Every Promise You Made

by J. E. Parker

  With a nod of my own, I turned to follow him as he headed for the door.

  One of the two idiots still standing behind the desk snickered, but I wasn't sure which one it was. So being the mature young woman that I am, I crossed my arms behind my back and flipped them both off.

  Fly, birdie, fly.

  “That was unnecessary, Ms. Mason,” Officer Williams fussed in an angry tone. “Absolutely and completely unnecessary.”

  I smiled at his outburst.

  Detective Moretti opened the door and stepped to the side so I could pass through. “Ladies first.” His voice was smoother than the finest whiskey. Just the sound of it made chill bumps erupt along my skin.

  Straightening my spine, I stepped past him and through the door.

  “Last door on the right.”

  I moved down the hall toward his office in silence. At that point, I don’t think I could have muttered a single syllable if my life had depended upon it.

  His voice, his scent, his body heat, all three were screwing with my head.

  Get a grip, Shelby, I chastised myself. You’re acting ridiculous.

  The size of his office shocked me. I’d expected it to be small, cramped. But it wasn’t. I mean it wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t tiny either. In the middle of the room sat a medium-sized oak desk that held a black laptop, a half-filled cup of coffee, various pens and two or three legal pads. Behind the desk, two grey filing cabinets stood tall against the wall, and to the left of those was a black cabinet that held a large printer on top of it. On the far right side of the room sat a small, black sofa.

  He walked by me, sat behind the desk, and pointed at one of the black, plastic chairs stationed across from him. “Have a seat, Ms. Mason.”

  Ms. Mason… I hated him calling me that! The name reminded me of my mother, and she was one of the last people I wanted to think about.

  “Shelby,” I snapped with more bite than necessary. Forcing a smile, I sat down. “Just call me Shelby. Ms. Mason makes me feel ancient, and at twenty-four I am far too young to feel old.”

  Anthony smiled, and I damn near fell out of my chair.

  Again, a smile that beautiful should be illegal.

  Placing his elbows on the edge of his desk, he leaned forward in his chair. “So, what can I help you with, Shelby?”

  “W-well,” I stuttered before snapping my mouth closed. Embarrassment ripped through me; my face began to burn. I didn’t need to peek in the mirror to know my cheeks were redder than a beefsteak tomato.

  Get your shit together, girl.

  After clearing my throat, I continued. “I work at the Battered Women’s Shelter over on Sycamore Street as a victim’s advocate.” He nodded in acknowledgment. “I realize you haven’t worked here long, but there has been a huge increase in crime over the last several months and, well, it’s gotten out of hand on the streets in front of and behind the shelter.”

  He pulled his gaze from mine and picked up a pen and a legal pad from the desk. “What kind of crime?”

  I watched with rapt attention as he scribbled unreadable words across the lined yellow paper. Completely mesmerized by the way his forearm flexed with each stroke of the pen, I didn’t answer him.

  A few seconds ticked by and he looked up. I didn’t see him look up though because my eyes were still glued to his fricken arm.

  “Shelby.” He spoke my name low and soft. “Sweetheart…”

  Still staring, I didn’t answer him for a second and third time.

  He cleared his throat, pulling my attention from his arm to his handsome face.

  “Shelby”—the smile in his voice was clear—“can you tell me what kind of crime you’ve seen around the shelter?”

  “Oh, uh…” Mortification set in as my voice trailed off. “Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”

  Jesus Christ, this is embarrassing!

  “Well, we’ve seen…” I tried to think, but at that point, I was having a hard time remembering my damn name. “Drugs,” I blurted out. “Mostly drugs, meth in particular.” Pressure built in my chest when I thought about the lowlife scumbags hanging out within spitting distance of the shelter’s gate. “But we’ve also had trouble with a pimp named D-Boy.” I gritted my back teeth together in frustration and clenched my hands into fists in my lap. “The little jackass just keeps coming around no matter how many times me or Evan run him off.”

  He lifted his chin in the air. “Who is Evan?”

  Curious if I have a boyfriend perhaps?

  I smiled at the thought.

  “He’s our head of security. Good guy. Scary looking on account of the pissed off expression that’s constantly plastered on his face but he’s one of the best men I’ve ever met.”

  I ran my palm across my forehead. My skin was damp with beads of sweat that had formed along my hairline. I was sure I looked like complete crap.

  “Have any of these people given you or any of the other shelter employees direct trouble? Or is it just their proximity to the building that you have a problem with?”

  I tried not to take personal offense at his question, but my skin still bristled.

  “Anything that happens around the shelter directly affects us.”

  Stay calm.

  “Listen, Detective Moretti,” I said calmly, evenly, “the shelter is a haven for women and children who are going through dark times. The last thing they need is to go outside and see some dealer selling crank or a pimp loitering by the gate just itching for a chance to recruit one of them.” I took another breath. “But besides that, yes, we’ve had a few problems. Having people break into vehicles is a major one, but our shelter manager, Madelyn Davis, had her brand-new Jeep stolen right out of the parking lot. It was never recovered.” I shifted in my seat and continued my spiel. “But none of those things are my biggest concern.” I paused for emphasis and glanced down at my chipped nails.

