by Faye Byrd
She barks an abrupt, evil laugh. “Oh, please, you know. Did you really think I’d let Reed Ashby buy me off? I could smell scam all over that meeting.”
“Oh?” My brows rise, pretending to be surprised. “You’ve met with the elder Mr. Ashby?”
She snorts, stepping closer. “You know I did. Now what I really want to know is what are you willing to give up for me to leave and never come back?”
My stomach churns.
“How can you not care about your child?” I ask quietly, completely bewildered.
“How can you care about a child you didn’t even carry. Such a pitiful little brat, too. So sick. I’m glad I didn’t stick around for this shit sh―.”
Before she can spew another word, my hand flies out and connects with the side of her face. The sting burns, but the satisfaction is a welcome sensation. Her words make me sick. She makes me sick.
With an eerie chuckle, she snaps her eyes back to mine. “You’re a spitfire, aren’t ya?” she asks, cocking her head, studying me. “No wonder Trystan married you so fast. But, of course, he would. He always did care for that little brat more than anything.” A sneer curls her lip. “And God knows, I couldn’t love the healthy kid, I damn sure wouldn’t have loved the sick one … even if he does look like Trystan.”
I stare at her and wonder how she can be so cold, unloving. What could Trystan possibly have seen in her in the first place? Was it always the money she wanted? Was she happy before she got pregnant?
My arms encircle my waist in an attempt to hold the nausea at bay. “I don’t know what you expected to accomplish by coming here, but whatever it is, you can forget it.”
“Simple.” She leans closer, the stench of her perfume making me gag. “I want you to take those two little brats and leave. I want you to get my million dollars from Reed Ashby and deliver it to me. As long as you stay gone, so will I.” Her harsh laughter reverberates through the night air. “If you think you’re going to sit around and play house with my husband and kid you’ve lost your mind. I’ll make your life a living hell.”
I swallow back the rage from her comments aimed at my sons and focus on the finer aspects. “Do you think Trystan would buy that? That he’d let me leave him? If so, then you don’t know him at all.”
She pushes closer still, her frame towering over me as she presses me against the doorjamb. “You’d better find a way, Easton, because if not, I’ll just have to take my son back.”
“I’d like to see you try,” I state. My stare is intense, and my arms are wrapped tightly around my midsection as it rumbles in defiance to her words.
“You will,” she says with a nonchalant wave of her hand. “You’ll be served first thing in the morning.”
With those words, the gut-wrenching pain leaves my stomach and claws its way through my chest. I lean forward, fighting the revolt with everything I have. But I can’t hold it back. When I turn to the side, looking for something, anything, to retch into, she blocks my path.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Her hand pushes my shoulder, keeping me upright. “If you want me to go aw―”
She doesn’t get to finish. I erupt, spewing my dinner down the front of her dress. Her shrieks blend in with the blare of sirens as they fly in from every direction. Time seems to stand still as officers fill my yard, and she’s pulled away, kicking and screaming.
I lean against the doorjamb for support.
“Easy,” my dad says, waving a light between my eyes.
“Did we get her?” It’s my only thought as my vision swoons before me.
My father beams in the low lighting. “She’ll be arrested while we obtain the footage. Did she hurt you physically?”
His voice sounds far away, but I manage a shake of my head, which makes me dizzy. “No. She tried … it’s on tape …” My words trail off as my thoughts scatter.
As I scan the yard, I see her being pushed into the back of a police cruiser. My vision clouds as the door is closed behind her. Everything in my periphery goes dark, and as I focus on my dad’s face, the hole begins closing until it’s nothing but a pinpoint.
Complete blackness takes over.
11 Bump
Day 34
I’m running.
Trees, streets and cars whip past me as I stretch my legs, ignoring the burn in my thighs. I don’t know where I am or where I’m going, but I know it’s urgent I get there. Nothing looks familiar, so I pump my legs harder, faster, looking for any semblance of recognition.
My breaths are coming in short gasps, and my legs ache from the workout they’re receiving, but I still run, and I run with desperation. I need to be somewhere, and I don’t know why.
