Dirty Talk

by Lauren Landish

  Hell, after last night, I need to see her every day and every night. I know I’ve replaced one fix, tobacco, with another, her. Somewhere deep within, I realize that should freak me out, and I know there’s some shrink who’d be worried too. But the idea of needing McKayla . . . it’s just natural and good. I think McKayla’s as addicted to me as I am to her, and it’s one of those addictions that makes people stronger, not weaker.

  I finish my stretching, doing a few jumping jacks to shake out the tension in my lower back and hips, deciding. I’ll let her settle home and maybe put on a little nightie, thinking she’s going to bed alone, before I go over. That woman makes sleepwear look better than fine fashion no matter what she’s wearing. I’m lost in the memory of her stomping around in nothing but a romper and boots for a moment when I see the blinds move.

  There’s a large shadow against the window, and it seems odd that McKayla would lean against the window like that, but I can see her outline clearly. I mean, who just leans against their damn blinds with their back pressing the slats against the window?

  Something’s wrong, and like a switch flipping in my head, I feel my training kick in. Fear is there, but it’s in a separate part of me, a place that isn’t going to get in the way of doing what needs to be done.

  Not again. I won’t lose someone again!

  I yell out to TJ, who’s wrapping up some paperwork in the office, “Call 911! And get Earl!”

  “Huh?”

  “Get 911 on the goddamn phone!” I yell, that long familiar ‘command voice’ coming from deep within my chest. “Get Earl!”

  I hear him vaguely behind me asking, “What’s wrong? Evan?” but I don’t have time. I see another shape up there, hazy against the sharp outline of McKayla, and more alarms start dinging in my head.

  I don’t even bother checking the front door. Instead, I bring my right boot up and piston it out below the lock, just like they taught us in the Army. The glass shatters before me, and I go through, my eyes scanning the dark salon, looking for hostiles. I don’t stop moving, though, thundering up the stairs and lowering my shoulder. There’s no room for another kick.

  What greets my eyes when I finish bursting through is like a stab in my very heart, Jaxson crouched over McKayla’s body on the floor.

  Everything falls into slow motion and the sound seems to drop to a muffled whisper as I fly across the room, tackling Jaxson. We roll, pulling him off of McKayla as I punch him, over and over.

  We’re chest to chest, and big punches go out the window to be replaced with elbows, forearms, and knees. He fights back, getting a good shot to my left cheek, popping the skin open as blood leaks down. It only fuels me more, and I head-butt him savagely, feeling his nose crunch.

  Jaxson crumples back and I sit up. I start to rain blows to his face, his head, his chest until he’s given up on fighting back now, just trying to get his arms up to defend against my fury. I can’t stop. My vision is just a red haze.

  I hear someone come up the stairs, but before I can do anything, I hear, “Police! Hands up!”

  I stop, raising my arms as I try to stand, their words piercing my anger and making me desperate to get help to McKayla.

  In moving, I trip slightly over Jaxson, and before I know it, I’m on the floor, where one of the cops decides to plant a knee in my shoulder blade. The cop is yelling instructions in a scream that tells me he has no idea what he’s doing. I’m not surprised. The local law is mostly tasked with running speed traps for unsuspecting tourists. They don’t have to deal with anything serious very often and he’s probably shocked.

  “Stop resisting! Stop resisting! Get your hands behind your back! Stop resisting!” he keeps repeating. I want to tell him that I’d love to get my hands behind my back if he’d fucking let me.

  Grunting between clenched teeth, I try to nod toward McKayla. She’s most important right now. “McKayla,” I grit as my left hand is made to touch my spine between my shoulder blades. “Help her.”

  I watch as another officer touches light fingers to her neck, and when he nods, I sag in relief. The officer moves on, helping Jaxson to his feet. Before I can tell them what’s going on, Jaxson says in a nasal, blood-choked voice, “My girlfriend and I were having a romantic evening and this asshole just bursts in. I did what I could to help her, but he’s an animal.”

