I feel Brick’s hard body relax as he cradles me, his breathing slowing down. I wonder if anyone’s ever read to him before. Then I realize it doesn’t matter. Our pasts don’t matter, because nothing’s going to change our future.
14
NINE HOURS LATER
BRICK
I open my eyes and look upon a sight that makes me want to cry. It’s Bea, curled up on the floor, head on my lap, that book face-down on her round belly. In that moment I feel complete, and I try not to breathe so I can savor this moment no matter what happens in the next few hours.
“Thank you,” I whisper to my sleeping beauty, gently brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. I really mean it. I feel so much gratitude that it’s almost overwhelming. I’m thankful, pure and simple. Thankful that we had this moment together, had this night together, had this experience together.
I hear more sounds above me, and I frown as I count the footsteps. It sure as hell sounds like more than just Marvin and Mug up there. But they’d locked the family down at the far end of the basement, hadn’t they? And Marvin was right about not having anyone up there where a visitor or mailman might notice. So what the fuck is happening?
I glance over at the door, my frown deepening as I realize the latch is in a different position. Then adrenaline rips through me when I realize the door is unlocked! Those dumb fucks must have forgotten to lock it again after trying to get in last night!
“Honey, wake up,” I whisper urgently, tapping her on the arm.
“Did you just call me honey?” she says dreamily, and I glance down at her and smile when I realize she’s been awake all this while, laying still against me, listening to me, taking it all in just like I’ve been doing.
A yearning ripples through me as I clench my jaw and think about how badly I want a future with Bea, how desperately I want to see the babies that I somehow know are already forming inside her womb, how deeply I want a life with her—a long life. Eternity is well and good, but I want my flesh-and-blood future too. I had already decided that no matter what, Bea wasn’t going to get hurt. But now I decide I’m not going to die today either. Nope. I’m not leaving her, come what may. She’s mine, and I’m not fucking leaving her.
I close my eyes and mutter a silent prayer. I’m not a religious man. I don’t even know who the hell I’m praying to. But I pray anyway, pray that whoever or whatever brought us together does whatever’s needed to keep us together. Then I slowly move from beneath my woman.
“Stay here,” I say softly, reaching for my bulletproof vest that’s lying a few feet away. “And put this on.”
Bea snaps to attention, sitting up straight and turning to me. “What are you doing, Brick?”
“Just do what I say, Bea,” I say, my voice issuing the command with such authority that she just blinks and stays quiet. I’m not going to argue. “Stay here, and don’t come upstairs. No matter what you hear, all right?”
“That’s ridiculous,” she blurts out, pushing the vest away. “Wherever you’re going, I’m coming with you.”
I close my eyes and tighten my jaw. “Bea, this is not the time to argue. I think I have a shot at ending this quickly. Just do what I say, and—”
“Ohmygod, the door’s unlocked!” she says, finally noticing the turned latch. She looks back at me, panic racing through her when she realizes that I’m going to sneak upstairs and catch these assholes by surprise. “Brick, no! You’ll be killed.”
“I won’t,” I say firmly, not sure where that confidence is coming from. Sneaking up on two armed, ex-military men in a sunny living room? Probably not gonna work out in my favor. Probably stupid as fuck. But my name is Brick, ain’t it? So what the hell.
“Fate has given me a shot,” I whisper, looking at the unlocked door like it’s beckoning to me. “I gotta take the shot, Bea. I gotta do it.”
I look back at her, searching her face for some sign that she understands . . . understands that this is who I am: A protector, a fighter, a man of action. She’s right that I’m not an idiot—after all, I played the mental game with these assholes when I knew I didn’t have a chance to get them physically. But now I’ve got a shot. I can’t pass up this shot. Who knows how the day will play out. I . . . I have to take the shot.
“This is who I am,” I whisper to her, touching her face as I feel a desperate need for her to understand. I can’t do this if she doesn’t understand. “Every crisis situation presents a chance that seems crazy but has to be taken. You have to trust me, Bea. Trust me to protect you.” I pause and swallow hard, glancing down at her belly and then back into her eyes. “Protect our future.”
