Bad Swipe

by Elise Faber

  Another drawer’s contents hit the floor, this one with silverware. It clattered deafeningly, forks and knives and spoons scattering in all directions. “You know,” he muttered, moving to the next, dumping her towels out of it and yanking another open, nearly ripping it from its slides. “You damn well know.”

  Something snapped inside her. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!”

  It was a mistake, that.

  She’d snagged her phone, but hadn’t unlocked it, hadn’t dialed 9-1-1, or just grabbed Fred and got out. Then she’d yelled, loud enough to gain Jeremy’s unhinged focus.

  His deadly focus, if the gleam in his eyes was any indication.

  He moved toward her, kicking his way across her belongings—a spatula going one way, several forks another, her turkey baster bouncing off the toe kick of the cabinets and skittering across the floor.

  And he didn’t stop moving, not even as he closed the distance between them, as Fred growled, as he grabbed her arm, yanked her to the side, and pinned her against the wall so quickly that her ankle exploded with pain. “Where.” His fingers dug in hard enough to make her cry out in pain, her hand spasming, and her cell phone falling to the floor. “Is it?”

  “I don’t know—”

  She didn’t finish the rest of the statement because as suddenly as he’d cornered her, he was gone.

  Just ripped away like the wind stealing a hat on a gusty day.

  Ben gripped Jeremy by the throat, his face in a rage that was far scarier than Jeremy’s, something that any sane person would see.

  But Jeremy wasn’t in his right mind.

  He was gone to the anger, struggling against Ben’s hold, even as Ben leveled a left hook at his face.

  The sound was . . . gross. A crunching noise, blood immediately bursting from Jeremy’s nose. It dripped down his chin, stained the front of his shirt, then more blood as Ben wound up and punched him again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Until Jeremy was limp in his hold, his legs barely holding him up, Ben’s hand around his throat the single thing keeping him up.

  “Get the fuck out of this house,” Ben growled, propelling him to the front door, as though he weighed nothing. “And if I ever see you within fifty feet of Stef, I will cheerfully murder you and then pay someone to make sure your body is never found.”

  Jeremy sneered, his eyes rolling around in his head. “I—”

  Ben shook him. “Am not going to say another word.” A beat. “Because that would be the first good decision you’ve made since you decided to break up with Stef.”

  “She—”

  Ben shook him again. “Is a fucking goddess who is too good for me and you?” A feral smile curved his lips. “You’re right. She is. But your idiotic loss is my gain, and I will protect what is mine. So heed my words, do not come back here.”

  Then he threw him out the front door, slammed it shut, and locked it.

  Stef’s knees gave way, and she found herself sliding down the wall, collapsing onto the floor. Tears leaked from her eyes, but she angrily brushed them away, turning her focus to Fred, even as her ankle screamed out in pain as she crawled toward him. Fred whined, his tail thwapping once on the floor. He tried to get up, but one of his back legs wouldn’t work, so she held him in place. “No, buddy,” she said through her tears, “just stay down.”

  She kept her hands on his side, scrabbled for her cell.

  “Here,” Ben said, handing it to her. “Are you all—”

  Banging began on the front door, the wood panel rattling on its hinges, Jeremy screaming and ranting. Ben cursed, rising to his feet, at the same time sirens sounded, came close, and tires screeching somewhere close.

  Perhaps her driveway.

  Voices rose and fell, Jeremy’s and several unfamiliar ones shouting orders. Jeremy refusing them.

  Then a scuffling, a crash, more scuffling, and . . . finally, all went quiet.

  Ben crossed to the door, but before he got there, a knock sounded through the panel.

  She turned her head, watched as Ben carefully opened the door, keeping his hands open and wide at his side as police officers stood in the opening. “Thank you for coming,” he said.

  They studied him then her on the floor, Fred trying to get up.

  “Are you okay, ma’am?”

