by Ashley Munoz
“I think…” She gasped, breathing in through her nose and audibly out through her mouth. “I think I might be in labor.”
I grabbed the phone from her hand to check her outgoing calls; the screen was open on the dial pad, with just the number nine dialed. I finished it off, calling for an ambulance. The operator began asking a myriad of questions, and I put the phone on speaker so Taylor could answer them. She kept her eyes closed while gripping my hand.
“Am I going to lose her?” Taylor whispered while a few tears fell down her face.
“Shhh, no, baby, no.” I rubbed her back, praying I was right.
I stayed there, soothing her back for ten minutes until a man and a woman wearing dark blue uniforms came running up the stairs with equipment. I moved so they had full access to Taylor. They seemed to take forever to check her vitals and asked her ten thousand fucking questions when all I wanted was for them to get her to the ambulance.
Then everything changed in an instant when the female EMT looked up at me with a calm expression and said, “Sir, your wife is in active labor. She’s too far along for us to move her, so we’re going to deliver the baby here. If you aren’t comfortable being in the room, please leave.”
I tried to catch a breath, realizing I was about to hyperventilate right there in my boxers. Taylor’s baby girl was about to be born, and I wasn’t even dressed. I blinked, walked toward the closet, and pulled out a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. Then I grabbed a baby blanket and one of the diapers Taylor had set up in the small travel caddy thing. I wasn’t sure what she’d need, so I nearly grabbed every damn thing in the closet.
I could hear both of them talking in soothing tones to Taylor while they moved her to the bed. I heard one of them mention that they’d called Taylor’s doctor, but she hadn’t found a permanent one and like fuck would Dr. Kline be delivering this baby.
I pulled up my phone and dialed my mom.
“Mom, Taylor’s in labor…I need you.”
My mom gasped then muttered a few things sleepily to my dad in the background. “I’m coming, mijo.”
I hung up and moved back toward Taylor. Hector and a few men had migrated in, hovering outside the door, unsure how they could help.
“We need clean towels and extra sheets. I need you to come and get behind her, help keep her propped up,” the paramedic directed while she set up a few medical tools from her large bag.
My men ran off, hunting for extra towels and sheets while I did as they said. Taylor was in the middle of the bed, wearing some kind of soft robe that was tied at her breasts but opened over her belly; otherwise she was bare from the waist down. She had her knees up and was breathing in the pattern she’d learned in one of her Lamaze videos.
I crawled up behind her, and she immediately gripped my hand in support.
“That’s right, keep breathing, baby.” I kissed her forehead, feeling panic begin to swell as the EMTs began to direct Taylor on what to do. They said someone was coming to help deliver, but I had a feeling this baby was coming before anyone could get there, including my mom.
“Daya, I’ve never done one of these,” the male paramedic said nervously.
“Patrick, seriously? Just get up there and help keep her leg up,” the female snapped, keeping her eyes in between Taylor’s legs. “She’s crowning. You need to push, Taylor, okay?”
Taylor nodded vigorously while biting her lip.
“You have to keep breathing, honey. I know it hurts. Keep breathing. Here, you, hold her leg in place, like he is.” She looked up at me, and I jolted into action, grabbing her knee cap. “That was a great push. Take a break, rest for a second, then we’re going to do it again, okay?”
Taylor rested her head against my chest. Her forehead and neck were sweaty, and all I wanted to do was grab a wet rag and wipe her down. Right as I thought it, I heard loud shouts and a few slamming drawers and doors from downstairs. I tensed for a second before my mother’s dark head of hair came into view.
Dressed in flannel pajamas, she walked in holding a bundle of dark towels and wash rags.
“Idiots, they know nothing of sheets and towels.”
She wasted no time in setting them down and moving toward the bathroom.
“Is that…” Taylor tried to catch her breath while trailing my mom with her eyes. “Is that your mom?”