With the bright lights of the city center behind me, I start to recognize things; small things. A convenience store I’ve stopped at before, our dry cleaner, the local grocer. Things start coming together, and I know where I need to be.
Home.
Easton.
Something’s wrong, so very fucking wrong.
With burning lungs, I pick up the pace, even more desperate to arrive at my destination. One minute I’m on an empty street, the next I’m entering our neighborhood. Familiar homes are just a blur as I push past the pain, desperately needing to reach the facade of our own house. As I enter our street, the dark silence settles around me like fog—thick and eerie.
A shiver of foreboding runs through me.
My heart thunders when I finally see it. Sprinting through the yard, I slam into the front door, throwing it open and slumping to catch my breath. I prop my hands on my knees and, bent at the waist, I suck in huge gasps of air.
“Easton.” The words are barely a whisper, but I try. I fucking try to push them into the echo-y darkness that greets me.
I’m only offered dead silence in return, and I panic. With my breaths under control, I slowly start through the house, turning on lights as I go. The bright blare burns my eyes, but it doesn’t deter me. With each empty room I encounter, my alarm rises.
As I tear up the staircase, the first noise reaches my ears. My feet move faster, tripping and stumbling up the steps. “Easton,” I call again, this time sure, my voice bouncing through the hallway.
A noise reaches my ears. A thump. Light shines under the boys’ door, and my feet are propelled in its direction. I’m nowhere near prepared for the sight that greets me when I enter.
Easton is sitting on a small child’s chair, ropes tied around her, a gag in her mouth. As I run to her, I scan the room―empty.
Kneeling before her, I try to remove the gag, but she’s fighting, trying to get free, the panic evident in her eyes. “Shhh, baby, let me help you. Calm down,” I soothe.
As soon as the gag is pulled away, she starts screaming Blake’s name. “Baby,” I say, grabbing her and forcing her to focus on me, on my eyes. Her panic seeps into me, and I’m barely able to function. “You have to calm down and speak to me. I’m losing my fucking mind here.”
Her wild eyes flit around the room, and when the ropes fall away, she jumps up and runs, not another word uttered. “Easton,” I call, following as she races down the stairs.
She doesn’t even pause as she frantically races toward the front door. “Easton,” I scream, desperate now, my thighs pumping furiously as I jump several steps at a time.
“I can’t, Trystan,” she yells over her shoulder. “I have to find him!”
She runs across the yard, me only a few steps behind her. I stretch my arm and grab her shoulder, the forward motion sending us both tumbling to the ground. She starts fighting and screaming as we roll to a stop.
“No! Trystan, no! I have to go!” Her hands flail, and her head thrashes from side to side.
“Easton, please,” I beg, straddling her and trying to contain her panic. “Stop and tell me.”
“Trystannnn,” she wails, and it’s a desperate plea, but for what I don’t know.
“Easton,” I say firmly. Her despair is crippling, but I need her to calm down, so I hold her
body in place, refusing to relent. “Tell me!”
“Trystan.”
What the fuck?
Who was that?
“Easton?” I question, the panic already subsiding.
“Trystan.” This time, a small shake accompanies my name.
My eyes snap open, and I jerk up, looking around desperately. I’m in Cam’s hospital room, where he’s sleeping peacefully, and Melissa is standing at arm's length, studying me cautiously.
“Melissa?” I ask, because what the fuck is she doing here this time of night.
What fucking time is it?
My eyes jump to the clock on the wall and back to my mother-in-law, images from the dream flitting through my mind.
Eleven thirty-seven.
Something’s wrong.
So very wrong.
“Trystan,” she says carefully, testing the waters. “Are you okay?”
Dread races up my spine and encases my heart, causing it to pitter-patter in my chest. I swallow thickly. “What’s wrong, Melissa. Why are you here?” I jump up and start pacing, waiting, fretting, knowing that my life is about to take a turn, and not a very good one from the look of things.
