Digging in the back pocket of my jeans, I pull out my phone. Nothing from Emmett.
Evan: Bike under port, key on the kitchen counter.
Good luck!
I delete the twelve from Dane without reading them. I can only imagine the all caps, scathing rants he’d sent. No, thank you.
Now time to bite the bullet.
Sawyer: You home? Busy?
While I wait for her to answer me, I muster up the will to climb out of bed and head for the shower. I start to feel half alive again under the scalding hot water, but the minute I step out, the pounding in my head returns with a vengeance. Wiping a clear spot in the fog on the mirror, I get my first glimpse of all that is Sawyer after a night of self-destruction. I definitely won’t have to tell people I’m hungover—one look will answer any curiosity.
I check my phone, still no answer from Emmett. Hungover and haggard or not, this shit ends now. We are gonna talk, she is gonna listen, and it’s happening now. After I get dressed and scrub the enamel off my teeth and fuzz off my tongue, I head outside to her house.
Car’s in the driveway. She’s either asleep or ignoring me.
Gentlemanly is probably the safest route to take right now, so I ring the doorbell rather than busting straight up in. My hand’s tapping on the door frame, a lump of unease forming in my throat, when her sweet voice comes from the other side of the door.
“Who is it?”
“Em, it’s Sawyer.”
“What do you want, Sawyer?”
“I want to talk to you. Please, Em.” I’m not above groveling. My whole life’s on the other side of that door, so close I could knock this damn barrier down and grasp it, hold onto it, and never ever be foolish enough to let it go again, but still devastatingly out of reach. “Please.”
The sound of the deadbolt unlocking gives me a surge of hope, new life springing in my regretful heart. She cracks open the door and her precious face peeks out. “Talk.”
“Can I come in?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sawyer. You can say whatever you need to from right there.” Her eyes won’t meet mine, head dipped, raven hair shrouding part of her face.
“I’m sorry, Emmy, so sorry, babe.” I bend, both hands now spread on the frame, and dip my head to look up at her. “I never meant to hurt you or push you away. Please let me come in. I need to explain things, make us good again.”
“Did you sleep with her?” Green eyes now lift to mine, brimming over with pain, pain caused by my carelessness.
“What? Sleep with who?” I’m a horrible person. I begged for her heart, and when she finally, wholly gave it, I didn’t take care of it.
“You know who,” she sneers. “Mariah. Last night, did you sleep with her?”
“No, God no! Why would you even ask that?” And how’d you even know I saw her?
She shuts the door in my face, the lock clicking back in place. I dig out my keys, fumbling for the right one, when it suddenly opens again. She slips two things to me through the crack in the door, first, the empty ring box I put my davra in when I’m not wearing it, and second, her phone, a screen already pulled up for me.
I look at the phone first. It came through at 1:18 am last night.
Mariah: Hate to bother you so late but Sawyer’s kinda drunk and wants us to go back to his. Can you text me the address?
I read it again, a sickening, wrenching ache flaring in my gut. I’m not surprised to see it; it seems the definitive move for a scorned, trashy, jealous bitch to make, but I’m shocked Emmett even opened the door to me at all.
Now who can’t meet whose eyes?
The crack in the door gets a smidge wider and she sticks out her impatient hand. I have barely enough wits about me to hand her back the phone.
“Did. You. Sleep. With. Her?” Oddly enough, the lower and steadier a woman’s voice gets, the deadlier its effect.
“I said no. I didn’t sleep with her.”
“Why’s the box for your junk jewelry empty?”
“I told you, Em, if I don’t wear it every so often, the hole will close up. It hurt like hell, I’m not doing it twice.”
“And I’ve told you, Sawyer, I’m not interested in any magic tricks. I don’t ever want anything but you. So you care if the hole closes up why?”
“I didn’t know you meant never ever. Fine by me, babe, consider it gone.”
She huffs loudly, the door open just enough for me to see she’s rolling her eyes at me and crossing her arms over her chest.
“Wait, you think…” I can’t help but bark out a facetious laugh. “You think I had it in for that skank last night?
“If the penis pearl fits…” she mumbles.