She cocks her head, her face going flush as if she knows what I mean, no matter how fucking absurd it sounds. She closes her eyes and mutters something that sounds like “This is insane!” Then she opens her eyes and nods.
“All right,” she says, and in that moment I know this is my woman, the only woman who can suck up her own fears and put our future in my hands, trust her man to protect her, protect her family, protect their forever. “All right, Brick,” she says. “Go do what you need to do. But you wear the vest. You know that makes sense.”
I cup her face in my hands and kiss her, savoring her sweet taste and swallowing like it’s a magic potion. Then I nod and put on the vest, knowing that she’s right. I’m probably going to take a couple of bullets before I overpower those goons, and I’m no good to her bleeding all over the place.
Slowly I go to the door and pull the chair away. I listen and nod. Then I turn to her one last time. She’s smiling up at me, staring at me with pride, with admiration, with love.
“Make it count,” she whispers. “Make it count, Brick.”
15
BEA
I count the seconds until I hear the first sounds of a fight, and then the anxiety rips through me so hard I can’t even think.
“What the fu—” comes Marvin’s muffled voice, his sentence ending in a cracking noise that I swear is Brick’s massive fist colliding with his poor jawbone. A heavy thud above my head tells me Marvin is down for the count, and I can’t help but clench my fists in excitement.
Mug screams, and I close my eyes and pray I don’t hear a gunshot. I tell myself that even if Mug gets a shot off, he’ll probably miss. If he does hit Brick, chances are he’ll only score a shot on the bulletproof vest. By then it’ll be over. My man will win. I’m sure of it.
But the screams and shouts continue, and before I know it I’ve burst through the door and am racing up the stairs, almost choking with panic as I imagine Brick dead on the carpet. I’m ready to leap at Mug, rip him to pieces with my fucking fingernails if I have to. But then just before turning the corner to the living room I stop. I freeze. Not because I’m scared, but because I remember what Brick said to me just before going: About protecting me, protecting our family, protecting what he just put inside me even though there’s no way we can know for sure.
“Oh, God,” I whisper to myself as a sickening thought comes over me. I look over to my left and see the side door leading outside, to freedom, to escape! Suddenly I think I know what Brick was doing. “He was creating a diversion!” I mutter in disbelief. “He wanted me to escape! But he couldn’t tell me that, because I would never agree. So he made me believe he had a chance!” I’m almost beside myself with a mixture of rage and grief, and I’m finding it hard to breathe as I think that Brick would want me to save myself instead of acting like an idiot and rushing out there to fight a battle against armed military men!
I look towards the side door again, but I don’t think I can do it. I won’t do it. I’m not leaving my man. If he’s dead, then so be it. I’ll lay down beside him. Fuck it. Here goes.
I prepare myself to rush out from behind the wall, hopefully slam into Mug with such force that my weight knocks him off his feet. But then I hear voices . . . people talking, not screaming.
/> It’s the family, I realize. The kids, the dad, even the silent mom! Then I remember hearing footsteps above us earlier in the morning—footsteps of more than two people. Finally I take a breath and almost faint when I smell fresh coffee in the air, breakfast sausage in a pan, eggs and waffles and . . . and . . . and what the hell is going on?!
“ . . . we . . . we just couldn’t go through with it, man,” Mug is saying as I step out into plain view and almost fall down again when I see Brick standing there, tall like a building, broad like a bridge, in his blue uniform, fists clenched and bloodied.
Marvin is face-down on the carpet, his legs moving as he groans in pain. Mug is holding his nose in place, sputtering as he tries to speak through the blood. And the family is sitting around the breakfast table . . . the breakfast table which is set for eight people—all of us!
