by K. S. Adkins
Today, I was saving my own ass.
Just like that, flat on my back with Rick screaming obscenities at me, I smiled. Success aside, I knew I hadn’t truly lived my life, and I was willing to fight for it. Die for it, kill for it. Luckily that hadn’t been necessary but it had been close. I won’t lie, I had been willing…
When Chevy screamed my name, I not only heard the panic in his voice, I felt it. And I never wanted Chevy to experience what I lived with on a daily basis. Never Chevy. Falling to his knees in front of me, he begs, “Baby look at me, are you hurt?” Baby…he hadn’t called me baby in so long.
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh God, for what, Pest?”
“Okay, so maybe I’m not sorry.”
“I don’t understand,” he said, looking me over. As the police poured in with guns drawn, vests strapped to their chests, and intent on their faces, I cupped his cheeks and whispered, “I was going to kill him, Chevy I—”
Several officers surrounded us, a medic pushed through, and when they tried making Chevy move, he did what he always did. He fought the world for me.
“He stays,” I demanded. “I won’t say shit if he’s not next to me.”
While I was looked over, I told the cops my side of things. The men and women who took an oath to serve and protect looked furious on my behalf, but also quite proud.
I agreed to come to the station and I also accepted an ice pack for my swollen cheek and sore throat.
Chevy was still grappling for control, but I was the only one aware of the battle he waged. It’s been a long time since Chevy reached for my hand needing comfort. Awful circumstances aside, it was nice to be the calming presence for once.
I was in his arms when we turned to see Rick being brought out on a gurney. You would expect Chevy to be the one who needed to be held back. Nope. It was me. Seems I wasn’t done.
So I attacked, again.
Okay, fine. I tried to.
Lifted off my feet, I found myself back inside the safety of Chevy’s arms. Fury, fear, and adrenaline were riding me hard, but Chevy refused to release me. Remembering Rick’s threats, his taunts, and the look on his face when I turned the tables…
Sure, I managed to knock him out, but in this moment it wasn’t enough. Unfortunately, no one was going to turn the other way while I finished him off either.
As he rolled past us, I growled, “Enjoy prison, bitch.” But Rick didn’t hear me, he was still unconscious.
The ride to the station was a blur. My focus was on Chevy and his hand still clutching mine.
Escorted inside, we were sat in a decent room and given stale coffee. Oddly enough, his hands were shaking, but mine were not.
A lieutenant came in to take my formal statement, and I was told Guy had contacted my attorney. I was also told he and Claire were on their way here.
As I replayed my history with Rick, I added moments I had forgotten or perhaps hadn’t been ready to process yet. Satisfied with my answers, the lieutenant asked his own questions and with each one Chevy’s grip on me tightened.
“He struck you on your right cheek?”
“Yes,” I admitted.
“Then what happened?”
“I kicked him the balls.”
“After that?”
“He choked me.”
“Then what happened, Ms. Wilder?”
“He said he was going to rape me, cut me, make me pay. I wasn’t okay with that, so I fought back.”
“What did fighting back entail?”
“Four uppercuts, an elbow to his solar plexus, a second kick to the balls, a serious titty twister,” at this Chevy wheezed out, “fuck me”. “And I think I ripped out a fist full of hair before I knocked him out with the ice bucket. Not necessarily in that order. Well,” I shrugged. “The ice bucket I know was last. The rest is hazy.”
The lieutenant was furiously writing notes with a smirk while Chevy stared at me with his jaw open. Closing the file, he stood and announced, “I’ll get this taken care of and you’ll be free to go. Your attorney will be our contact from this point on.”
“Thank you,” I beamed.
Before he reached the door, he turned, lowered his voice, and said, “If I may, Ms. Wilder, most women wouldn’t have been so lucky. I am sincerely glad you had luck on your side today.”
Leaning into Chevy who always holds me tight, I looked up at the man I loved and said, “It wasn’t luck, Lieutenant. I was trained by the best fighter I’ve ever met.”
