Mutual Release (61 page)

Evan could see Damian was losing it. His eyes were red, wild-looking. He looked and smelled like he’d been living in a garbage dump. He put his hand on the phone in his jeans pocket. Then he heard her again and his instincts took over, sending him hurtling across the room at Damian once more.

This time he found his target. They went down, rolled, and Evan’s brain fuzzed over as his fists connected with Damian’s nose, eye socket, mouth. The sickening yet somehow pleasant crunch of the man’s bones and sinew under his hands made him grin. Blood was everywhere. But Damian never made a sound.

At one point Evan snapped to, looked at his fists covered in blood, shocked at himself. Damian took the opportunity to shove Evan off him and reverse their positions. The pain was astounding. Evan felt his nose break, choked on the blood that poured down his throat. The whole damn thing unrolled like a cheesy movie reel. All he could say or hear in his head was “Julie.”

Damian laughed at one point, leaning back, and Evan gained the advantage. He raised up and head-butted the other man, making himself see stars but disabling the asshole long enough to jerk himself out from under him and shove him down on the floor face-first.

“Where the fuck is my wife?” he growled, yanking Damian’s arm out of its socket so hard the other man yelped in pain.

* * * *

Julie took long, deep breaths, pictured herself somewhere else, anywhere else but in the middle of this bizarre, cable-cop-show-like bullshit moment.
Get a grip, girl. You’re fine. Tied up, yes, but fine.
She was on her knees, in a t-shirt and shorts. She teetered off balance, thanks to her huge belly, and tried not to flop forward and land on it. Her hands and ankles were bound behind her. She was gagged, which was the one thing that really hurt. Damian had made it too tight and it bit into her cheek and made it very hard to breathe. She’d stood in the shower about ten minutes too long – long enough for him to sneak in to the un-alarmed house, up the stairs, and make her scream with fright when he opened the shower door and yanked her out.

His eyes had been bloodshot and scary but keen with purpose. He made her put on clothes, seemingly disgusted with her giant stomach, sit, and get trussed up. All without a word.

But she was breathing for three now. That shit had to be taken seriously. So she sucked in air through her nose, slow, steady, and calm, trying to force herself to a place where she could think and not just react. She was fine. He had not hurt her in any way, merely shown up and bound her. She’d stayed as quiet as she could, lest he slit her throat with the kitchen knife he had in one hand. Making a mental note to get rid of anything sharp in her house the second she got out of this mess, she wiggled her wrists. She was alive, unhurt, and could figure out a way out of this. Tears threatened.
No. No crying. No hysterics. Get your shit together and figure this out.

But when she heard Evan come in, she’d cried out once, the very real terror at what Damian would possibly do to them, once he got the money he wanted, suffused every cell of her now very protective body. So she forced herself to be quiet, listening to the scuffle, the horrific bone-crunching sounds and Damian’s evil laugh.

Discerning some slack in the ropes at her wrists, she kept working them, as she breathed in and out, sending calm signals to the babies who were kicking like mad against her internal organs. Then, the sound of feet pounding up the steps. She kept working her wrists, and when the ropes fell away, she kept her hands behind her, pretending to stay bound.

Where the hell was her phone? She had no idea, and they didn’t have a house phone, just the two mobiles. She heard a light buzz somewhere to her left. Her brain had never been more clear.
Get a phone. Call police. Keep breathing. In and out.
She saw Evan’s face first, a mask of bloodied horror at her trussed-up state. But she tried to send him a message with her eyes.
I’m okay. Gonna get to a phone
.

Damian caught up with him. They were both a wreck, covered in blood, noses askew, eyes streaming, mouths swollen. “Motherfucker,” Evan muttered and turned, shoving Damian down the steps. The man clattered down head over heels, she assumed. But she yanked off the gag, then tried to sit and release her ankles, frantic, bumbling and unable to stop shaking.