“It was weird,” Mug is saying as I slowly walk over to Brick and stand by his side. I see his face light up when he sees me, but he stays quiet and I follow his lead. “Yeah, weird,” Mug says again. “Maybe it was because we had so much time to think about what we were doing, you know? We never planned for hostages and all that shit. We never planned to hurt anyone. And then when we were up here alone, with two families locked up in the basement, it hit us that we’re monsters!”
I frown, my eyes going wide as I listen to Mug. For some reason I notice how he said “two families” like it was obvious, and I blink and look up at Brick and then down at my belly.
“We lost our own families while we were overseas,” Mug says, his gray eyes tearing up as he glances at the kids and then back at us. “Marvin’s wife took his kids and left. I was already going through a divorce, and the judge gave my ex sole custody while I was gone. We lost our shit. Did things overseas that got us court-martialed and discharged with no benefits. We were angry at everyone. Everyone but ourselves.” He smiles, his teeth stained with blood. “But last night, when it was just the two of us sitting in the dark, we got to talkin’, you know. Got to thinking about how the fuck we got to this point.” He pauses and shakes his head. “Then Marvin says maybe it’s fate or some shit. Meant-to-be that this cop and his woman shows up, then the family walks in. It makes us see ourselves, you know? See that it’s all our own choices. Our own fault. Shit, Marvin’s wife woulda left him anyway—guy was a drunk. Never hit her or nothin’, but never loved her either. And I was a shitty father, crappy husband. We wanted to blame the military, blame everyone else, blame the fucking world. But last night . . . I dunno, man. It was weird. Spiritual and shit. Like . . . like . . .”
Like fate, I think as I feel Brick’s arm slide around my waist. I nod at Mug, somehow forgiving him right there even though it wasn’t up to me to forgive him.
Mug finally gets a hold of himself and looks up at Brick. “I guess you gonna take us in now, huh?”
Brick takes a breath. He looks down at his bloodied fists, over at Marvin groaning on the floor. “Well, if I do, I gotta explain punching you guys out after you’d already stood down. That’s police brutality, you know. And there’s too much bad press about the police these days.”
Mug blinks like he doesn’t understand.
“I think he says you can go,” I say softly. “Just behave from now on, OK?”
It sounds hokey and downright ridiculous, but I feel a swell of real emotion that’s hard to ignore. I think back to that feeling that this was our story, mine and Brick’s story, and I wonder if the choice we made to be together no matter what was going on around us changed the course of events, made this day play out the way it did, made this about love, forgiveness, and rebirth instead of violence, death, and hatred.
“C’mon Marvin,” says Mug quickly, as if he’s worried Brick’s going to change his mind. “I’ll bring the truck around.”
“We’ll take my car,” says Brick, his voice steady and commanding. “But you two are in the backseat.”
Mug looks up in panic. “But I thought you said you were gonna let us go!”
“I am letting you go,” Brick says. “But I also gave you my word. So we’re going to stop at the bank. I said the money’s yours, and it’s still yours. Think of it as me making sure you don’t need to try stealing someone’s goddamn TV again.” He takes a breath, his expression turning serious, his voice dropping. “My father was military,” he says. “I’ve seen what war can do to a man. What it can do to his wife. His kids. His family. It’s not easy for anyone. Hopefully this will make it easier for you two. It is my father’s money, after all. Maybe it’s justice that it goes to two military brothers that got hit hard. Yeah, maybe this is justice, you know?” Then he stands up straight and salutes the bewildered Mug and the astonished Marvin. “Thank you for your service, Gentlemen. Now make sure you buckle up in the backseat. Safety first.”
16
FOUR HOURS LATER
BRICK
“OK, that was ridiculous,” Bea says as we watch Marv and Mug drive away in their red pickup truck—along with three grocery bags of my money. “It’s one thing to let them go. But to give them the money too? That’s just . . .”
“That’s justice,” I say as I pull away from the curb in my cruiser, my woman by my side.
“Um, how exactly is that justice for those guys? It’s more justice than they deserve. Yes, they made the choice to back down from hurting anyone, but they still made the choice to break into that house to begin with.”