“I. Didn’t. Touch. Her.” Oh shit, another piece of the puzzle that is last night flashes through my lagging mind; the shotgun. True to form, I’m confessing the whole truth before I can talk myself out of it. “She did, uh, she grabbed my face and forced herself, well, her uh, mouth on mine. But I pushed her away immediately.”
“You poor thing!” She covers her heart in mock horror. “She just attacked all six feet, two hundred pounds of you? My God, were you hurt?”
One brow quirks and I battle a grin. “You know what I mean. I don’t want to lie to you, but I didn’t touch her. “Just,” I hold up a finger and get my phone out. “Give me one minute.” I scroll frantically and dial, then speaker.
“I swear to God, Sawyer, if you’re calling her—”
“I don’t know her fucking number, Shorty. I’m—”
“Afternoon, Sunshine, how ya feeling?” Evan goads with a laugh.
“Fabulous. Hey,” I catch Emmett’s glare and hold it, “what happened last night, man?”
“Which part?”
“Any of it. How’d I get home? Where’d you find me?”
“Dude, that’s just sad. You called me to pick you up at some apartment. Zach and I came and got you and your bike. Any of that ringing a bell? I sent your sorry ass a text. We threw you in bed, unloaded your bike and put the key on your kitchen counter.”
“Yeah, I got it. Thanks so much, bro. But hey, was Whitley with ya’ll? I thought I remembered a girl?”
Emmett’s body shifts, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at this part. She’s preparing to hear I screwed up major, which I know without a doubt, fucked up or not, I didn’t.
“I’m gonna pretend you did not just confuse Whitley for that…whatever the hell she was last night.”
“Who was it? Was I with her?”
“Sawyer, seriously bro, don’t get that bad again and I mean it. Having to call me to remember a whole night of your life? Too far, brother, too far.”
I speak to Evan, but make the promise to Emmett with somber, promising eyes. “It won’t happen again. You have my word. But I need to know…about the girl.”
“You were standing in the parking lot when we got there, worried about your bike. Some random chick was trying to pull you to her car, but we saved you. It was pretty funny,” he laughs, “when you called her the wrong name. She shoved your ass and stormed off. Good stuff.”
“That it?”
Emmett and I have been having an entire conversation of our own, with our eyes, this whole time. And hers just softened and said, ‘fine, I believe you.’
/> “That’s it, thank God,” Evan’s reply interrupts us. “You think you need more?”
“No man, I’m good. Thanks again.”
“Beckett?”
“Yeah?”
“Fix things with Emmett, okay? That heartbroken rambling of yours the whole ride home? Not your best look.”
“Working on it.”
SO HE DIDN’T SLEEP WITH MARIAH, which reduces my anger marginally. He did, however, of all the places in Georgia, happen upon the same one as her. And let’s not forget her vicious attack, holding his lips hostage.
Puh-lease.
“Fine, I believe you didn’t sleep with her. I’m even willing to buy the ‘she kissed you’ bullshit. And maybe the whole ‘Emmett doesn’t care about the dick metal but I’m worried about the hole closing anyway’ case holds some very coincidental water. But you know what really stings, Sawyer? The one person who you know I wouldn’t want you anywhere near, that’s exactly who you found your way to. You set out to intentionally hurt me and you aimed for the jugular. Direct hit. Congratulations.”
I leave a despondent, tongue-tied Sawyer on the opposite side of the door as I slam it in his face, propping a chair under the knob before throwing myself on my bed. “Sorry,” I apologize to my stomach for the crash landing and roll on my side, tucking a pillow under my cheek.
The door’s rattling against the chair as he attempts to get in. That’ll only hold him out for so long, he is a practiced burglar after all. I figure I’ve got about ten minutes, tops, before he’s lording over me.
My phone dings, incoming message, and like a glutton, I pull it up. It’s a video, so I push the play icon, despite knowing better. “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” our Elvis song, fills my empty room with its melodic plea.
Where was this heartfelt attempt weeks ago when I quickly sucked back my tears every night when he snuck into bed? My life is not my own anymore and I can’t allow it to be toyed with! More angry now than hurt, I march to the front door, tossing the chair to the side and flinging it open. There he stands in worn out jeans, a plain gray tee and a hopeful, desperate smile.