Heading to the door, I swore I hear him mumble, “and thank fuck for that”, before it clicked behind him.

“Would you stop annoying Pest?” Looking over my shoulder at Guy and Claire, who were both fighting back a laugh, I shrugged and said, “It’s what I do.”
“You do it really well, too,” Claire grinned.
“Don’t encourage him,” Tempest said, sticking out a hip in mock frustration. Reaching for her, she slapped my hands away, but there was no heat behind it. She loved it when I drove her nuts. “Stop being grabby!”
“Are they always like this?” Claire asked Guy.
“Baby,” he smiled at his wife. “They’re actually behaving.”
And we were, for their sake.
Tempest had walked Claire down the beach singing At Last, crying the whole way. Only she could pull off singing and bawling at the same time. It was beautiful, adorable, and hilarious. They just tied the knot an hour ago and Tempest hasn’t stopped crying, wasn’t going to stop anytime soon either. So, of course, I gave her shit for it.
“Your eyes are puffy, Pest,” I teased. “Don’t get me started on your nose. Can you even breathe?”
“No,” she snapped, uncaring of who heard. “I can’t, thank you very much. Which means you’ll have to suck your own dick.”
“Is she serious?” Claire whispered to Guy in shock.
Catching it, I looked back at the newlyweds and explained, “She’s talking shit. She’ll breathe through her mouth, it’s fine.”
“He lives for blow jobs,” she huffed. “And even though he’s cute, he’s still fucking annoying.”
I also lived for begging her to marry me and watching her come up with ways to make me work for it. My girl was clever I’d give her that. But she wanted a ring on my finger as much as I wanted a ring on hers. Eventually she’d run out of excuses, and I’d pounce.
Until then… game on.

“Punch it,” I said anxiously. “Side swipe that Dodge, Chevy.” When he growled at me, I ignored it. “Quit being a pussy. We’re insured!”
“Would you let me drive?”
“We’re going to be late.”
“We’re not going to be late.”
“Ugh,” I groaned, tapping my feet.
“Do something,” he grunted. “Sing, talk, or jerk me off. Anything to get you to relax.”
“You’re annoying.”
“Actually, right now that’s you, Pest.”
“I’m annoying you?”
“Fuck yes, you are.”
“Good,” I smiled. It was nice to be the annoying one on occasion.
“Is that what you’re wearing?” he asked, raising a brow.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing,” he said, looking away. “If you like looking homeless.”
“I do not look homeless,” I argued. “I’m trying to blend in.”
“I know you,” he smirked. “You don’t want to do anything that takes away from the performance. But seriously, that outfit? They might not let you in.”
Huffing in irritation and thinking he might be right, I unbuckled my belt and headed to the back to change. Yelling out ideas, Chevy nixed all of them because he wanted me in something tight. Telling him to bite me, he hit the brakes, sending me crashing to the floor.
“Asshole!” I shouted.
“You love me,” he chuckled and he’s right, I did. Satisfied that skinny jeans, boots, and a blouse would blen
d, I found my seat and strapped myself back in.
“We’re here!” I clapped. Then watching him scan the rows, I lost my patience. “Just park the damn thing.”
“It’s not a fucking Fiat, Pest. It’s a van, it requires room.”
“Push that car aside,” I pointed to the left. “We’ll leave a note.”
“Jesus,” he groaned, finding a row. “You’re in rare form.”
“I’m excited,” I countered.
No sooner did he put the van in park, I was out and headed toward the door when he caught up and took my hand.
“Don’t,” he warned. “I like holding it.”
“You’re nervous,” I smiled up at him.
“Am not,” he said getting in line. “Fine. Maybe a little. It’s big deal.”
“It’s going to be great,” I agreed. “Shit, did you bring the—”
“I got it, Pest,” he said, lifting the recorder.
Handing our tickets over, we walked inside the auditorium and down toward the front to find two seats with our names on them, as promised. I hadn’t been this fidgety in memory and Chevy was just as bad.
Squeezing each other’s hands, we watched each act anxious for the final performer. At intermission, I was close to running around the building to burn off energy when the lights dimmed.