  I really need a manicure. Like STAT.

  “What terrifies me down to the marrow of my bones is the thought that one of those scumbags will find a way past the gate. We’ve already had that happen once, and Madelyn was—”

  I stopped speaking as an unwelcome memory bombarded me.

  “Never mind. I don’t want to talk about that. Just know that the last time a known criminal got inside the gate, something awful happened, and it almost cost us someone very important.” I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “And I’d appreciate it if y'all would take action before something like that happens again.”

  Anthony continued to scribble on the pad in front of him. “About what time of day does most of the activity occur?”

  I crossed my legs and sat up a little straighter. Anthony’s scorching gaze moved to my bare thighs where it lingered for a few seconds before bouncing back to my face.

  I smirked.

  Well would ya look at that? It seems I’m not the only one affected.

  “Usually at night. After seven. I mean, there’s always one dealer out there but more appear when the sun sets.” Gathering my hair in my hands, I draped the long waves over my right shoulder and crossed my arms over my belly. “But that little asshat, D-Boy, comes at various times. Sometimes its morning; sometimes it’s evening. He’s unpredictable.”

  Anthony dropped his pen and leaned back in his chair. His eyes never wavered from mine as he placed his hands behind his head, no doubt entwining his long fingers together. “Tell you what”—my belly warmed at the way he was watching me—“I’ll talk to patrol and have them make a few extra rounds over that way.” Dropping his arms, he laid his fisted hands on the desk and tapped his knuckles on the solid wood.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  “I’ll also talk to Narcotics and see what we can do to curtail the drug problem on that side of town.”

  With that, he smiled again.

  Lord have mercy… that smile!

  “That sound good to you?”

  Utterly fascinated by him, I bit my lower lip and nodded in return. If I'd tried to speak a flood of
gibberish would have spilled out. God knows I’d embarrassed myself enough for one day. And this was so unlike me it wasn’t funny. I never stuttered, and I sure as shit never embarrassed myself in front of a man.

  I am way out of my element here.

  Moments passed, and we both sat there, silently staring at each other.

  It was awkward, but I could have done it all day. For a brief second, I wondered who would be the first to break our mutual stare down, him or me.

  I got my answer seconds later.

  “Alright, Shelby, if you don’t need anything else, I won’t keep you.” My stomach sank in disappointment when he pulled his gaze from mine and stood up.

  Call me crazy, but I didn't want to leave. Not yet anyway.

  I stood up and ran my hands down my dress, smoothing out a few wrinkles.

  “Thanks for listening to what I have to say, and double thanks for offering to do something about it. The good Lord knows those two knuckleheads out front haven’t lifted a finger to help me the last twenty times I’ve come in here.”

  Anthony’s face darkened a smidgen. “They’re both worthless.” His words were fierce, scathing. “They’re part of the good ol’ boy system I was brought in to help get rid of.”

  Whoa! Wait a minute.

  “Are you telling me they may get fired?” A smile tilted my lips heavenward. “Because if so, I may just crack open a bottle of cheap red wine to celebrate.”

  Anthony blinked, but he didn’t grin.

  My face dropped in return.

  He looked upset.

  Like, may have to hide a body kind of upset.

  “I’ve got a special brand of hate for men who don’t protect the most vulnerable citizens. And those two”—he pointed towards his office door—“do nothing to help anybody, much less those who need them the most.”

  At his words, my heart softened a little, and before I could stop myself, I opened my mouth and asked a question that would either make me respect him or hate him, depending upon how he answered. “That special brand of hate you mentioned, does that include men who hurt women?”

  He placed his palms flat on the desk and leaned towards me. “Far as I’m concerned, any man that causes harm to a woman or child should have his nuts cut off with a dull knife and be publicly hung.”

  I mirrored his stance and placed my palms on the cool, wooden desk before leaning towards him. Six inches separated his perfectly sculpted face from mine. “Want to know something, Detective Moretti?” My voice was low and husky sounding.

  He nodded in reply and licked his lower lip.

  A chill raced down my spine.

  I tipped one side of my mouth up in a wonky smile and whispered, “You just became one of my favorite people.”

  Removing my hands from the desk, I turned around and headed for the door. Glancing over my shoulder one last time, I said, “Thanks for all your help.” Adding a little pep to my step, I tossed a flirty wink in his direction. “See you around, sugar.”

  I walked out the door without looking back.

  Click here to read more of Anthony & Shelby’s story.

  Find J.E. Online

  Find me on Facebook

  Join my FB Readers Group

  Check Out My Website

  Sign Up for my Newsletter

  Stalk My Instagram

  Follow me on Bookbub

  Follow me on Amazon

  Follow me on Twitter

  Follow me on Goodreads

  Epilogue

  Hope

  Seven Months Later

  The pain was unbearable.

  Exhausted and covered in sweat from head to toe, I felt like I was being torn apart from the inside out. Panting for breath, I clawed at Evan’s hands. My nails had cut into his flesh, causing him to bleed. Yet I didn’t feel a bit guilty.

  It’s his fault I’m in this situation.

