Where is my phone?

Ashton picked up her discarded pants and felt the pockets looking for it. She’d come upstairs after sending Andrew to the hotel to pack up and check out, and quickly changed from her jeans and black blouse into a pair of soft maternity pajama shorts and a long, loose tank.

But now, she was suddenly in dire need of Pringles and yogurt, her go-to pregnancy craving, and she wanted to call Andrew to get them for her. She paused for a moment to revel in the luxury of having someone to call. When she’d embarked on this pregnancy alone, she’d resigned herself to late-night cravings going unanswered, or having to drive herself to the 24-hour grocery store to sate her needs.

And she’d been fine with that. Was still fine with that, actually. Except . . . she had Andrew now and she was smart enough take advantage of that. It’s all well and good to not need a man, but if you have one—and she thought she had the best one—then why not enjoy the perks?

Which included, but were not limited to, craving runs. Sex, foot rubs, forehead kisses, inside jokes, debates about movies and popcorn preferences—those were just some of the other perks she’d been enjoying for the past few weeks.

For God’s sake, I had it earlier, she thought, her frustration a distraction from her appreciation of her man. She closed her eyes, and drew in a deep breath. She’d had it with her when she’d run some errands—to the bank, and she knew she hadn’t left it there because Aaron had called her in the car afterwards, to talk about nothing, really.

And then . . .

She’d laid it in the passenger seat beside her. It must still be there, she thought, not recalling seeing it on the seat when she’d picked up her purse to bring it in with her, but unable to remember seeing it since. Figuring it must have fallen from the seat when she’d turned a corner, she slid her feet into a pair of flip-flops she’d left by the door, and grabbed an old fleece hoodie she left there for moments such as this.

The parking lot was mostly deserted at this time of night, as were the streets. It was closing in on one in the morning and there was a briskness to the air that made goosebumps on Ashton’s legs rise. One other car was nearby—four spaces down from hers—but she didn’t recognize it. Assuming it was a patron who’d drunk too much and had opted to get a ride home, she ignored it, grasping her keys in her hand as she swiftly crossed the lot to her vehicle.

Through the window, thanks to the light at the end of the parking lot and the moon shining down, she could just make out the shape of her phone. She smiled seeing it, grateful she’d found it and relieved to be one step closer to food. Her tummy rumbled in an echo of her thoughts and she smiled at how happy something as small as a phone and some chips could make a pregnant lady.

Any lady really. Because chips.

She unlocked the door and opened it, swiping the phone from the seat, just as it started vibrating, making her jump. A picture of her and Andrew flashed on the screen, goosing for the camera. It was the first photo they’d taken together—ever—and she’d made it her lock screen almost immediately, joking that it made them even more official than Facebook official.

It was a dumb joke, but a good memory, and she closed her eyes for the briefest moment as a wave of content and rightness washed over her.

Andrew: Leaving now. Be there soon.

It was a simple message; to the point. He would be there soon, and if she wanted food, she needed to get a move on. She swiped the screen to call him back, since it was faster than text, and just as he answered, she heard low words from behind her.

“Told you I’d be back, bitch.”

“Hey, Kitten, you need something?” Andrew answered her call on the Bluetooth in his car, knowing she was probably calling to ask him to stop for something on his way back, and completely fine with it. “Kitten?”

There was not much more than silence greeting him, followed by a whisper he couldn’t make out and the unmistakable sound of Ashton’s strangled scream.

“Fuck!” He slammed his foot down on the accelerator, desperate to make it back to her and find out what the hell was happening, scared that he’d be too late.

“Ashton, I’m coming,” he called out to the emptiness of his car, wondering if she was still there, if she could hear him. He knew the call was still connected—her name on the display of his car radio told him he was on an active call—but what if someone had taken her?

Please, fuck, please, fuck. Two words, a plea and a fear, cycling around and around his increasingly frazzled mind. Who was there with her? Were they in the apartment? How did they get in?

He took the corners as fast as he could without tipping his car over, sped up to make it through yellow lights, slowing down at red ones just long enough to make sure there wasn’t anyone else around.

It was so different from New York, where there were always cars, whether it was 1am or 1pm. In Madison, there were a handful of lights, and a smattering of people walking along the sidewalks, but not much else. The occasional car, a late-night bus ferrying passengers to and from Club Row, which Andrew had learned from Ashton was where all the nightclubs were located.

All he could think in that moment was that if it was this quiet on the streets, someone could have taken her and no-one would know. Except him. Even without the phone call, he’d have known. Wouldn’t he?

“Ashton, if you can hear me, say something, Kitten. Please.” He tried again to talk to her, knowing it was possibly fruitless and not caring one bit. If she could hear him, he wanted to reassure her. And if she couldn’t . . . well, maybe he was trying to reassure himself.

