Execution Style (10 page)

He rubbed his large palms up and down my back in slow, soothing strokes. “It’s okay, Mercy Me. I would’ve been the one to come anyway, even if you had called 911. I was the closest to the scene.”

I clenched my eyes shut tighter. “No. I mean at all. I’ve practically ruined your life.”

He squeezed me tighter. “You didn’t make me do anything
. I’m a grown
man. I could take you while hog-tied with a blind fold covering my eyes.”

I leaned back, eyes still pouring tears, and laughed in his face. “I’m no fainting violet. I could take you if I had a desire to.”

“Miller,” Chief Rhodes growled from the other room. “Your brother needs a ride from the emergency room. You can have the rest of the day off. Tomorrow too. Come back Wednesday with a better attitude.”

With that, the chief turned and left, not bothering to look back.

“You pissed off the chief for me. I think that’s very romantic,” I teased, taking my hand and running my curled fingers against his jaw.

He had a sexy beard today. Something he’d decided to start growing because
of some bet between Miller and Foster. It’d started out innocent enough, two nights ago, but had ended in an all-out ‘no shave March’ for the two of them.

They’d tried to pull their other brother into it, but apparently his wife wouldn’t let him go into another ‘sibling rivalry beard off.’

Personally, I thought the entire situation was hilarious, but that was just me.

“Honey, I’d piss off the entire world for you. The Chief is a piece of cake in comparison. And I’m meeting your parents at dinner tonight. I’d never be able to face your father if I hadn’t,” he growled.

I cracked a grin and leaned forward, giving him a kiss on the nose before I made an effort to stand.

When I did, I could see the entire police station watching us through the plate glass windows of Miller’s office.

The nosy cops didn’t even bother to hide the fact that they were watching, only continued to do so.

Some even went as far as to wave.

Those, however, were the men of the SWAT team.

They were worse than a bunch of giggling teenagers.

“They’re all watching us,” I whispered down, running my hands through Miller’s hair.

He groaned and placed his face against my stomach. “I love it when you put your hands on me.”

I giggled and grabbed onto his ears before pulling him up. “Let’s go get that little brother of yours. Seems someone needs to take care of him.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled.

“Wow, I guess I win,” Miller goaded his brother.

“Fuck off,” he snapped, glaring at Miller over the shoulder of the male nurse who was busy cleaning off the blood from the cut on his jaw.

When Foster had arrived, he’d immediately entered into the fray, helping defend his brother from the moment he walked into the door.

Then promptly got a syrup bottle to his face. The glass had shattered instantly, embedding in the bottom of his jaw and chin. He’d been a mess of blood and syrup, but he’d managed to cajole the crowd away from Devon, Sarah, and Miller.

Miller quickly got control of the situation just as three more officers arrived, arresting over twenty people.

Sarah and Devon had been arrested for assaulting a police officer, Devon being the one that had brained Foster with the syrup bottle.

Sarah had clawed Miller’s neck and face, but it wasn’t anything nearly as bad as Foster’s injury.

“They didn’t shave all of it,” I said, going around to the other side to place my hand on Foster’s chin and pulled him towards me.

The nurse tossed me a thankful look over his shoulder, happy that I’d broken the glaring match between the two men.

“That’s right, I still have four fifths of the beard. And it wasn’t me who shaved it. This guy did,” Foster said, pointing accusingly at the man in front of him.

Sighing, I grabbed the wet rag from the nurse and started cleaning Foster as if he were a small child that couldn’t do it himself.

I probably did it a little harder than was necessary, but seriously, what was their deal? Foster had been hurt today,
all because he was trying to help his brother. They needed to cool it with the bet.

“How many stitches did you end up having?” I asked, eyeing the nasty looking wound.

“Thirty one,” a male’s voice said from behind us.

I cringed the moment I heard it, sinking into Foster the moment I heard the man’s voice.

Foster and Miller both caught the reaction, coming to attention the second I’d done it.

Foster scooted over until he was sitting up straight on the bed, his feet dangling over the side to allow me to get between him and the man entering the room.

