Reaching Hearts (Hearts Series)

by Sabrina Lacey

  The whole length of him slips into me and he holds there. He moves his hips around, still set deeply inside me and I throw my head back. “Oh God,” I say on a gasp as the rocking of his hips pulls out my first contraction.

  “Hey. Look at me.”

  I do and he stares at me, jerking his whole body up. Gazing back at the man I’ve loved for so long throws me completely over the edge. My release is intense and rocks into me to, enjoying that he’s doing this to me. He groans and moves in and out again, staring at me as he pulses, releasing into me and bringing my orgasm higher. I realize suddenly that this feeling is new. It’s the feeling of not having a condom on. There is nothing between us. But it’s too late. There’s no turning back. My back arches, my breasts pressed into his as his mouth falls onto my shoulder, sucking on it as his body jerks. “Oh my God. Shit. I forgot to put a condom on. I haven’t done that in six years.”

  “It’s okay. I’m sure it’s fine.”

  He gasps, holding me, our eyes closed, spent and delirious. We don’t hear the door open. We don’t see the man standing by it, wearing a ski mask, high on adrenaline and drugs.

  “GIVE ME YOUR MONEY!!!”

  Our heads whip in the direction to see a gun pointed directly at us. Before I know it, Brendan releases me and has grabbed my jeans and halter with one hand, his other held out like he can block a bullet with his palm.

  “Hold on, man. Now just settle down. Annie, get dressed.”

  “FUCKIN’ GIVE ME YOUR MONEY OR I’LL BLOW YOUR FUCKIN’ BRAINS OUT! HERS TOO, LOVERBOY. NOW LET’S GO!”

  “Oh my God,” I whisper, pulling up my jeans as quickly as I can as Brendan yanks his on, too. The gun jerks a warning at us. Other than this warning, his hand is shockingly still. This isn’t the guy’s first robbery. My halter scrambles back over my head as fast as I can get it on. I forgot to lock the door after Brendan got here.

  “Give me all your money!” His voice is terrifying as louder he yells, “NOW!”

  Brendan, shirtless and barefoot, tries to appease him, saying as calmly and soothingly as he can, “Look. Here’s my wallet. Take it.”

  “Throw it on the ground!”

  I can’t keep my eyes off the gun. Brendan takes half a step and drops his leather wallet onto the floor with a dull thud. “There. Take it. Just leave us alone, okay?”

  The guy eyes him through the mask. He bends for the wallet, the gun trained on Brendan the entire time. But he doesn’t leave. My heart is slamming in my chest and I’m holding my breath. I see a ring on the guy’s finger. It looks like a silver skull of a bull.

  He growls, “Now the register!” and jerks the gun toward the bar.

  Brendan, on high alert, looks to me. “Annie.”

  “I have to open it,” I whisper. Fury flashes across Brendan’s face because we have no other choice. He knows it. I know it. He nods and I edge toward the bar.

  “FASTER!” the gunman yells, taking one terrifying step toward me.

  I jump and Brendan races to soothe him, “Okay. She’s just nervous. Give her a second. You’re gonna get the money.”

  The gunman backs closer to the door for an easy escape, his gun shifting to cover us both. I almost fall when I hit a divot in the rubber mat behind the bar. Gasping, I right myself and rush to open the register, body shaking. Twenties, ten, fives, ones – I grab them all.

  “Under the drawer!” The gunman growls at me.

  I throw him a curt nod to let him know I understand. Lifting the register, I hold up the few fifty and hundred dollar bills I have, for him to see. “This is it. There’s no more.”

  He jerks his gun toward him, urging me back. I begin my return, walking slowly, staring from the barrel of the gun to Brendan’s face. He’s watching the gun, too. His shirt is still off and all I can think is why is this happening? Tears well up in my eyes. My business is struggling already and now he’s taking all the money we made tonight plus the extra I had in the register, hoping we’d have a busy night. My mind is swimming and my heart hurts as the tears fall. I don’t see his finger tense on the trigger. I don’t see that he has no intention of letting us escape. I don’t see it. But Brendan does. He sees the intention and jumps in front of me, yelling “NO!”

