Sawyer: Quintessence: The Sequel

by Serena Akeroyd

  The man at her side reached into his suit coat. It was only then she absentmindedly realized how handsome he was. A silver fox, his outfit spoke not only of wealth, but of exquisite taste. The label was definitely Armani, and underneath, it was perfectly tailored to his form. She wasn't interested in checking him out, but he seemed to shine. In the dull light of a bleak morning, with the pain intruding on everything else, he might as well have started glowing. The phone in hand, he connected the call and she realized he was ringing an ambulance.

  The next twenty minutes passed in a blur as they waited for it, and as each minute passed, the sense that… Her throat felt constricted from everything she was trying to repress. All the emotions and the fear. She needed to control it not just for Tin’s sake, but for herself. She was terrified, and she felt so alone. So so alone. Why hadn’t she gone with Sawyer and Devon like they’d planned?

  Why had she snuck out without disturbing them from their work?

  Tin was rambunctious and stubborn enough to be strong on occasion. With the icy floor? She’d been stupid, no, reckless to come out.

  Hating herself, fearing the worst as the pain deepened into a blackness that bordered on labor pains, she felt rigid, frozen with fright.

  As the crowd dispersed, the woman stayed as did the man. She spoke with Tin, soothing him as she informed them both she was called Martha. And the man told Sascha his name was Joseph.

  "That's a real shame about all that whisky," he murmured when the gathering had dispersed, and though she'd told him he didn't have to wait, he'd dismissed the offer without even commenting—as though her words were too ridiculous to even remark upon.

  She focused her splintered wits on the broken bottles beside her. "I don’t drink the stuff, but even I can mourn twenty-five year old liquor."

  He gasped as he turned over the shard with the label on. "MacAllan?"

  "Yes."

  "That's some gift. For your husband?"

  "No. His parents," she replied, her cheeks flushing as he tilted his head to the side. Something in his gaze telling her he was asking with an ulterior motive in mind.

  Considering she had a son and a baby belly, well, his interest was, in her opinion, a little unusual. Who hit on a pregnant mother?

  Frowning a little, she pleated the hem of her coat between her fingers. "I wonder how long the ambulance will take," she murmured, more to herself than to him as she tried to contain, and failed, a sudden wave of agony that shattered along her side.

  "You know what traffic is like at this time of the day."

  She shook her head. "No, not really. I don't know the city that well." She didn't think eleven AM was exactly a busy time.

  He shot her a look. "Well, it's close to twelve, so the offices will be emptying in time for lunch."

  "It's nearly twelve?" Where the hell had an hour gone?

  She winced, then realized she hadn't called Sawyer or Devon. What the hell was she thinking?

  "I didn't realize so much time had passed," she admitted. "You really should go and get some lunch. I'm sorry for taking up so much of your break."

  "I'm the boss," he informed her drily. "I can take as much of a break as I want."

  She flushed again at the interest sparkling in his eyes—why did he keep looking at her like that?

  Ducking her head, with the need for her men suddenly as ardent as the pain making her stomach throb, she reached for her purse only to see it wasn't there. She let out a hard sigh. "Just what I need."

  "What is it?" Martha asked.

  "I think one of the crowd took my purse."

  Joseph swore. "That's bang out of order," he growled, leaping up to his feet as he stared down Buchanan Street, which was, as predicted, slowly filling up. "I can't believe someone took advantage of your fall."

  She rubbed her forehead. "It's okay. I just..." She grimaced. "My phone."

  Panic filled her. How was she supposed to get in touch with them?

  The whole point of a phone was not having to remember everyone else’s number, and when her baby brain was in full effect, that became more of an issue than usual.

  It might have seemed crazy, but that was literally what broke her control.

  The pain, she could deal with. It wasn’t labor; that was more painful than even the car crash she’d been involved in years ago. It was this. Tin was here, scared, he needed his daddies. She needed his daddies, too. Jesus. She needed them more than Tin did at that moment, but she couldn’t have them because she didn’t know their damn numbers! Her bubbling fright she’d been managing to temper, but the prospect of not being able to contact her men?

