Four Weddings and a Fireman

by Jennifer Bernard

  She opened her mouth to scream, but Mackintosh was too quick for her. He grabbed her and spun her around so her back pressed against his front. He clamped his hand over her mouth. She tried to scream anyway, but it came out as a muffled squeak. He squeezed her face so hard the flesh bunched up around her eyes, distorting her vision.

  But she could still hear. She strained for the sound of the cruiser’s tires on the pavement, longed for a concerned voice to ask, Everything okay over there?

  Nothing but Mackintosh’s harsh rasping in her ear. “Thought you were so clever, didn’t you? Think I don’t remember what your pretty mouth looks like when it’s about to sing? You were about to call out to someone, weren’t you? Well, it can’t be your cheating friend. I knocked him out good. He ain’t waking up for a long time. And I’ll do the same to you if you don’t stop makin’ a fuss.”

  Cherie struggled for air. She felt as if she were drowning in fear and dread. This was every nightmare she’d had over the past six years. Fear of this, exactly this, had been hanging over her all that time. And now it had all come true. Mackintosh had caught her. And worst of all, he’d hurt Vader.

  What had he done to Vader? She would have heard a gunshot. Mackintosh had all sorts of stuff on his farm. He could have knocked him out with some sort of animal medicine. Rat poison. Or worse. Mackintosh had faced down the FBI, if the rumors were true. Who knew what he was capable of?

  For months she’d tried to push Vader away so he wouldn’t get hurt. Now he had anyway.

  Sudden anger seared through her like the edge of a sword. All those times she’d practiced her self-defense techniques in the privacy of Move Me—she’d never had to use them in real life, but this seemed like an excellent moment to try.

  She lifted her foot and slammed her heel onto Mackintosh’s instep. Unfortunately, he wore heavy work boots while she wore strappy sandals. But the move took him by surprise and his hold loosened. She sank her teeth into his forearm as hard as she could, the flavor of disgusting, sweat-soaked denim filling her mouth.

  “You little sneak,” he growled. “Now you done it. I didn’t want to knock you out but now I have to.”

  His body shifted behind her, as if he was raising his arm. Her next move should either be to swirl around, now that she’d hurt his arm, or grab on to it and try to lift him onto her back, then toss him over her head.

  Yeah, right. He was like a big old sack of buckwheat. She bent at the waist, holding tight to his arm, but nothing much happened, though he did give a big grunt. He might have risen onto his toes, but she really couldn’t tell. A whoosh of air warned her that a blow was coming. She turned her head to the side to provide him with as small a target as possible. Scrunching her eyes shut, the way she always had during beatings at home, she held her breath and braced herself.

  An ugly grunt came from behind her, and then Mackintosh collapsed on top of her. She crumpled to the sidewalk, the heavy weight of him nearly crushing her. What had happened? Where was the slash across her cheek, or the slam across the back of her head? Before lack of oxygen could knock her out, she squirmed out from under Mackintosh’s weight, and peered upward.

  There stood Trixie, holding a signpost that read “Rooms 11–31.”

  Cherie tried to scramble to her feet, but couldn’t quite manage it. “We have to find Vader. Mackintosh did something to him.”

  Trixie held out her hand so Cherie could grab on to it. “He’s under a bush around the corner. I found this signpost on the ground right next to him. It was all bloody. Come on, hurry!”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Vader swam up through swirling, red-laced darkness to find Cherie’s face just inches from his. Her eyes seemed to take up the whole world, as if he was surfacing into a gray mist. A streetlight behind her made a reddish halo out of her hair.

  “Vader, thank heavens! You’re awake. Can you hear me?”

  It would be hard not to, she was practically screaming in his ear. But when he opened his mouth, nothing but a croak emerged. She darted an anxious glance behind her, and he tilted his head to follow her gaze. A bulky body lay sprawled on the ground, half on the sidewalk, half on the woodchips under some tidy shrubs.

  That’s right. The man had jumped him from behind. He’d jabbed an elbow in the man’s ribs, cracked a few, then gotten him in a headlock. The man had yelled at him enough to make clear it was Mackintosh. He’d shoved the man away and told him to get the hell out if he wanted to avoid the police. The man had dragged himself off, while Vader had pulled out his phone to call Cherie and warn her. Then he’d turned just in time to see a wooden signpost come down on his head and that was it for memories.

