Evolve Series Box Set

by S. E. Hall

  I take her hand as we walk out and open her door, laughing to myself. My poor bike is sitting under the carport collecting dust most days. I take this car, with its hot little passenger, everywhere more often than not.

  When I climb behind the wheel, feeling like the freakishly big man in the circus car, she’s already turned on the radio. It’s garbage, Top 40 brain-melting bullshit, so I grab my phone and plug it in.

  “Got a song, for you, from me,” I say with a wink.

  She tilts her head and gives me the side-eyed examining look of hers, eyes turning sad and a frown kidnapping her sweet mouth when she figures out what it is—”Savin’ Me” by Nickelback.

  “You don’t need me to save you, Sawyer,” she mumbles through that frown.

  “You’re right. I don’t. You already did. And I’d love nothing more than the chance to show you what I can be.”

  “You already did,” she retorts like the clever little vixen she is.

  “Oh, Em, you have no idea. There’s so much more I want to show you.”

  She doesn’t respond to that, turning to look out her window instead of at me. We listen to the rest of the album as we go through the drive-thru, the wait taking longer than usual for them to remove all MSG, which I highly suspect is a ruse. Can you really take all that shit out of it and still have Chinese food? I figure it must be kinda like taking the cow outta the milk.

  Back on our way, the sounds coming from the passenger seat sound like a football team hitting a buffet. “You saving me any over there, woman?”

  “It’z jus wun egwoll,” she mumbles, hand under her mouth to catch any food she loses with her excuse.

  “Uh huh, are you sure it was the right one, with no MSG?’

  “Yez, I chebbed ddu wapper.”

  “Well then, by all means carry on, my lil’ piggy.”

  She holds up a finger that she needs one more second to chew, then swallows and gives me a huge smile. “Can we go get ice cream too, my treat?”

  She seems so happy tonight, a new air about her, and it’s turning me on like mad. “That sounds good, but I’m buying. Ah ah—” I hold my hand up, “talk to the hand, woman.”

  Her head falls back with a sweet giggle and I shift slightly in my seat, my jeans suddenly a bit crowded.

  “Hand, can we make it Coldstone?”

  “Your wish, madam, is my command. Birthday cake cookie bash blah blah it is.”

  “Close.” She laughs. “You’ve been?”

  “Nah, Laney. She sometimes makes me take a bite of hers. So sweet it’s disgusting.”

  “What do you like?”

  “Moonlit strolls on the beach.” I look over at her and smirk. “Oh, you mean ice cream? Good ole chocolate.”

  “Plain,” she mocks a yawn.

  “Not plain at all, more…classic. When you know exactly what you like, what you want, you stick with it.”

  I keep my eyes straight ahead but catch her in my peripheral. She’s staring at my profile, short, shallow breaths pausing between her parted lips. “Right,” she whispers, “that makes sense.”

  “We’re here!” I turn to her with my announcement, a grin to stop traffic lighting up her face. You’d think I went to Jared.

  “Woo hoo!” She bursts out of the car. Skipping, ah how I’ve longed to see that move again, to the door and flinging it open. “Oh my God, can you smell that? This is what Heaven smells like, I know it.”

  Buy stock in Coldstone, people—I plan on making a habit of seeing her so tickled. She’s gone without so much like a trooper, not a trace of bitterness or self-pity, for so long…all it takes is some ice cream to make her day. I’m in awe of this girl.

  She orders something with the word cookie in it (called that) and I go with one scoop of chocolate in a cup. When she pulls out her money, I gently swat her hand and step right in front of her, much to the cashier’s amusement.

  “Can we eat in the car?” she asks in between licks of her cone as we head for the door.

  Oh. Hell. No. I am but a man, after all.

  “Hold on.” I grumble, walking back to the counter. I grab a spoon from the jar by the register then stomp back to Emmett, jabbing the spoon into her cone like a candle on a cake. “Eat it with that.”

  “Why? If we can’t eat in the car, that’s fine. Let’s just grab a table.”

