#numberonecrush

“I Would Die For You” [Closed Starter]

The day had been a productive one for Wyatt.  He’d been out at Reedsport checking with a manager of a supply warehouse that had multiple vendors for fresh seafood and locally farmed goods.  After putting in orders for various items, Wy had a sense of accomplishment as he made his way home.

Daylight had started to fade as he drove on the outskirts of Eugene by the small town of Goshen just minutes away.  It was such a small town that most people who lived there tended to work and go to school in Eugene.  The population was only around a hundred people.  He yawned and decided to pull off the highway into Goshen for gas when his truck started clunking and sounding as if it was struggling to push its way down the road.  

“Son of a-,” he grunted and pulled over along the gravel shoulder of the fairly empty neighborhood, the trailers and homes being few and far between.  Most were abandoned, but some still had a light or two on.  

Stepping out into the night air, he lifted the hood of his Chevy, propping up the arm to check the engine. It wasn’t the radiator or gas, that much, Wyatt was aware of.  Realizing that it was probably a spark plug, he made his way to the bed of his Silverado and began lifting the lid on his tackle box when he heard shouting coming from across the road.

Looking up, he saw a blonde woman through a window getting struck across the face by some large brute with a mean backhand.  “What the fuck,” he mumbled, brows instantly furrowed as he slowly began to recognize the house.  “Holy shit. Is that-,” before he could even finish pondering if it was Emily’s old home, he saw her father, Raymond, haul back and kick her while she was down.  

In a fury, Wyatt grabbed up his shotgun from the gun rack inside of his pick-up.  It wasn’t loaded and he didn’t have any ammo on hand, but it was better than going in unarmed.  He hunkered down and ran across the street, up the drive-way and got to the side of the door.  Listening to her father shout another obscenity at Emily, Wyatt took a deep breath and turned with shotgun in his right hand and finger on the trigger as he reached over with his left to turn the doorknob fast and burst in.

Wyatt braced the weapon as if it were armed and aimed at the man’s chest saying, “Back the fuck off, Mr. Brooks!  I don’t care what you think she’s done.  Ain’t no woman in need of bein’ beat like that.”

Emily’s dad stumbled a bit, obviously inebriated as he hollered, “Who the FUCK are you!?  This is MY home!  MINE!  And you-,” he stopped short, pointing a finger at Wyatt as he narrowed his eyes, again wobbling while trying to pinpoint where he recognized him from.  

“Waaait.  I know you!  Yeahhh!  You’re Eric Randall’s boy!  Ha!  You got that bar out on the river right!? Yeah, sure!  I’ve seen you bartendin’!  What’re you-?” His drunken grin switched right back in his stupor as he realized there was a gun pointed at him.  “You don’t belong here, boy.  You oughta mind your own damn business!”

Wyatt kept his eyes locked on Raymond as he angled his head in Emily’s direction asking, “Hey, you okay?”

“You’re not gonna pull that trigger,” her father interjected, boasting, “You don’t have the guts!”  For a second, there was silence on Emily’s end, enough to give Wyatt cause for concern.  Glancing over for a split second, he asked again, “Emily?”  The fatal mistake was time enough for her father to lunge forward, grab the barrel of the gun, and jerk it up to yank it out of Wyatt’s grasp.  

“HEY,” Wyatt yelled, suddenly having the barrel end facing him.  With an empty “click” of the trigger and a quick look of confusion on her dad’s face, Mr. Brooks pulled the gun back to look at it asking, “What the-? This isn’t even loaded!”

Finally hearing Emily, Wyatt looked over at her asking again, “Emily, are you alright!?”