When she finally speaks, my heart leaps from my chest of its own accord. “Trystan, I need you to stay calm, okay?” Her hands are held out as if she is pleading with me, begging me not to lose my mind.
“What the fuck is wrong?” I ask again, and my jaw is clenched so tight the words are barely able to pass my lips.
“Please, hear me out before you react,” Melissa says and pauses to wait for my stiff nod. “Kennedy came by your house ton―”
“What!” Everything within me tenses, and if I could still feel my heart it would be pounding furiously, but as it is, I’ve gone numb.
“Everything is … well, it will be okay. Just please, listen,” she says, taking a step closer and tentatively touching my arm. “Easton was prepared. She called Harold, and the cameras recorded the whole encounter. Kennedy’s been arrested. As of now, it’s only for trespassing, but according to Harold, Easy implied she said plenty.”
I relax minutely, my mind processing this information. It’s over. Kennedy’s been arrested. I never wished for Easton to have to face my past, for any of them, and it breaks my heart to know she was put through what I can only imagine was a terrible ordeal, but it’s over.
“Okay,” I say on a gust of breath. “But what did you mean when you said it will be okay? Isn’t it already?”
She sighs and motions us to the two chairs. Once settled, she pats my leg. “It will be okay. I just need you to stay calm. Easton passed out when it was over, and Harold is bringing her to the ER.”
I take a deep breath and release it slowly. “Okay, passed out. That’s okay. She’ll be fine, right?” The mild panic is held at bay by Melissa’s calm exterior, but then a new thought enters, and I begin freaking the fuck out. “Where’s Blake? He was at home!”
“Calm down, Trystan,” she says, her voice soothing. “Detective Masters was there, and he stayed with Blake, who slept through it all by the way, until Weston arrived. Everything is going to be okay.” Her motherly touch does more to calm me than her words as she rubs my arm, up and down, offering assurance. “I’m here so that you can go and meet them over at the Metro University ER.”
“Yes, of course,” I say, standing, thankful for her gentle guidance. “The ER, yes, I need to get down there.” I’m fumbling around, turning circles. As my jumbled mind tries to grasp all I’ve learned.
She stands and grabs my forearms, forcing me to face her. “Trystan. Just go down there. Everything here is fine.” She pushes me toward the door. “Go.”
Feeling relieved to have some direction, I exit the room and take off at a light jog, headed for the elevator. My mind is turning, wondering what in the hell could’ve possibly happened to make Easton pass out. If Kennedy has been arrested, then she must’ve shot off her fucking mouth, but that’s what we wanted, expected even.
The longer it takes the elevator, the more my insecurity rises. If she hurt one hair on Easton’s head, I’ll let Dad loose. He can do whatever he wants to her, and I won’t care or feel guilty in the least.
The crisp, December air hits me as I exit MUP and start toward the ER at MUMC only a few hundred feet away. The coolness fills my lungs, bringing clarity to my chaotic mind. By the time I make it to the emergency department, I’ve calmed enough to be what Easton needs, instead of an angry fool who allows his rage to overcome all else.
As I enter, I scan the waiting room before stalking toward the help desk. “Easton Ashby. Is she here?” I ask, the panic from earlier seeping to the surface.
“One moment,” the attendant says as she clicks at the keys on her computer. When she’s done, she lifts her eyes back to mine. “I’m sorry, sir, but we haven’t admitted anyone by that name.”
I turn, unsure of my next step, only to sigh in relief as blue lights reflect through the glass. “Never mind. Thank you.” I rush toward the doors as Harold’s SUV pulls into a spot near the entrance. The night air hits me again, but the calming effect is lost as I race toward my wife. “Where is she?” I ask frantically as Harold steps from the vehicle.
“Hold on, son,” he says, grabbing my arm. “Calm down. She’s awake now, and she’ll need you calm. We’re just here to get her checked out.” His eyes bore into mine until I relax my stance. “She’s in the back.”
I take a deep breath to collect myself before pulling it open. Easton is reclined against the opposite door with her eyes closed. “Easton,” I say softly, attempting to sound calm and relaxed.