  I go deaf from the explosion of the shot ringing out. Brendan crumbles to the ground. I scream. Before I even know what I’m doing, I throw the cash at the gunman’s face and run forward through it. He flinches and closes his eyes as anyone would. I knock his firing arm to the left. Another shot rings out. I grab his wrist with both hands where it’s weak twisting it backward toward him until he buckles, a natural human instinct to avoid breakage. I bend his fingers, too, just like my dad taught me, enough for me to grab the gun, jump back and point it at him. “Get out! Get the fuck out of my bar!”

  He’s shocked. It takes him a second to realize what’s happening.

  Just like he did, I yell louder, “NOW!” He backs out. My hand isn’t like his was. It’s shaking. But I’m just as dangerous because I’m clear on only one thing. I don’t have time. Brendan is unconscious. I have to call 911. There is no time. “FASTER!”

  He backs out the door and I shut it quick, fumbling with my keys to lock it. It starts to open again and I shoot through it. Hear a yell of pain as I hit my target through the wood, a hole left behind just like the one in my dad’s glove compartment in our family truck from the time his gun accidentally went off. I don’t open it to check if the guy’s dead. I don’t care. Locking the door fast, I race to Brendan thanking God my dad was a hunter and taught me how to use a gun. How to respect its power and know how to harness it when needed.

  I skid to the ground at Brendan’s side. There’s blood seeping out of his ribcage. I kneel to check if he’s breathing. Feel for a heartbeat. A faint pulsing pulls tears of relief and urgency from me. Wiping them away so I can see, I run to get my phone from behind the bar, dial 911 and rush back to him. Falling to the floor beside him, I pick up his head to hold it tenderly on my lap.

  “911, what’s your emergency?”

  “Someone’s been shot! We were robbed and the guy had a gun and…”

  She interrupts, “Ma’am, where are you now?” I tell her the address and the name of my bar, demanding she hurry. She assures me an ambulance is on its way and I drop the phone.

  Stroking his hair and kissing his forehead, I whisper, “Don’t die. Please don’t die.” I press down on the wound to stop the bleeding, not sure if this works for gun wounds, just knife wounds, or what. I’ve only seen it done in the movies, so I pray I’m doing it right. I feel so lost staring at his face. I kiss his lips, always holding back the blood. “Please don’t die, Brendan. God, please don’t die.” His eyelids twitch. “Brendan?!!”

  Through narrow slits, he tries to focus on my face. He groans from the pain. “What’s happening?”

  I keep pressing down on the wound. There’s blood all over my hand. “You jumped in front of the bullet. You saved my life.”

  Growing louder and louder, multiple sirens rush toward us. He closes his eyes again. “Annie,” he moans. “It hurts. What are you doing?” He tries to look at the wound, but his head falls back and his eyes close, weak from blood loss.

  “I’m saving yours.” I kiss him. “Can you hear the sirens? Help is coming. Stay with me. Please stay with me!”

  Banging on the door pulls my head to that direction. The door is locked. They’re banging on it, but I don’t want to leave him. What if my hand pressed here is what’s keeping him alive?

  A police officer appears in the window and yells through it, “Ma’am! Unlock the door!” I shake my head at him, eyes blurred by tears. He slams his baton into the glass while someone else, maybe two people, throw their bodies against the weight of the door trying to break it down. The window caves first. He used his gun to break it, aiming toward the bar. I squeeze my eyes shut at the explosion of bullet and glass, lunging my torso to cover Brendan and ducking my own head.

  Firemen, Police and E
.M.T.s pour in through what used to be my window, stepping over shards that reach up dangerously from the frame. Their feet crunch through the glass on the floor as they race to us. I’m lifted up, my arms reaching toward Brendan as I cry out, “No!!”

  “We’ve got him.”

  I weep, restrained by stronger arms than mine, as I watch the E.M.T.s check the wound, press on it. Another runs in with a stretcher and they raise him on it, rushing to the door. It’s still locked.

