Hold On

by Kristen Ashley

  My phone was in my hand.

  Obviously, I’d unblocked Merry.

  And I’d opened my curtains, just a couple of inches, so I could see out.

  As I watched, to occupy my mind, I found it fascinating in a vague way that our street went dead after midnight on a weeknight. Completely dead. No cars at all.

  I also thought on the fact that I was lucky to have the next day off, since right then I was wide awake and in it for the long haul.

  I hoped Merry would think of me and text or phone to tell me things were okay, they got the guy, he and all the boys and girls who worked at the station were all good.

  But I was where I was only partly due to that.

  Mostly, a man was out there who was desperate enough to rob a gas station (for fuck’s sake) and, in more desperation, engage in gunplay with cops. He’d been seen in my ’hood. And my boy had only me to make sure we stayed safe.

  So I was on my couch, awake, on the lookout, my son asleep, my gun close.

  I caught light reflecting on the quiet, dark houses across the street and looked from the window across the room to my cable box.

  It was one thirteen in the morning.

  Maybe a neighbor just got off a late shift.

  My back went straight when I found it wasn’t a neighbor but instead Merry’s Excursion pulling to a stop in front of my house.

  Okay, I’d hoped he’d call or text.

  But him showing in person was way better.

  I jumped off the couch but kept an eye on him and saw him get out of his truck and round the hood.

  I’d noted long ago the chief of police had no dress code for his detectives. Some, like Colt, wore jeans and sports jackets, making both look nice and professional just because he had that ability. Others wore nice slacks and jackets.

  Merry wore suits, no ties. His suits were nice. They fit him well. They always complimented his coloring. They made the statement he took his job seriously. Even though he wore them extremely well, what they didn’t do was make the statement that he was up his own ass and knew how hot he was.

  And earlier, he’d been in one of them, a dark gray one with a midnight-blue shirt that didn’t do much for him in the muted light of an alley, but I’d seen him in that combo before, and with good lighting, the shirt specifically did fabulous things for his eyes.

  Now he was not in that suit.

  He was in jeans, boots, a button-up shirt, and a leather jacket.

  Apparently, you didn’t go man hunting all dressed up.

  I filed this away with the other useless but interesting information in my brain and headed to my door.

  I had it unlocked and opened, the storm door the same, and I was holding it slightly ajar with my hand by the time Merry made it to my stoop.

  Eyes to me, he pulled it all the way open.

  I didn’t hesitate to shift back.

  He didn’t hesitate to walk right in.

  He kept his fingers splayed on the glass of the door to soften the noise it’d make in closing. Once it clicked, he turned his head so he could pay attention while he locked it.

  I shuffled back further to give him room to clear, close, and lock the front door.

  He did this and turned to me, dipping his chin down.

  “They get him?” I whispered.

  “Yeah. Marty tackled him behind the Dairy Queen.”

  Something about this made me want to laugh.

  I didn’t laugh.

  I asked, “Everyone okay?”

  “It’s all good, sweetheart.”

  I nodded, letting the tension ebb out of me.

  In the subdued light that stretched from the kitchen, I saw him look toward the hall.

  His gaze came back to me. “Ethan asleep?”

  I nodded again. “Had trouble findin’ it, but he got there.”

  “Good,” he muttered.

  I stood there and Merry stood there. I stared up at him as his eyes moved over my face.

  Then he looked over my head into the room as he asked, “You get any rest at all?”

  “No.”

  His head jerked slightly and his eyes cut back to me.

  “Please, fuck, baby, tell me that piece is registered.”

  “I bought it in Ohio.”

  His mouth got tight.

  Ohio liked their guns and the easy ability of people owning them, and Merry obviously knew that fact.

  “And, uh…Colt told me as long as I don’t carry it, I’m good.”

  “Colt knows you got it?”

  I nodded.

  “He show you how to use it?”

  I shook my head.

  His mouth got tight again.

  “Jack showed me,” I shared quickly.

  He sighed.

