by S. E. Hall
What the fuck? How is she not getting this?
And why’s her sudden-onset cluelessness do damn cute?
“Peaches, babe; the answer is peaches.” I bust up in laughter again at her little scowl of genuine confusion.
“Peaches? Boo; boring, and terrible clues.”
“Were they though? And what’s on the outside of peaches? Say it with me; fuzz,” I say alone, head and shoulders shaking with humored disbelief. “Pluck the Fuzz means peach pickin’. Slow, long trip gettin’ to that. You may have just exhausted me too.”
“So, my choices are a Walking Who Cares tour, picking peaches, or hiking, with a side of cave-dwelling?”
I wink. “Yep.”
“Man,” she drawls her sarcasm, tapping one finger to her chin, “decisions, decisions. As equally awful as they all sound… I’m gonna go with hiking. Maybe a rabid bat will fly outta a cave and bite me, thus, cutting our trip short.”
“Atta girl; love the enthusiasm!” I stand up and set her to her feet. “Now go get ready; rabies train leaves in ten.”
In a startling turn of events — if Sutton knowing me better than I know myself came even close to startling me anymore — I was wrong. This place is beautiful, breathtaking, positively exhilarating; and today’s been wonderful.
There’s a nice breeze, gaining strength the higher you hike, and an almost chill, at least for this native Georgian, the lower into the valley and nearer the caves you go, perfect weather. And, there’s tons of wide open space for Castello to run free like a headless chicken, chasing all kinds of different insects through patches of wildflowers. Yeah, it’s amazing here. Another ideal day, thanks to Sutton.
“You ready to go home?” Sutton asks as I stand and gather up the remnants of our picnic lunch.
“No way. We’ve got time to hit that last trail,” I point, “before it gets dark, don’t we?”
He doesn’t answer right away, silently surveying me, top to bottom, as his slow grin grows bigger. “Yeah, Sugar, we’ve got time.”
“Good,” I chirp, grabbing Castello’s leash and calling him to me. “I know,” I laugh as I squat to clip it to his collar, despite his puppy sounds of protest. “But you gotta stay with us on the trails, rowdy pants. What would Mama do if you got hurt?”
“He just wants to meet that little boy,” Sutton laughs. “Dontcha, buddy?”
I stand up, wrapping the leash once around my wrist before cinching my grip, my gaze following the end of Sutton’s pointed finger to see what, or who, is so damn fascinating that my usually angelic mutt’s tugging against me in blatant rebellion. Sure enough, there’s a kid, six or seven if I had to guess, about a hundred feet away, waving one hand, patting his leg with the other, clearly antagonizing my dog. “Sutton, tell him to stop,” I grunt, reining in my poor, tortured captive.
“Castello, sit,” Sutton reprimands… the wrong little boy.
“Not him. Him.” I jerk my head toward the kid. “You can’t expect Castello not to react; he’s being taunted! Tell that kid to knock it off with the hand gestures and Castello will settle right down.”
“Yeah, okay,” he sco-, nope, he stops mid-scoff, eyes flaring wide. “Holy shit, you’re being serious, aren’t you?”
“Um, yes?” I have to ask, confused as to why he’s confused.
He snorts in laughter, head dipped while he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Babe, for real?” He looks at me, grinning, which helps him none, because I don’t much care for his tone. “It’s adorable how mama bear protective you are over Castello, but yeah… no. I’m not gonna tell a little kid, somebody else’s little kid , to stop, nicely, and from afar, admiring our dog. The dog we purposely brought in public; you know, where there’s other people, who may or may not wave their hand.
“Fine,” I surrender the leash, but keep up an air of annoyance; can’t let him know that I know, he’s right. On both counts — suggesting he verbally accost a probably very sweet little boy for waving at a puppy, and that I do, indeed, tend to slip into some loco headspace, insanely protective and offensive over my dog.
And the second Sutton turns away, I turn to the little boy, giving him both a smile… and a wave.
Before we’ve even hit the halfway mark I decide it’s by far my favorite trail of the day. Not because Sutton’s handling the very rowdy, curious about every bug, flower and/or rustle of leaf, Castello this time, or the fact that means he’s walking in front of me, his grey mesh gym shorts showing me each and every flex of each and every muscle in his firm ass.
