Entice (25 page)

“Emmett? Babe?” he shouts.

“Back here!” Laney yells back for me.

“Em?” His head comes around the doorway. “Oh, Em,” he bolts across the room, sweeping me into his massive, strong arms, “are you all right?” His words are muffled, his face buried in my hair.

“Me?” I push on his chest, needing to look at him. “Forget me, are you okay?” My eyes work frantically over, up, and down him, assessing any damage, of which I see nothing more than a small red mark on his jaw. I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but minus the barely visible scuff and some dried blood on his left hand, he looks the same as he did before the nightmare started. “Sawyer,” I gulp, sobs coming up again, “I was so worried. I thought you’d be in jail, or hurt, or… Well, not really hurt, I knew you’d win, but definitely jail. I’m so sorry.”

One hand rubs my back, the other wrapped around the back of my neck. “I’m fine, babe, shh.”

“I’ll, uh,” Laney mumbles, “I’ll be downstairs if you guys need anything. Is Dane here yet?”

“No,” Sawyer answers her, his lips still touching my hair. “Thank you, Laney, for taking care of her. Are you okay?”

“Of course,” she says quietly, and I can hear the tender smile in her reply. “I’m fine, no worries.”

The door closes behind her and Sawyer sits us on the bed, my arms and legs tangled around him desperately. I don’t ever want to let go. I don’t want anyone or anything to penetrate our happiness, tear us apart, or take him away from me. The thought of losing him is suffocating, a sadness so bone deep I can’t take a full breath. I don’t even remember who I was before I let him in. I don’t think I ever want to. The only Emmett I want to be is his Emmett.

“Baby, I promise it’s okay. I’m here, everything’s fine.”

“What happens now?” I lift my head from his tear-soaked robe. I need to see his eyes when he answers me, to make sure he’s not softening the blow to not scare me. “Are you gonna go to jail? How bad did you hurt him? What if he presses charges?”

“If he does, he does, and we’ll figure it out. He had it coming, Em. Men who prey on women are cowards and need to be taught a lesson, especially if it’s my woman. I didn’t kill him, just kicked his ass good, and not half as good as I wanted to. You can thank Dane for that. He stopped me.” His chest moves my body with it as he takes a deep breath, rubbing his lips lightly back and forth on my forehead. “I just kept thinking about you, how you’ve been hurt before, stupid, fucking guys thinking they can do whatever they want. No one gets to touch you, Emmett. I’ll always protect you, or die trying.” He cradles my cheeks and uses his thumbs to wipe under my eyes. “I don’t want you to worry, all right? And it’s not good for you to get so upset.”

I nod, putting on a stoic face for him, and grab the sides of his head. “Thank you,” I whisper, kissing his lips softly. “Thank you for being exactly who you are and loving me exactly how you do.”

“I don’t know about all,” he chuckles with a small frown, “but I will always love you the best I know how.”

My head rests in the crook of his neck and shoulder, my eyes heavy with exhaustion. I can feel the tension in his tightly drawn muscles dissolve slowly as we embrace in silence.

“You better now?” he murmurs with a kiss on my jaw some time later.

“Mhm?”

“Can I go get a shower and something to wear besides this damn robe?” He shakes his head. “Of all the nights to get in a fight.”

“Are we staying here or going home?” I climb off his lap, settling into the bed so he can go get cleaned up, pretty much answering the question for him.

“Do you mind if we just stay here tonight, babe? Neither of us has a vehicle and it’s late. I kinda need to talk to Dane anyway.”

I’m already snuggled under the covers, he knows I’m fine with it, but he’s too considerate not to ask. “Here’s fine. Get your shower. You know where to find me when you’re done.”

He stands, but stops to lean onto the bed and kiss me once more. “I love you, Emmett.”

—Sawyer—

“
F
uck!” The flesh of my knuckle rips open, blood dripping down the tiles. What a shitstick I am…punching Dane’s shower, running around in a goddamn robe almost killing dudes, letting my girl be whisked away to a strange house where she now lies in a foreign bed, crying, worried I’ll be taken from her.

Tonight I put everything that’s important to me at risk. Going to jail is a real possibility—yeah, that’ll help Emmett and the baby out a lot. Fighting at Dane’s club—we pay people to stop that shit from happening and here I am the one doing it.

Am I losing my mind? Apparently, since I’m going vigilante at my job with a baby on the way. What if I had killed him, what if I do get locked up…who will take care of Emmett?

Sure, Dane will most likely fix my mess, like always, and I’ll probably never spend a day behind bars, but what kind of father has his friends clean up after him? And sign his checks? And loan him cars?

I’m a fucking joke. She deserves better than some half-cocked punk who can’t provide enough to keep her from having to serve drinks to handsy pricks in a bar.

A knock on the door saves me from my own mental beating. I know who it is.

“Come on in, Dane.”

“Hey,” he says quietly and I hear him close the door behind him. “Girls are both asleep; I just checked on ‘em. You all right?”

I’m too strung out to give him shit about being a perv and wanting to see me in the shower. I think about it, though, and decide it’s a good sign; there’s still some “me” left in there somewhere. “Dandy. So?”