  Suddenly it dawned on me this was weird, precisely the fact he was there at all.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “No,” he answered.

  “Shit, what happened?” I asked, moving closer.

  “What happened is, I got a call that reported an armed man was at large within blocks of your mom and your boy.”

  Oh God. Oh shit.

  Damn it, Merry.

  Automatically, I moved closer, putting my hand to his stomach.

  “Merry,” I whispered. Just that. I didn’t know what else to say.

  “Spending the night, Cher.”

  I felt my eyes get big at this declaration, but I didn’t speak or move.

  “With you in your bed.”

  Oh God.

  “And if you don’t lock that handgun away when you’re not sittin’ vigil to look after your kid, we’ll be goin’ to sleep after I make your ass red for bein’ all kinds of stupid.”

  I felt my eyes get squinty and I spoke then. I also stepped back.

  “You think I’d have an unsecured firearm in my home with my kid?” I snapped.

  “Lock it up. You don’t need yours out when I got mine.”

  Okay, we were back on rocky ground.

  “Merry, I—”

  Abruptly, he moved. Hooking me at the back of my head, his face was in mine, and at what I saw in his eyes, I stopped speaking and concentrated on breathing.

  “Shut your mouth. Get your piece. Lock it up. And come to bed.”

  “I’m not real sure what’s goin’ on right now, gorgeous,” I said carefully. “But my boy’s in this house and—”

  “What’s goin’ on,” he cut me off to start and he didn’t let up, “is tonight, you learn you got a man who gives a shit in your life, shit goes down in the night that more than likely would never touch you, but it’s still goin’ down and we both know shit happens, you don’t sleep alone. You don’t because he doesn’t sleep alone. He sleeps where he knows you’re safe. So get your fuckin’ gun. Lock that fucker up. And come to bed.”

  I liked that. I wanted that. I wanted to learn that in a way it sunk so deep, I wouldn’t even remember there being a time when I didn’t have it.

  And none of that was smart.

  “Merry—”

  “Now is not the time to fight me, Cher. I been out in the cold with a gun in my hand and a vest on my back, huntin’ a man with my brothers. A desperate man, prowlin’ through family neighborhoods. A man who demonstrated he’s all right with pullin’ a trigger. In a situation like that, anything can happen, to me, to one of my brothers, or to some random citizen who’s in the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s done, so right now there’s one thing I need. And right now, I’m askin’ you to shut your mouth and give me what I need.”

  What he needed.

  Him sleeping where he knew I was safe.

  No man, not one my entire life, needed that from me.

  Or wanted to give it to me.

  So what the fuck did I do with that?

  “Cher,” he growled an impatient prompt.

  “All right, all right,” I snapped, pulling my head from his hold. “Keep your pants on.”

  I moved to the gun. I grabbed the gun. I went t
o the kitchen and turned out the light. I walked to Merry, by Merry, and down the hall.

  I felt Merry at my heels and he stayed at my heels until we hit my room.

  I heard him close the door.

  I went to my closet, shoved the beaded curtain that hid my shit aside, and reached high to my safe that was on a shelf.

  Nothing was in that safe but Ethan’s birth certificate and our social security cards, so I hadn’t bothered locking it up after I got the gun. I shoved the gun in, locked it, and went back through the beads.

  I stopped at the sight of a barefoot Merry, leather jacket on the floor, shoulder holster with gun lying on the nightstand, his hands and shoulders moving to shirk off his unbuttoned shirt.

  There was a lot of goodness that was Merry that I’d discovered the previous Friday.

  His body was definitely a part of this.

  I knew he had sinewy forearms because I’d seen him in tees. Those sinews writhed with movement in a way that I had to guard against watching or it would put me in a happy trance I might never want out of.

  This, I’d learned Friday night (or actually Saturday morning), was just a hint at the tall, lean mountain of goodness that was Merry without clothes.

  I would struggle to rank my favorite parts (outside of one in particular, which was obvious). He had great everything—shoulders, chest, biceps, abs, the hip V, his thighs.

