Senn (A Cocky Cage Fighter Novel Book 5)

by Lane Hart

  Abby grins triumphantly as I quickly shuck my jeans and boxers, then climb into bed with her. Reaching for the side of her face, I tilt her lips up so I can cover them with mine, kissing her slowly, gently. There’s a reason we only do this once a week at most, more than just because I don’t trust that she’s healthy enough or has the energy for it. Being with her is too damn good, and all I can think about is that it could be the last time I have with her. Which is fucking killing me, not because I’m horny, but because I love her. Especially after seeing those videos...

  “You’re not gonna break me,” she says, tugging on my shoulders to try and pull me down closer.

  “I know, but you might break me,” I tell her before I make love to her, savoring every second, every touch and every kiss like it might be the last.

  …

  Abby

  “Just nine more weeks,” I say into the silence while Senn and I lie in bed wrapped up in each other, our limbs tangled.

  “I can’t wait,” he says as he runs a palm over my growing bump. He feels the baby move a few times a day now, and she’s always more active when she hears him talking.

  “Me either,” I reply with a sigh. God, I hope I make it that far.

  “So, um, I was thinking,” Senn starts, and then pauses to run his hands through his hair and blow out a breath. “Maybe, I mean, if you want to, we could, I dunno…”

  “Spit it out, Senn,” I tease him, gripping his chin so he has to look at me.

  “Would you want to marry me?” he asks; and if it wasn’t for the serious expression on his face, I would’ve laughed. Did Senn Duncan, the notorious bachelor, seriously just ask me to marry him?

  “I…I…”

  “You don’t want to,” he says, his shoulders sagging in defeat before I can get the words out.

  “I’m just…surprised. Where did that come from?” I ask him.

  “Well, ah, the other day your dad mentioned that you’ve always wanted a big wedding, which is why you started planning weddings.”

  “Oh God,” I mutter in understanding, covering my face so he won’t see my tears. “This is a pity proposal.”

  “What?” Senn asks, and I would almost bet that if I was looking at him, his Shar Pei forehead would be all scrunched up. “Pity…”

  “You don’t want to marry me. You only asked because you think I might die. Well, I don’t want a pity proposal or…or a pity wedding! This isn’t The Notebook. This is real life!”

  “The Notebook?” he repeats. “Don’t you mean a Walk to Remember?”

  Hearing those words from his mouth, I peek at him between my fingers to see his face, unable to help my smile. “You watch Nicholas Sparks’ movies!” I accuse.

  “I…that’s not the point,” he says, and I lose it. Giggles come pouring out as I roll back and forth with laughter.

  “You…you watch…” I can’t finish the sentence. It’s too funny. Such a big, tough guy watching sappy romances.

  “You’re making fun of me,” Senn grumbles. “If you tell anyone, I’ll beat your ass.”

  “No one…no one would ever believe me,” I say through the laughter. “Why?” I ask.

  Senn huffs and looks away. I reach for his jaw to make him look at me again. “There was a marathon on one day, so I started to watch just to see what all the fuss was about. Chicks love that shit, right?”

  “Uh-huh,” I answer, pursing my lips to try not to laugh anymore now that I realize he’s so serious.

  “Growing up, I didn’t exactly see what a healthy relationship looked like, you know? How a man is supposed to treat a woman. I fuck and fight, but other than that, I’m an asshole.”

  “You’re not an asshole,” I tell him honestly. “It’s sweet. You’re actually really sweet. I had no idea…”

  He scoffs and rolls his eyes.

  “I know that you keep the thermostat up, so I won’t get cold, even though you can’t sleep when it’s hot. I know that you don’t even get mad when I wake you up in the middle of the night and send you out because I want a milkshake or enchiladas. And I know that you would do anything for this little girl, too,” I tell him with a pat to my belly. “You, Senn Duncan, are sweet.”

  “Those things are nothing—”

  “Those things, and all the other little things you do, are everything,” I tell him.

  “But you don’t want to marry me,” he says with a frown.

  “I didn’t say that!” I exclaim. “I said I don’t want you to marry me out of pity.”

  “What if I want to marry you just because I love you and I want you to be my wife?” he asks.

  “Then, yes, I would marry you.”

  “You would?” he asks with a smile.

  “Yes,” I agree. “But not until the baby’s born.”

  The smile slips from his face. “Abby…”

  “Don’t say it,” I warn him, pressing a fingertip to his lips. “I’ll have this little girl, and then we can get married if that’s still what you want.”

  “Because you want to make sure it’s not a pity marriage?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  Senn buries his face in my neck and growls. “Fine,” he agrees. “But you are gonna marry me.”

