by Anne Jolin
He doesn’t excuse us from the conversation, but he does move his hand from the small of my back to hook around my waist before he abruptly moves us away.
Although I’m eager and nervous to know, I don’t ask what is going on. I simply fall into step between the two men as they hustle us towards the exit. We don’t stop to say goodbye to his mom, who is watching us with pinched brows from across the room. I give her a small, apologetic smile and she nods.
By the time we reach the private exit, Brax is shaking violently. His jaw is clenched, his teeth are grinding, and the vein in his forehead is ticking.
Frank wordlessly opens the door to the car, and I slide into the seat with Brax following suit. With one hand gripping my thigh, he turns to look at me, his eyes assessing every inch of my body like he’s inspecting it for wounds.
As if satisfied that I’m okay, he balls the hand not on my thigh into a fist. “Your condo was broken into.”
My stomach drops. “Peyton?”
“She was home,” he says slowly, his entire body working against the soothing tone of his voice. “I don’t know her condition.”
I open my mouth, but no words come out. Instead, silent tears stream down my face. After unbuckling my seatbelt, he pulls me onto his lap, my black tears staining the white of his tuxedo shirt. I feel his chest heaving underneath me, desperately trying to calm the fury building inside him. I force myself not to sob. I will not break. If I break, it will break him.
I won’t let that happen. That is something I can control.
An hour later, the town car pulls into my driveway and the scene on display before me wreaks havoc on what is left of my sanity. Sixty minutes is a long time to play out embellished worst-case scenarios in your head. I take in all the chaos surrounding my home. An ambulance is positioned closest to the door, flanked by at least three police cars, and in the middle of the flashing lights stand all the people I love. All the people but one violet-eyed beauty.
The wheels have barely stopped when I’m jumping from the car.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry. This is a police crime scene,” an officer says, holding out his hand to stop my assault on the place I live.
“She lives here,” Brax’s authoritative voices booms from over my shoulder.
The officer looks like he’s going to say something, but the menacing look of the man behind me must shut him up because he steps aside. “Apologies Miss.”
Ignoring his apology, I blast past him, launching myself into the first person I happen to come in contact with. Hannah. Her cheeks are stained from crying, much like mine. She doesn’t say anything. She just wraps as much of her pregnant body around mine as she can.
“I was so scared you had been home when the cops called,” she sobs into my shoulder. “I called Mom and Dad. They are on the next flight home from Ontario.” They went to visit my brother for the weekend.
There’s nothing I can say. Nothing except one word—“Peyton”—before my strength comes crashing down in the arms of my sister.
“Shhh,” I hear Lennon whisper beside me, stroking my hair. “She’s okay. Peyton’s fine.”
Snapping my head up, I search the driveway, my eyes landing on open doors of the ambulance, but I can’t see inside. Greyson, Hannah’s boyfriend and the paramedic, is walking towards us in step with Braxton.
When they approach us, Brax wraps his arms around my waist from behind while Greyson begins to inform our little group. “She has a broken arm, two cracked ribs, and a concussion from being knocked out. Aside from that, she’ll have some nasty bruising, but she’ll recover fully from the attack. We’ve given her some painkillers that have knocked her out, and we are going to take her to the hospital now. You guys can meet us there. That girl is tough as nails,” he praises, and the relief amongst us is palpable.
Aside from Hannah and Greyson, standing with us are Lennon and her fiancé Jami as well as Jayden and Jackson, Jami’s best friends and ex-roommates. Jay appears worse than I do, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet while constantly glancing over towards the ambulance every few seconds. The emotions on his face run from flaring rage to looking like he could collapse on the ground. I’ve never seen our easygoing friend look so awful. Moving over the group again, I furrow my brow a little when my eyes land on Jackson, Hannah’s ex-boyfriend, and he shrugs.
“I was home with Jay when Hannah called. Came in case I could help.”
“Thanks,” I smile weakly.
