What choice do I have?

I reach into my pocket, fisting my fingers around the coins, my hand trembling as I hold the money out to the man.

With a quick step, he’s in front of me, his skin on mine as he wrenches the change from my hand.

I flinch at the contact. My chest tightens.

“Is that all?” he asks.

There’s little else to be had. My wedding ring isn’t worth anything, but I begin tugging at it, trying to force it off my swollen knuckle.

The man in front of me takes a step back.

A man’s voice fills the night. “Leave.”

I turn, and my customer from earlier—my regular, John—strides forward.

“Come on,” the attacker wheedles in response, his accomplice hanging behind him. “We’re not going to hurt her. Don’t want no trouble here.”

“Then leave,” John says. “Give her back the money. Get out of here.”

The attacker shifts back and forth on his feet, fiddling with the pocket of his worn pants.

“This is your last chance,” John threatens.

“Let’s go, Henry,” the accomplice calls, taking another step back. “Not worth it.”

“Shut up,” Henry growls, slipping his hand into his pocket.

John takes another step forward.

Henry pulls his hand out of his pocket.

Oh God, he has a knife.

John jerks his head my way, and I realize I’ve said the words out loud.

“Please,” I whisper, moving toward John, grabbing his forearm, trying to tug him back toward me, my body shaking.

Even though the two men are no match for John in size alone, with their number advantage and the size of the knife, the odds have become considerably tighter.

“It’s only money,” I plead. “It’s not worth—”

John moves before I can finish my sentence, advancing on the closer of the two men—Henry—with quick, assured strides, likely aided by those long limbs.

Henry slashes forward, knife in hand, aiming for John’s belly.

Henry’s arm moves higher, jerking up, and John groans, his fist connecting with Henry’s jaw with a loud crack.

Henry’s head snaps back, but instead of falling over, he lunges forward, the knife once again connecting with skin.

Another groan fills the night.

Blood drips from a slash in John’s clothing, running down his chest.

The sight of all that red breaks me out of my stupor, and I shout at the top of my lungs—

“Help! Help! Please!”

For a moment, Henry’s accomplice seems frozen by indecision, weighing the odds of jumping in and joining the fray, but then he runs toward the wooded area, away from the fight.

There must be someone still lingering around the front of the restaurant. If I go and get help—

The men circle each other once more, and then I see it in the corner, a stray piece of wood Ruby never got around to cleaning up.

I move quickly, grabbing the wood, swinging, swinging, until it connects with Henry’s head.

* * *

—

The wood falls from my hands, and I stare down at the man slumped on the grass in front of me.

I sag to the ground.

“Are you all right?” John asks.

“I—I think so.”

“Is there any pain in your abdomen? Any pressure?”

“No.”

“Any bleeding?”

“I don’t think so.” I rise slowly, accepting the hand John holds out to steady me. He releases me once I’m on my feet again. “Is he—” I take a deep breath, my heart racing. The money Henry tried to steal is spread all around his body. Blood trickles from his hairline, running down his face. “Is he—? Did I kill him?”

John leans over the body for a moment, checking his pulse. “No. Just knocked him out.”

He bends down, scooping up the money strewn about the ground, and gives it to me.

I stare at it for a moment, a spot of red on the corner of one of the coins. My fingers tremble as I take the change from his outstretched hand and shove it into the pocket of my apron.

“You shouldn’t have grabbed that post. You shouldn’t be lifting anything that heavy this late in your pregnancy,” John says.

I gape at him. “He was stabbing you.” I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “Besides, I carry trays of food all day. I was hardly going to be brought down by a piece of wood.”

“You shouldn’t be carrying heavy trays, either,” he retorts.

“And you shouldn’t have fought him. You heard them—they only wanted the money.”

“You don’t know what they wanted,” he counters. “It could have been a lot worse. Let me walk you home, at least. Do you live nearby?”

“It’s only two miles away.”

He shoots me an incredulous look. “You walk two miles by yourself every night after work?”

He doesn’t tack on “in your condition,” but he might as well have.

“Are you well enough to walk?” he asks.

“Of course. Are you well enough to walk? You’re bleeding.”

“I’ll be fine. Ready?”

As much as John unsettled me before when he’d come into Ruby’s, after the attack, the company is welcome even as I put a little more distance between us than is necessary.

“Yes. I didn’t thank you earlier for coming to my aid. Thank you.”

My legs quiver as I walk, my steps slower than normal. I place a hand protectively over my stomach, saying a silent prayer for the baby to move.

John matches his pace to mine, and I notice for the first time that he has a slight hitch in his stride.

His jaw is clenched as though he’s in pain, his gaze trained to some point off in the horizon.

I stop, and he does the same.

There’s a flutter in my stomach, followed by a kick, strong and steady.

I settle my hand on my belly, at the spot where the baby kicks again, relief flooding me.

“The babe?” John asks.

I nod, tears welling in my eyes.

The baby shifts in my stomach, a jab here, another kick there. Never before has such motion brought such relief.