Sawyer: Quintessence: The Sequel

by Serena Akeroyd

She tensed. “She was… I had to deliver her.” Hadn’t he known that?

  He went silent, and the rest of the room did too, telling her she had spoken loud enough for Devon and Sean to overhear her whispered words. Sawyer pressed his face to her shoulder, hiding from the world, and then for the second time in as many days, she felt the wet kiss as one of her men cried, and hid his tears from the rest of the world in her nape.

  When Jacinta walked through the door, Sascha started crying, and with his mother’s tears too, Sawyer felt like he was drowning.

  Sascha wasn’t the kind of woman who cried a lot. If she had PMS, she got angry. She’d rage and seemed to feel no fear at butting heads with any of the men in the house.

  She wasn’t weepy. Didn’t even cry at the sappy movies she watched sometimes. But, to see her shed tears now? It made his own heart feel decimated in the face of her grief.

  And his shame stemmed from the fact that he shared that grief, he even matched it, but, more than anything was his horror at having left her to shop by herself. At his having been too busy to notice she’d been gone for all those hours without even thinking about where she was.

  This wasn’t just anyone. It was Sascha.

  Sascha.

  The woman who was their fucking world.

  He had three responsibilities in his life. Three. And two of them had walked out that door in cold weather. He shouldn’t have even let them drive. Not when he knew the route from his mother and father’s place could be a nightmare in the weather they’d been having.

  She should never have gone out at all, and that she had was because he’d been working, because he and Devon had gotten caught up in the files Andrei had sent them about the state of the Veronian economy. And Sawyer loved working with the DIVA program so much, he’d fallen into his tests with zeal.

  Sascha had always been strong, but over these last few years, since having Tin and discovering the truth of her heritage and having inherited a fortune, she’d grown even stronger.

  She could be like a bull in a china shop.

  He knew her. Knew her so well that he could imagine her looking at the weather, peering at the roads, and thinking, “I’ve got this.” Never fearing they’d be slick with ice, or that out in the city, it could be equally as dangerous.

  Buchanan Street, where she’d been shopping, was on a damn hill. She knew that. She’d been there countless times before. Everyone knew it was a bit treacherous in the winter. When the ice was out, the ground was like it had been greased up!

  Still, she’d gone there because he hadn’t been paying attention.

  He watched his mother wrap her arms around Sascha, tears drenching her eyes and curling over her cheeks, as she rocked his woman as though she were a baby.

  Tin had clambered toward Hamish, and was settling in his lap now that Sawyer’s father had taken a heavy seat in one of the questionably sanitary armchairs that had acted as their bed throughout the night.

  They’d taken turns climbing in behind her, each of them needing to feel her close. When Andrei and Kurt had strode in, grief written all over their faces, fatigue in their eyes, and their desperate need to hold Sascha strumming through their bodies, they’d done so without waking her up by some miracle. With all her men around her, Sascha seemed to be brighter today, but when compared to the darkness that brimmed in her eyes, that brightness was just a drop in the ocean.

  He knew she was putting on a brave face for them, and he wanted to tell her it wasn’t necessary, that she should be herself when she was with them, but he knew to tell her that would be cruel.

  Because the brave face was for Tin too.

  Hell, for him more than any of them.

  Tin hadn’t pushed his mother over, but he was an ebullient little boy—all he knew was he’d been holding his mother’s hand, had tugged one way, and she’d come tumbling down.

  Was it any wonder he spent most of the time curled up close to Sascha? Except when he wanted to sleep, then he’d climb onto one of their laps and promptly pass out.

  “When’s the doctor due in?” Cinta asked. “I want to get you out of this place. I hate damn hospitals.”

  “Another half-hour. But she’ll probably have to stay in.” Sean’s voice was weighed down with his own particular misery.

  They were all feeling it.