  The cops turn toward me, still trying to figure out what to do. Still, he’s been taught to put on a tough-guy act, even if it’s tissue paper thin and I can see right through it. “It’s okay, Mr. Kennedy. We’ve got this handled. We’ll get you and your girlfriend some help. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  I twist my head, looking up as best I can from the floor to the officers. “That’s a damn lie. He’s not her boyfriend. I am. He did that to her!”

  The officer helping Jaxson steps closer to me, squatting down to be closer to my face. “Look at you, Mr. Town Rambo. Who do you think I’m gonna believe? The greasy scuzz or the upstanding city councilman?” He looks at the other officer, jerking with his thumb. “Get him out of here so the paramedics have room.”

  His partner yanks hard on my left arm. I don’t think he’s been trained properly, and I feel a tearing sensation and immediate pain. “Hey, watch it, man!”

  “Wh–whatever,” the freaked out cop stutters. “Downstairs.”

  I struggle, yelling because I want McKayla to get help. “McKayla . . . keep that bastard away from her!”

  Outside, the cop tries to lead me through the parking lot, acting like he’s controlling me with a forceful grip, but his hand is wimpy around my bicep. He makes a show out of tossing me against the cruiser for a half-assed pat down and then shoves me down to sit on the curb with what I think is supposed to be a mean scowl. I don’t care, I just want McKayla to get help, and I don’t even notice when people come outside from the apartments above the stores lining the street.

  In the chaotic flashing lights of the cruisers outside, I hear McKayla’s voice. She’s yelling my name. I have to get to her and I go to stand. The cop freaks out, pulling his gun and waving it around in a totally ridiculous panic. “What the hell are you doing? You’re under arrest!”

  Before I can even breathe, McKayla runs out of the building, eyes wide. “Stop!” she screams, scaring the cop. His gun goes off, and I can feel the whine in my ear where the round bounces off the pavement next to my head, everyone stopping as the cop realizes what nearly just happened. “He’s not the guy! He saved me!”

  “He’s under arrest, miss,” he says sternly.

  “No.” McKayla lets go of the cop’s arm but plants her body squarely between the cop and me. The steel in her voice moves me, and I turn over, watching her standing over me like a guardian angel, a warrior princess ready to take a bullet for me, her hands balled into tiny fists at her hips. “Listen to me. Your partner is going to bring Jaxson downstairs in about five seconds because he’s the one who did this!”

  Her voice carries over the assembling group, and the cop looks like he’d rather be doing anything than this right now. “What?”

  “You have the wrong man,” McKayla repeats. “Jaxson broke into my apartment. Evan saved me.”

  The cop still looks absolutely perplexed, but before he can say anything, his partner brings Jaxson out of the salon, handcuffed. The cop goes to help his partner, and McKayla turns around, kneeling to straddle me on the ground. We both ignore my cuffed hands as she covers me with kisses.

  The bumbling officer comes back, still looking unsure. “Ma’am? Ma’am, let go. You’re safe.”

  She rears up, and I see that fire in her eyes that I love so much as she starts gesturing wildly with her hands. “Why won’t you listen to me, asshole?”

  Before the cop can react to being called an asshole, I hear Earl’s voice. He hauled ass faster than I would’ve thought down the street.

  “Hey, Mr. Dwight. What seems to be happening here tonight?”

  The officer smiles at Earl, still trying to keep his image
as being in control of the situation. “Well, you know I can’t rightly say, Earl. Seems the lady got in some trouble and there’s some issue over who the perp is.”

  Earl’s voice goes into that mocking tone that I’ve only heard from him a few times. That tone that says boy, I ain’t calling you stupid, but your IQ and my boot size are about the same right now. “Well, I don’t know what all happened here, but I know who the good guy is. It’s Evan, whom you’ve got here in cuffs. Miss McKayla has had a little issue with a stalker, and we’ve been keeping an eye on it for days. I’m thinking we done caught our guy.”

  McKayla nods. “That’s what I’ve been trying to fucking tell him!”

  The crowd’s getting large enough that there’s another rumble of discontent. This isn’t the sort of town where heroes get handcuffed, beaten, and shot at. Officer Dwight releases my cuffs, telling me to sit tight, and presses the button on the walkie talkie on his shoulder, saying some coded instructions.