  I huff, holding the door open. “Not worried about the car, woman. Did I say anything when you ate the Chinese food in the car? Come on.” As she passes by me I lean in to whisper, “Just keep that little pink tongue in that sweet mouth of yours, okay?”

  She turns back to look at me over her shoulder, her green eyes filled with shock…and something that doesn’t look anything like rejection.

  We’re not far from the house, so she’s still eating when we pull into her driveway.

  “Your house tonight, I assume?” I ask as I turn off the car.

  “Laney’s gonna think I kidnapped you. You’re never there anymore.”

  “Yeah,” I open my door, “but Dane’ll love me for it. He can’t get her to move in with him, so he’s squatting at hers.”

  I walk around and open the door for her, snagging the bags of Chinese food from her lap. I test their weight, making sure I don’t need to call and order a pizza, ‘cause the ice cream will not fill me up.

  She slaps my gut. “I didn’t eat it all, you big baby.”

  “WHAT’D YOU DO before you knew me?” she asks as I get the DVD ready.

  “What do you mean? Same as I do now: work, school, whatever.”

  “Like all the nights you’re with me. If you weren’t, what would you have been doing?”

  “Besides pining away?” I poke from head around the TV and wink. “I don’t know, maybe a race, or—”

  “Stop! Never mind, I don’t need a reminder about your checkered flag activities.” She holds up a hand and then pretends to gag. “Anything else? Sex takes what, five minutes? You had to have done other stuff—movies, dates, bowling?”

  I rise gradually, making my way to where she’s lounged on her bed. “I don’t date, Shorty. I can watch movies at home and sex should never, and I mean never, only take five minutes. It takes longer than that to get undressed.”

  “Uh, you know what I mean.”

  “Actually I don’t.” I roll onto my back beside her. “I guess I’m a boring guy.”

  “I don’t think you’re boring at all.” She grabs the remote beside my hip. “What movie did you put in?”

  “Enemy of the State.” I jump up and flip off the light then get back in bed. “You seen it?”

  “No, wh—”

  “How many rocks must one live under to not have seen Enemy of the State?” I cry, scandalized. “It’s the greatest movie ever.”

  “So you like it then?” Lil’ smartass.

  “SAWYER!”

  “Uh, too early.”

  “Sawyer, I have to pee. Can you lift your arm?”

  I’m going to wet the bed, like actually piss the bed. I’ve tried to hold it, not wanting to wake the sleeping giant, but my bladder has met its max…and he’s got his huge arms wrapped around me so tightly I can’t escape.

  He snuggles his face further into my hair. “Go back to sleep, Shorty.”

  “Sawyer,” I use my only line of defense and pull hard on his arm hair, “I’m gonna burst. You have to let me up,” I whine.

  Finally, he rouses, letting out a sleepy chuckle and lifting his arm. “Hurry back.”

  I run to the bathroom, pulling down my pants as I go; it’s a seriously close call. I sit there shaking my head. Who would have thought this is how I’d end up—my pregnant bladder waking me up from sweet slumber in the arms of Sawyer Beckett. Our whole dynamic together confuses me. He’s my best friend, we spend all our time together, we sleep in the same bed more often than not…but we’ll never be together together.

  “You fall in?” His voice through the door startles me; I’ve been sitting here deep in thought so long I’ve dr
ip dried completely.

  “No, I’m fine, be there in a sec.”

  Of course he’s standing right outside the door when I come out, faced lined with concern. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes,” I sigh, “I guess I zoned out. Come on,” I grab his hand, heading back to bed. “Sawyer, don’t you think it’s kinda weird, us always sleeping together?”

  “I wish we were sleeping together.” He scoots in, flush to my back, and pulls the covers up over us. “But falling asleep in the same bed? Nope, not weird,” he squeezes me, “comfy, though.”

  “Toaster.” I nudge his feet with mine, our code for him to part his feet so I can slip mine in between them for warmth. He’s like my own personal toaster oven for my always freezing cold feet.

  “Go to sleep, Mama, we have our first doctor appointment tomorrow,” he mumbles, kissing the back of my head.

  Our first appointment?

  MR. DOUBTFIRE

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  HER LEFT LEG HASN’T STOPPED bouncing since we sat down on these pocket-sized plastic chairs.