  Cinta squeezed Sascha’s arm. “It will be all right, lass. Might not feel like it now, but it will.” His mother licked her lips and murmured, “I lost my first. Stillborn as well.” Her head bobbed as her throat worked. “The pain never leaves, lass, and the memory will always be wi’ ye, but ye move on, and that little mon o’er there will help wi’ that.”

  Sascha just nodded, but he could see she didn’t agree, and anyone with eyes could see that too.

  Who could blame her?

  Time might heal all wounds, but this particular wound wasn’t something they were ever likely to forget.

  She’d given birth.

  Why hadn’t he realized that?

  Why hadn’t he thought about it?

  He’d just thought she’d bleed. That’s what happened in the movies, didn’t it? They didn’t give birth, and they didn’t get to look at the baby.

  He closed his eyes at the thought. The nurses had already been in, offering the da’ the chance to see the bairn. The nursing staff had looked around, trying to guess which man was the father, and they’d been unable to say, ‘all of them.’

  The prospect of that though wasn’t something he felt he could bear. Sascha said she’d taken pictures. But, Sawyer wasn’t sure he could… He cut his thoughts off that track.

  Kurt would go with her.

  He was the one who was most in touch with his feelings, and he always seemed to understand Sascha. Always seemed to know what she needed. He’d go and do that for her benefit.

  Well, either him or Sean.

  It wasn’t fair to offload that onto either of his friends but Sawyer knew, point blank, he wouldn’t be able to look at that tiny person and not feel like dying himself.

  He sucked in a breath when a knock sounded at the door. More nurses swarmed in, and as they’d done for most of their time here, looked disapprovingly at the cluster of folk as they went about their business.

  He had no doubt that John Ashton had told the staff to treat them like VIPs, which meant seeing to Sascha’s needs even when the room contained a crowd.

  Devon’s charitable foundation had funded a wing at this particular hospital. Sawyer’s sister had died of ovarian cancer eight years ago, and Devon and Sheila had always been close. It had been his idea to construct the special wing dedicated to cancer treatment, and he’d maintained a close working relationship with the management.

  Well, Sawyer had.

  Devon never really got close to anyone.

  Save for the people in this room, that is.

  Everyone was under the impression that it was Devon behind the emails and letters, but it was Sawyer, even if his brother had fronted the large sum of money the wing had necessitated.

  Devon moved away from the bed where he’d been leaning and came to stand next to his side at the back wall. Kurt and Andrei had to move away too, but they stayed close, their hands hovering a second before they settled on Sascha’s knee and calf while the nurse took some more blood after doing a basic vitals check.

  As they watched, Devon murmured, “I don’t trust that guy.”

  Sawyer frowned, the nurse was a woman. “Which guy?”

  “Joseph Santorini,” he murmured, saying the name like it was poison-strewn.

  “Joseph?” He blinked, and it took a second to remember the name. “Sascha’s right, Devon. He was there for her when we weren’t.” He didn’t want to hammer that home, but he didn’t have a choice if Devon was going to fixate on the man who’d saved Sascha from more grief. “Let’s just be grateful he was here when we couldn’t be.”

  “Yes. He was. That’s my fault, I know. But I’m telling you. Something was off about that guy.”


  Sawyer cringed. The trouble was, Devon’s instincts were usually right on target where things like this were concerned.

  Raising a hand, he dragged it down his nose before he pinched the bridge. “What was it?” Devon had the irritating knack of being able to discern shit about other people that few else could. His brain, as weird and wonderful as it was, saw things most missed. Which meant Sawyer couldn’t dismiss his concerns as being out of hand or irrational.

  “I don’t know.”

  His impatience levels soaring, Sawyer closed his eyes. “Devon, is now really the best time?”

  The other man wriggled his shoulders. “You know I wouldn’t say anything about it if I didn’t feel something was wrong.”

  Because he did know that, Sawyer felt like screaming. “You have to narrow it down, Devon.”

  “He was lying.”

  The simple statement had Sawyer’s brow puckering. “What the hell do you mean?” What did a stranger have to lie about to another stranger?

