Because of You (13 page)

Gwen cocks her head and looks at me in sympathy.

“Kind of like how Dad used to speak to you?” she asks softly.

Even though it’s been ten years since I last spoke to him, I can still hear my father’s booming voice.

“
You’re a real piece of work, you know that, son? All you care about is yourself. God forbid you ever think about anyone else. You’re pathetic.”

I think back to the day of the sound check and the defeat I saw in Layla, the way she just accepted how her mother spoke to her and the things she forced her to do. It makes me angry, and for the first time since Gwen and Emma, it makes me feel protective. I want to keep her from danger and shame and make sure she knows that doesn’t have to put up with all the shit thrown at her. I know exactly what it feels like to be belittled and made to feel like you're worthless. But I got the hell away from that shit as soon as I turned eighteen and I never looked back. I don’t have to put up with my father’s hatred or general dissatisfaction with the life I’ve chosen for myself. Layla doesn’t have to either, but for some reason, she does. She sticks around and does exactly as Eve says, and by the look on her face the majority of the time, she believes every word that her mother tells her.

I've just met this woman and suddenly I wanted to make sure no one ever speaks to her that way ever again. I want to see her smile more. When she does, I feel a tightening in my gut and an inexplicable need to have her smile at
me,
to shine that brightness on her face in
my
direction. The cockiness she aimed at me on our run this morning and the tiny hint of a spark in her eye when she was singing that song her mother put her foot down about—that's just a small fraction of the real Layla Carlysle. I want more. For the first time in a long time, I feel need stirring inside of me, a desire to get to really know someone. Find out what makes them tick. Find out what makes them writhe underneath me, moaning and scratching their fingernails down my back.

“Hello, earth to Brady. Where the hell did you go just now?” Gwen bellows, breaking me from my thoughts. “Oh my God. You have a crush on her don’t you?”

I choke out a laugh at Gwen’s observation.
If she only knew what I’d just been thinking, she’d probably smack me upside the head and call me a pervert.

“A crush? What are we, twelve?” I reply, avoiding the question.

“You do, don’t you?! You think she’s pretty and you want to kiss her! Oh my God, Layla Carlysle could be my sister-in-law!” Gwen squeals excitedly, clapping her hands together.

I rest my elbows on my desk and put my head in my hands, the makings of a headache coming on strong.

“You really need to get out more, you know that?” I complain, trying my hardest not to imagine what Layla’s lips would feel like against mine, what her tongue would feel like swirling through my mouth.

“I know. I spend way too much time with a six-year-old. It’s sad when even a proposition from that Austin guy sounds appealing,” Gwen says with an exaggerated sigh. “Speaking of getting out more, I recall Layla mentioning something about having me over for dinner. That would be a great way for me to get out of the house. It would also be a great way to watch you two together.” She wags her eyebrows.

“Oh hell no. There is no way I’m letting that happen if you’re going to act like a fool. And besides, all of this is pointless since she’s supposedly dating that Finn guy,” I tell her, trying to hide the irritation in my voice.

“Ooooooh, Finn Michaelson! I totally forgot about that. Oh my gosh, he is yummy. That man is sex on a stick. You’re totally right. What would she want with you when she’s got a fine specimen like that in her bed whenever she wants?” Gwen states nonchalantly.

“Oh give me a fucking break! There is nothing even remotely appealing about Finn. What the hell does she even see in him? He was in the Marines for Christ sakes. Everyone knows they’re a bunch of hot-headed Neanderthals. She looks at him like he’s some sort of God. Granted, he’s got some nice pecks and a good head of hair, but come on!” I ramble angrily.

Gwen stares at me with an open mouth and wide eyes, her arm coming up in front of her and her finger pointing straight at me.

“Sweet mother of God. I was kidding about you crushing on her, but I’m right. Oh my God, you are totally jealous of her bodyguard! Oh this is priceless!” Gwen starts laughing.

“This is a job, nothing else. Just like Mrs. Henderson last week was a job. I don’t mix business with pleasure. Ever,” I tell her firmly.

“Mrs. Henderson is ninety-two years old and thought her dog was stealing food out of her fridge. I would hope to God you would never mix that kind of business with pleasure. That’s just gross,” Gwen says with a grimace.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m doing the job I’m being paid to do. Distractions, even the hot, famous singer type, do not have room in my life. End of story,” I remind her, smacking my fingers on the keys of my computer angrily.

“Oh, I get it. So they must have changed the job description without letting me know. If I recall correctly, you were hired to look into a stalker, not the personal life of Miss Carlysle,” Gwen replies sarcastically.

She has me there. I'm definitely not being paid to find out why Eve is such a raging bitch to her daughter. In just a few short days, I'm starting to get too invested in the job with a woman I barely know. I'm letting my personal feelings and opinions get to me, just like in the Dominican. Just like the hostage negotiation.