“Babe,” Brax says from behind me. “I’m sorry, but the cops need to show you what’s inside.”
It’s as if everyone has suddenly realized he’s there, and they turn to stare at them. Although it seems an ill-timed moment for introductions, I do them nonetheless. A minute later, after agreeing to meet at the hospital, we are climbing the stairs to my front door.
The detective on scene addresses us. “I’m going to walk you through what we think happened given the information from your roommate. What we need from you is to know if anything is missing. Are you able to do that, Miss Rhodes? I understand this situation is very overwhelming. Should you wish to wait—”
I cut the officer off. “No, I’d like to do it now.”
He nods, gesturing for us to follow him into the living room. There’s a broken lamp next to the couch, but other than that, the room looks untouched as I inspect it thoroughly.
“There’s nothing missing from this room,” I tell him.
The cop stops outside my bedroom door and looks nervously between Brax and me. I have no doubt that he knows who he is. Brax is a big deal in the realm of the law. Ironic. “Miss, I have to warn you now. I don’t believe this was a random break and enter. We have reason to believe this was a targeted attack…”
The boy in blue keeps talking, but I shove past him, and when I see the wall, the contents of my stomach empty into the trash can next to the door. I hear someone curse and the sound of wood cracking. Finally, rough hands pull my hair from my face and rub my back. When I lift my head, I have to fight the urge to vomit again.
On the entire wall over my headboard are printouts of the photo Wyatt took of Braxton and me earlier tonight. Drawn onto each photo in black sharpie is a different way I could die, and underneath them, in red spray paint, it reads:
Fuck with my life, I’ll fuck with yours.
Time for you to pay, bitch, with your fucking life.
I collapse to the floor then, coming to a minute later in Brax’s convulsing arms. When I am finally able to speak, I confirm to the cops that there is, indeed, nothing missing from the house. And then they tell me what happened.
“The assailant bypassed the alarm system and used a window in the spare bedroom to gain entry to the condo. When your roommate came home, she must have scared him. He attacked her in the living room as soon as she entered the premises. Sometime during their struggle, he managed to break her arm, but not before she hit the panic button on her car. From what she can recount, he slammed her into the floor after that, effectively knocking her out. Your neighbour across the street called the cops, but by the time we arrived, he was long gone.”
“Prints? Nearby traffic cameras? Do you have anything?” Brax demands.
“He wore gloves, no prints, and he was wearing a mask, so the friend—”
I cut him off. “Peyton. Her name is Peyton. Stop calling her the friend.”
He nods sympathetically. “My apologies, Miss. Peyton was unable to identify him. He attacked her in the dark and was wearing a mask. As for traffic cameras, we don’t know what he looks like or what he drives, so it renders them completely useless.”
I sigh.
“I need to ask you... Do you have any idea who could have done this?” The officer asks.
Brax answers for me, jumping up from our spot on the couch. “Yeah, she knows who fucking did it. Kyle Davis the third. If everyone in your fucking precinct wants to keep their jobs, you’ll arrest that piece of shit tonight. Do you hear me?” he roars.
&nb
sp; To say that the sound of his voice shook the windows might be an embellishment, but to say that he scared the shit out of every cop in my house isn’t.
They arrest Kyle twenty minutes later at a nightclub in the city. A nightclub over an hour way, with video surveillance placing him nowhere near Rock Falls at the time of the break-in.
That slimy motherfucker paid someone to violate my home and assault someone I love. Not even God will be able to save that sorry son of a bitch when I get my hands on him.
When, not if.
“HOW DID HE get the picture so fast?” I whisper, not really asking anyone in particular, mostly just thinking out loud.
My voice must have been loud enough, because Brax squeezes my hand. “Wyatt uploaded it to his Instagram. From there, it spread like wildfire through social media. It likely landed right in his lap. I doubt he even really had to look for it.”
I curse my own stupidity for allowing the picture to happen.
“I’ll drop you at the entrance and park the car,” Frank addresses us from the front of the town car.