  He struggled into a sitting position. “Is he . . . did he . . .”

  “Trixie knocked him out, but I’d rather get out of here before he comes to again. He’s a little crazy.”

  Even in this hazy state, Vader had to agree with that. He also remembered vaguely that he was angry with Cherie, that she’d crossed some sort of line and he was done with her. But that sounded so unlikely. Done with Cherie? When she was bending over him with that anxious look, using her beautiful cream-colored sweater to wipe the blood off his face?

  He frowned. This was all backward. He was supposed to be taking care of her. “Are you okay? Did he find you?”

  “You don’t remember?” She seemed worried by that. “It looks like he attacked you. I thought you were dead. You scared the blazes out of me.”

  He put a hand to his throbbing head. His thoughts still seemed sort of random and sketchy. Things wavered in and out of focus. But if he kept his attention on her eyes, everything steadied. He grabbed her wrist to stop her from patting his face. “Your sweater. Ruined.”

  She let out a sad little laugh. “You really think I care about the sweater? I care about you, Vader. I just hope you’ll believe me.”

  He frowned, but that movement hurt his head, so he stopped. Even though the pain in his head was remarkably bad, he was enjoying being fussed over by Cherie.

  “Vader, Trixie ran back to the room to get a phone. Should we take you to an emergency room?”

  “Not necessary. My head’s not that bad.”

  She frowned dubiously. “It sure looks bad.”

  “Trust me. I’m a paramedic. Head wounds bleed a lot but the big fear is concussion. I’m not seeing double, although two of you would be twice as nice.” He closed one eye in a wink, which seemed to relieve her. “You’re supposed to keep an eye on me to see if I become disoriented and start calling you Lindsay Lohan or something. We clean it, slap on some ice, and you make me rest. That’s it.”

  A smile curved her lips. He’d bonk himself on the head with a signpost for that smile.

  “Can you move yet?”

  “Give me a minute.” As he gingerly assessed the lump on his head, everything came back to him; the theft of the van, the lack of communication, his anger with her. “You stole my van.”

  She crumpled her ruined sweater into a ball. “It was Trixie. She told me you offered it to us.”

  “Trixie.” He groaned. “I should have known. I knew something didn’t add up, but I was out of my mind with worry.”

  Cherie winced. “Don’t get me wrong. I can’t totally blame Trixie. I should have insisted on talking to you myself instead of giving her my phone. I should have known she was up to something. I’m really, terribly sorry. I was wrong. About everything. Will you give me another chance?”

  He watched the vulnerable bones of her throat shift as she swallowed. Her eyes were going all misty again, as if she was trying hard to hold back tears. The words “of course” hovered on his lips, begging to spill out. But he hardened his heart against the urge. He always slid back to her side so easily.

  Not this time. Something really had shifted inside him. If she wanted him, she was going to have to prove it. “Another chance to what? I need specifics.”

  She swallowed again. “A chance to prove to you how much I . . . I love you.”
<
br />   The fog in Vader’s brain went warm and golden. She loved him. He knew it! He’d known it all along. Finally she’d caught on too. About time. He attempted a goofy, bloody grin, but that hurt, so he stopped.

  And a warning bell rang in his mind. Don’t be a sucker. Let her prove it. “Prove it, how?”

  She shook her head. “Later. Let’s get you up to the room. We’ll call 911 and let the paramedics handle Mackintosh.” She indicated Mackintosh’s unconscious body. “We need to get some ice on your head. Can you walk?”

  “Of course I can walk,” he bluffed. He had no idea if he could walk. But he was Vader, strong as an ox, and he’d walk if it fucking killed him. He tried to roll over so he could get his feet under him. It wasn’t graceful, but by leaning heavily on Cherie he managed to come onto his knees. From there, all those leg lifts and abdominal strengthening sessions paid off. He stood up, reeling from the dizzying pain.

  Cherie dusted woodchips off him. “It takes a lot to keep you down, doesn’t it?”

  He grinned. “A lot of guys have tried, few have succeeded. A signpost’s a first though.” Mackintosh stirred slightly. “You might want to make that call to 911 now.”