“Mr. Franklin, just put the gun down and let your wife and daughter go. Whatever problems you’re having, there’s no need to put them in danger,” Eric, my partner, told the man standing just inside the doorway of the house he shared with his family.

Right now he had a semiautomatic weapon aimed on his wife of five years and their three-year-old daughter, who stood right next to him, with fear in their eyes and tears running down their cheeks.

I’d seen the woman and her daughter before. They frequented the coffee shop I stopped at every morning before my shift. On several occasions, I’d spoken to the woman while we waited in line for coffee and even bought a cookie for her little girl a few times. People always trusted a man in uniform, and it was easy to get them to open up to you, even if you never exchanged names.

Now, standing outside of their home, guns drawn, I knew their names from the intel my captain had given me. The wife’s name was Alyssa and the little girl was Lucy. I wished more than anything when I saw her getting coffee two days ago and she mentioned her husband had been behaving awfully towards her—constantly yelling and accusing her of cheating on him—that I would have told her not to go home, to take that precious little girl with the blonde head full of curls and wide blue eyes and go somewhere for a few days.

There were so many things I should be saying to the maniac holding a gun on them right now, things that would reassure him we weren’t out to get him so he would put the gun away and we could charge him, but my mind was blank.

All I could think about was the young, beautiful wife clutching her little girl tightly and how just that morning I had thought about her and wished she wasn’t married. She was sweet and polite, and her little girl was the spitting image of her and had charmed the pants off of me when she called me “Ociffer.” I knew I was too close to the situation and should tell Eric that I needed someone to come in and take my place, but I couldn’t make my mouth open or my feet move. I stared at the woman I’d been daydreaming about for weeks, and I knew that if we got her out of this situation, I would make sure no one ever hurt her or her daughter again.

“Mr. Franklin, how about you let Alyssa and Lucy go?” I finally managed to say softly, my eyes pleading with Alyssa to stay calm and not make any sudden movements. “Just let them walk away. Then we can sit down and talk about what’s bothering you.”

The guy, Joe, flashed his angry eyes in my direction and his lip curled up in a snarl as he shoved the nose of his gun roughly into Alyssa’s side. She cried out in pain, and I flinched at the sound of fear in her voice.

“How the fuck do you know my wife and daughter’s name? Is this the guy you’ve been fucking behind my back, Alyssa?” he shouted angrily at her.

Lucy cried even harder as she hugged her mother’s leg, and I wanted more than anything to just shoot a bullet through his brain and end this once and for all.

“No! Joe, I told you, I’ve never cheated on you. I swear!” Alyssa cried.

“Bullshit! I can see the way this guy is looking at you. You spread your legs for him, I know it.”

Eric inched slowly away from me, closer to the situation, and my hands shook with anger. I should be moving with Eric. We were a team and I was supposed to be sticking to him like glue, but I couldn’t move. All I could think about was pulling the trigger.

“No one can have you but me, do you understand me?!” Joe screamed as he put his face right up to Alyssa, spittle flying from his mouth with each word.

Before I could react, shots flew out, piercing the quiet night with their explosion of light and sound. I didn’t hesitate before jumping into action. I ran past Eric and tackled Joe to the ground, not giving a second thought to the gun in his hand. I only knew I couldn’t let him hurt Alyssa and Lucy.

I hadn't hesitated to jump into the action, but I let myself get distracted. I let myself care too much about the subject I was paid to protect. I was paid by the city of Nashville to protect and serve all of its citizens. I let a few small conversations and a silly connection I thought I felt get in the way of doing my job. I forgot about all of my training and what you should never say and emotions you should never give away during a hostage stand-off. After I tackled Joe to the ground and relieved him of his weapon, I stood back up and looked around to find my partner with a bullet through his chest and a mother and daughter with matching ones through their heads. I was so busy trying not to crumble to the ground in grief that I forgot to cuff Joe. He jumped up from the ground, grabbed my side-arm, and shot himself under the chin, blood and brain matter splattering against my police uniform.

The sound of the phone ringing tears me away from my dark memories of that night. I need to focus on what I’m being paid to do. Who gives a rat’s ass about the relationship Layla has with Eve? Gwen is right. It has absolutely nothing to do with the stalker case. It has nothing to do with me. If this is the way Layla chooses to live her life, I don’t give a flying fuck.

Pulling up the file on the computer where Gwen stored the scanned copies of the letters Layla has been receiving over the last year, I go over them and take some notes, focusing my mind on what's important, not on what doesn’t matter.

Layla and the choices she makes do not matter. She’s her own person and can do whatever the fuck she wants. I couldn't care less.

It’s been three weeks since Brady and I went on our run. Three weeks since he's actually acted like a decent human being to me. I have no idea what changed between then and now, but the playful, friendly Brady has been replaced with the stand-offish, all-business Brady. I tell myself that I should be happy about that because it’s not like I need the extra distraction that friendly Brady gives me. I don’t have the time to daydream about kissing the dimples on his cheeks or the warmth I felt as I watched him talking to his niece on the phone.