by K. Bromberg
He steps toward me, his eyes running down the length of my body, and even though my nerves are already on high alert, the look in his dead eyes when he scrapes them back up causes new ones to hum. Warning bells go off and my stomach squeezes violently—so much so that I have to fight the nausea that threatens.
He reaches the gun out, and I freeze as he runs the tip of it up and down the side of my cheek. The cold of the steel, the hard reality of the metal on my flesh and what it represents, causes the blood in my veins to turn to ice.
“You’re a pretty little thing aren’t you, Rylee.” The way he says my name, as if he’s fucking it with his tongue, has me gagging. In an instant he has my cheeks squeezed tightly in his hands, his face inches from mine. Tears start streaming down my face. I want to be tough. I want to tell him to fuck off and die. I want to scream for Zander to run and get help. I want to plead with God, with anyone, for help. I want to tell Colton I love him. But I can’t because none of that is possible right now. My knees are shaking, my teeth are trying to chatter inside of his grip. Everything I am—my future, my possibilities, my next breath—is at this man’s whim.
He comes in closer so I can feel his breath feather over my lips as his fingers dig deeper into the sides of my cheeks, and I can’t help the cry of fear that falls from my lips. “The question is, Rylee … exactly how far would you go to protect one of your boys?”
“Fuck you.” The garbled words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, anger removing the filter between my head and mouth. And before I can blink, his fist slams into my abdomen, and I’m propelled backwards. I land with a thud against the concrete patio, my shoulders and head hitting the wood fence behind me.
The terror consuming my body overshadows pain from the blow. I’ve landed near Zander so I scramble as quickly as I can over to his side and pull him into me, trying to protect him in any way I can. I know he’s behind me, can feel the heavy presence of the gun I know is pointed at me, but I rock Zander.
“It’s okay, Zand. He’s not going to hurt you. I’m not going to let him hurt you,” I tell him in a hushed voice, but Zander doesn’t stop rocking, doesn’t stop chanting, and I’m so petrified right now I start chanting for the superheroes with him as we sit in a backyard built on hope and what I fear will soon be marred with violence.
“I’ve come to take my son.” If I thought his voice was cold before, his tone now matches the steel of his gun.
“No,” I tell him, the waver in my voice betraying the confidence of what I want to say.
“Who the fuck do you think you’re dealing with?” he growls, pointing the gun into my back, its hard nose digging deep between my shoulder blades. “It’s time to step away from my son.”
I squeeze my hands into fists to quit their shaking so Zander doesn’t know how scared I am. I don’t want his father to realize it either. I force a swallow as Zander’s sobs start racking through his body, and if I didn’t already know, I know now with such clarity—with a cold sweat breaking over my skin and fear in my heart—that I can’t let his father take him. That I’ll protect him with everything I have because no one else could before.
The muzzle in my back digs deeper, and I bite back a yelp of pain as tears freely flow down my cheeks. I begin to worry my bottom lip between my teeth, because in a moment I’m going to stand up. And when I turn around I have to show him I’m not scared of him. I have to put on the performance of a lifetime in order to save this little boy.
“Now!” he shouts at me, my body jumping as his voice cuts through the constant hum of Zander’s chanting.
I lean my mouth down by Zander’s ear and try to still him as he rocks, hoping that my words get to him—break through the world he’s transported his mind to—in order to save himself from the fear and memories of his father.
“Zander, listen to me,” I tell him. “I’m not going to let him take you. I promise. The superheroes are coming. They’re coming okay? I’m gonna stand now but when I say Batman I want you to run as fast as you can into the house okay? Batman.”
I just finish my words when I feel the gun leave my shoulder blades but feel his boot connect with my left side. I groan in pain as I absorb the impact, tensing my arms around Zander as we push harder into the fence we’re cornered against.
“Get the fuck up, Rylee.”
“Batman, okay?” I say again, gritting my teeth as I breathe through the pain and force myself to rise on wobbly legs. I take a deep breath and turn to face him.