  She nodded. “Ben”—she pointed, wanting to be sure that they knew exactly who the good guy was—“is my boyfriend. He saved me from”—she nodded to the porch where her ex was trussed up like a turkey—“Jeremy. My ex who broke in and assaulted me. H-he—”

  Then Ben was there at her side, pulling her into his arms. “It’s okay. I’m here, baby. I’m here.”

  She clung to him. “Fred’s hurt.”

  “I know.” He pulled out his phone, spoke quickly into it. “Claire and Baine are coming. They’ll get him to the vet.”

  “O-okay,” she whispered, slipping out of his arms and turning back to her dog.

  “Sir?” one of the officers asked. “Can we have a word?”

  Ben gently cupped her cheek. “You okay for a minute?”

  She nodded.

  “Tell me what happened,” she heard the officer said. “And start from the beginning.”

  “I pulled up and saw the front door was open,” Ben began.

  Fred whined, and she knew she should splint his leg, should do something useful, do something to make him more comfortable. Maybe get a towel under him so he would be easier to carry. She pushed her hands beneath herself, started to push to her feet.

  She cried out and collapsed before she got there.

  Instantly, Ben was there, two police officers flanking him. “What is it, honey?” he asked.

  “My ankle,” she groaned. “I’m fine—”

  He gently lifted the hem of her pantleg, and cursed. “It’s not fine.”

  His tone had her glancing down. Fuck. It wasn’t fine. It was swollen already, and she could hardly feel her toes. “I’m going with Fred to the vet first,” she said.

  “No.”

  Two letters, one word, said so fiercely that she blinked.

  “Claire will take Sweetheart, who’s in my car, home. Baine will take Fred to your vet. Who you’ll call right now, and if they’re closed or can’t take him, then he will take him to the emergency vet.” She opened her mouth to protest. “Then as soon as these officers will allow us out of here, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

  “But—”

  “Plus, Spence will be backup if either Claire or Baine need him,” he said. “They have it, okay? Let me take care of you. Let me get you to the hospital.”

  The shorter officer with red hair nodded at her ankle. “Which should be right now.” He passed Ben a card. “Call me when she’s up to talking.”

  Ben nodded, shook his hand. “Thank you.”

  “Oh, my God!”

  They all looked, saw Claire, her hair flowing behind her as she rushed into the room.

  “Stef!” She dropped to her knees beside her. “Shit. Are you okay?”

  Stef felt her eyes well. They hardly knew each other, and yet Claire was here, worry on her face, and her hand gripping Stef’s tightly. “I’m fine,” she said, but her voice broke, and a tear slipped out.

  “Can you stay with Fred until Baine gets here?” Ben asked.

  “Of course.”

  “I—”

  Claire squeezed her hand, wincing and glancing down. Stef followed her gaze, saw that dark bruises were already appearing on her wrists. “Let us do this for you, okay? I’ll text you updates for Fred every step of the way.”

  “But . . . why?”

  “Because you’re Ben’s.” A gentle smile. “And you’re you.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Ben

  Claire was true to her word.

  After Stef had called her vet, she and Baine, who’d arrived by then, got Fred to the vet, Sweetheart tagging along in her carrier.

  Luckily
for Fred, nothing was broken, and he would recover from his sprained foot and bruised ribs in another week or so.

  Stef hadn’t been so lucky.

  Jeremy had fractured one of the small bones in her foot, and because of her past injury, she’d needed surgery to reset it.

  Stef had just made it back to her room, after the hour-long surgery and then two hours in the recovery suite, but she was still groggy and sleeping off the aftereffects of the anesthesia, though she had asked for a Fred update the moment she realized Ben was in the room.

  He was able to give her one—a good one—showing her the picture Claire had sent of Sweetheart and Fred curled up on a bed in the living room of his place.

  “Tomorrow, we’ll go back to my place,” he said, brushing back her hair. “Stay there until I can get an alarm system installed at yours. Then we can go to yours—”

  Her eyes had closed. Her mouth gone slack.

  But just before she’d drifted off again, she’d reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together, and he kept his vigil, his grip tight, as she slept through the night.

  The detectives left on the same elevator that had brought Stef’s gaggle of friends up.