  There’s no reason to tell him otherwise. I can feel it, my body deteriorating more each day as I grow weaker. That’s why I don’t need to go to the oncologist. I already know I’m dying. But I’ll do everything I can to hold on long enough, so that I can at least make sure I don’t leave Senn all alone. He deserves to have someone in his life who loves him.

  Chapter Twenty

  Senn

  “Come on, mama bear. Getting out of the house for a few hours will do you good,” I suggest, hoping she’ll agree. I know the fatigue is a bitch, but I have a surprise planned, and it won’t work if she’s here.

  “Okay,” she finally agrees, grabbing her phone. “Let me see if Whitney can give me a ride to the shop.”

  “I’m sure she can, and I bet Bree will be glad to see you,” I tell her. Actually, I already know Whitney is waiting by her phone because I let her in on my plan last week.

  Today, Abby is thirty-six weeks pregnant. We’re right there at the finish line with only a few more days to go before her OBGYN is ready to schedule the C-section. Actually, the doctor has wanted to do it for the last two weeks, but Abby’s stubborn, insisting we wait a little longer to see if she’ll come on her own.

  “Whitney said she can be here in ten,” Abby tells me as she rolls off the bed with her huge pregnant belly. I never get tired of seeing her baby bump or touching it, knowing our little girl is in there, growing bigger each day. Our daughter grows stronger while Abby gets weaker. It’s a horrible tradeoff, but there’s no other option. Soon she’ll deliver, and then we’ll do whatever we have to do to get Abby better. I’ve been talking to Dr. Donald Barnes in Chicago who’s proclaimed to be the best leukemia doctor in the country. So as soon as the baby’s healthy enough, we’ll have Abby transferred up there or bring him down here. I’m willing to do anything and pay every cent I have to get her better.

  An hour later, instead of ten minutes, ‘cause that’s how Whitney rolls, the doorbell rings and I open it for her.

  “Hey, Daddy Mack,” she says in greeting before she strolls right on inside.

  “Hey, Whitney,” I say to her retreating back. She reminds me of how my dad’s never stepped foot inside. And actually, now that I think about it, I haven’t seen or heard from him since that one night months ago, the first night Abby was here. Strange, and I can’t say I miss him. His visits always put me on edge because I never knew when he would swing his fist at me and then I’d have to restrain myself from kicking his ass since I’m bigger than him now. I’m definitely better off without him and my mom.

  “Where’s Triple H?” Whitney asks.

  “Bedroom. And stop calling her that,” I warn her sternly as I follow her down the hallway.

  “Why? Hippos are cute,” she says right as we step i
nto the bedroom.

  “I need help,” Abby looks up and tells us, a stricken look on her face that makes my chest tighten with panic. “I can’t put my socks or shoes on.”

  I blow out a breath in relief while Whitney laughs at her sister’s predicament.

  “It’s not funny,” Abby says with a serious scowl.

  “It sort of is,” Whitney tells her while motioning for her to lie down. She grabs a sock and slips it over Abby’s raised foot, before doing the same with the other. The next problem comes as Abby screeches when Whitney tries to cram her swollen feet into tennis shoes.

  “Ow, ow, ow. Stop it, you bitch!” Abby yells, making Whitney and I both laugh.

  “How about flip flops? You got some of those, right?” I suggest.

  “It’s November! I can’t wear flip flops in November!” Abby argues, but then five minutes later she submits and leaves the house in a pair. That’s when I finally call in my accomplice and give her the all clear.

  …

  Abby

  I can barely keep my eyes open, and it feels like work to hold my head upright in the passenger seat of Whitney’s car.

  “You sure you don’t want like a brownie or ice cream?” my sister asks.

  “No,” I answer. “I just want to go home and go back to bed.”

  I’m cranky, and the pregnancy hormones aren’t helping. I should be overjoyed to be this far along, so close to the end. But I’m too exhausted. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. Tears slip down my cheeks, and I quickly swipe them away.

  “Aw, what’s wrong, sis?” Whitney asks, slowing down the car to a snail’s pace.

  “Just tired,” I reply as Senn’s house, our house, comes into view. When I see him hugging a blonde woman on the front stoop, I shoot straight up in the seat I was slumping in. “What the fuck?” I exclaim.

  “Uh-oh,” Whitney mutters as her car rolls to a stop and I jump out.

  “Who…what…why?” I stammer as I haul my fat ass up the sidewalk, out of breath from only four steps. A sharp pain stabs me in the lower back, so powerful that I have to reach for the side of Senn’s truck to hold myself up.

  “Shit! Abby, are you okay?” Senn asks when he approaches and reaches for me.

  “Don’t touch me!” I snap, shoving him away. So this is why he wanted me to get out of the house. So he could have this…this woman come over. We haven’t had sex in three weeks, apparently too long for him to wait.

  “Abby…”

  “No! You…you were cheating on me! I’m about to explode...with your baby, and you cheated on me!” I shout through the sobs.