  “Sugar pea,” Mama said, pushing one of my knees back to my chest. “It’s almost over. One or two more pushes and your sweet little baby will be here.”

  Unable to speak, I didn’t say anything in return even though I wanted to snap back, That’s what you said an hour ago!

  “Come on, little bit,” Evan said, hovering his face over mine. “You can do this, baby.”

  The glare I shot him was nothing less than scathing.

  I swear if I’d had the energy, I would’ve clawed his eyeballs out.

  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love the man more than anything in the world but at that point I was approaching hour number forty-three of labor and I was at the end of my rope.

  My body isn’t built for this.

  I’m too little.

  I’m going to end up getting cut open like Shelby did with Lucca.

  “Okay, Ms. Peterson, when I tell you to push I want you to tuck your chin to your chest and give me everything you’ve got,” the midwife said from the foot of the bed where she sat on a rolling stool. Her voice grated on my nerves and I was tempted to kick her in the face.

  But even as tired and agitated as I was, I would never do that.

  “Push, Ms. Peterson,” she said, raising her voice. “Give me everything you can!”

  Mama and Evan simultaneously pushed my knees back to my chest and I bared down, pushing as hard as I could.

  “Baby is crowning,” the midwife all but shouted. “Keep pushing, honey, you’ve got his!”

  The contraction ended; the pain lessened.

  A slew of Mama’s tears landed on my knee, causing me to look up. Our eyes met and my chest burned at what I saw in her gaze. Even though my baby hadn’t been born yet, Mama already loved him or her more than anything.

  That makes two of us.

  Since the moment I found out I was pregnant she—along with Evan’s mom, Maria—been running around like a chickens with their heads cut off, getting Evan and I any and everything they thought we needed; plus, everything they thought we desired.

  It was one of the sweetest things I’d ever seen.

  My itty bitty baby is going to be spoiled rotten.

  And that thought was doubly true if Mama ended up selling my childhood home and moving to Toluca like she’d been talking about for the past few months. Although I suspected that Keith was as big of a motivating factor as me and my baby were. Somehow, and by some miracle, those two had fallen in love with each other.

  Looks like Mama and Keith will be getting their happily ever after soon.

  “Come on, sugar pea. It’s time for us to meet the little miracle that your brother sent.”

  Her words renewed my strength and determination.

  Taking a deep breath, I breathed in through my nose and I pushed with every ounce of waning strength that I had. I felt a pop and then, “Head is out! One more push, Ms. Peterson.”

  Evan dug his fingers into my hand and squeezed my leg tight. “Come on, beautiful, push for me.”

  And on the next contraction, I did exactly as he asked.

  One hard push and one life-changing moment later, our son was born.

  “It’s a boy!” The midwife shouted.

  A high-pitched cry followed and I swear my nearly burst.

  I tried to lean up to get a look at my boy but I was too tired; too weak.

  “Hold on just one second, Ms. Peterson, and I’ll hand him right over,” the midwife assured me. “I just need to make sure his airways are clear first.”

  Evan’s grip on my leg lessened as he stared down at his newborn son with wide, tear-filled eyes. “I have a son,” he whispered to himself before looking back at me. Even sobbing, I could see the disbelief in his eyes. “Hope Peterson, the girl I’ve loved all my life, has given me a son.”

  His words made Mama sob harder.

  Right at that moment, Shelby peeked her head in the door. “Uh, hi,” she said, smiling. “I know y’all are sorta busy but I heard a baby cry and well… I need details.”

  Laughing through the river of tears pouring down her face, Mama looked over her shoulder and r
eplied, “It’s a boy. That’s all we know.”

  Shelby’s face lit up before she spun around and hollered, “It’s a boy!”

  Cheers sounded from down the hall and I could’ve sworn I heard Pop yell, “Thank Christ!”

  A second later, my baby… my beautiful baby boy was placed on my chest. The moment his skin touched mine, his crying ceased.

  Still crying, I ran my shaking finger up and down the side of his face as I inspected every finger, every toe, and even his little button nose.

  He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

  “Evan,” I cried, cupping my little boy’s head in my hand. “He’s here. He’s finally here.”

  Bending over the hospital bed rail, Evan placed his nose against our sons black hair and inhaled. Deeply. “Hey, buddy,” he whispered to his first-born son. “Me and your Mama have been waiting on you for a long time.”

  Evan’s eyes met mine. “Never knew I could feel like this.”

  Mama, who was still standing by the bed sobbing, placed her hand on my newborn son’s back and asked, “What’s his name, sugar pea? I need to know what to call my first grandbaby.”

  Sucking in a breath, I prepared myself for the wave of emotions that were about to come. Then, I clutched my little boy close, and said, “Ryker. His name is Ryker.”

  Mama and Evan’s cries were the only things I heard as I leaned my head back, closed my eyes, and whispered, “Thank you, Ry.” I took a shaky breath. “I love you forever, big brother.”

  Opening my eyes, I looked down at the little boy who, in the blink of an eye, became my entire world. A second later, I heard a familiar voice in the back of my head whisper back four little words.

  Those words? I love you too.