He stayed with us for the two hours we spent at the condo. He assessed the house with precision and talked to almost every cop with access to the scene. All the while, he kept tabs on the two of us. He reined Braxton in—more than once—when he looked like he was going to assault the officer who’d informed us of Kyle’s arrest and subsequent alibi.
I wasn’t the only one clocking the timed waves of rage rolling off the man beside me. Brax was gunning for a fight. You’d have had to be blind not to have noticed.
“I’ll join you both inside in a few minutes, love,” Frank says softly, helping me out of the car.
I shake my head. “You really don’t—” I start to argue, but he interrupts me.
“I’ll see you inside in a few minutes,” he repeats.
Knowing what I’m supposed to do, I nod my head and give him a weak smile. “I’ll see you inside in a few minutes.” As the words leave my lips, I’m overwhelmed with love for the stern Irishman. Stepping forward, I wrap my arms around his large frame and squeeze. “Thank you for always being there for us”—I swallow against the lump in my throat—“for me.”
Hesitantly, the older man pats my messy hair. “Even when the clock strikes midnight on your Cinderella”—he pulls me away from him by the shoulders and taps the watch on his wrist before nodding at Brax—“I’ll still be able to find him, love, with or without his shoe.”
“Thank you, Frank,” Brax clips out shortly.
As I lace Brax’s fingers through my trembling ones, we pass through the front doors to the emergency room. It’s early morning now. Three o’clock, I think, but to be honest, I haven’t checked the time in what seems like forever.
The nurse sitting at the counter looks us over with wide eyes. I can only imagine what she sees. The white of Brax’s tux is stained with black mascara from my tears and his bow tie is hanging undone around his neck. What used to be gorgeous smoky eyes are now track marks down my cheek and my eyes are rimmed with red from crying.
Clutching my pumps and purse in my right hand, I grit my teeth to swallow down my emotion. “Peyton Callaghan.”
“Are you family?” the redheaded nurse, who is not much older than I am, asks. I don’t miss the way her eyes flit over to Brax before coming back to mine.
“I’m her roommate,” I snap.
My patience is absolutely fucking shot.
I swear the corner of her mouth turns up as she does a once-over of my date again. “I’m sorry. Family only. Visiting hours will commence at nine o’clock this morning,” she rattles off her rehearsed line.
Hearing Brax growl beside me, I press a hand to his stomach and step in front of him, effectively standing between him and the nurse.
Her eyes widen. I’m guessing he just went from looking elegantly disheveled to looking murderous. Glancing over to me, she smiles gratefully, like I just saved her from something. Wrong. So wrong.
“Listen”—I lean forward, flicking her name tag—“Courtney,” I spit. “My house was broken into by a lunatic, my friend was assaulted, and the cops are ransacking everything I own. So while I appreciate the job you do and the shit you put up with, let me make two things clear. One, you will let me in that goddamn room to see her, and two, if you sweep those ‘fuck me’ eyes over my boyfriend one more time, I will crawl over this desk and—”
“They’re with me,” a man barks from the doorway. Greyson.
He holds open the door, gesturing for us to follow him, and it takes everything I have not to stick my tongue out at the nurse whose head I just ripped off. She scowls at me and I glare at her. I’ve officially lost all my marbles.
After weaving his way through the large emergency wing of the hospital, Greyson stops in front of a door. “Everyone is already inside. We managed to get her a private room so we don’t bother the other patients.”
I nod, and then I’m stepping towards the door when Greyson grabs my elbow.
“Hands off,” Braxton growls from behind me.
Grinding his jaw, Greyson lets go. “Beth, I need you to know. She’s okay. She’s in pain, but the bruising makes it look worse, okay?”
“O-o-okay,” I stutter nervously.
Even though Greyson warned me, my knees still threaten to buckle when he opens the door. Hooking an arm around my waist, Brax uses his strength to keep me upright. My brain seizes momentarily and flashbacks of my night in the hospital after Kyle assault me. The memories weaken me for a moment before fury takes his place as I look at her.