Ever so slowly, her eyes open and focus on me. “Trystan? Who’s with Cam?”
I slide into the car, scooting across the seat and reaching out to caress her cheek. “Melissa is with him, baby. Come on, let’s get you inside.” As I go to help her sit up, she resists and grabs her stomach. “Baby, are you okay? What is it?”
She shakes her head but otherwise stays very still. “Give me a minute.” After a short pause, where she takes several deep breaths, she sits up. “I’m fine, Trystan. It was just a little bit of nausea.”
“Nausea? Did you hit your head when you lost consciousness?” I ask, my concern spiking. I get out of the way so she can exit, and when she does, I place my arms firmly around her for support.
“No, I don’t think so. I was nauseous before that.”
I look to Harold with my brows furrowed. “She didn’t hit her head,” he assures. “I was standing with her and was able to catch her.” He motions for the ER doors. “Let’s get her inside and checked out, eh? I’m sure everything’s fine. Just a little overwhelmed.”
Having her in my arms and seeing for myself that she’s alert and able to stand on her own two feet allows the panic to fade. But as it does, the anxiety over what actually happened starts to fill the space it occupied.
As we enter the ER, Harold goes to the counter to speak with the nice woman who helped me before, and I lead Easton over to a chair. Once she’s seated, I’m able to fully take her in. She’s pale, paler than I’ve ever seen her, and she has a light bead of sweat on her forehead.
“Baby, are you sure you’re okay? What the fuck happened?” I ask as I take a seat beside her, fully remembering why I’m here―why she’s here.
She tilts her head back against the seat and closes her eyes. “I’ll tell you everything,” she says, her breaths soft and even. “Just not now. I don’t know if I can stomach recanting the details at the moment.”
Her words gut me. While I completely understand what she’s saying, the guilt creeps in, filling me up, threatening to pull me under. I did this. Whatever happened tonight is because of me.
“Hey, hey.” She grabs my face, angling it toward her. “Stop it. I’ve already told you, this is not your fault. Please, let it go.” Her bright eyes pierce me as her words break me in two, but she’s right.
I have to let it go.
For my family’s sake if not
hing else.
They’re everything to me, and if I truly mean those words, I can’t allow an outsider to push me into giving them less. They need all of me. She needs all of me right now.
I take a deep breath, and when I exhale, I push the guilt from my mind. With a small nod, I give in to her pleas. “Okay, baby.” I brush her cheek. “I promise, I’ll let it go. I won’t allow Kennedy’s actions to fester inside me. They’re hers and hers alone.”
“Exactly,” she says, resting her head again and closing her eyes. “We’ve come too far to let her affect us now.”
Harold smirks as he takes the vacant seat beside me. “They should get her back soon. Being an officer of the law has its perks.”
And yeah, I like perks.
His phone chimes and he holds up a finger as he stands, moving off to a quiet corner as he speaks lowly with the caller. I watch him anxiously, wondering if it has to do with Kennedy and what happened tonight. Wondering what the fuck did actually happen tonight, but also knowing that I have to be patient. Easton needs time and space to overcome the trauma.
Harold retakes his seat and shakes his fist as he does. “We got her,” he says, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “The team has reviewed the footage and additional charges are pending.”
I lean forward, propping my elbows on my knees as I take in the news. The stark white tile beneath my feet becomes the focus as I wrap my mind around his words. My emotions are at war. I’m fucking thrilled that she got what she deserved, yet I’m devastated that the responsibility fell on Easton to give it to her.
Soft fingers wrap in the short curls at the base of my skull, and I immediately relax. “You promised,” she says softly.
I sit up and close my arms around her, hoping like hell I’m not causing her any more discomfort, but I can’t help myself. I need to feel her, to reassure myself this is really over, to convince myself I’m not imagining it all.
“I love you, baby,” I whisper, pulling back to frame her face with my hands. “It’s over, and I’m so fucking proud of you.” A tear trickles down her cheek, and I wipe it away with my thumb before leaning forward and softly brushing my lips against hers.
