Protect Me (5 page)

“He knows who’s the coolest of all his uncles,” I say matter-of-factly.
 

“You wish, sweetheart. He’s just too young to know the difference yet,” Maddox says with a smug smile.
 

Travis sets a plate of food next to my plate and Grant dives into his food with gusto. Just as he’s sitting down next to me at the table, his cell phone chimes in his pocket. He quickly pulls it out, scans the message, and bursts out laughing.
 

“What’s so funny?” Avery asks.
 

“Apparently, Joss got to Jake’s a little too
quickly. I have a text that says, ‘I just got the full view of your brother’s ass!’ with a face sticking out its tongue and one green with sickness,” Travis tells the table.
 

We all laugh just as Jake comes strutting through the front door. We take one look at his cocky, shit-eating grin, and all burst out laughing all over again.
 

“How’s it going, brother?” I ask with a smile.
 

“Excellent,” he replies as he pulls up the sides of his pants. Jake struts over and helps himself to a heaping plate of food. “I’m famished,” he says as he sits down at an empty seat and dives in. “Oh, and Travis?” Jake asks with a mouthful of food.
 

“Yeah?” Travis replies.
 

“It’s not my fault if your wife finds you second best now that she’s seen my ass,” he mumbles as he swallows his food. The entire table erupts into laughter.
 

“If anything she’s going to have nightmares now, man,” Travis quips with a smile. “I guess you need all the practice you can get before the honeymoon,” Travis adds.
 

“Practice what for the honeymoon?” Bean asks in all of her five year old innocence.
 

“Uncle Jake needs to practice his laziness for the honeymoon, Sweetie. Uncle Jake and Aunt Erin are going to do a lot of lying around,” Avery tells her daughter.
 

“You’re right. You do need practice,” Bean says innocently which causes the entire table to burst into
another fit of laughter.
 

“Not funny,” Jake mumbles and takes a huge bite of his sausage.
 

I lean forward and look straight at Brooklyn. “See what I mean about crying? He has already had his feelings hurt,” I tell her with a wink. She giggles, eyes sparkling with mischief.
 

After the food is consumed, the guys, along with Grant who is still contently nestled in my arms, head out to the man cave to get down to business. Avery stays behind to give Ryder a bath before bedtime and to read Bean her choosing of princess stories.
 

“So, what’s the plan for next Saturday?” Jake asks.
 

“You just be ready at one o’clock. I’ll be picking you up at the house and we’re heading to your parents’ house,” Maddox says.
 

“Seriously?” Jake asks, annoyance written all over his face. “It’s my bachelor party and you’re taking me to my parents’ house?”
 

“To start off with. We’re trapshooting for the afternoon so bring your shotgun and as many shells as you can get your hands on. I have eight cases of clay pigeons ready to go. A handful of guys from the force are coming out, plus your brothers and father. Your mom is providing some appetizers in the afternoon and we’ll have plenty of beer,” Maddox says.
 

“Cool. I like it,” Jake says between swallows of
beer.
 

“Then around six, we’ll head up to Jack’s Pub where your dad arranged for Laverne’s to cater steaks and a bunch of sides,” Maddox adds.
 

“Entertainment?” Jake asks with the rise of one of his eyebrows.
 

“I plead the fifth. This way, if anyone asks you,” Maddox starts as I interrupt, coughing the name, ‘Erin’, “you know nothing about the rest of the evening.”
 

“I’m pretty sure she already knows,” Jake says with a smile.
 

“What are the girls doing?” Travis asks.
 

“Spa night, I guess. Sounds boring as hell, but the thought of Erin getting rubbed on in some strip club makes me see red. So, spa night it is,” Jake says.
 

Details are gone over and plans are finalized as we finish our drinks in the cave. Grant fell asleep in my arms about fifteen minutes ago so Travis gathers up his stuff and gets ready to head out.
 