“So, broken nose, cracked rib and eight stitches for his lip and above his eye. All fixed up now. He won’t be pressing charges and neither will she. Cool?”

“You’ll have to make sure that’s fine with Emmett, but should be.” I brush my hands over my face, pushing the water from my eyes. “Thanks, man, I owe ya one.”

“You don’t owe me a thing; the prick deserved it. Her car’s in the driveway now. Get some sleep.”

He fixed it, but I already knew he would. Like it never happened.

If you get used to someone else fixing your little shit for ya, how do you learn how to handle your own big shit?

“Hey, Sawyer?”

“Yeah?” I say too loudly; I thought he’d already walked out.

“You almost lost it tonight, bro, you had me worried for a minute. When’d you get so volatile?”

“When I found something worth fighting for.”

“
S
awyer, honey, wake up.” I’m shaken from my slumber.

“Hm? What?” I look around, senses slowly coming to me; Dane’s guest room, Emmett beside me. “Wh—you okay? The baby?”

Her warm hand soothes across my chest as she sits up over me. Dark strands fall over her worried eyes so I reach up to tuck them behind her ear. “We’re fine. You were having a nightmare.”

“I don’t have nightmares, Em. Go back to sleep.”

“But you were. You were thrashing around and yelling about being a man.” Even in the dark, I can clearly see the concern lining her face.

“Only thinking, Em, not a nightmare and nothing for you to worry about. Okay?”

“Okay,” she whispers, lying back down and snuggling into my side.

“I got it, babe, I promise. Get some sleep.”

Chapter 25

Unsweetened November

—Emmett—

S
awyer hasn’t had another nightmare, at least not any bad enough to wake me up, but I swear he’s not getting any sleep. He’s not so much looking tired, but he seems at odds with the world, not absent-minded really, but definitely more distracted. So distracted that half the times I’ve asked if he’s all right, if he wants to talk…I’ve had to ask twice just to get his attention and often don’t even get an answer.

So although he’s home early tonight, when he heads to bed still chewing his last bite of the dinner I’d made, I don’t even suggest a movie. Instead, I clean the table and load the dishwasher as quietly as possible, giving him time to get settled. With school and work, I understand he’s carrying a full load, but a quick kiss would’ve been nice. I refuse to complain though; I haven’t forgotten that I’d been the first to doubt us and withdraw into myself. Sawyer had been sure from day one, so now it’s his turn, and I need to keep reminding myself that turnabout is fair play.

I deserve this.

I’ve stalled long enough, straightening couch cushions and wiping counters for a good thirty minutes before I decide it’s time to join him in bed. I tiptoe down the hall to the bedroom, trying to shoo the hope out of my heart.

At least I didn’t wake him up. He’s lying on his back, hands under his head, staring at the ceiling.

“Hey,” I mumble awkwardly, heading to the dresser to find something to sleep in.

“Hey,” he turns his head to look at me, “you coming to bed?”

“Yessss,” I hitch up the flirt in my voice, totally receptive to anything he’s about to suggest.

“Cool, will you turn out the bathroom light?”

I have to stop my jaw from falling open as I watch him roll over, punching at his pillow before closing his eyes. Even with only one case study under my belt, this I know for sure—men are uncomplicated, predictable creatures. Much like a baby, all you have to do is run through the “checklist,” and the box left unchecked at the end—that’s their problem.

I fed him. He used the restroom earlier. And now he’s going to sleep.

The box not checked? The voice in my head is a bit fuzzy, so I’m not sure if it’s Gramma or one of the Real Housewives, but somebody says, “If he’s not getting it at home, he’s getting it somewhere else.”

Surely not…said the naïve, stupid woman in each and every Lifetime movie, seconds before she came home unexpectedly on her lunch break and heard suspicious moaning coming from the back of the house.

Seriously though, he hasn’t “left early” for class, and I work with him a solid four days a week. His phone is on top of the dresser, inches from me, unguarded, and he doesn’t madly dash for the shower right when he gets home. Am I missing something? Again, had Lifetime not taught me all the signs?

Maybe I’m a fool. I debate with myself the entire time I get ready for bed, changing my clothes and brushing my teeth, but find myself confident enough in his character and that he really is just spread too thin and tired that I crawl into bed beside him…after turning off the bathroom light, of course. His back is turned to me, so I lightly kiss his shoulder goodnight.

“
W
hat the,” I jolt awake and upright from a deep sleep and instantly feel it again. Stretching my arm out blindly, I find and flip on the lamp then push the covers off me hurriedly, not quite sure yet what’s happening.

This time, I feel it and see it, a massive bulge rolling across my stomach. My thin shirt hides nothing, rippling with the baby’s movements. “Sawyer!” My hand fumbles for him as my eyes stay trained on my stomach in awe. “Sawyer, you gotta see this, babe! Wake up!” Shaking him with one hand, I squirm around, pulling up my nightie with the other.

“Hmm?” he grumbles, rolling toward me. “What is it?”

“Watch this, watch my stomach!”

He sits up and rubs his eyes, a small “hrmph” trying to penetrate my bubble—not happening, buddy. With baited breath, I will Alex to do it again, to show him the fabulous new trick.