Ashley

I don’t remember waking up, I don’t even remember being moved into my old bedroom. I just felt the pain, the swirling pain that didn’t stop. It was like a record on repeat, my own personal hell.

“No…” I whisper slowly, my voice feeling ever so real.

The little white bed frame stilts were beside my legs and I could see the little angel perched on the mirror of my vanity desk. As I slowly sat up, I felt the rustle of sheets sink away from my shoulders. A cramp came down on my abdomen, but it was nowhere near as sharp what I had felt before. The nausea was still sitting in my stomach though.

I took a deep breath to catch a hold of my lungs and stop my heart from trembling in my ribcage. As soon as I exhaled, I coughed at the chilly wind tickling the inside of my neck.

My throat felt so raw…

Had I been crying in my sleep all this time?

The thought made me feel so tired as I blinked the tears from my moist eyes. With a steady hand, I rubbed away the salty drops that stung to my cheeks. My eye didn’t feel as bruised anymore. If anything, the swelling went down a couple notches and my skin was naturally smooth again. I looked up at the vanity mirror before me and saw myself for the first time in what felt like forever. My face was just as it should have been.

I pulled my thick hair back to take a better look. The bruising had paled into a soft lavender shadow across my brow so that it was barely noticeable.

My hands were just about to pull the covers off from my body when suddenly, I found myself stopping. The sheets were clenched in my hands, but I couldn’t bear to pull them away. I hear the sound of the doorknob starting to turn and I nearly jump from the shock.

I watched the door as it slowly pushes away from the frame to reveal a man I hardly expected to find in my bedroom.

Blackjack, otherwise known as Rob.

“Rob..” I mutter softly.

His dark eyes looked at me for the first time in years, surprised to see me awake.

“Ashley.”

I took a deep breath as he stepped inside the room. There was that warm, sweet drop of surprise overwhelming that sick feeling in my head. Robert “Blackjack” Walters and I were friends from the past—but after all this time, we’re more likely acquaintances.

Thing was, I didn’t know why Blackjack had that effect on me. Of course, he was one of the most genuine of men in Montana aside from my family of men; he was also one of the most down to Earth bachelors that made every single (and married) woman cry the day he left for the military.

Every woman except for me. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. He avoided me. Or maybe I avoided him. Our history is complicated, but right now it comes rushing back like it was just yesterday. I never could understand why I had these feelings for a man who was fourteen years my senior. A man that I shouldn’t have wanted. A man that shouldn’t have wanted me.

“How are you feeling?” He asks as he sat beside me at the bed, snapping me out of my trip down memory lane. Based on the white container he was carrying, I could assume he wasn’t just stopping in to say hello.

“Better than yesterday.”

His expression changed in that instant.

“It’s been four days since you came home, Monroe…”

My eyes widened, “You’re kidding me.”

Blackjack shook his head with soberness. I touched my palm up to my forehead, struggling to believe this was real.

I’d been clocked out for four days and the world was still spinning around me. My father…Jesus, he must have thought for the worst when I passed out in front of him. Thank God that Cracker was with him this entire time. And Blackjack—I wouldn’t even be awake by now if it weren’t for him.

Suddenly, he puts his warm hand on mine and I stilled in that frame. It was so warm.

“You mind if I strip away the old bandages for you?” He asks me with a soft look.

I shake my head. “Not at all.”

With a hand at the blanket, I pry away the sheets and a slow exhale of relief escapes my lungs. No blood. Just clean, fresh sheets below my mummified legs. They were bandaged up pretty good given that the bruises bad enough to stop me from walking.

Blackjack had opened the container and prepped the gauze rolls and ointment bottle beside my feet. I watched him as he stood up to peel away the remaining bandages as carefully as he could. Whenever I so much as flinched, he automatically stopped his peeling and resumed once my leg settled down. The process was half as bad as waxing but knowing that he was being gentle made me feel safe. Honestly, I haven’t felt that way in a while.

Despite that, Harry was still out there probably hunting me like a dog. If they realized that I’m out of reach by now, he just as well landed himself into a shit bath with Grizzly himself. Somehow, that made me feel better.

“So, what happened?” He finally asks me while squeezing the ointment into his palm.

I looked up from my lap to catch his eyes. He looked hard at me right then, as serious as ever. I didn’t expect him to ask so suddenly, but I knew that my father sent him in for a reason other than to change my bandages.