“See you all Sunday,” he says quietly over his shoulder, referring to Sunday family dinner. Our family always gathers every Sunday afternoon at my parents’ house. As a bachelor, it’s one of my only links to real, home cooked food.
 

“No you won’t,” I say. “I’m working.” Since I work every other weekend, I’m only able to attend half of our gatherings.
 

“Us, too,” Jake replies with a nod towards
Maddox, referring to their weekend shift as local county deputies.
 

I say my goodbyes to the guys and retrieve my car keys from my pocket. It’s after eight o’clock which is still plenty early for a Thursday evening since I’m off tomorrow. As I walk towards my Mustang, I contemplate calling Vicki. I haven’t talked to her in several days, but the thought of hanging out with her tonight has completely lost its appeal. Alluring blue-gray eyes and soft brown hair stands foremost in my thoughts.
 

I back out of the driveway and point my car towards my house.  
 

I wonder what Lia is doing tonight?
 

Nighttime is the worst. When the darkness of night sets in and the quiet of the apartment wraps around me, I can’t shut off my brain. I’ve been in Rivers Edge for just over two weeks now, and I was fortunate enough to find a job right away.
 

When I drove into this quaint little town, the first stop I made was to the bakery for a cup of coffee and something sweet. It was late morning and the place was empty. The young woman at the counter started chatting with me as she prepared my coffee and readied my warm cinnamon roll.
 

Talking to her had been so easy, which is completely unlike me. No connections. No emotions. Don’t talk about anything personal.
 

Before I knew it, we talked for over an hour and she was offering me a job as her full-time assistant. I wasn’t sure where the road was taking me yet so I decided to take her up on the job offer. I could hang around Rivers Edge for a few months.
 

Three months is the max that I allow myself to stay in any given location before moving on. I don’t get cozy. Cozy will result in dropping my guard. Dropping
my guard will result in being found. I don’t want to be found.
 

The single bedroom apartment above the bakery was perfect for my needs. It was mostly furnished already which is good because I have very little in the way of personal effects. The clothes on my back, some personal toiletries and effects, and a small stack of extra clothing is all I brought in the old, used Honda Accord I got from a shady used car salesman. Tennessee? Kentucky? I don’t remember. The states, the towns, all seem to blur together into one big cluster-fuck of a mess.
 

Avery’s mother, Elizabeth Stevens, owns the building I currently call home. She’s the sweetest woman ever and waved the security deposit when I inquired about moving in above the bakery. She didn’t bat an eye to renting her place to a young woman that she didn’t know or who wasn’t from here. She just smiled and handed me the keys.
 

I actually have my degree in interior design, but I worked in a bakery as I paid my way through college. Scholarships helped a girl like me, with my colorful background, but I was far from receiving a full ride.
 

I force the memory of college and those years since out of my mind. Dwelling on the past or what could have been doesn’t help any. Right now, I need to focus on today. Keep my head down and off anyone’s radar. Use cash whenever I possibly can. And never get personal.
 

As I lie down on the queen-sized bed, I can’t help but think about my run-in with Nate Stevens earlier this morning. He scared the crap out of me. For the first time in months, I felt like I had been found. It’s enough to make me consider moving on a little quicker than usual. I could pack up my measly array of personal belongings, hop into my worn-out Honda, and find another town - on the other side of the country.
 

But something makes me want to stay. Something pulls deep in my chest like an unwanted need. Maybe not something, but someone. Nate. Stevens.
 

I sigh as I recall the intensity of his sparkling blue-green eyes. I swear he saw completely through me as he dissected my soul with his deep gaze. But for some strange reason, I want to be dissected by him. I’m not sure if it’s the way he filled out that tight white t-shirt or the way those Levi’s hugged his fine ass, but Nate Stevens definitely made me feel things I haven’t felt before. At least, things I haven’t felt in a long time.
 