The final turn was up ahead, The Avenue on the right side of the road, the front window painted with the word “Bitch” in bold red letters.

“Fuck.” It was said with all of the anger that was pumping through his veins. Hatred for the person who did it. Fear for the woman he loved.

And her baby.

Please, don’t hurt my girls, he begged, realizing that they were both his.

It didn’t matter that the baby had someone else’s DNA—she was the daughter of the woman he loved, and she would be his daughter too.

As long as they were both okay.

The brakes of his car squealed as he came to a stop across the entrance to the parking lot. He didn’t want to drive in, in case he needed to leave as quickly as he’d arrived, and he didn’t want to bother with turning the engine off, either.

Instead, he slammed the car into park and pulled on the door handle hard enough that he feared he might break it. His eyes were on the side of the building, where the door that led to the internal stairs to Ashton’s place was ajar, the handle hanging uselessly, having been broken to gain entry.

No hesitation. He ran for the door, wondering what he’d find when he went upstairs, terrified for Ashton and for their daughter. “Ashton!” he called as he made it to the door, hoping the sound of his voice would scare away anyone trying to hurt her.

His body froze when he heard a weak voice say his name. She wasn’t inside the building, though the door was open and the lights on the stairwell filtered through the gap. She was . . .

Bleeding. On the ground, on her back, a gash on her forehead, an eye swelling rapidly. Her hand was on her stomach, protectively curled around her baby, and one of her fingers was bent in a way that made Andrew’s stomach revolt.

Broken. Badly.

“Fuck, fuck, what–wh–what happened?” He fell to his knees beside her, watching her eyes close slowly, her breathing shallow—his own getting shallower as he imagined the kind of stress and pain she must be in.

“Inside,” was all she said, making his head whip around to the still-ajar door, expecting to see someone come through it at any moment.

He placed one hand on her arm, noticing for the first time the scratches and cuts there, like road rash from a motorcycle accident. Had whoever had done this to her tried to drag her along the asphalt? Her phone lay just a couple of feet away, the call to him still connected, so he reached for it, ending that call and quickly placing another to 911. Satisfied that help was on its way, he knelt next to her, murmuring soft words that he didn’t recognize but hoped were soothing for her. One eye, he kept on the door, in case the bastard responsible came out before the police arrived.

He didn’t.

Whatever he was doing inside the building consumed him enough that, when the police arrived, sirens blasting, lights flashing, he didn’t make a run for it. Unless he’d taken another exit, but somehow, Andrew doubted it.

Or, at least, he hoped not.

Ashton’s head was pounding, and her body felt weighed down, like someone had layered thick blankets over her, one after the other, until she was immobilized.

Where am I? She cracked an eye open just wide enough to take in Andrew’s dark head on the bed next to her hand. Her hand that was cradled in both of his. The walls, the smells, told her she was in a hospital, and with that realization came the memory of her belligerent bar patron from weeks earlier.

Told you I’d be back, bitch.

She’d known the minute those words had greeted her ears that it was him. He’d spun her in his arms, gripping her finger and bending as he did so. She’d felt it break, felt the hot rush of pain. She’d cried out, hoping that someone would hear her, but no.

Nothing.

With something in his hand—a bottle, maybe?—he’d hit her on the head, the searing feeling making Ashton feel nauseous. Making her stomach drop, her heart pound ever faster.

Baby, protect the baby, her instincts had screamed as she’d started to fall down, the strength of the blow to her head making it impossible to stay upright. She’d turned enough that when she landed on the gravelly ground of the parking lot, she was on her side. Please, let her be okay. She’d cupped one hand—the one with the broken finger—over her stomach when he let her fall down, but her reprieve was short lived. He’d grabbed her other hand and started to drag her to the door she’d come out of when she’d left her apartment in search of her phone.

“Bitch.” He’d called her that, again, when she’d slumped into dead weight, the ripping of her skin as he’d dragged her making her want to stiffen even as she knew she needed to make it too hard for him to pull her along.

It had worked. He’d let her go and made for the door, slamming whatever was in his hand down on the handle, causing a loud banging noise that she was sure would alert someone to her plight.

Except . . . there was no someone.

She was alone and the man who’d hurt her was trying to break into her bar, her home.

“Nononononononono,” she’d chanted, praying for someone to come along.

Her prayers were answered when Andrew arrived. Her assailant had already managed to break the door, break into her place, and it took most of her strength to just call out to her frantic boyfriend. “Andrew.”

It was a pathetic sound, she’d known. But it worked, somehow. He saw her and came over to her, telling her he was there and she’d be okay, all while calling the cops and the medics to come help her.

It was the last thing she really remembered before opening her eyes, here, in the hospital.