  “My phone’s in my room. Come on.” She draped his arm over her shoulder. Even though his head was clearing, he had to admit it helped to have someone supporting him. He took a tentative step forward, happy to find it didn’t hurt too badly.

  “I should get brained more often.” They sidestepped Mackintosh’s prone body. “I have my phone somewhere, I think. Try my front pocket.”

  “Cute, Vader.”

  “What?” He tried on an Elvis lip curl for size, and found that it lifted his mood significantly. “You have such a dirty mind, Cherie. Try to get ahold of yourself.”

  She laughed, a lovely, throaty sound with an edge of worry to it. “You must be feeling better if you can make dumb jokes.”

  “I can do that in my sleep. Or unconscious.”

  They reached the stairway that led to the balcony. “I can’t believe no one noticed both of us getting attacked.”

  “It’s dark.” Vader shrugged. “People are focused on their own thing. Personally, I’m glad no one saw it. With my luck, I’d end up on YouTube getting hit on the head with Rooms 11 through whatever. I’d never hear the end of that.”

  She giggled. “Maybe someone was hiding in their room with a camera. You never know. I tried out my self-defense moves. I’d love to see how that looked.”

  He froze, his imagination suddenly going wild. “Self-defense moves?”

  “Just basic stuff. You know, the instep smush. I bit him.”

  “Did he hurt you?” A dangerous spinning sensation came over him. If Mackintosh had been there at that moment, the man would have been splayed out on the ground in two seconds flat.

  “No. Not really. He scared me, but you know something? It was good. I mean, it was better than being scared the way I was before. Facing him was a lot better than thinking about facing him, if that makes sense. I’d probably be stuffed in the back of his old Buick by now if Trixie hadn’t shown up.”

  He gritted his teeth. That image was definitely not helping his head. She helped him up the first stair-step.

  “Why did you and Trixie run off?”

  “To find Jacob. At least that was my intention. I’m not completely sure what Trixie’s up to. Maybe you should ask her yourself. Threaten to charge her with grand theft auto, maybe then you can get a straight answer. But she did save me, so I hope you take it easy on her.” Luckily, the flight of stairs was short, and their room wasn’t far. She knocked on the door while he recovered from the journey.

  Turning on the paramedic part of his brain, he assessed his condition. Double vision? No. Disorientation? Hard to say, since the whole situation was so weird, but he didn’t think so. Headache? Most definitely. Acquisition of a painkiller was a definite priority. After he yelled at Trixie for her utterly irresponsible behavior.

  But when she opened the door and burst into tears at the sight of him, all his accusations fled his mind. “This is my fault,” she wailed, as she flew around the room, gathering towels and smoothing out the bedspread so he could have a place to relax. “I didn’t think he was following us. Do you need ice? You need ice. I’ll get some ice.” She grabbed the cheap ice bucket that came with the room.

  Cherie snaked out a hand, grabbing her wrist before she vanished out the door. “Hang on. Mackintosh might have come to by now.”

  “Nine-one-one,” Vader reminded her as he settled with a groan onto the bed.

  But Trixie, who was already out on the landing, shook her head. “Mackintosh is leaving,” she called. “I see his Buick pulling out of the parking lot.”

  “Okay, you can go as long as the coast is clear. But come right back.” Cherie released Trixie’s wrist and the girl vanished down the balcony. She left the door open. They both heard the rattle of ice hitting the cardboard bucket. Vader let his eyes close. What looked like red and black fish swam back and forth in his vision. Sleep. He could definitely sleep. How long had it been since his last solid sleep?

  But Cherie’s soft voice was pulling him from the deep pool that beckoned. She sat on the edge of the bed, leaning over him, one hand next to his chest, the other clenched in her lap. “Don’t go to sleep yet, Vader. We have to ice your head, and then I need to tell you something. I don’t know when I’ll have another chance with Trixie bopping around. But I got the life scared out of me down there, and I can’t wait any longer.”

  He blinked at her, amazed by how heavy his eyelids felt, as if they carried the weight of two frying pans. “What is it?” He felt slow and thickheaded.