“You have just fucked with the wrong man’s wife, you shithead.” Evan ran back down the stairs after shooting her a “hurry up” look. But a sudden slice of excruciating pain made her double over, gasping as she tried to find the elusive phone that had buzzed earlier.

“Ow. Ow. Ow,” she whispered, as tears blinded her. The pain was mind-numbing. It started in her back, spread around and tightened the drum of her belly.
Imagine your menstrual cramps
, the officious Lamaze instructor had advised,
times about twenty thousand.

Holy fucking mother of God in heaven, it was worse than that. Way worse. She sucked in a breath when the agonizing vise eased somewhat. “Evan,” she whispered as she curled in on herself on the bedroom floor, wishing for death. There were loud crashing sounds from downstairs, thumping noises, grunts and curses. The pain released its grip for a few minutes. She scrambled to all fours, the coppery smell of blood filling her nose. Blood was not normal, but that was not the issue now.
Where was the phone?

She patted around in the dark, on the floor, cursing and dreading the next… oh yeah. Her back arched, and she felt a gush of fluid coat her thighs. “It’s too early.” She fell over, holding her belly. “Oh crap… help…”

And as quickly as it hit her, the contraction retreated just as the phone buzzed, right under her hip. She scrabbled around, found it, and tried to focus on the screen. Finding the numbers 9-1-1 had never been so challenging. “Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?” the voice asked.

“Help. Killer in the house… come… fast.”

And the room went black.

* * * *

“Please promise me we will never, ever do that again.” Evan’s voice pulled Julie from a light sleep. She blinked, trying to get her bearings. He held a pink swaddled bundle in one arm and would not take his eyes from it. Julie’s hair hurt. Her toenails hurt. There was not a molecule of her that did not scream with pain.

“If you mean have kids again, that is a solemn swear.” She groaned and rolled over, hoping to hide from the agony that attacked her from every angle.

“My love,” Evan whispered, coming around and leaning down to kiss her lips. “You are so strong. And brave. And I love you more than anything.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m the one who had to birth these kids,” she whispered. “I need some aspirin, or better yet, Percocet and bourbon.”

“Let me see what I can do.” He wandered out, still jiggling the bundle in his arms. Panic settled over her heart. She clutched the bedrail and struggled to sit. “Evan!” she croaked. “Come back.”

He turned around, his face calm. “What, honey?”

“Where is… the other one?” She gestured to the baby he held.

Evan smiled. “She’s fine. Right over there. Sleeping. This one is a bit harder to settle.”

She flopped back onto the pillow after seeing the other pink bundle, her breathing returning to normal. She looked up to see Sara in the doorway clutching flowers and a bottle of champagne. “Shit, open that thing, hurry before the nurse shows up.”

Her friend smiled and sat, popped open the cork. “Oh well, no glasses,” the woman said, then shrugged and took a sip from the neck of the bottle before passing it to Julie. “Congrats, my friend. Your girls are beautiful.”

Julie felt tears prickle the backs of her eyes. “Yeah. Thanks.” She took the bottle, gripped it in shaking hands. “Thanks for coming, Sara. Really. I know how nuts your life is right now.” Sara’s friendship meant more to her than she knew how to express.

A knock at the door made them both look up. A small, thin woman stood in the door, a hopeful look on her face. Julie smiled. “Hi, Mom. Come on in and join the party.” She had no malice left. She had her man, her babies, and was ready to move on with her life letting go of resentment. There would be plenty of time for that when she had her own teenagers to manage.

“Excuse me, but there is no alcohol allowed in here.” The nurse bustled in, fussing around at everyone. “It’s time to feed the girls, Julie. You ready?”

Julie shrugged, and saw Evan walk back in with one of their daughters in his arms. His smile gave her strength, as always, even if his face was a mess of bruises and his nose bandaged. “I am ready. For anything.” She took the baby from his hands. He kissed her. And all was well.