  “Here, let me.” I take the clipboard from her lap; she’s only filled in the top line—in fifteen minutes. “Are you nervous?”

  No answer, just more bouncing. Yep, she’s wigging out.

  Maybe if I get her talking, out of her own head? “What’s your date of birth, Em?”

  “Huh?” She turns abruptly to me, face pale, masked in fear. “Oh, um, October tenth, ninety-one.”

  That’s right, she mentioned it was coming up during the interview; I gotta get busy on birthday plans. “Okay, I know your address and phone number.” I scan the paperwork quickly. “Who’s your emergency contact?”

  “Uh…” She thinks, chewing the corner of her mouth, her brow furrowing in concentration. “You,” she whispers, “if that’s all right?”

  “That’s more than all right, Shorty.” I lean in and give her a quick kiss on that trembling rosebud mouth of hers. “Relax for me, okay? I’m right here. Everything’s fine, I promise.”

  She’s a tad calmer by the time we’ve finished all five thousand forms. I kept waiting for “when did you last fart and what did it smell like?” or “did your last booger come from your left or right nostril?” I mean, fuck me they ask a lot of questions.

  I deliver the clipboard back to the blonde behind the window who’s eye fucking me like I’m not sitting in a pregnancy clinic with a gorgeous brunette. Rolling my eyes, I set the board down on the ledge and make my way back to Emmett, picking up her hand and kissing it. “One time, not at band camp though, I tried to shave lines in my eyebrows. All the guys had ‘em, so I thought what the hell.” I glance at her from the corner of my eye—it’s working!—a smirk starting at the edge of her lip. “Anyway, the more I tried to even them out, the worse it got, till finally I spent three months of seventh grade with no left eyebrow.”

  A small gasp precedes her laughter, then she quickly covers her mouth when she snorts. “Oh my God, how awful. So you walked around with one eyebrow?”

  “Yep, loud and proud. People learned real quick not to give me shit about it.”

  “Emmett Young?” We both turn as her name is called.

  She stands, wobbling a bit, so I quickly rise and place my hand on her back. Her sweet green eyes find mine and I give her a reassuring grin.

  “Let’s do this, Mama.”

  “Can he come back with me?” Emmett squeaks out to the nurse waiting for us.

  “Of course he can! Is this Daddy?”

  “That’s me,” I boast automatically.

  Emmett’s whole body goes rigid, then trembles, under my hand.

  I find her ear with my mouth and whisper softly, “It’s none of their business, babe, just go with it.”

  She nods dazedly and I propel her forward with a gentle urging of my hand.

  I’ll be damned if they’re gonna look at her like some too young, no father reject, judging her with pity or condemnation in their glares. No one’s gonna look at my Emmett like that ever. And sadly, she can’t supply the real father’s medical history or anything anyway, so…no, not gonna think about it. She’d probably get real mad if I punched a fucking hole in the wall right now.

  “This way.” The nurse smiles, extending her arm. Right inside the door she stops us, indicating a scale. “Let’s get you weighed.”

  “Oh, um,” Emmett clamps down on her lip, looking at me. “Can you turn around and maybe plug your ears?”

  “Hell no.” I smirk at her then turn to Nurse Betty. “My guess is 123. ‘Bout three pounds in the last two weeks, all in her boobs.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “Pretty happy about the weight gain to boob ratio.”

  Emmett drops her face in her hands and shakes her head, but Nurse Betty thinks I’m hilarious, laughing out loud. “Well, let’s see how good you are. Please step up here, Emmett.”

  Oh, I get a nasty glare from her as she steps onto the scale. “You haven’t ever seen my boobs, and how would—”

  “121! Very nice!” the nurse exclaims, interrupting Emmett’s tongue lashing.

  I wink at the struck silent Emmett, offering her my hand. “What? So I pay attention? Come on, dear, right this way.”

  The nurse leads us to a room, quietly chuckling to herself the whole way as Emmett tries to break my hand.

  “Don’t embarrass me,” she hisses quietly.