“Here, wipe her brow with this. Keep her comfortable, Juan.” My mom walked over, chiding me. She worked at setting up what looked like a small Bluetooth speaker, and before I knew what was happening, peaceful music began to spill into the room, like something you’d hear in a spa. “This will help her relax. These lights are too much too. They have head lamps they can work with. Lessen the lights on her.”
I didn’t move, because I knew she was going to do it. I realized Taylor began laughing while tears streamed down her face. I felt a few tears begin to line my eyes too.
“Here we go, another big push, Taylor.”
My girl made some sound I could only describe as a war cry. It was loud and terrifying, but it was followed up by the sweetest sound in the entire goddamn universe.
“She’s beautiful, Taylor,” said the woman in between her legs in a happy sort of awe. The baby continued to cry while the EMT handed the baby to my mom.
My mom looked down on the baby with a reverence that had tears welling up.
“Preciosa.” She carefully set the baby on Taylor’s chest and then waited to be sure Taylor was looking her in the eye. “It means beautiful.”
“Hi, sweet girl.” Taylor smiled, dropping her gaze to her daughter.
My heart felt like it might explode. I stared at the tiny bundle in my girl’s arms, and with my head I knew she was hers, knew she wasn’t mine, but as I looked down at her and saw how perfect and small she was…something clicked in my heart, telling me this little girl was mine. She’d be mine her entire life. No one would ever take her from me. I loved her as much as I loved her mom, just in a vastly different way.
I bent down, pressing my lips to the baby’s head, letting my own tears fall. I was tired of fighting them. I was feeling so much and couldn’t hold them back anymore.
“Hi, preciosa.” I eyed Taylor to see if she realized it was the name I’d called her all those weeks ago when she thought I’d said cow. “Welcome to the world.”
“Alexandra…Alex for short,” Taylor whispered.
I smiled, rubbing a hand down Taylor’s back. “It’s perfect. It suits her.”
“Do you want me to clean her?” my mom offered, stepping close to us but still giving us space.
Taylor didn’t take her eyes off of Alex. “I want to hold her a little longer if that’s okay.”
“She’s yours—of course it’s okay.”
“I’ve never had anyone that was just mine…” Taylor whispered, keeping her eyes glued on her daughter’s.
My heart swelled again, thumping wildly to combat her statement. She had me. I was hers and no one else’s. I moved away from her to hold back the sensation. I needed to stop…she’d shut me down just hours earlier, showing me that she didn’t want this. Yet, two seconds into birth and I was ready to lay down my cards, showing her everything.
Alex stayed curled up against Taylor’s chest, and an on-call midwife stopped in. She went over about a million different things while the paramedics cleared out and my mom headed downstairs. I stayed next to Taylor, listening and trying to keep up with all the terminology, the fact that Taylor was going to need to be careful when she got out of the bed, and that she’d need to wear a big-ass ice pack in her underwear to help with the swelling and tearing.
She ended up having to help Taylor to the bathroom so she could check a few other things before she left, so I got to watch Alex. The midwife instructed me on how to hold her, the proper way to care for her head, and how to cradle her so she felt protected.
I sat in the chair over by the window and stared down at her while I rocked at a slow and careful pace.
That sen
sation burned again, daring me to hope even when there seemed to be no reason to. I bent down and kissed the top of Alex’s forehead as I whispered, “Hi, beautiful. You’re mine…your mama doesn’t realize it yet, but both of you are.”
Taylor was fucked. There was no way she was getting away from this now. I’d fight like hell to keep them both; now I just needed to convince her I was worth keeping.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The following two weeks were a total blur. Mallory drove over the morning after I delivered to see me and Alex, bringing Decker with her. Both of them seemed to fall in love with Alex within the first few minutes of holding her. Juan was never in the room while they visited. I saw him and Mallory have a tense stare-down for about five seconds, but Mal’s focus returned to me and stayed there for the next week. She stayed in Juan’s bedroom with me, effectively kicking him out, and Decker went back to New York to oversee things. I had no idea what was going on with my father, but Juan must have had it well in hand since he never seemed worried or anxious.