* * * *

Evan felt as though his heart might burst from his chest and lie there, beating, in front of his eyes. He had no frame of reference for the sensations coursing through him while he watched Julie feed one of their daughters from her body.

The blur of the fight with Damian, the sight of Julie, bound and crying, then the police, dragging the monster who’d haunted his life for so long away in handcuffs – it all was a distant memory. The very real moment he’d found her, his beloved, lying unconscious on the bedroom floor, blocked everything else out.

They’d bundled her into the ambulance, making noises about multiples’ delivery in the field. He’d jumped into the thing with her, held her hand. And been privy to the most horrific and amazing sight ever – his children being born, one in the back of the ambulance in the hospital parking lot and the other in a barely curtained off emergency room space. Once the doctors determined both girls were healthy, had full lung capacity and could be released from the neo-natal intensive care unit, he’d refused to let go of them, holding one or the other constantly for a couple of days while everyone recovered.

And he was dead serious when he said he never did want to do it again. It had been breathtaking and awful, heart-wrenching, beautiful and terrible all at once. He brushed Julie’s hair back and handed her baby June. The tiny girl had been fussy so far, where her sister Claire was calm. He sat and watched, fascinated, as Julie pulled aside her gown and settled the infant to her breast. She latched on, making Julie wince. Then they sat quietly together, and Evan fell in love all over again. He touched the child’s head as she nursed, surprised when something wet hit the back of his hand.

“Sorry.” Julie sniffled. “Hormones.” She looked up when June’s twin sister started mewling from her tiny bed nearby. “Wow.” Julie wiped her nose with a tissue. “This is gonna be a lot of work.”

“Yeah,” Evan said, still mesmerized by the sight of his family. “But I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you. I swear it.”

Julie snorted and handed him June, holding out her arms for Claire. “Yeah, I know. You are so stuck with me now, daddy-cakes.”

He set Claire against her other breast. “Call me Country Club. It makes me feel young.”

Julie giggled, then sobbed again. And he sat holding her hand as she fed the other girl, running his finger over her small skull.

“I will always take care of you,” he whispered. Julie squeezed his hand. He looked up at her. “All of you,” he promised.

She nodded. “We know you will.”

Epilogue

Twenty-Five Years Later

“Julie? Honey?” Evan put a hand on her shoulder, drawing her away from the window. She resisted, her eyes hot and burning as she stared at the falling snow.

Rallying, she observed her distinguished-looking husband, the tuxedo only serving to make him more handsome.

“C’mon. The girls are looking for you.” He put her knuckles to his lips, calmed her with his touch as he had done so many times.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so…” She sniffled as she walked into the bride’s room at the Barton Hills Country Club.

Their daughter June was there, resplendent in a designer wedding gown, simple, strapless, and perfect. June’s twin sister Claire sat with her, along with Angie, their oldest friend, and a couple of June’s nursing school buddies. All the women had their bare feet up on the hearth, wiggling their toes in front of a blazing fire, sipping champagne.

“Um, no.” Evan plucked the glass from June’s hand, making her frown and stick her tongue out at him.

“Daddy, don’t be such a…
dad
,” Claire insisted. She patted the couch next to her. “C’mere, Mom. Sit with us.”

Julie sat between her girls, her own expensive dress crinkling around her as she sighed and took the glass Evan had taken from their three-months-pregnant-and-getting-married-today daughter. A tear slid down her face. June put an arm around her from one side, Claire the other. Evan sat, quiet. Twenty-plus years in a house full of women had taught him when to hold his commentary, Julie figured.

“I still don’t like him so if you want to bolt now…,” he finally said, making them all laugh. June’s fiancée was a surgeon, a captain in the Army. They’d met while June did a nursing rotation at the VA hospital. Mike Butler had Evan’s firm seal of approval, and everyone knew it. But he was headed to the Middle East in a month, and the past weeks had been a whirlwind of revelation, between the pregnancy and the deployment.