I watch a rerun of Desperate Housewives on late night television and can’t help but wonder what it would be like to settle down. To stop running. To find someone who makes me want to plant roots and spread my wings. Someone who actually wants to give me my dream instead of a nightmare.
 

As I close my tired eyes, I picture those blue-green eyes that I’ve been seeing all day. Eyes I’ve seen
ever since I slammed the pan against his skull. Twice.  
 

For the first time since I ran, I feel content.
 

Safe.
 

I’m startled awake from the dark recesses of sleep by another nightmare. They’re always the same.  
 

I feel his warm, angry breath against my skin as he wraps his hands around my neck. He usually avoids touching me in places where the public can see his marks, but tonight, my black sequined gown has a full neck which gives him the perfect cover for his markings.
 

The air is sucked from my lungs as I struggle to breathe. I feel my feet dangle off the immaculate cherry hardwood floor as his livid, dark eyes bore into me.
 

“Why must you test my patience so much, Amelia?” he seethes through gritted, pearly white teeth.
 

I blink back the tears as the fog of the nightmare slowly fades away. My breathing is labored, coming out in short little pants. You’d think I would be used to the never-ending nightmare that was my life, but I’m not. It still affects me like it happened yesterday, not nine months ago.
 

The alarm clock on the used nightstand reads four a.m. Almost time to get up anyway, so I roll out of bed and step onto the cool hardwood floor. It’s not nearly as nice as the hardwood floors I became
accustomed to during my previous life, but these may actually be better. There’s nothing perfect about these floors. They are marked, scarred, and battered.  Like me.
 

I take a hot, relaxing shower as I wash away the sweat from last night’s sleep. I need to be downstairs at the bakery at five to prepare the first batch of dough. The bakery doesn’t open until six-thirty, so it gives me an hour and a half of uninterrupted time to get the day’s products ready to be made.
 

Yesterday, I didn’t get the bakery opened at six-thirty the way I had planned. After Nate left, Avery went up front and found three customers standing on the sidewalk waiting for the door to open. Oops! I never made it to the front to unlock the door. Avery was cool about the entire thing. Actually, a little too cool, if you ask me. I felt her smiling eyes on me all morning and could see the questions in her eyes.
 

I exit my apartment, locking the door securely behind me, and trek down the metal steps. The back door of the bakery is positioned underneath the metal staircase that runs parallel to the older brick building. I unlock the back door and flip on the lights. Bright florescent lights bathe the entire kitchen area. I relock the door behind me - I learned my lesson yesterday - and deposit my purse in the small office. As I step into the kitchen, I begin the process of preparing dough.
 

Forty-five minutes later, the first batch of cinnamon rolls is in the oven and the mixer bowl
contains all the ingredients for the delicious cream cheese frosting. As I get ready to start the mixer, a knock sounds at the back door.
 

I contemplate opening it. If it were Avery or Mrs. Stevens, they would use their key. But someone up to no good probably wouldn’t knock, would they?
 

I hesitantly make my way over to the back door, take a deep breath, and turn the lock. I slowly pull the door open to view Nate Stevens standing there in running shorts and a sweaty gray tank top wrapped snuggly against his ripped torso.
Hello, lucky sweat.
 

I pull the door open, allowing him to step inside. Once he’s clear of the doorway, I close the door and throw the lock again.
 

“I see you decided to lock the door to avoid being surprised?” Nate asks with a hint of a smile.
 

His hair is tussled in a delicious I-want-to-run-my-fingers-through-it way, and he’s breathing hard as if he just finished up a run.
 

“Yeah, the pan was dirty so I figured I’d save myself the energy of washing it right now and just lock the door,” I tell him with a hint of my own smile.
 

Nate laughs. It’s the sexiest laugh I’ve ever heard - with deep timbers and a throaty growl to it - and does weird tingly things to my dormant lady parts. “Well, I’m personally glad you answered the door without brandishing a weapon,” he retorts with another award-winning smile.