“Hey, Little, how are you feeling?” Aaron’s soft question came from the end of her bed. She hadn’t seen him there, too focused on Andrew to notice, but now her head slowly moved in his direction.

It hurt. But she wanted to see him. He was standing with Simon, leaning into his husband as if for support, twin looks of worry on their faces.

“Heavy?” Her answer came out as a question, but he nodded anyway, as if he understood. Which, in all likelihood, he did. He’d always just seemed to get her, her big brother. “Sore.”

“He got you pretty good. Scared us all.”

“Baby girl?” she asked, terrified of the answer but desperate to know if her little one was okay.

“She’s okay. The doctor said she’s just fine.”

The relief made her muscles clench momentarily, like she’d flinched for impact before realizing the news was good. Better than good. “Thank God.”

Andrew’s warm hands around hers tightened, signaling that he was awake. “Kitten,” was all he said, turning his head on the bed just slightly to press a kiss to her hand. Then, he looked up at her, and her heart stopped.

He looked wrecked. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. Has he been crying? His mouth was down-turned, a frown etched around his lips and on his brow. He’s angry.

“Of course I’m angry, Ashton. I left you alone and came back to . . . to . . .” He shook his head, seemingly answering her thought, but unable to finish his own.

Like it was too painful to voice.

“I’m okay though.” She tried on a smile, but it didn’t feel real or right. Instead, she raised her other hand—padded by a bandage, the finger she remembered being broken set and wrapped—and gently brushed the barely visible tips of her fingers along his cheek.

He turned his head away.

“We’ll leave you guys alone. I’ll let Austin know you’re okay.” Aaron walked around the end of the bed, and she looked up at him, thanking him with her eyes for coming, and for going.

She needed to just be with Andrew for a while, and that he understood that—it was everything.

“Love you, Little Sister,” he said as he dropped a kiss to her cheek.

“Love you, Big Brother,” she responded, leaning into his lips and savoring the connection they shared.

The connection that led her to come along when he’d been thrown away by their parents.

The connection that put her in that car, determined to support him on that long ago day.

The connection that introduced her to Andrew, her brother’s best friend, and the man who was finally, finally, hers.

“I’ll see you later, man. Thank you for being there.” Aaron’s words had a shakiness to them that told Ashton he was close to tears, and she watched, waited to see what Andrew would say.

But he said nothing. A small nod to acknowledge the words, and that’s all. He didn’t look up at Aaron, or back over at Ashton.

He just dipped his head once, twice and stared off at nothing as Aaron grabbed Simon’s hand and walked from the room. It wasn’t until Ashton directly asked after Austin that he finally looked over at her again.

“He’s at home. Still too drunk to drive.” A sigh, frustration evident in the slump of his shoulders. “I keep thinking about what could have happened. About how stupid I was to leave.”

“Andrew—” she began, only to be cut off.

“He was waiting outside the bar. They found him a couple of blocks over—apparently he’d heard the sirens and broke through the fire exit at the back of the kitchen. I thought–I thought he was still in there, and I didn’t want to leave you.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” She tried to reassure him, but he kept talking, sharing with her what happened, his anger directed not only at the man who’d hurt her, but at himself too.

“The police said he must have painted the window first, then was getting ready to leave when you came outside.”

“The window?” she asked, confused about what he was referring to.

“He vandalized the front window.” He didn’t say more, but he didn’t have to either. It was clear from what he was not saying that whatever he’d written on the window was directed at her—and wasn’t pleasant.

She couldn’t say she was shocked. Not even a little.

“He was high, apparently. I don’t know everything. The officer that came by here a little while ago while you were still out just said that he admitted everything, that he’d failed the drug and alcohol tests and they’d be back in the morning to talk to you.”

“The noise.” The noise that had broken their moment inside the bar, she realized, must have been him. Waiting to attack her business, and why? Because she’d refused him service when he was drunk and out of control. “That asshole.”

“That’s the nicest thing you could say about him. I want to”—he raised his hands into a strangling motion, leaving hers laying on the bed, cold now that his warmth was gone—“I want to kill him. If he’d, if you’d . . .”

His head lowered again to the bed, along with his hand, only this time, instead of holding hers, they wrapped over her legs in a half-hug. Her heart ached for him, more than it did for even herself.

She was okay. Her baby was okay. But Andrew? He wasn’t okay. He was a protector, and had been all his life, she knew that.

He’d come for Aaron when their parents had discarded him.

He’d let Ashton go when she’d needed to get back to Austin and her dad.

He’d cared for his sister through years of treatments and illness, until the very end.

And then, after all that, he’d come back to her, ready to love her even when her situation was less than ideal for a new relationship.

“I love you,” she whispered, trying to make him see she was okay, trying to find the words that would put his heart at ease.

But he didn’t respond. And eventually, as she fell back to sleep, she realized he wasn’t going to.