Tara Sivec - Worn Me Down

I tell Michelle to go ahead and give her my number and hang up the phone feeling a little less crazy about what’s been happening lately. I sort through the mail and stare curiously at a letter addressed to Emma. Brady promised her he’d send her a post card from each city he visited and so far she’s received seven. He must have decided to send something else this time. Tearing open the sealed envelope, I pull out the pink, folded piece of construction paper and open it up.

I let out a gasp when I see what’s on it. The paper slips from my hand and flutters to the floor. I immediately race down the hallway to Emma’s room, shouting her name in fear as I go. I’m now certain that none of this is my imagination.

“I wouldn’t ask you this if I had any other option, but I’m stuck. Emma’s babysitter is out of town visiting family for the weekend. It will only be for a few hours.”

I’m probably going to regret this, but having Gwen actually ask me for a favor is too good to turn down. Even if it means I have to be alone with a kid all night.

Gwen bites the nail of her thumb nervously and I reach out, pulling her finger from her mouth. “It’s fine, I can do it, no big deal.”

She smiles at me and it feels like someone punched me in the gut. Fucking hell! Why does she have to be so God damn good looking and vulnerable when she smiles? I’m such a pussy.

“So, what’s the deal? Do you have a hot date or something?” I ask, pretending like just uttering those words doesn’t make me want to punch a wall. What do I care if she has a date? I don’t even like her.

Fuck.

“Hardly. Remember that friend of mine I told you about, Ellie Larson? She’s in town and we’re going to dinner. I’d normally take Emma with me but I don’t want her out that late,” Gwen explains.

“Do I need to like, feed the kid or take her on a walk or some shit?” I ask in a panic.

Gwen laughs and shakes her head at me. “I’ll make sure she’s fed and walked before you come over. You do realize she’s a human and not a puppy, right?”

I’m starting to think this might not be a good idea. What the hell do I know about kids? What if she starts crying or something?

Gwen reaches out and rests her hand on my arm. “All you have to do is sit there and make sure she doesn’t start any fires or run with scissors. I’m pretty sure you can handle it.”

My gaze shifts from her face to the spot where her hand is touching me. It’s soft and warm and I suddenly wonder what it would feel like wrapped around my dick. I think about that hand sliding down the front of my pants and her tongue darting out to wet her lips. Without even thinking about what I’m doing, I step closer to her until I can feel the heat of her body against mine. Her hand digs into my bicep as if she’s trying to hold me in place and her mouth drops open, her breath coming out a little faster. Her lips are full and beautiful and I bet they taste even better. I can feel her breasts pressed against my chest and I want to slip my hand under her shirt and feel their fullness in my palm.

Reaching my hand up, I brush her hair off of one shoulder with the tips of my fingers just so I can touch her. Glancing down at the bare skin of her collarbone, I see a scar marking her skin. It’s an old scar, faded and barely visible, but it’s there. It’s a thin line about three inches long that goes from her collarbone over to her shoulder, disappearing under the edge of the shirt. I’ve seen scars like that before; I have scars like this – all of them the result of being on the receiving end of a knife blade. I stare in fascination at the mark and wonder what the fuck she’s doing with something like this on her body.

Not being able to help myself, I run my finger back and forth over the scar and ask. “Did you get into a knife fight or something?”

I can’t hide the humor in my voice because the idea of Gwen being in any kind of a fight is funny. Not because she couldn’t handle it, but because whoever decided to fight her probably wouldn’t be breathing topside anymore. She’d kick their ass and make them sorry they ever crossed her path. I’m even a little leery of castration standing this close to her, but I’m too mesmerized by the smoothness of her skin under my fingertips to shield the boys from her imminent wrath.

Gwen’s eyes blink in confusion and she looks away from me to crane her neck and stare down at the spot on her skin I’m still touching. I watch the softness in her face disappear as she quickly takes a step back from me. Whatever little moment we had going on just a few seconds ago is long gone. She grabs her hair and pulls it back to the front of her shoulder before turning away from me, grabbing her purse and heading for the door.

“So, I’ll just see you tonight then at Brady’s apartment? Seven o’clock should be fine.”

With that, she’s out the door and I’m standing here, my fingers still burning from the feel of her skin, wondering what the fuck just happened.

Again.

* * *

“Can I put pink lipstick on you?”

“No.”

“What about pink nail polish?”

“No.”

“I think a pink bow would look really pretty in your hair.”

“No.”

Emma huffs and crosses her arms in front of her, so much like her mother it makes me want to laugh. “Don’t you want to do anything fun?”

Stuffing my hands in the front pockets of my jeans, I glance around her room at the fucking sea of pink. Pink toys, pink blankets, pink stuffed animals – it looks like a bottle of Pepto exploded and it’s starting to give me hives.

“Isn’t it time for you to go to bed?” I question.

“It’s only seven-thirty.”

I shrug. “And?”

“And, I don’t go to bed until nine.”

Jesus Christ. What the hell was I thinking offering to babysit Gwen’s kid? I don’t know how to play with kids. Shit, I didn’t even know how to play when I was a kid. My first foster mother owned a diner put me to work when I was six years old. I had to learn how to wash and dry dishes in kindergarten.

“Um, how about we play Navy SEAL?”

She looks at me like I’m crazy. I probably am.

Getting down on my knees so I’m closer to her level, I look around the room cautiously and speak in a low voice. “That Barbie over there in the pink dress hiding behind the stuffed dog is a high level insurgent. Do we capture or kill, soldier?”