Miller stepped in front of the doctor, halting his forward progress before he’d even made it two steps inside the room.

I was hyperventilating, squeezing my eyes tightly shut, as I prayed that he’d leave before it went to a full blown panic attack.

Oh, my God. That voice sounded so much like
Mitch’s that I wanted to puke.

He looked exactly like him as well, even if he was a much older version of him.

Doctor Raine Moose, Mitch’s father, was a good man.

He was a really nice person, and I’d loved him the moment I met him.

Something had to be said for a man that tried so hard to take care of his family, but had failed. He and
Mitch’s mother, Linda, had separated just last year.

He’d been the only good thing about going over to Mitch’s house, and once he was gone, I’d hated being anywhere near Linda. It was as if Raine had kept her grounded, and without him around, she seemed to be worse.

“I think you need to leave,” Miller ordered quietly.

When Raine looked over to me with his bushy eyebrows and shock of white blonde hair, nearly the same as Foster’s, I knew he felt bad. Devastated, in fact.

“No,” I said softly, leaning into Foster. “It’s okay. Miller, I’d like you to meet Dr. Raine Moose,
Mitch’s father.”

Miller froze, looking at Raine as if he was a bug, studying him as if he’d become an interesting specimen.

Raine’s eyes were all for me, though.

They were filled with sorrow when he said, “I’m so sorry, Mercy.”

I nodded, not really knowing what to say.

‘It’s okay’ didn’t really sound like the best thing to say. It wasn’t okay that his son had raped me. Although I knew it wasn’t his fault, it was always going to be in the back of my mind that he’d been responsible for raising Mitch.

What if…

I shut off that thought quickly. No, it wasn’t Raine’s fault. If it
was anyone’s fault, it was Linda’s.

“I know,” I finally settled with saying.

He smiled a half smile and turned his attention to Foster, who hadn’t moved an inch since Raine had come into the room.

“I know you’re ready to go, and you’re more than welcome to once the nurse gets you your discharge papers. Don’t get the wound wet for twenty four to forty eight hours. And be sure to keep a close eye on it for infection. I called you in a prescription
for an antibiotic at Kilgore Drugs, a
nd a pain reliever as well. Is
there anything else I can get for you?” Raine asked Foster.

Foster shook his head. “No, that’s it.”

With that, Raine had been properly dismissed, so he turned from the room, only looking back over his shoulder at me twice before he disappeared around the corner.

“What the fuck?”
Miller asked, turning around and pinning his eyes on to me.

I shrugged. “Mitch
’s father is a nice man. He
doesn’t
deserve to have me so scared of him, but I couldn’t help it. He looks so much like
Mitch that it hurts.”

Miller nodded and turned to his brother, but was interrupted by the nurse coming in with a stack of papers in his hand. “Alright, this is your discharge instructions. If you need anything, feel free to call your primary care provider. Anything else I can do for you?”

Foster shook his head in the negative.

With that, the nurse nodded and left, reappearing again with a wheel chair.

Foster snorted and stood, shrugged out of the hospital gown they’d made him slip on over his pants, and picked up a bag of clothes before exiting.

Miller snorted and cracked a smile before offering me his hand.

I stood, taking it willingly.

“Looks like we won’t be needing that wheelchair. Thanks for putting up with him,” Miller said thankfully.

The nurse nodded. “Men are always the worst. I know he wasn’t purposely acting like a douchebag.”

Miller snorted. “No, he really
is
a douchebag.”

“I heard that!” Foster said from down the hall.

I covered my mouth to hide my smile as we walked hand in hand out the door.

The last thing I saw as we exited the ER was Raine looking at me with ghosts haunting his eyes.

If you’re arguing with your woman, and she says, ‘go ahead, I don’t care,’ don’t listen to her. It’s a trick.

-Fact of life

Mercy

Four weeks later

I licked my suddenly dry lips, scared to death to even open the box that would soon determine my fate.

Miller had no such problem ripping into the box.