  Once the door is closed and it’s just the two of us waiting for the doctor, I start whistling “Savin’ Me,” casually flipping through an exhilarating edition of Parents. Holy shit!

  Did you know the biggest baby ever born that survived weighed 19.2 pounds? Good Lord. We won’t be sharing that little tidbit with the already petrified Emmett.

  I can feel her angry stare boring a hole in the top of my head, but I keep on reading, holding back a laugh. Why is it that aggravating her makes my heart do a jig in my chest?

  “You’re lucky I can’t whistle, or I’d be busting out some choice songs for you right now,” she warns.

  Huh, microwaves do not pose a threat to the fetus, despite rumors. Fascinating.

  “I know you hear me,” she throws at me and I can tell she’s seething.

  Guess what she’s not doing right now? Freaking out, shaking her leg, or fidgeting with her hands. Worth it. Keep ‘em coming, Shorty. I can distract you with my infuriating appeal all day long.

  “You announce my tit growth out loud, but I’m being ignored? Unbelievable,” she sneers, shaking her head and trying desperately to kick me from her perch on the examining table.

  Yeah right, with her short legs? Not happening. Ah, but dynamite comes in short sticks, and she’s getting off the table to come over and attack me when I’m saved by the knock.

  “Knock, knock.” The doctor peeks around the door. “Emmett? I’m Dr. Greer.” The woman doctor (you bet your ass I got a woman) shakes Emmett’s hand, then mine. “And you are?”

  “Sawyer Beckett, the love of Emmett’s life.”

  “Oh yes, I’ve been told you’re quite the character.” She clears her throat. “And how are you doing, Emmett?”

  At first she mumbles her answers, never looking up from her lap, but after about ten minutes she starts to feel more comfortable and things start going smoother. I’m surprised to learn Emmett’s had a lot of abdominal tweaks and lower back pain. Neither of those sound good to me, but the doctor says it’s her body stretching, making room for bubba, and quite normal.

  “Okay, let’s get you in a gown and we’ll examine you. Let me step out and give you time to change.”

  “I’ll, uh, step out too. Good luck,” I kiss her cheek, “you’re doing great.”

  “Sawyer.” She grabs my shirt and pulls me back. “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.” Her eyes mist up, her voice shaking.

  “My pleasure.” This time I bend my head and kiss her lips. “Have them come get me when you want me back in here. Don’t be afraid to speak up.” />
  She nods, her smile holding more confidence now than it has all day.

  “MR. BECKETT?” I look up from my phone when my name is called. “Emmett’s ready for you to come back.”

  I follow her, an odd feeling in my chest. Knowing she really does want me there, that she sent for me, is severely fucking with my heart. When I walk in the room, Emmett’s lying back on the table and immediately holds out her hand for me to take. “March tenth,” she says with a smile. “We’re about to hear the heartbeat. Do you want to?”

  “Yeah, babe,” I kiss her forehead incessantly, “I’d love to.”

  “Okay, Emmett, this will be cold.” The lady on a stool warns as she squirts sploog all over her belly. “What the—”

  “Sawyer,” Emmett squeezes my hand, demanding my eyes on her, “no comments.”

  “I wasn’t gonna.”

  “I know you, you were so gonna.”

  My argument is stopped cold in my throat as a loud whooshing sound fills the room.

  “Nice and strong,” the nurse comments. “146 beats per minute. Perfect.”

  “PERFECT? FOR A FUCKING STROKE!” I scream.

  “Sir,” she chuckles with a broad smile.

  I’m not sure what the fuck is so funny.

  “That’s absolutely normal for a fetus. It’s in the ideal range.”

  “We’d like a second opinion. Can you go get Doctor Down Under, please?”

  “Dear God,” I hear Emmett mumble. She sits up, hands covering her face for a second. “I am so, so sorry. We’re having him tested for Tourette’s.”

  “I think it’s adorable he’s so protective over his baby. Trust me, the daddy stories we could tell,” she laughs, “they’d make your man here look calm.”

  “You ladies do realize I can hear you when you talk out loud, right?” I butt in. “I wasn’t kidding. I want to hear someone else tell me that’s a normal rate.”