  “Careful,” I groan as McKayla grabs me under the left arm to help me to my feet. “I think it’s dislocated.”

  Earl scoffs at Officer Dwight. “You’d better hope, boy, that Evan ain’t hurt bad. Chief Redfern ain’t gonna like if I tell him one of his boys hurt a hero at the next Elk’s Lodge meeting.”

  Dwight’s face turns the color of cottage cheese as Earl’s threat sinks in, and Earl helps me up under my right arm. “Think I might make that visit you keep bugging me about,” I whisper as he steadies me.

  “I like that idea. Come on, you don’t need a meat wagon,” Earl decides. He looks over at McKayla, giving a respectful nod. “Miss McKayla, mind if I give you a ride to the hospital too?”

  “I’d like that,” McKayla says. “As long as I get to stay with Evan.”

  We head toward the sidewalk, passing by the cruiser where Jaxson is still struggling, yelling out desperately, “Do you know who I am? I’m on the city council, for God’s sake. Let me go.”

  “I’m starting a goddamn recall petition,” Earl yells back. We get to the sidewalk, where I see TJ’s already pulled up Earl’s truck. Guess I know how the old man got here so quickly. We climb in, and I wrap an arm around McKayla’s shoulders, bringing her in close to me and burying my face in her hair as I inhale her sweet scent.

  My voice choking, I whisper against her skin. “I thought I’d lost you. When I busted in there and saw you on the floor, I thought I’d lost you.”

  She shushes me as she lays her head on my shoulder. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m okay. And I’m not leaving you.”

  We rock back and forth for a second, just letting TJ drive. Finally, I speak what’s in my heart. “Princess, when you came running out the building, fire flashing and fury rolling off you in wild waves, I think that was the happiest moment of my life so far. You’re a fucking force of nature, you know that?”

  She chuckles and scratches my chest. “What about you? You saved me tonight, Evan. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that. You’re my hero.”

  I shake my head, swallowing my sudden tears. “I’m just some washed-up soldier. You know what I thought when I realized you were being attacked? I thought, not again. I won’t lose someone again. You see, all this time, I’ve blamed myself for that ambush. But I’m glad I got there tonight for you.”

  “You’re so much more to me than that,” McKayla says, lifting her eyes to meet mine. “I love you, Evan.”

  Those four simple words, words I never thought I would hear anyone say to me, pierce through the last of my defenses, and I feel a shroud drop from my heart. Perkins, all of you guys . . . goodbye. Rest in peace, but I have to live. I’ll never forget you, but I have to live too. I lean in and touch my nose to McKayla’s, preparing to kiss her. “I love you too, Princess.”

  The kiss is gentle, soft but full of passion, and in my mind, I see a future that I never anticipated before. Our moment is interrupted by a phone ringing, and McKayla looks down to her pocket.

  “Well, are you going to answer it?” TJ asks from up front. “I mean, it could be the cops.”

  “Nope, it’s Brad,” McKayla says with a soft laugh. “I’ll put him on speaker. Go, bitch.”

  “Excuse me?” Brad’s outraged voice comes from the phone. “I get woken up in the middle of my beauty sleep to find out you’ve been attacked. I haul ass down to the salon with Trey, both of us looking nowhere near fabulous, only to find you gone already, and the best you can say is go, bitch? I take it that means you’re okay?”

  I laugh, looking down at the phone. “She’s fine, Brad. We’re just on our way to the hospital. For me, that is. You sort of interrupted the I love you kiss.”

  There’s silence on the other end of the line, then Brad sighs. “You told her you love her?”

  “I told him I love him too,” McKayla says.

  There’s a mysterious sound that I guess is Brad before he speaks again. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. All the great, well-groomed, handsome men in the world, and you fall in love with him? Great.”

  “What can I say? I’ve got good taste,” McKayla says, her eyes glowing as she smiles at me. “And if you don’t like it, well, just remember I’m the one who cuts your hair.”

