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"I need to talk to you, all three of you."
Smith narrows his eyes. "What is this about?"
Porter and Nixon step away from their clients who are currently getting work done.
"It's about your threat to beat up the man who knocked me up."
"Hell, yeah, we will," Porter says. "The fucker left you without a goddamn word."
"Because you beat him up until he was a bloody mess."
My brothers share a grin. "We kicked his ass pretty good, didn't we?" Nixon laughs.
I'm seething, and Cheryl says we should go. "God, do you realize how hard you are making things for me? I'm trying to get my life together, to be a good mom, and you're insisting on acting like children."
"God, Sweetie, stop busting our balls," Porter laughs. "We're just shooting the shit."
"Well, it hurts me," I say, sticking up for myself. "And you know what? I'm your little sister. You should be looking out for me, not just breaking my heart."
I start crying, something I never, ever do in front of them.
"Fuck, don't do that," Smith says.
"What?" I sniffle. "Tell you the truth? I want big brothers who love me and want to protect me, but you just... you just keep acting like Dad. Like I don't matter. And I'm so tired of it. That's why I left in the first place."
My words fall to a silent room, and even the guys getting work done are staring at me now, silently.
I wipe my eyes, noticing my brothers exchange looks.
"What?" I ask. "What are you not saying?"
Porter pushes back his thick dark hair. "Maybe we're saying that... uh... we're sorry?"
I shake my head. "Stop, don't tease me."
"No," Smith says, running a hand over his beard. "I mean, Porter's right. We're a bunch of fuck-ups, you know that. Truth is, we are sorry."
"I'm sorry too, Sweetie," Nixon says. "We just saw him with you that day. Goddammit, our baby sister bent over and getting fucked by a sailor. What were we supposed to do? We had to hand his ass to him."
My cheeks redden, and I hate that everyone is listening to the crude description. But I also hear the sincerity in their apologies. Yes, maybe not the most eloquent, but my brothers were never exactly wordsmiths.
"You guys have treated me like a live-in housekeeper, never respecting me and my safety and--"
"We know. Dammit, Sweetie, I feel like shit," Smith says.
I cross my arms over my belly. "You should. This baby doesn't have a father," I say, feeling my eyes fill with tears again. "But at least, it could have three uncles."
That gets them the hardest, and suddenly my burly-ass brothers are all choking up, standing in their tattoo parlor getting emotional.
"Aww hell, Sweetie, we'll make it up to you, we swear," Porter says.
I look over at Cheryl, who seems to have softened over the apology.
"How do you plan on making it up to her?" she asks them, doing a good job as my backup.
Nixon reaches behind the counter and pulls out a bin filled with envelopes. He sets it on the counter. "We could, uh, start by giving you these."
"What is it?" I ask, stepping closer.
"It's letters. From the sailor," Smith tells me, his eyes filled with regret. "Looks like there is one for every day he's been gone."
Tears fall down my cheeks, as I reach for one out at random, pulling the paper from the envelope. I read, my heart pounding and hope soaring.
He felt what I felt.
Saw what I saw.
Knows what I know.
That we were meant to be together.
Dear Sweetie,
It wasn't supposed to happen that way. You and I, we were meant for more than a fling. More than a one-night stand, a half-hearted anything. Us, we were meant to set sail.
I said I didn't want to be tethered to anything, tied down.
But I was wrong. Crazy, right? To change my tune after such a short time?
But I like crazy. In fact, I love it.
Just like I love you.Your anchor,
Sampson StoneSampsonMost times when we get in port, I step off the boat and stretch my legs, feeling the earth beneath them. Then I start walking toward the nearest bar, hoping a drink will wash away my heartache.
Today, though, is different. This isn't just any port. Any town.
This is my chance to get Sweetie back, once and for all. Convince her I don't want to be a lone ranger. I want to fucking be her hero.
Six months is a long ass time to be away from the girl you want. But now, I'm here and I want to find her, chase her down--beg her for another chance--and I'll stop at nothing. Her brothers can beat the shit out of me. She can tell me no, over and over again, and I'll keep trying.
She is worth it.
Worth everything.
When I get off the boat, though, I feel like I must be goddamn dreaming.