  It was just too much.

  She began to cry, trying and failing to think up a solution, coming up short each time. The more panicked she felt, the harder it became to concentrate on those nine digits of Sawyer’s number. And the six digits of the house phone at Cinta’s? They swirled around her, confusing her as they made her terror surge.

  The man, Joseph, squatted at her side again. “Can you remember a phone number?”

  Sascha shook her head. “N-No.”

  He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “It’s okay. We’ll work it out.”

  She looked into his handsome face, saw the earnestness there, and didn’t know whether to be relieved or perturbed.

  He was so genuine.

  Was he really just a charitable man? A kind man who’d seen a pregnant woman fall, with her little boy sobbing at the sight of her on the ground?

  Or was she so suspicious of people now that she couldn’t trust any act of kindness that didn’t come from her men?

  She didn’t suspect Martha, so why did she feel more uneasy about Joseph’s presence than the other woman?

  “T-Thank you,” she released on a breath, and with that shaky breath, she heard it.

  In the distance.

  The wail of an ambulance.

  Tin heard it too. He’d been playing with something Martha had handed him—a fidget spinner that was attached to her key ring. His head popped up as he heard the noise and his pink cheeks, flushed from the cold, blanched.

  “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay,” she tried to soothe, hoping like hell it would be.

  She was cold and sore and in a bizarre pain that she really didn’t know how to describe. Not only that, but she was in another country, by herself, with no way of contacting her men.

  She had five of them, and not one of them could be here for her.

  It seemed so wrong to ask this stranger for his help, so wrong when he watched the paramedics help her off the ground and onto a stretcher.

  And it felt weirder still when he climbed into the ambulance, helped her wave Martha off, and sat talking to Tin the whole way to the hospital. But she was grateful.

  She wasn’t alone, and she wasn’t about to face a team of doctors without someone at her side. Joseph wasn’t one of her quintet, but at that moment, she just didn’t want to be alone.

  For that, she’d forever be grateful to the stranger.

  “What is it?”

  “Now, lad, there’s no need to be panicking.”

  Sawyer lifted his head at his mother’s quiet words.

  Quiet because Devon was at the other end of the room working.

  He recognized that volume. It was a ‘let’s not freak Devon out’ pitch, not a ‘let’s not worry Sawyer’ pitch.

  Scowling at his mother, he scrubbed his hand over his head as he demanded, “What is it?”

  She winced, her shock of red hair was as bright against her pale skin as it had been when he was a boy. The only difference being the many lines that now creased her face. For all that, she was still the bonny lass he remembered, but the worry on her features made his own nerves start to fray. “Andrei just called.”

  Unable to discern why that would have her as white as a sheet, he realized Andrei calling heralded something else. Something bad.

  Sawyer, only by the grace of God, didn’t jump up and slam his chair back, as, Ci
nta’s earlier prediction coming true, panic filled him. “What’s wrong?” he insisted, trying to control his tone even as he glanced over at Devon to make sure his brother from another mother was still focused on work.

  “Sascha called him because she—”

  “Sascha called Andrei?” He scowled at her. “Well, what’s wrong with that, ma?”

  She scowled back at him. “If you’d let me finish, son, I’d explain. She’s had a fall.” She whispered the word. “And someone stole her purse after she fell. She couldn’t get in touch with you because she couldn’t remember anyone’s numbers.” Jacinta grimaced, her cheeks flushing as bright as her hair. “It happened six hours ago. I was starting to get worried, but you and Devon were so busy…” She shrugged her shoulders. “I thought you knew she’d be out a long time. I thought she’d told you about it.”

  For a second, he couldn’t process what she’d said. Then, when he could, he jumped to his feet, agitation making it impossible for him to sit down.