Well, not only because of that.
This trail’s incline brings a slight burn of challenge to my calves and thighs, but only just, leaving room to enjoy the beauty around me. Lush trees line both sides of the path, sprung with rainbowesque foliage, home to birds and butterflies by the masses and somewhere, hidden in the wonderland, a creek melodically trickles.
“You okay? Need a break?” Sutton asks, noticing I’ve stopped.
“No, I’m good. I was just… looking.”
“I get it,” he laughs. “Pretty, huh?”
“Very.”
“Think I might’ve stopped a few times the first time I saw it too.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you’ve been here before.” I wince, hearing the low note of disappointment in my voice. I’m not surprised it’s there though; I change more and more every day I spend with him, something I’m coming to expect, and accept, and the sting of jealousy brought about by learning I’m not the only one to even share this with him is just another example.
“Hot Shot?”
“Yeah?” I force my eyes to his.
“Been here one other time, with JT. Just JT.” He winks.
“Okay?”
“It is now. Right?” Damn him and his smug tone. His coy grin. His… ugh, just, just damn him to hell.
“You gonna w-” I don’t get to finish; because speaking of hell… it all breaks loose.
In what seems like a blink, our cozy-cove of peace, nature and privacy is demolished, utter fucking chaos crashing down on us.
“Help! Help me!” The little boy from earlier appears out of nowhere, screaming as he runs toward us.
“Oh my God, what’s wrong?” I rush to him, clutching both his shoulders, probably too tightly. “Are you hurt? Where are your parents?” He’s shaking, out of breath, and tears are gushing down his precious, blotchy face. “Everything’s gonna be okay, just talk to me, sweetie.” Poor thing can’t even answer me right away, and as I wait, starting to shake myself, I somehow register Sutton’s ominous hisses. “What is it?” I ask him, not taking my eyes off the boy.
“Castello, enough!” he tells our dog, now tied to a tree, once, and the barking immediately stops. “Hey, bud,” he speaks with a certain “man-code” coolness, squatting down beside the boy, “I’m Sutton, and this is Presley. What’s your name?”
For a split second, I consider suggesting that now might not be the best time for idle chit-chat and introduction… until Sutton shoots me a look that fills me in — now is exactly the time for such — refocusing this scared, frantic child’s attention long enough to let him calm down some.
And it works. “A, Austin,” he stutters, wiping a sleeve under his nose as he sucks in any snot he may have missed.
“Nice to meet you, Austin. That’s a real cool name. What are ya, ‘bout twelve years old?”
“No,” Austin giggles, “I’m seven and a half.”
Sutton lets out a slow whistle. “You gotta be kiddin’ me; only seven and a half? Man, I thought you were a lot older; and I can already tell you’re gonna be an awesome big brother.”
What’s he talking about? Big brother? He asked him his name, so he obviously doesn’t know the kid…
“So Austin, can you tell me what’s going on? Where’s your mom?” Sutton calmly prods forward.
“Or Dad?” I ask.
“Dad’s not with them,” Sutton tells me lowly, out of the side of his mouth. “Here with his mom, who’s gonna have a baby s
oon. Isn’t that right, Austin?” The boy bobs his head, breathing speeding up again, but Sutton stands, springing into action before full panic returns. “You came from there; your mom still up that way?”
I should probably be doing something, anything, other than just uselessly standing here, gawking, in awe of Sutton Ellis. I mean, damn. I’ve spent my whole life in a state of hyper-awareness of my surroundings, but somehow missed… um, basically every freaking thing around me today. While I was preoccupied with my dog and a wave, Sutton picked up on Austin’s damn biography. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s not that I was preoccupied. Could it be that I was just otherwise, on more important things; things I don’t usually make the time to appreciate? Because I can, do, when I’m with Sutton… a subconscious sense of safety allowing room for me to stop, take a deep breath, and see the simplistic beauty, humor, and enjoyment in my surroundings.