  But however that list came about, special mention would have to be made to the dark hair he had on his stomach. Not a heavy mat across his chest and down. The hair started on the upper ridge of his abs, spreading out and down, sparse and enticing.

  It got better as it gathered and thickened at the center of the second ridge, down more, more, more, like a line on a map with the arrow at the end, pointing at buried treasure.

  And one could definitely say the arrow at that particular end pointed to serious buried treasure.

  “Babe.”

  I started, my eyes darting from his crotch to his face.

  Even though he caught me checking out his package, all he said was, “Tired.”

  I nodded and moved to him.

  I was barefoot too, in my jeans, tank, and bra from work. I stopped a couple of feet from him, but he wasn’t paying attention. He was twisted to turn out the lamp beside my bed.

  I saw the range of his ribs cutting down from the swell of his lat before the room was plunged into darkness.

  I undid my belt buckle, the button, unzipped my fly, and pulled my jeans down my legs.

  I’d barely straightened when he hooked an arm around my waist. I swallowed a yelp, noting he’d thrown back the covers, because when we hit the bed, we were in bed.

  Merry tossed the covers over us, rolling so I wasn’t on top of him but we were on our sides, face-to-face. The roughness of his jeans gently scored the skin of my legs as he wound his in mine, leaned his weight in to me, his arm remaining around me, the other hand coming up to cup the back of my head.

  He shoved my face in his chest.

  It took a lot, but I didn’t rub it there. I wanted to, feeling him, smelling him, knowing he was there for the reasons he was, wanting to believe that what he was giving right then could be mine for eternity.

  He’d made it clear he wanted me to take hold of that.

  I just doubted his ability to really give it.

  Not in the way I needed.

  Not in the way that needed to be for Ethan and me.

  I heard his head move on the pillow, then I felt his quiet words stir the top of my hair.

  “Like your room.”

  This surprised me.

  For mental health purposes, I’d never allowed myself to consider the environs that would surround an at-home Garrett Merrick. But in that moment, I pictured lots of wood, some seascapes, a gun rack, and a very large TV.

  “Don’t believe in ghosts but evidence points to the fact that the spirit of Janis Joplin puked all over your pad.”

  I didn’t have a lot of room to move, but I was me, so I managed to sock him right in his tight stomach.

  He emitted a soft grunt right before I heard chuckling.

  I shifted so I could press my hands into his hard heat, not to push him away but to absorb the feel of him right there.

  Life had not given me much, so I knew to take what it gave when it offered me a boon. Since it had offered me a boon, I was taking it. Tomorrow, I’d face the consequences.

  Now…

  Well, this I was taking for me.

  I got the sense that Merry knew I wasn’t pushing away because he pulled me closer and leaned more of his weight into me.

  I felt his hand tangle in my hair and I closed my eyes tight, taking that boon too, no matter how risky.

  “You know I’m teasin’,” he whispered. “It’s cool and warm and all you.”

  God, he had to stop. If he didn’t shut up, I’d start believing, and I’d believed before—twice—and except for getting Ethan, it had not lead to good things.

  “I thought you said you were tired,” I noted.

  “Yeah,” he murmured.

  “So shut up and sleep,” I ordered.

  “Cher?”

  “Callin’ my name isn’t sleeping, Merry.”

  “You shut up and listen for a sec, we both can get some sleep.”

  I shut up.

  “No matter what, no matter how things go down—in life, with you and me—no matter I piss you off, no matter anything, sweetheart, promise me you’ll never block me bein’ able to get to you again.”

  My eyes flew open.

  Merry went on, “I don’t think I gotta convince you that you mean somethin’ to me. What I want you to know right now is, no matter the future, that’ll never change. If I gotta know things are good with you or with Ethan, I just gotta know. In the world we live in, don’t make it hard for me to get that information, baby.”

  “I unblocked you about two seconds after you left us, Merry,” I whispered.