  His woman had fallen six hours ago and they’d only just now found out?

  Worse still, she’d had to contact the house in Kensington rather than them because she didn’t know their numbers?

  As horrified as he was, blackness seemed to bleed over everything else. She’d fallen, and his mother was looking like she could burst into tears at any moment.

  His throat felt too clogged full of emotions as he turned to Devon. Not only was his best friend not going to take this well, he knew there was more.

  More.

  His mouth fucking trembled as he turned back to Cinta. “The baby?” he asked her quietly, their eyes locking.

  She shook her head. “They…” She swallowed, the noise audible in the quietness of the study. “No.”

  Agony whipped through him like a hurricane. It left devastation in its wake, but the shame and the rage and the fear all coalesced because, as bad as he was feeling, it was nothing to what was about to happen to Devon.

  And then, he felt angrier because what about his own grief? His own horror?

  For a second, just a split second, he hated that he always had to think of the other man first. But, this wasn’t just about him. Nor was it just about Devon.

  It was about Sascha.

  His throat choked again and he had to take a moment to clear it.

  For a second, he stared blankly around the office, trying to process what his mother had just told him. Trying to figure out how this morning, everything had been well, save for Sean’s abrupt appearance in his mother’s home… Now?

  Everything was turned on its head.

  “Does Sean know?”

  Jacinta shook her head. “He’s still sleeping.”

  Sawyer’s eyes widened. “That must be some hangover.”

  “Your father poured whisky down him like he was at one of those frat parties.” She pursed her lips in disapproval. “I’ll be surprised if the man will be able to see straight when he wakes up.”

  He didn’t even have it in him to question how the hell she knew what a frat party was. No, he couldn’t think straight, couldn’t breathe right, not when their woman was in a fucking hospital. With miles and miles between them. Scared. Alone. In pain. Grieving.

  He felt the soft, dry palm rake against his own, calluses that had been born from years of hard work, as they scraped against his fingers. Cinta squeezed. “Son? You need to go to her.”

  “Of course I do,” he said on a growl, and realized he’d just been standing there.

  Hovering. Dithering.

  Uncertain. Unsure.

  Fucking lost.

  He shook his head, reached up to rub his eyes, then whispered, “Go and wake Sean, please, ma?”

  She nodded. “What should I tell him?”

  “Nothing. Just… Leave it to me.”

  Another nod and she traipsed off, after giving his fingers one last squeeze.

  Sawyer turned and looked at the large office that was twice the size of the master bedroom in the home annexed to his parent’s place.

  It was as manic and chaotic as their office in London, with papers everywhere, as well as little origami shapes, from cranes to roses, perched on different books and shelves where Devon had discarded them after he’d created them.

  But for a second, he didn’t see the sea of paper and leather, wood and tweed. He didn’t see the large fireplace with its fire that had died down hours ago or the green Chesterfield armchairs before them.

  He just saw Devon.

  Then, he saw Sascha, laying in a hospital room, alone with Tin, and having to deal with…

  The breath was torn from his lungs as he folded over, his hands coming to his knees as he propped himself up.

  The storm swirled through him again, and this time, the tears that fell were honest and true. Nothing less than the wee bairn they’d had for too short a time deserved.

  As the rage of emotion passed, he knew he had to move. Sascha needed him. Them. He didn’t have time to deal with his own emotions, not when she’d been dealing with her grief without her partners at her side all day long. Feeling like an old man, he straightened up and when he did, he saw Devon was staring at him, wide-eyed.

  The panic in his eyes hit Sawyer in the gut. It was an emotion that Devon felt too often and too swiftly. The chaos of the world was just something that could hit him and decimate him.

  Reaching up to rub the back of his neck, he whispered, “We need to go out, Devon.”

  “Go out where?” His best friend’s voice was hollow.

  “To the hospital. Sascha’s had an accident.”

  Devon sat up so quickly his chair tipped back—the desk behind him saved it, but Devon didn’t care.