“Oh my God,” I squealed into his neck. “This is it, Chevy.”
Kissing my lips, he wiped my cheeks with his thumbs and whispers, “You’re beautiful when you cry, Pest.”
Before I could respond, the curtain was raised and I lost my breath.
Beautiful, brave, and so damn talented, Tiffany stood center stage. She was wearing the badass outfit I sent her and had her violin tucked under her chin.
Even with the spotlight on her she looked down, spotted us and smiled. Crying freely, I clutched Chevy because in her eyes I saw boldness, confidence, and excitement. Despite being alone up there, Tiffany was free.
Blowing her a kiss, I listened as the MC announces, “Ladies and gentleman, giving her last performance as a student here at Cass Technical High School, and proud recipient of the Tempest Wilder Performing Arts Scholarship, I present to you Tiffany Malone doing her rendition of Crowbar.”
Did I mention Chevy and I were sending Tiffany to Juilliard in the fall? With her mom’s blessing, of course.
The girl on stage was destined for greatness. Maybe she would hit it big. Maybe she wouldn’t. But Tiffany deserved to live out her dream and we had the means to make it happen.
So we did.
Because not everyone was blessed with a Chevy and a Guy like I was. Tiffany has always relied on her mom. Now she has Chevy and I, too.
Perched at the edge of my seat, I embraced the crowd screaming her name. When the auditorium quieted, she took a small step forward, and closed her eyes. Raising her bow, she placed it against the strings and beauty filled the room.
I’ve performed this song a thousand times and not once had I ever heard it played acoustically. Tiffany played Crowbar with only a violin and it was perfect. More than perfect. Flawless. For several minutes, I sat and simply stared.
I swear to God, I never wanted her to stop.
Then I saw her mom coming my way. She extended her hand. I took it and she lead me backstage, handing me my violin. The violin Chevy replaced after I’d broken the original. No doubt he’d had it sent here prior to the show and I loved him for it.
“Would you?” she asked, looking over at her daughter who was lost to the music.
“Yes,” I said, perching my piece on my shoulder.
Without interrupting her rhythm, I took the stage next to her and waited for the proper break to begin my own play. When she opened her eyes, lowered her violin and saw me; I swear she was close to running into my arms.
Instead of stopping the show, I whispered, “Let’s rock.”
Nodding, she raised her violin and followed my lead. Slowly, we segued into Queen’s Don’t Stop Me Now with our pieces playing off each other perfectly.
Facing each other, we picked our tempo, but we were both caught off guard when not only an orchestra joined in, but also a choir. The secondary curtain was raised and there they were in all their glory.
Both of us were floored.
Playing harder, for the crowd, that was on its feet, when a mic was placed in front of us, I motioned Tiffany to it. Stepping forward without hesitation, I was completely in awe of the young woman before me. Word for word she stunned the crowd with her vocal range.
As her confidence grew, so did her stage presence. It was like watching a flower bloom. Looking down at Chevy who was beaming, I mouthed I love you to the man who did this for Tiffany, but also for me.
When Tiffany wails the final verse, I wasn’t sure if the show was over or not. This was a first for me. With no set list to follow, I had no choice but to wing it. The problem was, I didn’t know what in the hell I was winging and I could not leave Tiffany to guess either.
But from behind us, I hear the chords picking up speed in their intensity. The riffs were loud and tight. When the choir began stomping their feet, the crowd followed suit. Handing off our violins, I grabbed two guitars and watched Tiffany pick up the beat without any trouble.
Was it any wonder why she won the very first scholarship I’ve ever given away? The girl was on fire! Playing hard, she took the mic, motioning me to join her.
Together we exchanged verses in a rendition of We Will Rock You, that sent the crowd into a frenzy, had them singing along. And through it all, I never took my eyes off Tiffany. No anxiety, nothing but joy. Complete and total freedom.
While she wasn’t shy about telling me how much school had changed for her just by being associated with me, I knew it was more than that. She was young, but she would understand later that acceptance meant nothing if you changed who you were to be accepted.