  “What do you mean ‘what do I mean?’” Devon grumbled. “The clue’s in the title, isn’t it?”

  Sawyer rubbed his chin. “Yeah. But I want specifics. You can’t just tell me that he was lying and not tell me what he was lying about.”

  Devon considered that a second, then he nodded. “He wasn’t working in town. Out on a lunch break,” he clarified.

  “What was he doing then?”

  Devon huffed, but his already pale face, lined with the grief and the anger he was fighting to control, seemed to whiten even more. Unlike most of them who were struggling with their grief and how to handle Sascha, Devon was raging. Sawyer had never seen it before, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. “How the hell do I know?” he snapped. “I just know he was lying about it.”

  “So what if he was? What does it matter? We’ll never see the man again, Dev. Look, this isn’t the thing to be focused on. I know what you’re doing. You’re feeling guilty. One of us should have been with her and instead, we were working. But shifting the blame onto a guy who really helped us out when we couldn’t be there for…” His nostrils flared as the words choked him. “I mean, she has five men, Devon. Five. And not one of us were there for her. Fuck.”

  Devon’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything, just stared straight ahead, watching as the nurse finished up.

  “Look, shifting that blame is natural. But, we messed up. We did. We fucked up and by him being there for our woman, she’s here today. We need to own that, Devon. We need to make sure it never happens again. We need to make sure she’s so fucking safe from now on, that she gets sick of us asking how she’s doing, because I refuse for her to ever be in a situation like this again.”

  “What are you two whispering about?”

  Sascha’s voice jolted Sawyer from the intense conversation he was having with his best friend. He reared back, hard enough for his shoulders to connect with the wall with a dull thud.

  “Nothing.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You can’t, technically, have a conversation about nothing.”

  Devon’s statement had Sawyer heaving a sigh. “No? Well, we just did. So miracles truly can happen.”

  On the brink of arguing, Sawyer elbowed Devon before he could open his mouth. He knew him well enough to know that Dev wouldn’t bring up the topic in front of his mother; he wouldn’t want to upset her, even though Jacinta had been raised on Breardon estate and had moved to an equally as impoverished estate after she’d wed his father.

  If there was one thing his mother wasn’t, it was a weakling.

  She was tough as leather and, in her heyday, had the ability to make grown men cry.

  No, Jacinta certainly didn’t need coddling, but he never discouraged Devon because his mother thought it was sweet, and she, in return, babied Dev.

  If there’d been anyone in need of coddling when Sawyer had first come to know the army brat, it was Devon, and Jacinta had more love than a teenaged Sawyer had known how to handle, so splitting the load between Sheila and Dev had been a relief.

  Stepping over to the foot of the bed, he grabbed the rail and squeezed—better that than Devon’s throat. The man could be so fucking obtuse sometimes.

  Finding a reason to dislike Joseph, a man who’d helped their woman out when she’d been all alone in the world save for their little boy, was just shitty.

  But he knew Devon well enough to know that even though he’d just chided him, reprimanded him for thinking badly of Joseph, it wouldn’t stop there.

  Devon could be obsessive. Not just where his work was concerned, and at that particular moment, Sawyer just wasn’t capable of handling that.

  For once, he was going to let Devon battle his demons by himself, because Sawyer had more than a dozen of his own beating him into the dust without any help from his best friend’s.

  Was it good to be home?

  Sascha really wasn’t sure.

  Walking up the steps to the townhouse was a welcome respite from being tucked up in Cinta’s home; the older woman had mollycoddled her until Sascha had wanted to scream.

  But, equally, she’d wanted to hug Cinta too.

  Sascha was feeling delicate, and that never put her in a good frame of mind.

  She’d lost her baby and had spent a day in hospital recuperating from that ordeal. Another three at Cinta’s had been what she’d needed to adjust, but moving on?

  No, that wasn’t happening anytime soon.