“Presley!” Sutton demands my attention, and gains it instantly. “Need ya to listen close, babe. We’re going into team mode; hear me?” My mind having once again wandered, I missed anything being said, but the steady determination in Sutton’s eyes tells me he’s got this… whatever this is… so I nod in absolution. “That’s my girl. Okay, I’ve got Austin, but I need you to keep up with the dog, and, run back down the trail until you get cell service, then call 9-1-1. Tell them there’s a pregnant woman in distress, possibly labor, and lead them to us when they get here.”
“Labor?” I gasp. “Why the hell was she hiking?”
“I’ll be sure to ask her,” Sutton sneers, serving me a return dose of judgement. “Now go!”
I spring into action, untying Castello from the tree, pulling out my phone and taking off down the hill.
“Can you call my dad?” Austin screams after me. I don’t stop though; no way he has his dad’s number memorized, so no sense wasting time… but Sutton’s got that figured out too… his yell coming next. “Sam Hammond, works at a bank in this town!”
It felt like it took two forevers for the ambulance to arrive, when in actuality, I’m now thinking their response time for way out here in the boonies was pretty damn impressive. But what I know, hear, before I see it, well, “impressive” isn’t even in the same dictionary — the loud, healthy cry of a newborn baby.
I hold back — and when I tell myself it’s to give the paramedics room, it’s plausible enough to believe it — and yet, the bigger truth still sneaks past to the forefront of my mind. Soul.
Sutton delivered a baby.
In the middle of nowhere, his only tools… what… tree bark and leaves? No way they taught him that in Boy Scouts.
I’m scared to look, but I have to see this with my own two eyes, so I step closer, finding a hole in the circle of pandemonium to get a peek.
My awed gasp rises above all the noise to echo in my ears, tears springing up to distort my vision… of the most beautiful, moving, miraculous vision I will ever see in my life. A mother, smiling down at the wailing newborn child, wrapped in Sutton’s shirt, who she holds in her arms. Sutton at her side, Austin in his lap, both grinning widely as they comfort mom and baby.
And medical personnel, interrupting the beautiful scene to get mother and child to the hospital.
“A, Austin,” his mom worries as she’s loaded on a board thing, that I suppose the paramedics are going to carry down the hill, since there’s no wheels on it.
“Brenda,” Sutton sweetly says to her, “if you trust me, I’d be happy to bring him to you in my truck; follow the ambulance to the hospital.”
“Where’s Sam? Where’s my husband?” she screams, panic obviously settling in now that she can think beyond contractions.
“We’ll find out, ma’am, but we’ve got to move now,” an EMT answers her. “On my count,” he instructs the coworkers with their hands on the board too, counting them off to hoist her in the air. “Boy can’t ride along, alone.”
“He’s not alone; I’m with him! His mother!”
I finally find my feet, and self, stepping up to help. “Brenda, I’m Presley Beckett, Sutton’s girlfriend. Woman to woman, I swear to you, Austin will be safe with us, and right behind you. And,” I pant, running beside the stretcher thing as she’s carried off, “we’ll find your husband. Everything’s gonna be fine, I promise.” She squeezes her eyes shut, pushing out a few tears, and nods. Once. Quick and defeated, but a yes.
Castello’s sacked out across my lap, exhausted from the most exciting day of either of our lives, as we wait in the truck in the hospital parking lot. Sutton took Austin in a little over an hour ago and I didn’t expect it to only take five minutes, but my nerves are starting to pick up now; an hour seems a bit too long to not mean trouble. And Sutton’s not answering my calls or texts, I’m assuming because he turned his phone off in the hospital. Always following the rules.
I send a text to Sky, just seeing what she’s up to, not giving a damn what she’s up to. Sure, there’s a few very plausible excuses for why I’m texting her; my nerves are on edge and I need a distraction, or I’m bored, but neither are wholly true. And the real reason, gaining strength with every image that flashes through my mind, dictates my next message.
Me: Can you come pick me up @ St. John’s hospital? I’m not hurt, just need a ride. ASAP. I’ll explain when you get here.
I stare at my screen, praying for dots to pop up, when the phone rings. “Hey,” I answer too breathily, too relieved.
“Why are you at the hospital?” Sky pierces my eardrums. “What happened? Say something!”