  Through my dazed mind, I see what they need and reach for the key attached to my belt. “Here!” This is the last time I’ll ever wear it like this. They struggle to detach it from me, but the blood has made it too slippery. The E.M.T.s are already speeding to the window instead. “Go through the window!” the police yells to them as if they don’t already know. But everyone’s in crisis mode and trying to help save Brendan’s life.

  I’m staring after him as the policeman lets go of me and speaks, but I can only see his mouth moving, can’t hear what he’s saying. I want to be with Brendan. I break into a run for the window. They can’t leave without me! “Wait! Wait, please! Wait!!”

  The ambulance doors are just about to shut me out. Brendan’s inside with oxygen being pumped into him through a mask.

  “Please!” I grab the door and fight her for it.

  “You can’t ride with us. I’m sorry,” the female E.M.T. says, struggling with me.

  Thinking quick, I blurt out, “I’m hurt, too!” She’s taken aback. Regret flashes across her face at her mistake. She holds the door open and I climb in. “Thank you!”

  “We’re taking her to the hospital. She’s hurt.” She hurriedly tells the chasing policeman who nods as she closes the door. Sitting down next to her, I take Brendan’s hand and watch his unconscious face. The siren switches on. Our bodies sway with speeding twists and turns through traffic, like a jerking, grotesque dance to music no one wants to listen to.

  The E.M.T.s - one male, one female, plus a male driver – are all in their early thirties with arms that belie the strength it takes to do a job like this every day. The female pokes and prods me while I stare at Brendan. All of them remain faceless. It feels like I’m not really here.

  “Where are you hurt?”

  With my eyes fixed on him, I mumble. “I’m not.” She frowns and shares a look with her partner. “You’d do the same thing.”

  She places her thumb and forefinger on his wrist to monitor his pulse, muttering, “I don’t think I would have been so quick-thinking.”

  “Is he going to be okay?” Even as I hear the question, I know they don’t know. They can’t possibly. But I want hope. I can’t believe I didn’t lock the door. I can’t believe the gunman pulled the trigger. I can’t believe Brendan saved my life. I can’t believe he’s dying. None of this seems real. It can’t be. The night turned from a dream to a nightmare.

  “We’re doing everything we can,” the male says to me.

  “You always say that.”

  “And we always do it.”

  My eyes flutter over to his face. Resolutely he looks back. They are doing everything they can.

  I look back to the mask covering Brendan’s mouth and nose, to his eyes shut gently like he’s sleeping, to the paleness of his skin. “Please stay with me, Brendan. Please stay.” Arms go around my shoulders. The female E.M.T. holds me. The human tenderness is crushing, breaking down the wall of shock. Everything starts to spin.

  She looks to the driver. “Can you go any faster, John?”

  He looks back and gives a brief nod, but we all know he’s going as fast as he can. Nausea overtakes me. My vision blurs and I see the male E.M.T.s mouth move. I don’t hear him as he says, “She’s down.”

  16

  Brendan

  So tired. But it’s a good tired. When: Three Years ago.

  ________

  A persistent stream of sunlight heats up my face, trying to wake me out of a dream. But I resist it. I’m having that reoccurring dream again where I’m walking through a field in Italy. No one is there, but I keep searching, compelled. It’s beautiful and peaceful and I don’t want to leave. The wind rises and something brushes my bottom lip. I touch it, thinking it was just the wind, and find a hand there. Soft fingers…

  “Hey you. You have a coffee maker?” A feminine arm slides around my waist in the real world. Reluctantly I awaken, feeling a naked body sliding up close against my back, spooning me. My shoulder gets kissed twice. “I was thinking of getting up and making some, but I don’t know my way around your kitchen.”

  I stare forward out my window, thinking I want to move soon. This place is getting to be too small. I need to rise up in the company fast, if I’m going to afford it. Plus I’m still thinking about the dream. I want to go back to sleep, but that’s not an option. “Yeah, I have one.” I roll around to face Rebecca, see her looking beautiful with no makeup or need for it. “Morning.”