“A choice that brought the two of us together,” I say, reaching across for her hand.
Bea is quiet for a moment, and I know she’s thinking the same thing I am: How weird has this day been?! It’s just too weird to not have been planned by some mischievous powers!
“Actually, we made the choice that brought us together,” Bea says.
“Which choice was that?”
“Well, your choice to offer me a ride, and my choice to accept it,” Bea says triumphantly like she’s won something.
I think back to that first meeting, which seems years ago but also like it was yesterday. Oh fuck wait—it was yesterday.
“Actually, I never offered you a ride,” I say slowly, furrowing my brow as I think carefully about what we said to each other. “Nope. Didn’t ask the question, and you didn’t answer. You just got into my car, and I just let you.”
Bea snorts, but then she goes quiet again like she knows I’m right. Our meeting wasn’t even a choice, in a way, was it? It was almost like we simply assumed we belonged together. Always. Forever.
I glance at her as I hold her hand and drive through town. I’m so sure we’re going to be together that I swear I want to stop the fucking car and ask her to marry me right now. But I hold my horses and remind myself that it might be too much too soon for this librarian. Just chill, Brick. Take it slow.
But I can’t take it slow. I won’t take it slow. This is my woman, and I’m locking her up, locking her down, claiming her in the body, the spirit, and on paper.
“Um, why are we stopping here?” she says as I pull around the corner and then stop right in front of City Hall. “Brick, why are we stopping here!”
“I’m not going to even ask the question,” I say, looking her right in the eyes with all the seriousness in me.
She gasps as I kick the door open and rush around to the other side. A moment later she’s in my arms, and I’m running up the goddamn steps of City Hall in my police uniform, my curvy librarian in my arms, her face bright red with embarrassment, her hands desperately pulling at the bottom of her skirt to keep anyone from seeing up it.
“I’m not even going to ask the question,” I say again after I head straight to the clerk and tell him to find us a witness and a judge and take care of business. “And you’re not going to answer it.”
17
BEA
But I answer the question anyway. I answer it the way I answered every question over this whirlwind past day, a day wh
ere we lived a lifetime’s worth, discovered each other, discovered ourselves in each other.
“Yes,” I say, swallowing hard as I hold my thighs firmly together, wondering what the stern-looking female judge might say if she knew I wasn’t wearing panties. “Yes, I do.”
Yes, I do.
Always yes.
Forever yes.
18
BRICK
“Yes,” she says, and my knees almost buckle as I hear myself say the same thing.
And then I’m carrying her back down the steps of City Hall. Carrying my wife down the stairs. Carrying my forever down the stairs.
I grin and kiss her as I remember how easy it is to get shit taken care of when you’re wearing a uniform. Yeah, some cops abuse that privilege, and yeah, maybe this is pushing it a bit. But it’s for love. All’s fair for love. I’m sure that’s in some book.
And someday, I think as I look into her eyes and see the love, maybe she’ll read it to me.
∞
EPILOGUE
ONE YEAR LATER
BEA
I sigh as I finish breastfeeding my two little ones and put them back in their adjoining rockers. The library lets me use a private office as my nursery, and so I bring the twins to work every day. Brick just got promoted to Lieutenant, and he doesn’t have much time to look after the kids during the day.
Not that Brick needs to work, of course. After we got married, he explained that his inheritance was a trust fund, which meant that it paid out interest to him every month. The money he’d given away was just all the payments that he hadn’t spent! Brick is . . . he’s rich! I guess it means we’re rich, but I don’t think about that. We spend modestly, and the rest is put away. You never know when you’ll need it.
I hum a soft lullaby to my twins, smiling as I see their father’s eyes on my daughter, see Brick’s thick black hair on my son. My forever is here. My story is over. This is my happy ending. So why do I have this strange feeling of melancholy?
Curvy for Him: The Librarian and the Cop Page 7