“You’re a tough cookie!” He sneers at me. “I like my women tough.”
I swallow the bile rising in my throat and force evenness in my tone that I hope I can maintain. “I’m not letting you take him.”
He laughs out loud, raises his face up to the sky, before looking back at me, and I wonder if I just missed my one chance to tell Zander to go. To run. My heart twists at the thought. “Now, I really don’t think you’re in the position to be telling me what exactly I can and cannot be doing. Right?”
My head races for things to say. Ways to calm down the nerves I can see are starting to overtake him with each passing second. But all the same, I need this time. The longer I have, the more likely help might be coming. “There’s a yard full of press out front. How are you going to leave with him?”
He laughs again and I know the sound will haunt my dreams for the rest of my life. “That’s where you’re wrong. They all left with your hotshot boyfriend and followed him.” He steps closer and raises the gun to my face. “It’s just you, and me, and Z-man over there. So what do you have to say to that, huh?”
I swear all of the blood in my body drains to my feet because I have to struggle to remain focused on standing as the dizziness assaults me. After a moment, I manage to steady myself, to see through the blackness clouding my vision, and try to figure out what to do next.
The only thought I can come up with is to distract him somehow, lunge for the weapon, and scream at Zander to run.
But how?
When?
We stand for what seems like forever—a silent standoff where it’s more than evident who holds all the power in this forced relationship. As time stretches I see his hands starting to shake, his facial muscles twitching, and the sweat beading, all while the sound of Zander’s escalating chants continue to add more pressure to the unstable situation.
“Shut him the fuck up!” he screams at me as his eyes flicker all over the yard like a trapped animal unsure of its next move.
I startle when I hear a noise behind Zander’s dad. My heart leaps is my chest as the next door neighbor’s dog barks viciously through the fence. Zander’s father twists at the sound, the gun moving with him. I act on instinct, not allowing myself to think of the consequences.
“BATMAN!” I scream at the same time I lunge at Zander’s father. I collide into him, the harsh impact of my athletic frame against his knocks all thoughts from my head, except for one, I hope Zander heard me. That I got through to him and he’s running to save himself because I just sealed my fate if I’m not successful.
The sound is deafening.
The crack of the gun going off.
The jerk of his body from its recoil.
My scream, a primal sound I hear but don’t even recognize as my own. Then it stops. The wind is knocked out of me as we slam to the ground. I’m momentarily stunned—my body, my mind, my heart—as I land on top of him, before I try to struggle to get away. I have to get the gun, I have to make sure Zander is gone.
I push up off the vile man beneath me, still struggling. My only thought is get the gun, get the gun, get the gun, and my hands slip in the slickness beneath me. I shove backwards as panic and pain radiate through me. I land with a thud on my ass, the force jolting all the way up my spine and snapping my mind out of the shock it’s in.
I lose focus on the man, as I look at the blood on my trembling hands. I take in the blood covering my T-shirt with Ricky’s team’s mascot printed on the front. My mind scrambles to
think, frantically searches its recesses for what I’m supposed to be doing because the sight—so much blood—is making me dizzy.
I’m confused.
I’m scared.
Dizzy.
My world goes black.
“Please, baby, please wake up.”
Colton? My head is foggy as I hear his voice and smell him near. I try to figure out what exactly is going on. My eyelids feel so heavy, but I can’t open them just yet.
“Sir, you need to let me examine—”
“I’m not going fucking anywhere!”
It’s so warm and cozy here in the darkness—so safe—but why is Colton … Then it all hits me like a tidal wave of overwhelming emotions. I start to fight to sit up. “Zander!” His name is barely a croak as I struggle against arms, hands, not sure what else is holding me down.
“Shh, shh, shh! It’s okay, Ry. It’s okay.”
Colton.
My whole body sags momentarily. Colton is here. My eyes open, tears already welling in them, and the first sight I see is him. My ace. A shining light in all of this darkness. His eyes meet mine, the lines around his deep with concern and a forced smile on those devastating lips of his. “You’re okay, baby.”
