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I leave my phone behind, not caring to know who might try to contact me right now.
But I notice Natasha has hers, which she checks. She looks pained for a moment but recovers soon enough.
Asking her if anything’s wrong, she shakes her head, smiling again once I take her hand.
There’s a tall security gate between the path and the beach, which I open, ushering her through.
The late afternoon sun is slowly dropping behind some gray clouds, with giant beams of orange and red light splaying out across the ocean from the horizon.
It’s breathtaking to watch, but I can’t take my eyes off Natasha. Watching her take in the sensation of wet sand between our toes, the sea, and the approaching sunset.
It’s just perfect. She’s perfect.
The beach is secluded, technically on private property. But being attached to the coastline, there’s no real way to keep it a hundred percent off-limits all the time.
Rounding a bend that curves away from the house, towards a cave I want to show Natasha, we both stop when we hear and then see a group of people.
I tense up, growling without meaning to as Natasha clings to my arm.
I’ve seen people on the beach before, no big deal. But at a glance, I can tell this is no usual crowd.
“Let’s just go,” Natasha pleads, shivering again as I pat her hand with mine.
There’s a bonfire burning low and what looks like about a dozen kids.
I say kids, but at my age, everyone under thirty is a kid, it feels like.
Except for Natasha, of course. That’s different.
I can see a few girls in bikinis, wearing their boyfriend’s jackets to keep the cold away.
Most of the group is well-built, naked to the waist college jocks. The clinking of bottles, slurred words, and rough laughter once they spot us puts me on alert.
The area’s full of them when school’s out but they usually stick to the public beaches.
If I was alone, on any other day, I would probably just walk away and it’s pretty clear Natasha thinks that’s a good idea.
I figure she’s right, but when we turn to leave I hear one of them say something about her weight that stops me in my tracks.
The thud of a beer bottle hitting the sand after it whistles past my ear is the last straw.
“Michael, no,” Natasha begs me, pulling at my arm as I turn. I can feel her getting dragged along by me and stop just long enough to tell her to stay out of the way.
The crowd jeers again, with someone stating the obvious.
“Look out, Rich. You’ve pissed off the big guy now!”
Truer words have never been spoken.
I only glance back at Natasha to make sure she’s stayed put. Out of harm’s way.
Chapter Nineteen
Natasha
Everything happens so quickly, I barely have time to process it.
It’s like the past twenty-four hours have been played on fast forward, and Michael’s handling of these jocks is no different.
He doesn’t know my past, doesn’t know just how terrifying it is for me to see a group of them like this.
The taunts and catcalls are all coming back to me.
The horrible names, the sick and twisted practical jokes that border on assault.
I look around, wishing there were more people I could call on to help. Wishing we’d stayed in the house.
My fear holds me to the spot, but not for long. As soon as I see some of those jocks moving towards Michael, I run forward, yelling at them to stop.
I’m not yelling out because I’m worried about Michael either. I’m more worried about what a man his size is capable of when he’s truly pissed off.
But it’s too late.
It’s all over before it even really starts.
I think the jocks only realize just how big Michael is when he gets closer.
Maybe too much beer and testosterone has affected their depth of perception.
The one I heard call out, calling me a name I never want to hear again is first to charge at Michael.
He has something in his hand too, and I shriek when I see him lunge at Michael, who looks like a skyscraper compared to what must be in reality, just a kid in Michael’s eyes.
All my man has to do is step aside, and gravity takes care of the rest.
The abusive jock lunges headfirst into one of his friends, who cries out in pain once whatever he had in his hand slices his arm.
Another, heavier jock tries the same from behind, but as Michael shifts his weight he’s out of the way, flattening another three morons without even having to use his hands.
The girls all start to cry, with two of them running away.
Michael checks on the jock with the bloodied arm, and squats down on his hams, talking to them all in a low voice before coming back over to me, wanting to make sure I’m okay.