He wanted the truth.

“It was late...” I finally find my voice, “Harry came home drunk that night.”

Blackjack nods slowly, eyes focused on the bruises as his hands rub the ointment over my calves. I bit the inside of my cheek when I felt the sting sink into the sensitive bruises. That didn’t stop me from talking however. I skipped forward to the threat.

“I went upstairs after he beat me and I heard his friends come into the house. Only it wasn’t just a couple of guys from the bar.”

My voice grew hard, “It was the Bears’ Prez....”

Blackjack looks up at me with confusion in his eyes.  

“Grizzly, himself?”

“The big lug.” I confirmed.

With a steady breath, I kept going.

“I don’t know why it’s come this far but Grizzly himself wanted to save me for an opportunity.”

“What opportunity?”   

“I don’t know.” I shake my head, “It’s some kind of plot to take down the Reapers.”

“Leverage.” He states firmly. “But why?”

“That’s the question.” I bit my bottom lip in thought, “I couldn’t dig any deeper once they were passed out drunk in my living room. I just knew I had to get out before they could use me to their advantage.”

“You did what you needed to do.” He assured me and took my hand again, giving it a soft squeeze. “But how did you come back looking like this? Did they hit you?”

I blinked, unsure of what to say. This was unraveling quickly and I didn’t know if I was ready to accept what just happened in that kitchen. The table, my phone, his pipe.

Harry—my husband of all people.. He..

“He beat me when he found out I was pregnant.” I say it coldly, like it has no effect on me. It couldn’t be further from the truth. I want to break down crying, scream from the unfairness of it all, but it wouldn’t do me any good.

Blackjack’s hand stopped squeezing at that moment. As I looked up, I could see that the line of his mouth was thinning. He wasn’t even looking at me but I could see it plain and clear. The words that can’t describe what to say.

Usually, people would automatically apologize—but what for? This wasn’t his fault. None of this had anything to do with him. And yet I knew he wanted so very much to speak out before me. It was in that anger; it didn’t scare me.

And it didn’t matter.

I needed to hear it to come out of his mouth. Plain and clear.

“Rob, please.” I say softly, overlapping his hand with mine.

He doesn’t look up at me, but he knows what I’m asking for.

“Did I lose the baby?”

The anger had left his face and ran away with my hope. He was silent as I searched his expression for answers. There were only three words he could admit to.

“I’m so sorry.”

A cold dread filled my heart as I sat before him. I closed my eyes slowly, broken to the point that it could overwhelm me at last. He leaned forward and took me into his arms. I couldn’t catch myself in time to stop crying. I rid myself of his hand and clutched to his shirt for dear life as I felt every part of me dissolve into those tears.

My forehead was buried into his chest as I felt the sobs drown my thoughts. He held me close to his body, arms pulling my broken pieces together. The palm of his hand strokes my back while his lips hovered above my ears, whispering in those thick “ssshh”s.

“You’re going to be okay.” Rob’s voice coaxes, “Fucking hell… you’re a survivor, Ash..”

I couldn’t respond without another wave of cries, so I shut myself up.

His hands made my back feel so warm—so safe. A soft kiss presses up to my throat and I closed my eyes in that moment.  

“God. Why did I let you leave?” He mutters with a soft kiss pressed to my throat, “I’ll never let anyone fucking hurt you again.”

A part of me wanted to believe him. The other part wanted me to go back to sleep. This entire conversation drained the energy out of my body. I could only release his shirt into its crumpled form before wrapping my arms around his body to pull me closer into his warmth. The embrace calmed me down enough to the point that my heart could finally settle down.

I sat there in the quiet with his hand slowly stroking my back. A soft shudder left my breath as I slowly sank back into myself. His hands guided me back to bed as I slid under the covers once again. I could close my eyes in that moment and he would address the covers back up my legs until they reached my shoulders, shielding me from the cold. His fingers smoothed my hair away from my face and just as he would take his hand back—I reached up to take his palm.

“Please don’t leave.”

I didn’t know if he heard me or not, but I could feel his hand slip away from mine in that moment. My fingers clutched to the pillow instead, eyes refusing to open and find him walking away. Instead, I heard a chair scraping the floor with him sitting beside me. His hand came down on mine and with his thumb, he stroked circles along my wrist until nothing could hurt me in my sleep.