“Shut up for a second and I will! Tell me you’re on your way, though.”
“Like you have to ask, we’re already on the interstate. Now talk to me!”
I reel off the Cliffs Note’s version of the day, and then… spew out lies faster than I can talk myself out of them. “So, yeah, I don’t know how much longer he’s gonna be in there and it’s too hot for us to wait in this truck without the AC on, but his gas is getting low, so I’ll just leave him a note why I went with you.”
She buys it; every word.
Glad somebody does.
This is a terrible idea, worst one I’ve had yet in my entire life, but it’s the only one I have left. And honestly, I’m done worrying about pissing her off, and Presley’s done calling each and every shot. This stops now — the guilt, sadness, and shadows that chase her, end, die, today — no matter what it costs me.
I swore to myself that taking the avenue I’m about to was not an option, ever, and there’s absolutely no doubt in my mind that Presley will be livid, but it’s time. Long overdue in fact.
I promised her I wouldn’t ever give up on her again, and I meant it. I’m doing this for that very reason I refuse to give up on her… even if that means I have to give up on “us.”
“Come the fuck on in with your noisy ass. And ya best hope, whoever you are, that you’re on fire, dying, or about to hand me lots of money!”
Okay, so maybe I did knock, or pounded my fist, a little too loudly, but desperate times call for “I don’t give a shit” measures… which is why I not only ignore his barking, but shove the door open and barge into Sawyer Beckett’s office with my fury blowing in ten-feet ahead of me.
“Sutton? What the hell’s gotten into you, boy? Beatin’ on shit, stomping in here all puffed-up, like your dick hangs to the floor; you lost your damn mind?”
“Where is she?” No time or tolerance for chit-chat, I cut straight to the point in seethed insistence.
His eyes nearly pop outta their sockets, the slight annoyance they held changing into full outrage, then just as fast, narrow to suspicious slits. “Sit your big ass down, boy. And once you get that attitude of yours adjusted, you can tell me why it is you’re asking,” he warns, while punching away at his phone.
“I’ll stand, thanks. Only planning on staying long enough to find out where Presley is, which if I wasn’t already sure you’d know, I am now. Your whole face just settled; what’d you find out on that spy-phone of yours?”
“You know what, I think I’ll stand too.” He grins maniacally, rising and coming around his desk, stepping toe to toe with me. “I like you, Sutton; always have for some reason. Because of that, and the fact I was all balls and bravado at your age too, I’m gonna give you one last chance to fix your fuckin’ tone and explain to me why it is you need me to tell you where P is. And you might wanna rethink makin’ fun of my spy-phone,” he chuckles, “since it works pretty goddamn well; seeing as how, yes, I do know where she is, and again, you don’t.”
“Whatever, just tell me where she is.” He eliminates the scrap of space left between us, and weirdly enough, when his volume lowers, it raises the intensity in his voice. “You’re not deaf, are ya, Sutton?”
“Hear just fine.”
“You dumb?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“Suicidal?”
“Nope.”
“Then. Watch. The. Way. You. Speak. To. Me.”
“Then. Tell. Me. Where. She. Is,” I clip right back, making sure he knows I can growl too. “I always give her space when she needs it, when I know where that space is. But I’m not okay with actual vanishing. She hasn’t been home, she’s not bunked up with any of the Squad or at your house.”
“You stalkin’ my kid, Sutton?”
“I’m trying to! Pretty sure I’m supposed to know where the hell she is for it to be considered stalking though, so I’m more just running around, chasing air, with the intent to stalk.”
“Why?” He inches in closer, annihilating the very fine line between “intimidation tactic” and “just plain fucking awkward,” but I don’t so much as fucking flinch.
“Because I’m worried about her. I love her. She’s mine. Mine to take care of, worry over, protect, fix whatever hurts her. What would you do if this was Mrs. Beckett? I don’t,” I shove my hands through my hair, then explode. “What part do you not get?”
“The part where you lost track of her. And why. I’ve been laying low, letting y’all do your thing in peace, because my wife is happy as hell to see P finally have something that appears to be… something, and forbid me from interfering in any way. And since I’ve been doing what I’m told, of course, gonna need you to fill in the gap for me.”