Tiffany hadn’t changed. Her peers had. They saw something special and wanted to be a part of it. It wasn’t them accepting her. It was her accepting them. Most of all, it was Tiffany finally accepting herself.
Did bringing her to the center play a part? I had hoped so. Did the months of practicing together via Skype help? Maybe. Did our daily phone calls make a difference? Possibly. Did a certain boy play a role? Hell yes.
Watching her now, all I knew was she was here. She was in the moment and that’s what mattered. Finishing with a fist in the air, Tiffany’s chest was rising and falling proof of her exertion. And the crowd? A standing ovation with cheers so loud, the auditorium shook.
Taking the mic and with a sure voice she said so sweetly, “Tempest Wilder, my mentor.”
Wiping my damn eyes, I threw my arm around her, grabbed the mic and said, “Tiffany Malone, my friend and future superstar.” Bowing together, the curtain came down, and it was my turn to wipe the tears from her eyes. “Thank you, Tempest. How did you do it?”
“I didn’t,” I smiled, catching Chevy coming up the steps two at a time. “He did.”
As only a teenage girl can, she clumsily flung herself into Chevy’s arms and cried. The cutest thing ever was when Chevy caught a boy standing off to the side looking uncertain and very jealous.
Like I was watching my life through someone else’s eyes, the boy zeroed in on Chevy touching his girl and it was clear he didn’t like it. Chevy noticed and I giggled.
“He a friend of yours?” he asked Tiffany. Waving him over, I watched him slide his fingers through hers, standing tall and protective next to her. “This is Griff,” she beamed. “My boyfriend.”
“Nice to meet you, Griff,” I said, extending my hand, but the poor kid was mute. He is all Tiffany could talk about and I knew everything from his jersey number to his GPA. But I didn’t let on. Instead, I went with making him comfortable.
“I’m Tempest and this is Chevy.”
Still unable to speak, Tiffany nudged him and said, “It’s okay, I promise.”
“You play football?” Chevy asked, pointing at his varsity jacke
t and trying to break the ice. Trust me, Chevy knew Griff played football. He knew the kid’s stats, awards, and even what schools he applied to. Tiffany loved bragging about Griff, and Chevy loved listening to her do it.
Snapping out of it, he nodded, “Quarterback, sir.”
“Sir?” he asked, looking down at me. “That’s a first.”
“Chivalry,” I shrugged. “And here I thought you killed it.”
“When the fuck have I ever been chivalrous?” he asked me.
“You haven’t,” I rolled my eyes. “Hence killing it.”
Leaning to whisper in my ear he said, “You sure about that? Always make you come first, don’t I?”
Touché.
That night we took Tiffany and Griff out to dinner to celebrate. Initially it was slow going with us girls carrying the conversation. But once the kid shook his nerves, he and Chevy took over and would not shut up.
Personally, I didn’t mind a bit because looking across the table was like catching a glimpse of my past. Deep in my heart, I knew Griff would always do for Tiffany what Chevy did for me. To know she had that…
“Pest,” Chevy said, pulling me into his lap. “What are the tears for?”
Looking up, I whispered, “You’re my music,” hoping he truly understood I don’t regret walking away from my career. I constantly felt his worry that I’ll wake up one day and mourn the loss of touring.
The truth was, while it was one hell of a ride, it wasn’t what I was destined to do. When his face softened and his eyes clouded, I knew he heard me. I also knew he was about to give me shit for crying at the dinner table, too.
“Don’t even start,” I warned him with the look.
“Start what?” he asked innocently.
“You know what.”
“I’m just saying, when you cry, you get stuffy, and then you have to breathe through your—”
“Oh my God, I just said don’t start!”
“What are they talking about?” Griff whispered to Tiffany and before I could assure him it was nothing, Tiffany shrugged and said, “Blowjobs.”
At this, Chevy lost his grip on me and I hit the floor. While helping me up and not bothering to contain his laughter, I tried of thinking of the right words and still came up short.