  There’s light grumbling on the line, then someone says something unintelligible. Brad argues with them for a second then sighs dramatically again. “Trey says I’m being a prissy protective bitch.”

  “You’re being her brother from another mother,” I tell him. “And I’m glad for that. You’re a good man, Brad.”

  There’s silence for a moment, then Brad comes back on, his voice raspy and thick. “Thank you, Evan. Trey is going to stay his perfect ass here and hold down the fort. I’m right behind you. Talk to you soon.”

  We wrap up a call, but not before McKayla demands that Brad spill the beans on Trey as soon as he gets to the hospital. Earl clears his throat as she hangs up. “You guys, we’ll be there soon. Miss McKayla, you seem fine, but we really do need to get you checked out.”

  I pull back, checking her over. “What’s wrong?”

  Earl looks back, smiling. “Nothing, Son. Just they’ll want pics to nail that bastard Jaxson to the wall. And Evan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re right. Come down to the Lodge. You’re not the only one who blames himself for surviving when his buddies died. Trust me there.”

  McKayla nods, hugging me. “But you did right this time. Well, except for one thing. You should have ridden down the door on your Harley. Now that woulda been badass.”

  “Next time,” I promise her.

  “And when will you let me ride that thing?”

  I give her a raised eyebrow, smirking. “Don’t push it. Love is one thing. Harleys are another.”

  “So next week then?” McKayla asks. I sigh, and she giggles. “Okay, two weeks.”

  TJ laughs from up front. “Ain’t love grand?”

  Chapter 27

  McKayla

  Brad and I stand back, watching from a vantage point behind the reception guests as the newly wed Mr. and Mrs. Van Ness get into their limo. We give a polite wave goodbye along with everyone else, and Brad puts his arm around my shoulder, pulling me tight. The tail lights disappear, and I lower my arm, sagging even as I smile. Finally.

  Brad smiles widely. “We did it! Triple B action in full effect.” We celebrate with our usual special handshake, complete with finger waggles and bootie smacks. We keep it small and tasteful, though, considering the guests are still meandering back inside to wrap up the reception.

  I sigh happily. “We did. Bridal prime time season one . . . successfully in the books.”

  Brad raises an eyebrow at me, replying sassily, “Successfully in the books? I’d say we’ve been more than successful. We’ve been ground-breaking, awesome, epic, and . . . and . . .”

  I giggle as he searches for more adjectives to describe the season we’ve had. “You’re right, we’ve been all that, plus a bag of chips.”

  The summer wedding season of
ficially ended with those fading tail lights, and after months of pampering bride after bride at the resort, Brad and I are exhausted, happy . . . and a lot better off financially than we were.

  We’ve got a large clientele of regular customers at the salon now, and between weekday clients and weekend brides, it’s been a booming success. We’ve even hired not just one, but two helpers . . . a girl who covers the walk-in cuts on the busy weekends, and a guy who runs the front desk reception and scheduling. Brad campaigned heartily for a cutie there, but ultimately, we hired the best person for the spot. Too bad for Brad that he’s super straight.

  The trial for Jaxson is over too, and while he didn’t get as much time as we’d hoped, I’m confident that after his years of incarceration, he’ll never be welcome in this town again. His trial was the biggest thing to hit this place since the resort opened, to the point that people were actually lining up outside the courthouse early in hopes of getting a front-row seat for the trial. Because of the lookie-loos and the subsequent gossip, everyone got to see just how psycho he really is. I had to go testify for several days, and he'd looked longingly at me the whole time. So beyond the time I had to attend, I'd avoided the whole thing as much as possible. I didn’t want to give Jaxson any more thought than I had to, didn't want to let him have power over me ever again.

  Right after his arrest, the police searched his house. He had pictures of me pinned up all over a wall in his bedroom, a diary with romantic poetry about me, and detailed reports of every interaction we had and my actions when he’d been watching me. It was seriously creepy, some scary shit, and I’ve spent more than a few nights curled up wondering about how I overlooked the signs. I don’t think I’m the only one either. A few people around town have given me creepy stories about Jaxson, stuff they overlooked at the time.