Juan came in while I was nursing a few times. He’d smile at me, ask if I needed anything, then leave once Mal came in. It was obvious they were in a fight and she wasn’t speaking to him. I had a feeling it had to do with what Kyle had revealed about Juan’s background. I couldn’t get involved; it was their friendship and their issues to work out. I focused on enjoying my sister’s help and having her close as I nursed and navigated how to take care of an infant each night. We’d stay up watching Friends and eating snacks we shouldn’t have eaten, but it was the only way either of us could stay awake. Then when Alex would sleep, we’d curl into each other and pass out.
This process was on repeat for days, and while I loved seeing Mal, I was getting irritated by Juan’s ghostlike appearance in my life. Finally, after the ten-day mark, Mal decided she’d go back to Decker and check on me the following weekend. It was a bit of relief mixed in with sadness. I loved having her be a part of this process, but I needed to get on with my life too, and more importantly, I needed to know if Juan was still part of it.
With her gone, it finally allowed the gaping hole between Juan and me to fester. Our conversation from that night hadn’t gone anywhere; it had taken up residence in my mind and heart, and like that night before I went to bed…I wanted to talk to Juan about it.
That said, part of me felt I had pushed him away, and maybe that was exactly where he should stay—safe, and alive, away from me.
Once Mal left, Juan slowly started wandering back into the bedroom, especially when he knew I needed a nap or a break. He’d take Alex and tell me to sleep, and while I wanted to fight it, I never could. I’d pass out, and then when I was awake, he’d hand her back to me and leave. At night, he was in and out, sleeping while I was awake then swapping with me so we never really had time to talk…and there was no touching whatsoever. I felt like he’d become a stranger, and I wasn’t sure how to rectify that, or if I was doing him a favor by leaving it. We repeated this process for two weeks, and each day a little more of my heart seemed to wither.
Finally, close to Thanksgiving, I couldn’t take it anymore. I put Alex down for a nap, and now going on four weeks after I’d given birth to her, I was up and walking around just fine…still sleep-deprived, but not nearly as sore.
I knew Juan had a lot of family in and out, and I supposed they had decided to have Thanksgiving here at Juan’s house…although from what I understood, it wasn’t like typical American feasts. There were tamales and other dishes being prepared that I wasn’t familiar with, but they all smelled so amazing that I didn’t mind. With my lack of connection with Juan, part of me wondered if I was even invited. Maybe he just expected me to drive to my parents’ and have it there with them. The other part of me thought this entire thing was crazy. I knew Ivan was coming…it was merely a matter of time.
With it being close to dusk, I wanted to see if Juan would sit with me by the fire while Alex napped in her bassinet in the living room and talk to me about Ivan, the plan…us. Everyone had cleared out for the day, save for a few men walking the property, so it would be more private than usual, which would be a nice chance of pace.
After looking for a bit, I couldn’t seem to find him anywhere, until I walked past the front door and voices carried in through the open window to the left.
Juan was on the front steps…with Angela.
I stood where they couldn’t see me, but I had a perfect view of them.
Her big brown eyes seemed frantic, her caramel hair blowing in the breeze. Juan wore loose jeans and the same white t-shirt I’d seen him sleep in the night before. His feet were bare, and for some reason, her seeing him in bare feet set me on edge. It was too personal.
“Just listen to me,” Angela begged; her left hand reached out to grip his shirt.
My heart hitched into a tight knot at the familiarity of it.
“Your mom just wants you to be okay…she just asked that I come and talk to you. You have like three offers on the table, Juan. You’d be crazy to turn them down,” Angela explained.
“I know. I just…” Juan ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head in frustration. “It’s not that simple. I have obligations here.”
The air in my lungs seemed to slowly leave, like a rock had suddenly been placed there. Was that how he saw me…us? An obligation?
“She can take care of herself. You don’t want to tie yourself down with someone who doesn’t even care about you…why would you do that? She’ll literally just walk away the second Holden comes around. There’s already talk around the frat house parties that Holden’s gearing up for some big display of love so he can win Taylor over. She’d trade you for him in a heartbeat. You know I’m right.”