  Stef’s face was drawn, but her eyes were happy.

  Claire sat by her side, folded into the group whether because she was female or just had the right attitude or because that was the way they were, accepting whoever came into their periphery.

  And they were all fussing, Heidi adjusting the pillow beneath Stef’s ankle. Tammy bringing her a cup of hot chocolate, Kels searching through the guide for something that Stef would want to watch. Cora was making everyone laugh, and Kate had been gently brushing her hair, was now braiding the silken locks into a crown across her head.

  “You look like shit,” Baine said.

  “I haven’t had a chance to thank you,” Ben said by way of answer.

  Baine shook his head. “You know there’s no thanks needed, not between us.”

  Ben hadn’t known it, not really. He still wasn’t used to reaching out for help. It had been easier to take care of everything for everyone else, rather than making himself vulnerable by asking for it.

  But he wouldn’t forget it now. Wouldn’t ever forget it.

  Red lips had shattered the wall around him, and he couldn’t stop himself from caring . . . about Stef, about Baine and Claire, about Stef’s friends. Because he’d watched her constantly finding herself unworthy of their affection, terrified they would take it away and leave her, and despite that, still finding the strength to give it, to care, to love.

  He wasn’t going to let that go.

  “Thank you anyway,” he said.

  Baine rolled his eyes but nodded, turning for the elevator, just as cackling broke out in the living room, Claire no doubt telling more embarrassing stories about him. She and Baine had been staying at his place, managing the dogs and the business so that Ben could focus solely on Stef. Friends, not employees, and he was ashamed to think that it had taken him so long to realize that fact.

  More cackling.

  Baine winced as he stepped onto the elevator. “I’m going to rescue my ears from the noise.” A smirk. “Good luck with yours.”

  “Fucker.” But it was said without heat, his gaze on Stef, on the fading bruises on her wrists, the foot propped on the pillow, guilt eating at him.

  Baine caught the elevator door, holding it open. “Hey,” he said, eyes concerned. “You okay?”

  He was a long shot away from okay—the sight of Stef pinned against the wall, her fucking ex with his hands on her, had brought back the nightmares he’d thought long gone. He’d hardly slept, dreaming of his father being dragged out of the car, blood soaking the street, of his mother taking her final rattling breath, of what might have happened to Stef if he’d been delayed, if he hadn’t left work early because he was so anxious to see her.

  Broken and bleeding, a final rattling breath.

  He shuddered. Not okay.

  Definitely not okay.

  But he’d eventually be, if only for the woman who held his heart in her palm. Effortlessly caught and grasped tight, and he didn’t give a shit that he’d been snared.

  “No,” he said, when Baine made to step off the elevator, despite the cackling rising in volume behind them. “I’m not okay,” he admitted. “But I’ll get there.”

  Baine studied him closely, his hand still on the elevator door.

  “Ben? Are you all right?” Stef’s soft voice trailed through the air, and Ben watched Baine’s face gentle, even as he was already turning to face her.

  A clap on his shoulder had him glancing back.

  Baine nodded, stepped back and released him. “Yes,” he said. “You will.”

  It was much later that the apartment was empty of everyone save the dogs, Fred curled up next to the couch, Sweetheart on Stef’s lap, her fingers running through the soft, white fur.

  Still, he couldn’t imagine how the fuck she’d tamed the beast that Sweetheart had been—except that she’d tamed him, too . . . or perhaps, she’d soothed him.

  Just like she’d soothed the jagged edges of Sweetheart missing his mom.

  He sat on one end of the couch, Stef’s head on his thigh.

  And just as she ran her fingers through Sweetheart’s fur, he stroked lightly through the locks of her hair, slowly undoing the braid she’d said was hurting her scalp.

  “Is your ankle bothering you? Do you need your pain medicine?” he asked once it was out and the tangles were loosened, his voice soft, not wanting to break her relaxed state.

  “No,” she murmured.

  He went back to stroking, memorizing the lines of her face, and for long minutes, neither of them spoke.