I blink rapidly as everything else comes into focus, the flurry of activity around us in the backyard—policemen, medics. “Zander. Gun. Dad.” My mind is reeling and I can’t get the thoughts into words fast enough, my eyes flitting back and forth, focusing on a group of men hunched over something to the side of me.
I keep repeating the words until Colton leans down and presses a kiss to my mouth. I taste salt on his lips and my mind tries to grasp why he’s been crying. When he pulls back, his smile is a little less shaky. “There’s my girl,” he says softly, his hands smoothing over my hair, my cheeks, my face. “You’re okay, Ry. Zander’s okay, Ry.” He leans his forehead against mine.
“But there was blood—”
“Not yours,” he says, his lips curving into a relieved smile against mine. “Not yours,” he repeats. “You were ridiculously stupid and I’m so angry at you for it, but you went for the gun and the police took their shot. His blood, baby. It was his blood. He’s dead.”
I suck in a breath. Relief I didn’t realize I hadn’t released yet rushes out of my lungs. And the tears come now—hard, ragged, body shaking sobs that release everything. He helps me sit up and pulls my body into his so I’m sitting sideways across his lap, his arms hold me so tight, supporting me, ensuring my safety. He buries his nose in the side of my neck as we cling to one another.
“Zander’s safe. He’s inside. Jax is keeping the boys away so they don’t know—don’t see—what happened. He called Avery to come be with Zander. His therapist is on the way to come help him if he needs it,” he tells me, knowing all of the worries I’d have and assuaging them with every word he speaks. “Are you—where do you hurt?”
“Sir, can we please—”
“Not yet!” Colton snaps at the voice at my back. “Not just yet,” he says so softly I can barely hear him before he pulls me in tighter, breathing me in. I’m completely alert now, can see the activity around Zander’s father’s body. I think I understand the risk I took until I feel Colton’s body shake beneath mine, shudder as he holds in the quiet sobs racking his body.
I’m lost. I don’t know what to do for this strong man silently coming undone. I start to move so I can shift and turn into him, and he just squeezes me that much tighter. “Please,” he pleads in a gruff voice, “I don’t want to fucking let go yet. Just a minute longer.”
So I let him.
I let him hold me in this backyard, on a plot of grass where violence tried to rob Zander of hope for the last time.
Colton closes the car door for me and climbs into his side of the Range Rover before starting it. He pulls out of the police barricades and past the flashing lights of the awaiting media as we leave The House. Three very long hours have passed. Three hours of questions and retelling everything I could remember about the backyard exchange. About telling Zander to run on “Batman.” The constant looks from Colton sitting in the corner as I refused medical assistance or a check-up at the hospital. His growing anger as I replayed Zander’s father’s comments and physical attacks. Signing statements and having photographs taken of the bruises on my body as evidence. I field phone calls from Haddie and my parents to reassure them that I’m okay, that I’ll call them later to explain more.
Three hours of feeling helpless to comfort my boys, wanting to tell them I was okay. The therapist thought it was best they didn’t see me with my bruised eye and swollen cheek, because it might dredge up their own histories. As much as it hurt not to see them—show them I’m okay—I kissed Zander and held onto him as long as I could while I repeated my praise over and over to him that this time he didn’t hide behind a couch. This time he helped save someone. I know I’m not his mom, but to ease the guilt and assuage the feeling of helplessness in his traumatized psyche was huge.
We merge onto the freeway and besides Rob Thomas’ voice ironically singing Unwell through the speakers, the car is silent. Colton doesn’t say a word despite his hands gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are white. I can sense his anger, can feel it vibrating in waves off of him, and the only reason I can think of that he’s mad is because I’ve put myself in danger.
I lean my head back on the seat and close my eyes but have to open them immediately because all I see are his eyes, all I feel is the cold steel pressed against my cheek, all I hear is Zander chanting over and over.
I want to ease the tension between Colton and me, because right now I just really need him. I don’t need him closed off in Colton-I’m-pissed-off-land. I need his arms wrapped around me, the warmth of his breath on my neck, the security I always feel when I’m with him.