Emma looks at me with wide eyes for a moment and I wonder if this is the dumbest idea ever. Then, she glances over at the Barbie in question, bends her knees and whispers in my ear. “I think we need to capture her. Make her talk.”

Stifling a laugh, I quickly shuffle on my knees over to the edge of her bed, motioning for her to follow with my hand. She runs up behind me and we both peek around the corner of her frilly pink comforter.

“What do we do now?” she whispers from behind me, resting her small hands on my shoulders.

“We don’t want to spook her. We take this nice and slow and you don’t make a move until I say so,” I tell her, looking over my shoulder at her.

She nods, a fierce look of concentration on her face.

“We’re going to need weapons. She looks like a fighter. Did you bring weapons, soldier?”

Emma quickly grabs a stuffed alligator from off of her bed. Naturally it’s pink. “I’ve got this alligator. Her name’s Ally and she bites.”

I nod my head and motion for her to go in front of me. “You go in first with the gator. Tell her we don’t negotiate with terrorists who wear pink.”

* * *

My eyelids are so fucking heavy it feels like bricks are attached to them. Who knew an hour and a half of playing Navy SEAL with a six-year-old could be so exhausting?

“Hey, Mr. Austin?”

I struggle to open my eyes when I hear Emma’s sleepy voice and I lift my head from the back of the couch to look down at her, curled up next to me with her head resting against my side.

“What’s up pipsqueak?”

She looks up at me and yawns. “Do you know my daddy?”

I’m suddenly wide awake and I sit up a little straighter, careful not to jostle her too much. “Um, no. I don’t know your daddy. Is he nice?”

She yawns again, looking away from me to burrow closer into my side. “He always bought me presents. And he called me princess. But he wasn’t nice to mommy.”

Uneasiness ripples through my body at her softly spoken words. “What do you mean he wasn’t nice to mommy?”

I’m probably the biggest dick in the world for questioning a child, but right now I don’t care. I need info on Gwen and Emma’s sleepy ramblings seem to be just the place to get it. For some reason, I naturally assumed Gwen left New York because of her parents, just like Brady did. Obviously, I was wrong.

Emma is quiet for a few minutes and I assume she’s fallen asleep, but she mumbles into my side. “He yelled a lot. He called her bad names. If we would have had a swear jar then, he would have had to put a whole lot of money in it.”

I swallow thickly, resting my palm on top of her head.

“I miss my daddy, but he made mommy cry. I don’t want my mommy to cry anymore,” she admits softly right before she falls asleep.

Reaching for the blanket draped over the back of the couch, I gently pull it down and cover Emma with it. My head drops to the back of the couch and I stare up at the ceiling, things slowly clicking into place in my addled brain. Gwen not having any contact with Brady for years, her showing up at his place in the middle of the night a few months ago, the ‘personal stuff’ she’s got going on in her life, the way she zones out every once in a while and I can tell she’s thinking about something that bothers her, the comment she made in the car the other day about people hurting you… it’s all starting to make sense.

That motherfucker hurt her. I wonder if Gwen knows how much Emma worries about her. A kid shouldn’t have to worry about someone harming her mother, especially when that someone is her own father. Just the idea of some douchebag making Gwen feel like shit makes me want to find him and beat his sorry ass into the ground. I know she doesn’t want to talk about her past, especially to me, but if Brady was concerned enough to have me come here and keep an eye on her, this asshole could still be a threat. I may not be the type of guy to settle down with a wife and kid, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let anything happen to Gwen or her daughter.

I glance nervously at my watch as I sit in the booth of the restaurant. Not because Ellie is a few minutes late, but because I’m wondering if Austin is surviving being alone with my daughter. I lied when I told him that Karen was out of town for the weekend. After that damn letter that came in the mail the other day, the coffee mug incident and what happened in the park, I wasn’t about to leave Emma home alone without being absolutely certain she would be safe. Karen is sweet and she adores Emma, but she’s no Navy SEAL. As much as Austin clouds my judgment and messes with my mind, I know that there isn’t a better person out there to keep my daughter safe.

That damn letter – a crayon drawn picture of a mother, a father and a little girl. It was a crude drawing and, at first glance, I assumed a child had done it – until I saw the words scribbled at the bottom of the page: Families belong together.

It was stupid of me to believe that William would just sit back and do nothing after I left, but to stoop to such childish behavior is pathetic. Michelle called me back on the way to the restaurant tonight and she informed me that William has been in New York for the past couple of weeks and his only travel plan coming up is a medical conference in Chicago. That news didn’t sit well with me at all. The coffee mug thing could be chalked up to my over-active imagination, and the person at the park could have just been a stranger, but that letter sure as hell was real. I’m not about to let him do this to me or to Emma. As much as I don’t want to, I’m have to tell Austin what’s going on. He dropped everything to look after us as a favor to my brother, not knowing what kind of a mess he was stepping into. It’s only fair to him that I explain the situation. There’s no way he can truly protect us if he doesn’t know what he’s protecting us from. I hate relying on someone else, but I won’t be careless about my daughter’s safety. William’s money and influence are far-reaching and he’s not a man I want to go up against all on my own. It would be a different story if it were only my well being I had to worry about. I would have no problem being my usual stubborn self and handling things on my own, but I have Emma to consider. I’m not about to let my pride get in the way of protecting her.