  She wasn’t sure she’d ever overcome giving birth to a baby with no heartbeat. There’d been more pain management, higher doses of the drugs because they didn’t have to worry about the baby’s health, no monitors beeping to keep the nurses updated with the child’s stats. Worse than anything had been when she’d pushed the too-small form into the world and there’d been no cry.

  Realistically, she’d expected that. She’d been foolish to expect a yell of rage at being pushed out of the warmth and into the cold, hard world. Had known to brace herself for the silence. But though it had been so different to Tin’s birth, she’d still waited to hear it. Had hoped, beyond hope, that the doctors had been wrong.

  But they hadn’t been.

  Even if they were, she’d have been too young to resuscitate. And at twenty-two weeks, she’d never have survived.

  The last time Sascha had walked up these steps, she’d been about to become a mother of two. Now, all that had changed. She had Tin. And she was grateful for that. So fucking grateful. Even after what happened, she was so glad she’d been the one to fall, not him. He could have slipped and hit his head on the same steps that led to the store she’d been wanting to visit. He could have hurt himself, badly. And he was only two. So small. Too small to be dealing with any kind of trauma like that.

  She regretted what had happened, deeply, but she’d never regret that Tin hadn’t been the one who’d slipped.

  Still, with his hand in hers, it was a different Sascha and a completely different Valentin who entered the Kensington house that had been Sascha’s home for the last four years.

  She didn’t doubt that the men who traipsed in behind her felt different too.

  There was no way they couldn’t.

  When she’d left for Scotland, with Sawyer and Devon at her side, the three of them were cheerful and happy at the prospect of being welcomed into the loving home that was Jacinta’s and Hamish’s place. Out of them all, Sawyer’s was the only set of parents who accepted the six-some that they had going on.

  Vasily, Andrei’s grandfather, was aware of it, and didn’t have a problem with it, but he didn’t invite the six of them to his home in Moscow. Sascha didn’t blame him. With his reputation, which he still had to manage, it would have garnered attention. And such attention in Andrei’s family could trigger life or death situations.

  Kurt’s mother was a bitch, his father sounded like he had severe PTSD and could barely function. Not without a cocktail of drugs and a bottle
of Scotch, by the sounds of it.

  Sean’s… well, Deirdre and James were never mentioned that much. She knew they were snooty and that they looked down at the household the men had before Sascha had joined the fun and games. So, she didn’t figure they’d get a kick out of knowing her son shared a woman with four of his best friends.

  No, the only ones who truly welcomed them were Jacinta and Hamish, who were like Devon’s parents too. Devon had been welcomed into the family after his mother escaped her abusive husband with a razor blade. Devon had found her and had run from his father to Sawyer’s home. Ever since, he’d been with the Bennetts.

  Between walking out of the Kensington villa and stepping into it now, there was such a sharp contrast that she was reeling. How different the world could be in no time at all.

  Only six days had passed, but it felt like it should have been a lifetime. She already knew the sting of time passing, the world continuing as though unaffected, because she’d experienced tragedy far too often, but this? This was even worse than being the target of some assassin who’d been out to get her before she’d learned of her real heritage and inherited billions of pounds. It was worse than watching cancer suck the life out of her beloved mother. And it was a million times worse than knowing both her birth parents had been murdered thirty years ago.

  Losing this child?

  It was an ache that would never leave her.

  They’d taken the train back. Sascha hadn’t wanted the stress from a plane or car ride, and the train had seemed the kindest option even though it had taken such a long time to get back. It was dark already and way past Tin’s bedtime.

  “Up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire, young man,” Sean said, the minute they’d closed the front door.

  Though the little boy pouted, he squealed with joy as Sean swooped in, dragging him off his feet and flinging him into the air. As it always did, her heart caught in her chest until Tin was safely in his father’s arms. But this time, her heart didn’t just flutter back to life as was usually the case. It thudded with a bang, the terror almost knocking her off her feet as the fear he’d fall, that he’d hurt himself, flushed through her.