  A slow sexy smile spreads across her lips. She accepts a kiss from me and murmurs into my hair, as she presses herself against me, “What a surprise to see you again.”

  I laugh. “Oh, you saw me alright.”

  “Yes, I did, didn’t I?”

  “That you did. Since this is your first time here, I’ll make the coffee. But after that, if we ever do this again, it’s all you.” I kiss her again, and climb out of bed, my cock bouncing with my walk as I rub my eyes and rake a hand through my hair.

  Rebecca watches me, but I don’t know it. I’m thinking of one thing and one thing only. Coffee. Make the coffee and separate from the dream world, so I can shake this feeling of emptiness that dream always leaves me with.

  Within a couple minutes, Rebecca joins me, wearing her shirt and panties and nothing else, her long dark hair still tousled. She takes a seat at the small dining room table, picks up the donkey shaped saltshaker and plays with it. “So, how’ve you been?”

  I pour beans into the grinder. “Since Mendocino? I’ve been good. Moved in here with my buddy Mark right after I met you. Got a job at the Ad agency I’m working at, but I’ve got my eye on another job higher up.”

  “Yeah?” She smiles, curious and interested. I know she’s gotta be almost forty, but she sure wears it well. “Where?”

  I hit the grind button and pause for the four seconds it takes to finish. “Location Times Three.” Pouring the grounds into the French Press, I add, “I’ve been taking some risks where I am now, coming up with new ideas they didn’t see coming. Word is spreading, that’s what I hear. I think now’s my shot. I’m aiming for Creative Director.”

  She leans back, puts the donkey back on the table. “That’s a big leap, isn’t it?”

  I glance at her. “Yeah. So?”

  She shrugs, looks away. “Well, you’re pretty young.”

  Staring at the water pouring from the faucet, I say again, “So?”

  “Don’t get upset.” She rises and comes up behind me to hold me and rest her head on my back. “I forget you’re so amazing you can do anything.”

  I chuckle and cover her hand with mine, put the teapot on the stove and turn it on for boiling. I should have done this first. But I’m not used to having someone here with me in the morning.

  We ran into each other at a fundraiser last night where Rebecca had flown in from Arizona to participate. I’d seen her first, gone up and surprised her. Wearing a very graceful suit that reminded me of Katherine Hepburn, she looked around the party holding a glass of champagne in her hand. It was obvious she didn’t know anyone. I sidled up behind her, leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Kiss behind any trees recently?” She’d started, then her body relaxed. She slowly turned and smiled at me.

  “Well, I never thought I’d see you again.” Her gaze sketched quickly down my suit and rose again. “Decided to get rid of the jeans and no shirt ensemble?”

  I laughed. “I’ll be wearing that later.”

  Her eyebrows went up and her eyes lit up with sensual fire. “You don’t say.”

 
; “You want to have proof? Unless you’re still married, that is.” I leaned against the wall, and waited for an answer.

  She paused. “Divorce went through a year ago. Finally free.” Her eyes clouded over. “Is that why you left without saying goodbye?”

  “Looks like you’re out of champagne. Let’s get you some more.”

  She took the hint and didn’t push it. We came back to my place well before the party ended and fucked until about four hours ago. I need more sleep, but I’ll manage.

  “I never got that champagne by the way,” she teases me, jumping up to sit on the counter as the water comes to a boil.

  I pull out two coffee cups with very large handles. “I gave you something else instead so stop complaining.”

  She laughs. “Yes sir. Sorry sir. My mistake, sir.”

  I smirk and pour water over the grounds, pressing the knob down to let them soak. “Oh, this is gonna be good coffee.”

  Her legs swing. “I love that we’re both naked. Where’s your roommate?”

  “With a woman.”

  “How do you know?”

  I throw her a look.

  “Oh. That predictable huh? So… what do you want to do today?”

  I freeze, tensing immediately. “Rebecca.”

  “Uh oh.” Her legs stop swinging.

  I rest my hand on the counter, put my weight on it. “I’m not looking for anything serious.”