Natalie Acres - Sex party

The girls immediately held onto one another tears streaming down their faces. When Peyton pulled away from her, Kane glanced at the blood on Vicky’s white uniform and then turned to look at Peyton in horror.

“Peyton, honey…”

“Kane, I’m cold. I’m so so cold.” She stared down at the blood and then passed out.

“Damn it! Peyton’s been shot! She’s bleeding. Step on it.”

Peyton slipped in and out of several worlds while she was in the hospital. The reality of what happened played out on the local news, and the devastation of what could have happened unfolded in her head. The world she visited frequently unraveled like a play in her dreams.

In the opening act, she saw the Cartwell men with their mother. They disappeared one by one until she stood there alone with their mom. They strolled through a beautiful garden chatting, getting to know one another. Then, she disappeared without warning. Braden, Kane, and Evan appeared where she once stood but their mother’s voice instructed her to choose. Over and over again, she told her to make a choice. “Walk away or make your choice.”

She didn’t want to choose, and her dream always ended the same. She woke up with a great sense of loss. She’d shake until she found comfort in the hands holding her own. Their voices soothed her, and most of the time, Kane’s arms cradled her right back into a deep, deep sleep.

He saved her life. Maybe the choice was clear.

Peyton blinked away sleep as she left behind another flight through fantasy. The television was off, finally. She’d listened to the local reports until she felt like she’d die if she heard another description of the events she apparently survived. Some weren’t so lucky.

She studied the faces of those waiting for her to speak. By the weary looks on her guardians’ faces, they’d all stayed with her and beneath their tired, hooded eyes, she saw something else, something resembling what she imagined as love.

She tried to focus on Braden, mainly because he always had all the answers. “What happened?”

“Shh…rest now. We’ll talk about all of this later, tomorrow maybe.” He patted her leg as he inched closer to the head of the bed. He moved his hand across her bangs and kissed her on the forehead. “You gave us a scare, Peyton.”

She tried to speak but her mouth offered little assistance. Her parched lips and heavy tongue felt dryer than the Grand Canyon.

“I’m thirsty,” she stated.

Evan knelt over her and offered her spoon. “Ice chips, open up.”

“Can I get a drink?”

Kane chuckled. “Scotch and water or vodka, straight-up?”

“Don’t tease right now.”

“You had us worried, kid.” Kane calling her kid irked her more now than ever before. She’d show him ‘kid’ just as soon as she got out of her hospital bed.

“Somebody tell me what happened. How many others were injured? Did anyone…” As soon as she asked, she closed her eyes. “Oh yes, yes somebody close. Somebody close, oh Coach Pratchert.” She remembered her stumbling and then the bloodcurdling sounds of bullets, a horrific catastrophe raining down on them and Coach Pratchert fighting her way to stand in front of the girls, her girls-her team.

Tears streamed down her face. “She caught some of the first shots.”

“Honey, let’s talk about this later,” Braden suggested.

“No, you don’t understand. I saw her. I saw it all happen.” Peyton closed her eyes again. “She took several shots to the chest, she couldn’t have survived…”

“No, Peyton, she’s-”

“Don’t say it.”

Peyton waved her hand in front of her face. She’d dreamed this nightmare and saw it several times when she closed her eyes. She couldn’t block out the images. Now, she played it over and over again in her head remembering how Coach Pratchert shoved a few of the kids off the bench. She’d stood up to protect her girls, teenagers with bright futures, the kind of promising futures she helped her girls prepare for and anticipate.

“Who would do this?”

“Pratchert’s ex-husband and the, uh, second shooter…he…got away.”

“He got away?”

Braden stood up and went to the window. He peered outside and watched the foot traffic come and go. “You’re not in danger, Peyton. We’ve talked to the local sheriff and federal agents. This was personal.”

“And Coach Pratchert’s ex-husband?”

“He’s locked up.”

“And everyone else? My friends and teammates?”

Evan’s face softened with what he perceived as good news, no doubt. “No one on your team suffered fatal injuries. A few parents and Coach Pratchert died before they were transported to the hospital.”

Peyton digested the information. A few parents and Coach Pratchert. Lives, somebody’s parent, somebody’s daughter or son, somebody’s lover, oh God, someone’s spouse… died at a high school volleyball game.

She turned to Kane. “You saved my life,” she whispered.

“Yeah well, I kind of like having you around.”

“Don’t downplay this, Kane.”

“Then thank me and forget about it.”

“I’ll thank you later,” she said with a hint of devilishness in her voice, but the sadness returned quickly. “When Mom died, Coach Pratchert offered,” she stopped speaking at once and looked at Braden specifically, “Did you know Coach Pratchert offered to take me in before you did?”

Braden nodded.

“I planned to live there until I found out the particulars of the arrangements Mom made with you. At one point, I really considered her offer.”

“We scared you, huh?” Evan asked.

“You terrified me,” she admitted.

“And now,” Kane asked, “Are you still scared, Peyton?”

She fell back against the pillows and closed her eyes. “Not now. No, I’m not afraid now.” How could anything frighten her with three tough cowboys sitting around her, standing guard, ready to protect her? A sigh fell from her lips. Her head rolled to the side, and she watched them as they clustered around her. “No, now the only thing I feel is loved.”

It took a couple of months for Peyton to resume normal activities again. Even though the injuries she sustained were minor, the nightmares took their toll and often she left for school with dark circles under her eyes.

When the bad dreams stopped, or at least her screaming throughout the night, her grades started to slip. Her overall attitude with life, the Cartwells, and everything in general, drastically changed. Her coach was a friend, and her mentor. With too much death surrounding her, it finally took its toll.

Evan sat at the kitchen table watching her as she stomped across the yard. A truck barreled up the driveway and took the final curve toward the house on two wheels. Peyton never looked back. Evan immediately stood, ready to go and save her if she needed saving.

“Peyton Storm!” A boy jumped out of the cab, took two or three leaps toward her and wrapped her around the waist, pinning her to him. He said something to her, something intimate, something secretive.

Whatever he said, she hauled off with a rapid reply. She hit him.

By the time Evan saw her tight little fist drawn, the first punch was thrown. Evan headed for the door but Kane and Braden beat him there.

“What seems to be the problem here?” Braden asked in a sensible tone while Kane gave the fellow an evil eye.

The younger guy held his lip and bled. “Damn it, Peyton, you throw a mean punch!”

“Peyton?” Braden waited for an answer. “You know better than to hit your friends.” The stench of booze filled the air.

“Yeah, well, maybe you should’ve taught her how to be a lady altogether. The fucking bitch bit me.” He tugged up his shirt and showed off a few bite marks, right above his belt buckle.