The first thing to go in the trash was the directions, followed by the tiny remains of the decimated box.

“Jesus,” I hissed, snapping the plastic stick away from him before he could rip the plastic off of it, too. “I would’ve liked to read those instructions.”

He grinned at me. “Just piss on the stick. Would you like me to help you?”

I smacked him on the arm
and pointed to the door. “Get out!”

He laughed. “I’ll turn my back.”

We’d shared a lot in the last few
weeks. Ranging from our bodies, to the bedroom, to clothes. Yet we hadn’t shared the bathroom together
, other than showers. There had to be a line drawn somewhere, and him watching me pee on a stick was it.

“You better not turn around,” I huffed as he turned and started reading the nearest
thing. Which happened to be the Cosmopolitan Magazine I’d gotten in the mail earlier in the day.

I didn’t bother to ask why it was in there. There was a thing such as TMI in a relationship, and that was part of it.

“Are you done yet?” Miller asked in exasperation.

I snorted. “I haven’t even gotten the
wrapper off yet.”

He whipped around and tore into the package with ease, handing the little white stick over to me before going back to reading something in the magazine.

“Anything good in there?” I attempted to make small talk.

“Hmm,” he said. “How to please your man when you go out with friends
. How to give your man the best blow job of his life. What happens
to your breasts when you eat too much salt.”

I blinked.

“Which one of those has you the most interested?” I asked.

I could practically hear the smile overtake Miller’s face as I looked down at the test in my hand, then attempted to pee on the stick without peeing on my hand.

“What a high salt intake does to your boobs,” he teased.

I grinned and pulled the stick out, happy that I’d managed not to pee on myself in the process and set it on the counter like it was a bomb ready to blow.

“Hey!” I said when Miller turned around and started staring at the test as if he could will it to turn pink.

“Are you sure you’re late?” He asked for confirmation.

I rolled my eyes.

“Yes,” I said slowly.

“How do you know?” He persisted.

I flushed the toilet, and pushed him with my shoulder to get him to move out from in front of the sink.

Then I washed my hands, studiously ignoring the white stick on the counter. I kept my eyes on everything
but
it. The walls of my bathroom with its hideous white orchid flowered wall paper. The way my shower curtain matched everything but the wallpaper. The way Miller kept his eyes on the stick, fists planted on the counter as he watched.

“Are you going to stare at it for the whole two minutes?” I asked worriedly.

God, why was I so freakin’ nervous?

My eyes ran down Miller’s torso.

He was shirtless and barefoot. His
uniform pants were the only thing he was wearing, having ripped the rest of the uniform off the minute he’d walked through my door.

I now had a designated spot for him to hang his things for work, as well as his clothes in my closet.

Something I found that he didn’t do, instead throwing everything he had on down on the couch the moment he walked in the door after a shift.

He’d gotten off of work only an hour ago, but he’d made a stop at the store to buy some pregnancy tests.

He probably looked like a weirdo buying as many as he had, but he was happy so I didn’t mind.

“I don’t need a whole two minutes. I’m just trying to figure out what the fuck the plus sign and the two lines mean,” he grumbled.

I snorted. “Well, it would’ve said on the directions.”

His eyes lifted and he glared before bending down and picking up the crumpled up directions.

“Two lines and no plus sign means negative,” he read. “Two lines and a plus sign means…” he looked up at me, meeting my eyes, when he said, “Positive.”

My heart started to pound ferociously. My eyes widened, and my breathing sped up.

“Holy shit,” I breathed.

He grinned and dropped the paper, which, I noticed, fell to the floor, completely missing the trashcan.

His arms wrapped around my shoulders, and he stared into my eyes through the mirror.

My eyes started to water, and then slowly, the tears spilled over.

“I hope it’s yours,” I said desperately.

His eyes, those beautiful blue, soulful eyes, were drowning in happiness.

My heart lightened slightly as I smiled sadly at him.

“It’s going to be okay,” he urged again.

I nodded. “I know. I know it will. I just hope it’s yours. With all my heart I hope the baby is yours.”