“He did what you told him to do.” My voice is so soft I’m not sure he hears me tell him the one thing I didn’t tell the police officers. The one thing I felt would violate a part of the trust Colton had instilled in me. After a few minutes, I hear him blow out a sigh and see him glance over at me. So I continue. “When I went outside, Zander had curled up in a ball and all I could hear the whole time we were out there was him calling to your superheroes.”
I yelp as Colton swerves abruptly across two lanes, car horns blaring, and slams the car into park on the side of the freeway. I don’t even have a chance to catch my breath or for my seat belt to unlock before he is out of the car and stalking toward the shoulder of the road to my side of the car. I dart my eyes back and forth trying to figure out what in the hell is going on. Is something wrong with the car? I watch him as he passes my door and paces to the end of the Rover and back up past the front. He keeps walking for about ten feet, and with his back to me I hear him yell something at the top of his lungs in a feral rage I’ve never heard from him before.
If I’d thought about getting out of the car, I know for sure I’m not now. I can see the tension in his shoulders as they rise and fall with his labored breaths. His hands are fisted as if he’s ready to fight, him against the world.
I watch him, can’t take my eyes off of him, as I try to figure out what’s going on inside his head. After some time, he turns back and walks to my car door and yanks it open. I turn instinctively toward him as I take in his grinding teeth, the strain in his neck, and then my eyes lock onto his. We stare at each other and I’m trying to read what his eyes are saying, but it’s such a contradiction to his posture that I must be wrong. I see his jaw muscle pulse as his hand reaches out toward my cheek and then pulls back. I angle my head in question, my bottom lip trembling because I’m just on overload from everything today. I notice his eyes flicker down to my mouth, take in my vulnerability, and within an instant I’m crushed against his chest, one arm spanning my back, one hand holding the back of my head as he clutches me to him in a hug teeming with absolute desperation.
My tears fall onto his shirt as we cling to each other. “I’ve never felt so he
lpless in my entire life,” he tells me, voice weighed down with emotion as he squeezes me tighter. “I’m so angry right now and I don’t know how to handle it.” I can hear the growl of his rage simmering just beneath the surface.
“It’s over now, Colton. We’re okay—”
“He had his goddamn hands on you!” he yells as he pushes away from me and walks a few feet before spinning around and shoving his hands through his hair. He just stares at me, his eyes pleading for forgiveness that isn’t for him to ask because he didn’t do anything wrong. “He put his hands on you and I wasn’t there! I didn’t protect you, and that’s my fucking job, Rylee! To protect you! To take care of you! And I couldn’t! Fucking couldn’t!” He looks down at the gravel on the side of the road and the anguish in his voice kills me, rips me to shreds, because there was nothing he could have done, but I know telling him that is useless.
When he looks back up, I see the tears glisten in his eyes as he stares at me. “I fought the officer at the barricade. They put me in the back of a car to calm me down because I was going in the house with or without them. I heard you on the phone, Rylee, heard your voice and it just kept replaying over and over in my head and I couldn’t get to you.” He shakes his head as a single heartbreaking tear slides down his face. “I couldn’t get to you.” His voice breaks and I shift to get out of the car, and he just holds up his hand for me to stop, to let him finish.
“The gun went off,” he says, and I can see him fight to hold back the emotions overtaking him, “and I thought … I thought it was you. And those few moments waiting and then seeing Zander run out of the front of the house screaming and waiting to see you and you didn’t come … fucking Christ, Ry, I lost it. Fucking lost it.” He takes a step closer to me, dashing away a tear with the back of his hand. I force a swallow over the emotion swelling in my throat.
“I made sure Zander was okay before I pushed into the house. I had to get to you, see you, touch you … and I came into the family room and you were both on your backs on the grass. You both had blood all over your chests. And neither of you were moving.” He steps between the V of my legs, making the physical connection I so desperately need, and cradles my cheek in his hand.