Lying in the middle of the white hospital bed is Peyton. Her arm is set in a pink cast, one eye is nearly swollen shut by a bruise, and her lip is busted. Violet eyes are glassy from the pain medication they’ve given her, and draped across her legs is a heavily tattooed arm. Jay.
Everyone else is seated in various chairs around the room—some asleep, some awake.
“Come here,” she says quietly from across the room.
Once he’s made sure I’m able to stand by myself, Brax kisses the top of my head, pushing me forward. I try to slowly sit down on the bed so I don’t disturb Jay, who seems to be asleep in a chair with his upper body resting in Peyton’s lap.
Tears sting my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“Beth, look at me,” she says sternly yet softly. So Peyton. “This is not your fault.” She winces as she attempts to sit up and my eyes fly to her midsection, which is wrapped up tight.
“But you’re…”
“They’re only bones and bruises. They’ll heal with time,” she assures me, slipping her free hand into mine.
I lean forward, burying my face into her hair, and let the tears fall. “I’m so sorry,” I sob again.
“Shhh,” she coos, stroking my hair.
We lie like this for a while, the guilt crushing my chest and escaping through every tear that soaks into her hospital gown. When it seems as though I’ve emptied the reservoir in my tear ducts, I sit up.
“Beth?” she asks and I nod. “The man inside our house wasn’t there for me.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“You’re not safe there anymore,” she says. This time, her lip trembles, though I think it’s out of worry for me, not for herself.
“She can stay with us,” Lennon offers.
Turning my head, I see her in the corner, curled up on Jami’s lap.
“No,” Brax rumbles. “She’s moving in with me.”
Oh lord.
I ignore the looks and wide eyes as I grab Brax by the forearm, dragging him out into the hallway. We are not having this discussion in front of seven other people. I’ve barely shut the door behind us when I feel his breath on my ear.
“We can have this conversation in there or out here in this hallway. It doesn’t matter. The result will be the same.”
“Brax,” I reason, spinning around to face him. “That is ridiculous. I’m not moving in with you. I won’t.”
He’s rolled up the sleev
es of his tux shirt, some of the tattoos on his forearm now on display. It distracts me when he moves to hook me around the waist. “Babe.”
Again with that one word he uses like a statement sometimes.
After trailing his other hand up my back, he wraps it around the base of my neck. Together with both arms, he pulls me against him. “There are so many arguments I’ll let you win when we’re together. Where you want to go on vacation. What you want to eat for dinner. The color our child’s room should be and where they should go to school. What tie I should wear to work or the tile we should use in the kitchen. The times where the fire in you will win over me are endless, but right now”—he dips his head down—“tonight, in this moment, you will not win. My roof is yours. It was the second you walked into my life, so you can fight me on it, but you will lose.”
I don’t get a chance to argue with him because his lips come crashing down on mine. Snaking my hands up into his hair, I moan. He takes advantage of it by slipping his tongue into my mouth to explore. I’m nearly climbing his body when a throat clears behind me.
Detangling myself from Brax, I turn around to see Hannah with a shit-eating grin on her face. “I guess it’s settled, then. You’re staying with him.” She gestures towards the man behind me.
“No,” Brax growls, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. “She’s moving in with me.”
This is one of those moments with Brax where the rational part of me wants to bang my heart against the wall while the other half of me is already mentally packing my bags.
“Uh, well,” I stutter. “Yeah.”
Hannah bites down on her lip to keep from laughing while Brax kisses my cheek.
“I’ll give you ladies a minute,” he says before going back into Peyton’s room.
I watch him go, not ashamed to say I admire his eyes in those slacks.
“You’ve got it bad,” my sister chuckles from beside me, her full belly bouncing from her laughter.
Chewing my bottom lip nervously, I ask, “Does it make me weak?”