  “I was going to cook for you,” she whispered, and he blinked, pulling himself from the very quiet place he’d drifted into, calmed by her presence, thankful and happy to just be here, that she was safe and happy.

  “What were you going to cook?” he asked.

  “The one thing I can make that isn’t breakfast. It’s nothing fancy, a chicken and rice soup with vegetables. I’d just . . .” She swallowed. “I’d just needed to put the rice in it when I got there and . . .”

  Quiet again.

  He continued moving his fingers through her hair, not changing the rhythm, soothing her until she found her words again.

  “Anyway, I’d wanted to cook for you because I’d finally realized you weren’t like them—no, I’d always known you weren’t like them. I was just too scared to let you in because . . .”

  He’d gone stiff, fingers stilling, but forced himself to relax, to breathe, to resume his stroking.

  “Because no one around me has ever really cared about me. Not my parents. Not my brother. Not anyone I dated.” Her tongue darted out, danced across her bottom lip. “Not until I met Heidi, and she introduced me to the girls and . . . even then, I didn’t believe it.”

  He inhaled.

  She sat up carefully, putting Sweetheart on the floor. The dog grumbled at being displaced but curled up next to Fred and closed her eyes. Stef’s face was soft as she shifted and studied Ben’s face. “And then you came into my life, rather auspiciously.” She smiled and touched his cheek, so gently, her brown eyes blazing with love. For him. “You showed me what it was like to have someone care for me. Showed and showed me until I actually started to believe it. Until it propelled me to look into myself and realize that I was worth someone’s love.”

  “Stef,” he whispered, his heart breaking for her, breaking and reforming. For her.

  “You didn’t press me to tell you why I held back,” she said. “You just showed me that you’d take me as I was, that every day you would be there when you promised you would.” Her voice dropped until it was barely audible. “And I’ve never had that. Or at least, not that I could remember.”

  She winced, trying to turn to face him, so he carefully tucked a pillow behind her back and shifted around, moving to the other end of the couch,
easing next to her propped-up foot and sitting so he could see her more easily.

  “You told me a story once,” she said. “So, I’m going to tell you one now.”

  He nodded.

  “My brother was born just a year after me.” Her throat worked. “Chance and I were Irish twins, but in reality, we were more like real twins. Babies at the same time, and once we were both walking and running, we hit most of those kid milestones at the same time—learning to read, playing catch, silly things like singing songs and dancing. He was ahead, I was behind. Always. He rode his bike first, tackled the scary obstacles at the park, the mean kids at school. He was . . . larger than life, and really, really good at everything. It was easy to get lost in his shadow, easy to disappear.” Her eyes met his and drifted away. “My parents didn’t notice when I scored a goal in soccer because he scored three, or scraped my knee learning to ride my bike because he was launching himself down steps or curbs or finding some new obstacle to tackle.”

  Ben reached over and grasped her hand, ran his finger over the back of it.

  “And I probably should have been jealous of him, but Chance was . . . wonderful and I loved him. He had this spirit that surrounded him, a cloud that attracted people to him like flies. He was confident, bordering on cocky, but he was also kind. He didn’t pick on people, even if they were . . . pale shadows of him.”

  Ben squeezed.

  “Then he got sick,” she whispered. “Or maybe he was always on the edge of that. He lived a big life, but he also lived big downs. Always. And when we were ten—well, he was ten and I was almost eleven—things turned darker. Those lows grew until there were hardly any highs, until he couldn’t get out of bed, until he’d lost joy in everything. Wouldn’t go to school, wouldn’t live. And my parents started bringing him to doctors, rightfully so. Therapists and medical doctors, so many specialists that it almost became an obsession.”

  She stared at the TV, blank as it was. “There wasn’t a day he didn’t spend with the doctors, or that my parents weren’t researching, or on the phone searching for a way to make him better. Therapy didn’t help, not for long anyway. He’d dive again, and they’d start over, but they couldn’t get the medication right. He’d seem fine for a few days and then suffer.”