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I fought him harder than I ever had before, which he wasn’t expecting, screaming with my own violent rage and fear until my throat felt raw as I raked my nails down his face and tore at his greasy, overgrown hair. I was beyond terrified he was going to punch me in my obviously pregnant stomach or worse. Terrified that he was going to end the beautiful life that Wyatt and I had been building together. Terrified of what Wyatt would find when he got home if I didn’t fight and survive. It would break him, losing us, even if he survived whatever Dad had planned for him after he was through with me.
I didn’t know at the time where the strength came from for me to be able to buck him off of me, but I did, landing another kick to his stomach that sent him falling back on his ass. It surprised him just as much as it did me, though I knew it wouldn’t last long. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t spare the precious few seconds I needed to find my phone after getting to my feet. I spun and sprinted through the house like the very devil was chasing me.
Now, I know from first-hand experience just how all those moms we’ve heard about in the news were able to do miraculous things, like lifting a car off their child, when those feats should have been physically impossible.
I knew Wyatt would get a security notification on his phone as soon as the house alarm went off, and I prayed he’d get home in time to do what he had been promising from the very beginning—protect me and our little one. I just needed to survive long enough for him to do so.
Since I knew I couldn’t outrun Dad for long, my plan was to use every ounce of my remaining strength to run into the woods across the street and hide. I only got a few steps out the front door with Dad following right on my heels when Wyatt’s truck came to a screeching halt in the front yard.
He was like an avenging angel sent straight from heaven as he came barrelling out of his truck, moving inhumanly fast. He tackled my dad, though Dad managed to trip me first before crashing to the ground. Thank god I was able to catch myself with my hands so I didn’t land on my belly.
I watched in fascinated horror as Wyatt, who looked just as crazed and deranged as Dad did, hammered the shit out of him with his bare fists, eliminating the threat we had felt hanging over our heads for too long. As shocking and horrifying as it was, I fell even more in love with him. I couldn’t do anything but stare in awe at Wyatt’s immense strength and power while I rubbed my belly, silently waiting for our baby to kick and let me know they were ok.
I have no doubt Wyatt would have killed Dad if the cops hadn’t shown up when they did and pulled him off. I’m grateful, so incredibly grateful, that they did. I don’t know if Wyatt would have gone to prison for killing him in defense of us, but the thought that he could have been torn from us terrified me so much that I was beginning to get lightheaded at the prospect.
Wyatt’s hold on my hand grows tighter as I give my statement to the officers. I tell them about how Dad abused me and Mom for years, how he kicked down our door and attacked me, and how Wyatt defended and protected me. Wyatt’s hand hasn’t left my belly either, and I figure it’ll be a long time until he relaxes enough to remove it—if ever—even though he needs his own medical attention.
Then they tell me that several officers fired their weapons when Dad pointed his gun at us, and in the blink of an eye, the person I had lived in terror of my entire life was gone for good. I’ll never again have to live in fear of him coming after me or my family. I’m safe. My little family is safe. Mom is—
“Oh my god, Mom!” I look at Wyatt, frantic and worried, as I attempt to sit up in bed. “Give me your phone! I need to call my mom.” He hands it over, and before I dial, I beg the officers, “Please, please, please send someone to check on my mom. I think he hurt her before he came here. He said—oh my god, what if she’s—” I can’t finish my sentence and cry so hard it’s difficult to breathe.
Mama sits on the edge of my hospital bed and holds me while I sob, my hands shaking and my vision too blurry to see the numbers.
“Here, babygirl. I’ll do it.” Wyatt takes his phone back and dials as I recite my parents’ landline phone number. It kills me that I don’t have her cell phone number memorized. I cry even harder when she doesn’t answer the phone, and his calls keep going to the answering machine.
The officers assure me they’ll contact the local police department to do a wellness check and will let me know what’s going on as soon as possible. The only thing I can do now is send up a silent prayer for her safety.
* * *
Though I get the all-clear, Dr. Patel still wants me to stay overnight for observation. When I try to protest and beg Wyatt to take me home to sleep in our own bed, he reminds me our back door is busted, so it wouldn’t be safe to go back home just yet.
Once I’m able to calm somewhat, I try to get some sleep, if only to pass the time before we can leave, but I’m too uncomfortable in the unfamiliar hospital bed. I toss and turn in frustration, and Wyatt looks just as uncomfortable trying to sleep in the chair next to my bed that was definitely not made for a man his size. I’m hungry, too, and I tear up a little when I remember I didn’t get to eat any of the ice cream I had been craving.
“What’s wrong, Dolly?” Wyatt asks with a sleepy groan.
I’m suddenly hit with so much guilt for waking him up and making him leave at two in the morning to get me said ice cream. He did it because he’s such a kind and loving man, and all he wants to do is make me happy.
I want to make him happy, too, and I never did get to give him his reward…My eyes snap to the door of the private restroom in my hospital room, and an idea forms. I know just what I need—what we need—to finally be able to rest.
“I, um, I need to use the restroom. Can you help me?” I ask him sweetly.
He arches his brow as he silently observes that I’m not hooked up to any machines preventing me from going to the restroom by myself, but he’s quick to help me out of bed all the same. He holds my arm like he’s afraid I’m going to slip and fall as we shuffle across the room.
When he stops behind me at the door and drops my arm instead of following me inside, I turn around and pout my lips a little while I widen my eyes. “I still need your help…in here.”
“Dolly, what—” His breath catches as I slowly untie and pull off my totally unsexy hospital gown in the weirdest strip tease ever. He finally gets the hint, and his eyes flash with unbridled heat as he quickly swings the restroom door closed and locks it behind him.
“I never got to give you your reward, Daddy.” I bite my bottom lip and cup my breasts, which have grown so much during my pregnancy that they spill over the sides of my hands. I know he can’t resist them, has never been able to, in fact, but he’s even hungrier for them now.
He grabs his bulging erection and adjusts himself in his grass-stained pajama pants as he steps up to me, but then a flash of concern banks the heat in his eyes. “Babygirl, you know I was just joking about the reward part. It’s been a very long, very emotional night, and we probably shouldn’t—”
“Are you saying you don’t want your reward, Daddy?” I drop my hands and turn to face the mirror above the sink. I lean over, place my hands on the counter, and spread my feet apart. I catch his eyes in the mirror and arch my back, pouting my lips again.
“Well, now, I never said I don’t want it…just…fuck, babygirl. You know I can’t say no to you.” Wyatt steps up behind me and smooths a bandaged hand up my spine, pushing between my shoulder blades so I’m bent further over the sink. “You drive me wild, you beautiful fucking angel,” he growls, the sound sending delicious shivers and goosebumps zipping over my skin.
He nudges my feet further apart with his knee between my legs as he sweeps my tangled hair to the side and kisses my neck, my shoulder, and then down along my spine before disappearing from view as he kneels behind me.
I moan as he palms both of my ass cheeks and spreads them apart. “Tilt your hips, and show me what’s mine.” I bend over as much as I can with my baby bump in the way and shift my feet apart as wide as they’ll go without losing my balance. “Good girl. All fucking mine. Every delicious, perfect inch of you is mine. Say it, babygirl.”