  “All right. Good. But now I’m askin’, don’t block me again.”

  “I won’t block you again, honey.”

  The arm he had around me gave me a squeeze.

  Shit, I had to give it to him.

  Shit, shit, shit, there was no choice.

  “I was pissed and I had reason,” I muttered into his skin, kinda hoping he couldn’t hear me. “But you were right. Callin’ in Tanner and the way he played it was what was needed.”

  I didn’t get a squeeze at that.

  He kissed the top of my hair.

  He said no more. He didn’t rub it in. He didn’t push things to take advantage and gain more ground.

  He just kissed the top of my hair and let it be.

  God, he looked good, fucked great, liked my kid, liked my mom, liked me, was protective, smart, dressed well, drove an awesome ride, had a nice family, amazing friends, a solid job, was funny, thought I was funny, knew how to install countertops and skim walls, and he didn’t rub it in when he was right and I was…not.

  Was he perfect?

  And was I crazy?

  “You’re not goin’ to sleep,” he noted.

  “That’s because I’m freaking,” I shared openly.

  “Tomorrow,” he stated.

  “It is tomorrow, Garrett.”

  I heard the smile in his voice when he said, “Right, then later today.”

  “You can’t just turn off freaking, Merry.”

  “Okay, then shut up, relax, and go to sleep, or, seein’ as your boy was probably tweaked at what went down tonight and isn’t sleeping soundly, I’ll need to haul your ass to my truck to fuck you until I exhaust you. And this doesn’t work for me because it’s had time to cool off, and a running truck on a street like yours is a curiosity. I don’t need your neighbors checkin’ things out and seein’ me doin’ you. That shit could get back to Ethan.”

  “I’m suddenly finding myself very fatigued,” I announced, though it was a lie. I was suddenly finding myself not giving a shit if a running tru
ck in my ’hood was a curiosity.

  Merry chuckled.

  That, just that, in my bed, in the dark, so close, might be the most beautiful sound in the world.

  I drew in a deep breath and let it go.

  Merry stopped chuckling and encouraged, “That’s it, baby.”

  I drew in another deep breath and let it go.

  Merry shifted his arm from around me but only so he could shove a hand up my tank and stroke the skin of my back.

  At first, this caused a non-drowsy reaction since no man had ever touched me like that with the intention of relaxing me, and Merry’s touch felt a particular brand of good.

  But surprisingly quickly, it did what he’d intended, and melting into his heat, I fell fast asleep.

  * * * * *

  I was in the kitchen making dinner. Ethan was doing his homework in the living room.

  We were waiting.

  Waiting for someone we loved to come home.

  “Brown eyes.”

  I went to the doorway of the kitchen. I knew he was home. I watched my son look to the front door. I turned my eyes there.

  The door started to open. I felt my mouth curve into a smile even as I held my breath.

  “Babe.”

  My eyes opened. I blinked away my dream. Then I slid my gaze to the side and saw Merry, dressed all the way to his leather jacket, sitting on the bed beside me, his hand curled warm on the side of my neck.

  “Hey, sleepyhead,” he whispered.

  Sleepyhead.

  Merry.

  Cute.

  I was still half asleep, but I wasn’t out of it. I was there. Right there.

  Hell, I didn’t know if I’d ever been as right there as I was right then, staring at a gorgeous man who fucked good, liked my kid, my mom, me, looked after us, thought I was worth it, and called me pretty.

  This filling my head, I pushed up, adjusting so I could put my hand to his abs, feeling the soft, thick cotton of his shirt and the tight muscle underneath, and I blinked again as I moved in. Eyes to the cords of muscle around the strong column of his throat, one of my many favorite parts of all that was him, I aimed and landed a kiss right there.

  “Cherie,” he whispered, his hand sliding from my neck up into my hair.

  Cherie.

  No one had ever called me that.

  Not even my mom.

  I liked it so much, it made me feel dizzy.

  Or giddy.

  Or both.

  I didn’t know, I’d never felt that feeling.