  “I love you. I mean, really truly love you. I’ve loved you for an awfully long time, but I was too afraid. I couldn’t let myself admit it. I was afraid for myself, afraid for you. I know I hurt you, but it really was never my intention. I’m just . . . well, I guess I’m a bit of a coward. I couldn’t bear it if I got close to you and then it turned out I was married and Mackintosh got mad and . . . it just all seemed impossible.”

  He watched the little dimples rise and fall next to her mouth as she talked, the way her lips curved around the words. Her hair had come loose and hung in a tangle around her shoulders. A smear of something that might be grease slashed across the fresh-petal skin of her cheek. She sure was beautiful.

  “Do you hear what I’m saying, Vader? I know this isn’t the best moment to dump this on you. But I don’t want you to go another moment without knowing how I feel.”

  Everything she was saying . . . it was all he’d ever wanted from her. So why wasn’t he jumping with joy? Aside from the fact that jumping would make his head split into jagged pieces? Maybe he didn’t quite believe it. Maybe he’d gotten too used to her pushing him away. This just didn’t feel real.

  “Am I dying?” he asked abruptly.

  “What?” She went white. “What are you talking about?”

  “Is there some gigantic wound I can’t see, but you know it’s going to kill me so you’re being nice to me on my deathbed?”

  She stared at him, her mouth open in a little O of shock. “How can you even think that? You don’t trust me at all, do you?”

  The thing about trust was, it had to be earned.

  His silence provided her answer. Her face closed off as though a pale velvet curtain had been drawn shut. “Maybe we shouldn’t be talking about this kind of thing right now.”

  “What kind of thing?” Trixie appeared at Cherie’s shoulder. She held the overflowing ice bucket clutched to her chest. “Should we call a doctor, do you think?”

  “No.” Heartsick, Vader shook his head. He knew he’d made a wrong move, but his head was pounding too much for him to sort it out. “I just need some ibuprofen and that ice. And you have to wake me up every few hours. Any more big escapes planned for tomorrow? Can I sleep in?”

  Cherie and Trixie both spoke at once, then Trixie piped down so Cherie could answer. “No one’s
going anywhere until you feel well enough to drive.”

  From his position, Vader caught the flicker of rebellion that passed over Trixie’s face. But what could she do? She didn’t even know how to drive. Like it or not, she’d have to abide by Cherie’s decisions.

  Trixie wrapped some ice cubes in a towel and pressed it against his head. The cold penetrating through the cloth brought sweet, welcome relief. “It’s all about you now, Vader,” she said. “Hope you don’t mind being waited on hand and foot.”

  Cherie found a bottle of ibuprofen in her purse and brought two tablets along with a glass of water. While he was downing them, she disappeared into the bathroom, then returned with a wet washcloth. “I’m going to clean the rest of the blood off you, then you can sleep,” she told him, all business.

  Fuck. He’d screwed up. He’d thrown Cherie’s declaration of love back in her face. But hell, it wasn’t fair. She shouldn’t have sprung it on him when he wasn’t fully functional. And hadn’t she said before that she was going to prove how much she loved him? That’s all he needed. A little proof.

  Under Cherie’s gentle dabs at the mostly dried blood on his face, the drowsiness came back for real. He nodded off, then woke partway to find his arms over his head and his T-shirt being stripped off.

  “He’s really strong, isn’t he?” Trixie whispered.

  “No looking. He’s asleep, so that’s cheating,” answered Cherie.

  “Oh pooh on you. I can see him on YouTube anytime I want.”

  “Shut up and help me with his shorts.”

  The two sisters got his board shorts off and maneuvered him under the covers. He probably could have helped them, but he was incredibly exhausted and it was entertaining listening to them bicker with each other in whispers. He could tell that Cherie was still mad at Trixie. But he was beyond anger himself. How could he be too angry about a situation that inspired Cherie to tell him she loved him? Her words, and the completely serious expression on her face, kept coming back to him in quick, surreal flashes.

  As he’d instructed, Cherie woke him up several more times. Once when a pizza arrived and it smelled so good he thought about trying a bite, but fell back asleep before he could mention it. The next time she woke him, his favorite Friends episode was on, the one with Ross and Rachel’s wedding in the bombed-out old chapel in London. Trixie was watching like a kid, crouched on her knees about a foot from the TV. Cherie lay back down in the next bed over.