  Hell, Sawyer didn’t care either.

  This whole room could fucking burn and he wouldn’t give a shit.

  “Why?” Devon demanded.

  “S-She’s lost the baby, mate,” he told him, having to choke the words out.

  “Lost?” Devon shook his head. “She can’t lose the baby. He’s inside her.”

  For a second, Sawyer didn’t have a clue what Devon was talking about, then, when he realized Devon had taken him literally, he wanted to sob again.

  Shaking his head, and feeling the burden of guilt load down his shoulders, he whispered, “The bairn’s gone, man. He… She died.” They’d wanted to wait to know the sex, and didn’t even know what gender the child was.

  “B-But, no.” Devon’s head whipped from side to side. “No. That can’t be.”

  It could be. It was.

  Sawyer didn’t say that though, he just strode over to Devon, gripped his shoulder even as he grabbed a firm hold of Dev’s chin. Forcing the man to look him in the eye, he murmured, “I know. You’re scared. You’re panicking. I feel it too, Dev. I feel it too. But… Sascha needs us.” His tongue felt heavy, too thick to move as he tried to form the words that would stop Devon from breaking down. “We need to get to Sascha.”

  Devon’s blue eyes were so wide, he could see the whites around them.

  “Devon, please, mon. Please. Help me help her.” He closed his eyes, unable to look into the endless bottomless pits of confusion and loss that Devon was staring back at him with.

  He’d known too much loss. Too much death.

  Sawyer wanted to rage even as he knew there was no point. Life just threw this kind of shite at some people.

  Others had it easy. He’d had it easy. Poor, but loving parents had brought him into this world. They’d given him everything they could, had worked hard, harder than they should to get him the help he needed when his talents with math had revealed themselves.

  It was through that talent that his parents had helped forge, with extra schooling and tutors they couldn’t afford, that he’d met this man. And that was when all their lives had changed.

  For the better. Always that. But still, life opened up after Dev. Sawyer realized how lucky he’d had it in the face of what Devon had endured over the years. It was why Sawyer was Devon�
��s self-appointed protector, but now, he couldn’t be. He had to be Sascha’s.

  She needed him.

  Them.

  And he’d already let her down.

  They already had.

  He gripped Devon’s shoulder tighter and made sure, even when he tried to pull away, that Dev had no other alternative but to look him square in the eye. Sawyer, who knew his friend’s capabilities, wondered why Devon hadn’t realized Sascha had been gone for so long. But it wasn’t fair to shove that blame on his shoulders. Sawyer had lost himself in his work too, and he knew they’d both bear the guilt of that forever.

  “I know you want to break down. I know you do. But not now. I need you to think of her. I need you to focus on the woman who loves you. Who sneakily brews your coffee so you can have some without my telling you off. Who makes sure your drawers are all in perfect order so you know what to wear.” He sucked in a sharp breath. “Think of her, Dev. Please.”

  It seemed to take a lifetime for that to hit home, too long in the face of Sascha being alone in a hospital ward somewhere, but when Devon nodded, Sawyer felt his knees turn to mush.

  That had been both harder and easier than he’d ever imagined.

  “I-I need to see her.”

  “Of course,” Sawyer whispered, his voice cracking too much to even speak at a decent volume. “We’re going now.”

  Devon nodded again and jerking back from Sawyer, rushed off and away from him. With his back to the door, he heard Devon head out, and alone, he let himself crumble once more.

  These few moments were his and his alone. His brief time to mourn the child that would never be, and to allow himself to feel the misery of the moment.

  It would never be enough, but it was what he deserved after failing Sascha so horrifically.

  The hospital was overflowing with people.

  Wherever he turned, there were people, and at his side, Devon was barely holding it together and Sean looked like he was about to puke. Sawyer wasn’t sure if that was from his hangover, or the news they’d broken to him before they’d driven like bats out of hell to the hospital, where Sascha had told Andrei she was being treated.