What a little bitch. Even if that were true, how the fuck would she know? Better yet, how did she know about me being here and being able to take care of myself? Juan’s mom had told her that much? This shit wasn’t supposed to be talked about; lives were at stake…did she not understand this? Ivan had ties to the Russian, Italian, and Irish mobs; he was the Hungarian transplant who’d nearly usurped them all by making backdoor deals, undercutting, and killing off the competition. He did this because he was patient. He’d wait for the opportune moment and attack, which was how he’d built his empire along the east coast.
El Peligro likely wasn’t even on his radar after he’d killed Manny, but now he’d systematically work to cut them down, especially if Juan didn’t broker a lucrative enough deal for him.
These fucking morons were out here spilling all our business and would get themselves killed. With having previous ties to the cartel, I figured they knew this, especially Anna.
I watched as Juan looked down, and my heart ached, wishing I could see his face, even though I knew already it was likely pain etched into his features. Angela took advantage of the moment and stepped up, twisting her fingers further into his shirt and pressing her lips to his.
I waited for him to push her away.
I waited…and yet, he didn’t look like he was kissing her back, but he wasn’t pushing her away.
It was when his hands went to her hips that I knew this was it—my moment to set him free. He was torn up about losing the offers that were somehow on the table, another thing she knew that I didn’t. He hadn’t told me about them. She was here, and he wasn’t pushing her away. My chest constricted as my heart rapped urgently against my ribs.
I didn’t belong here.
I never had. This was just a game, and my time was up.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I tapped out a beat on the table, mimicking Leo’s favorite song. My mom was droning on and on about something that didn’t fucking matter, and I was trying to show some modicum of respect, but she was testing my good will. She’d sent Angela to my house, to my fucking home to try to stir shit up. It was absolutely unacceptable, and she needed to understand that it wouldn’t be tolerated.
“Are you listening to me?”
I laughed. “No,
Mama. I’m not.” I stood, pulling out my cell phone. “You crossed a line tonight, and for what?”
My mother stared at me with watery brown eyes, the dim light from the living room barely casting enough light for me to see the concern in her eyes. “For your future, son. How can you not see that?”
“A future I don’t want!” I yelled, slamming my hand on the table.
I hated myself when her shoulders moved with a wince. My father had been violent with her, always angry and brutal…I never wanted to be like him. I never wanted his blood flowing through my veins, and yet as this entire shitstorm with Ivan pressed against me, I found myself turning more into a monster than a man. I wanted to protect what belonged to me. I had to; it was a constant burn in my chest, a hollow sensation in my veins, an urge that wouldn’t go away. I’d kill for it. I’d lose everything for it. As long as they were safe.
“How can you say such a thing? You worked so hard for it, only to have it ripped away from you by this cursed gang.”
I rubbed the stress out of my forehead. “A gang my father and you ran, side by side. Don’t pretend you didn’t have a hand in it. It’s in my blood, and yet you act as though you have any right at all to make these calls for me.”
My mother crumpled into a chair. We were in her small apartment; they lived modestly and would take nothing extra from me or the family business. It was my stepfather’s only method of standing on his own against El Peligro. She rested her hands under her chin while tears welled in her eyes.
“Why won’t you do this?”
I crouched down in front of her chair and took her hand in mine. “Because I love her. I love them both. I don’t want a life that doesn’t have them in it.”
My mother cried in response. In her mind Taylor only led down one path, and the baby would only guilt me into staying. She didn’t understand that I had fallen in love with the idea of being with them, of starting a life with them. When Angela had come to try to stir shit up, something in me had snapped. I’d gone numb for a moment at the idea of Holden winning Taylor back, and everything went quiet in my mind for too long, long enough to miss that she’d started kissing me, long enough to realize the future I wanted was already within my grasp and I just had to wrap my hand around it and take it.