Page 39

Chapter 39

McCoy

She reached Sawyer just as the tire iron came down like a whip against the brand new windshield.

CRACK !

“Sawyer, what the hell?” Coy cried, swiping raindrops out of her vision and wincing when the tool connected once more. An audible moan escaped as she took in the damage to the windshield, side mirrors, and spoiler. A large kitchen chopping knife protruded from one of the rear tires, the others already left with jagged tears down their middle. So much work, wasted. All those hours she’d spent—

A flash of red splattering onto the already wet pavement caught her eye, and she grabbed Sawyer’s arm. “Stop, you’re bleeding.”

“ Calisse , McCoy. Let go of me.” Sawyer’s eyes flashed wildly, her gaze the stormiest gray Coy had seen yet. “I need this.”

“Okay,” Coy whispered, looking around them. Her pulse was so erratic she actually worried she’d pass out, but she forced her head to move in a tremulous nod. “Okay, sweetheart.”

Sawyer didn’t seem to hear her as she was already beating the shit out of the McLaren again. Coy had to do something to help, if not for the logical reasoning that Sawyer simply wasn’t strong enough to do much more than dent the carbon fiber doors.

“Fuck,” she took off toward her shop, pulling out her keys as she went. Once inside, she quickly retrieved her sledgehammer, hoisting it over her shoulder, and running back out to Sawyer. I can’t believe I’m about to do this, she thought incredulously and swung the sledgehammer into the car door like a baseball bat.

“McCoy,” Sawyer choked out. Droplets of rain and tears had streaked her makeup, creating thin black lines that ran down her cheeks and into her open mouth. A pain so deep, so profound that it should have been immobilizing crossed her features. Coy sucked in a breath, her own heart squeezing as she took in her girlfriend’s desperate plea for help.

“I told you before,” she forced out, blinking past the threatening tears. Raising the sledgehammer again, she added thickly, “I’ll do anything you want. I’d do anything for you.”

Sawyer’s chest heaved as she stared at Coy for a second longer, no doubt weighing the truth of her words.

“I’m crazy about you, don’t you know that?” Coy reached for her, but Sawyer wrenched away at the last second, a guttural scream tearing from her chest.

“Arrgh!”

The tire iron smashed out one headlight and then the next. Coy followed Sawyer, striking the heavy hammer down again and again, pulverizing doors and tire rims, anything she could safely damage. Sawyer’s sobs increased, racking her shoulders until the tire iron slipped from her grasp and clattered to the ground. Still, she wasn’t finished. Coy’s eyes widened as Sawyer shakily pulled the knife out of the tire, stepping over broken glass from the window with her sensible kitchen shoes. Hell, as Coy gawked, it only dawned on her in that moment that Sawyer was still in her chef’s uniform.

She was crying and speaking in rapid French as she pulled open the car door. It was the closest Coy had seen Sawyer get to the McLaren, and as she watched the woman she loved straddle the passenger seat and tear the inside to shreds, a magnitude of inexplicable emotion filled her to overflowing.

She understood everything now. Or at least why Sawyer had spent so much money on a car she’d had no intention of ever driving. It was her final “fuck you” to a man she had loathed.

Sawyer was taking back whatever control she felt she’d lost.

“It’s done.” There was an emptiness in her voice as she limped toward Coy. Her shoulders were rounded as if she was already withdrawing, and the moment she let go of the knife, her knees buckled.

Coy dropped the sledgehammer and grabbed Sawyer before she fell. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

“I’m tired, McCoy.” Tear-filled eyes bore into Coy. Sawyer swallowed hard. “I don’t have the strength to …” Her voice trailed off, and she glanced over Coy’s shoulder to the battered car behind them.

“Want me to?”

Sawyer opened and then closed her mouth. She nodded once, still not meeting Coy’s gaze.

The trained First Aid responder in her was dying to set Sawyer down somewhere dry to look at any wounds, but she knew Sawyer wouldn’t stand for that. For one reason or another, it was imperative that she see this through.

Coy made certain she was stable on her feet before picking up the sledgehammer again. Taking a deep breath, she hoisted it over her shoulder once more and ignored the twinge of protest from her aching muscles. Her own discomfort was nothing if it helped lessen some of Sawyer’s.

Now that she didn’t have to worry about accidentally hitting Sawyer, she made quick work of totalling the supercar. Under the weight of the sledgehammer, the roof and trunk caved in, side panels fell off, and soon, even the engine was smoking from the abuse on the hood. The silent acceptance in Sawyer’s eyes had Coy dropping the hammer for the final time. She was out of breath and sweaty, and her arms felt like deadweights as she crossed the distance to where Sawyer was huddled on the pavement. Coy didn’t say anything, merely bent and scooped Sawyer up in her arms, cradling her soaked-through body as she led the way to her shop.

Sawyer wept quietly into her hands, her head leaning against Coy’s shoulder as she walked them to her office. It was used as more of a changing room for Coy, but it had a small washroom with a stand-up shower for when Coy got extra dirty at work. It was something J.D. teased her endlessly over, but the simple luxury was coming in handy now.

“Sweetheart, I’m just gonna get you warm, okay?” Coy set Sawyer down gently in one of the office chairs. Sawyer remained silent, but now she stared at the family picture on Coy’s desk. She had bits of glass in her hair, and her clothes were torn in places. Coy chewed the inside of her cheeks wondering what to do, before she grabbed the First Aid kit out of her bottom drawer. Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, Coy carefully picked out the glass, dropping it in the garbage can she’d pulled over. Then she walked the few feet to the bathroom to start the shower. Sawyer was still sitting in the same spot, her empty gaze locked on Coy’s family photos.

“Hey,” Coy murmured, squatting to face Sawyer. She held Sawyer’s jaw between her fingers, searching for recognition in her eyes. “Let’s get you out of this, okay?” she said of Sawyer’s shirt, pinching the hem between her fingers. Sawyer blinked, acknowledging Coy like she was waking from a deep sleep. The nod of her head appeared labored. Coy slowly removed her clothes, then her own, before carrying Sawyer into the shower.

“I’m so in love with you, Sawyer,” Coy whispered as she helped tilt Sawyer’s damp locks under the hot water. “You’re the strongest woman I know, and I’m proud to be yours.”

“Oh, McCoy.”

Despite the temperature in the shower, Sawyer began to shake. Fresh tears mixed with the water on her cheeks. “It’s my son’s birthday today.”

Coy’s heart thrashed against her chest at the confession, and Sawyer’s nightmare the other night came to mind. “Brian.”

Sawyer nodded, collapsing into Coy’s embrace. She buried her face in the crook of Coy’s neck, choking out, “ Mon bel amour, mon bébé, B-Brian Edouard. He would have been sixteen.”

So he died. Coy took an unsteady breath, trying her best to school her emotions. Sawyer needed her strength right now, not her damn golden retriever ability to weep on command. A million platitudes popped into her brain and exited just as fast. What could she say? What was there to say? No amount of sympathy could replace what Sawyer had lost.

“Fuck,” she mumbled at last. “I am so very, very sorry for your loss, sweetheart.” She held her tighter, molding their slick bodies together as Sawyer wept in her safe embrace.

Coy never wanted to let her go.