  “What? No, no, no!” he says in a rush. “I would never…I swear. She’s a decorator, who’s working on the baby’s room. A surprise for you. Ask Whitney! She knew what I was doing!”

  Hearing that explanation, I look over my shoulder at my sister, who nods in confirmation. Shit, well now I feel like a bitch.

  “Abby…” Senn starts, and then his arms circle around me. “Calm down, mama bear. Please, I didn’t mean to upset you. You came back early, before Stacy could leave.”

  “Stacy?” I ask against his now damp shirt.

  “She’s the interior decorator. Come on in and I’ll show you,” he says when he pulls away and takes my hand. “How are you feeling? Too stressful getting out of the house?”

  “I’m fine,” I lie, trying not to wince when I feel another sharp pain as we step into the house. This is it. I’m in labor. She’s coming whether I think it’s too early or not. The doctor has been giving me steroid shots to help her little lungs develop, so I hope she’s had enough time.

  Senn leads me down the hall and to the last bedroom on the left, the one that he emptied out for her. He pushes the door open and motions for me to look inside.

  “Oh wow,” I say with a smile as I take in the room that’s full of yellows, so bright and happy, with sunflowers and butterflies. There’s a big white tree with gray koala bears painted on the wall. The ivory crib sits in between a matching dresser and changing table. There’s also a big, plush, yellow rocker in the middle of the room and a tiny elephant rocking chair next to it. I can picture Senn sitting in it now, holding our daughter while feeding her a bottle in the middle of the night.

  “Is it okay?” Senn asks from behind me.

  “It’s perfect,” I tell him, turning around to wrap my arms around this neck. “She’s gonna love it. And I think we should go ahead and name her.”

  “Really?” he asks, flashing me a grin when I pull away.

  I nod, afraid more tears will fall if I speak. I want to know what name he’ll give her…in case…if I don’t…

  “Eden?” he asks.

  “Eden,” I repeat, trying it out. “Like the garden?”

  “Yeah,” he answers. “Because she’s the sin that gave us our own little piece of paradise.”

  “I like Eden,” I tell him, grabbing my stomach when another pain shoots through my back and tightens my belly. “And I’m pretty sure I’m in labor.”

  “What? You’re having contractions? Like right now?” Senn asks, looking whiter than a sheet.

  I nod, and a second later, he’s scooping me up and carrying me outside. “Let’s go,” he yells to Whitney. “Hospital, now. You’re driving.”

  “Oh shit,” she says, running in her heels to the driver seat.

  As soon as Senn sits me down in the backseat, I feel warmth between my legs. “Ah, Whit, I’m sorry but I think my water just broke on your leather.”

  “Yes!” she exclaims as we pull away from the house. “Now maybe Daddy will buy me that new convertible.”

  “Ah, Abby. That’s not water,” Senn says, looking even more freaked out. It’s hard to see over my bump to my lap.

  “What do you mean?” I ask him. And when I glance up, his face wavers and the car feels like it’s spinning in circles.

  “You’re bleeding. A lot. Drive faster, Whitney!” is the last thing I remember hearing Senn say before everything goes dark.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Senn

  “How’s she doing?” I jump to my feet and ask Abby’s doctor as soon as I see her walk through the waiting room door. When her eyes lower and she shakes her head, my heart stops beating.

  “She lost a lot of blood during the C-section. Too much because her blood platelet count is extremely low. She went into hypovolemic shock and her organs started shutting down. They’re giving her blood, platelet and plasma transfusions, but…she slipped into a coma, and her condition is critical. The oncologist isn’t sure if she can even tolerate chemo at this point, but he wants to try as soon as most of the blood has been replaced. I’m so sorry.”

  “Fuck,” Luke mutters from beside me, and I hear Whitney’s sniffles. I’m too paralyzed to speak or to even curse.

  “The baby is doing very well. Her Apgar score is eight, which is perfectly normal. You can see her if you want. She’s in the regular nursery, not neo-natal,” the doctor says.

  “What about Abby?” I ask. “Can we see her?”

  “Once she’s settled and in a room, I’m sure her doctor will let you know.”

  I nod and head for the hospital exit since I’m not sure how to cope with anything without using my fists. Ending up in prison tonight won’t do a damn bit of good. The first bench I come to outside, I flop down in it, holding my head that feels like it’s spinning. Abby’s in a fucking coma. What if she never wakes up again? I’d give anything to hear one of her ridiculous insults right about now or see her smile while she holds our daughter. Fuck. Did she even get to see her? God, it’s so unfair. Abby loves the baby so damn much that she would die for her, and she may not even get to see her.

  That’s when I fucking lose it. I curse whatever higher power is responsible for this shit. I cry for the baby who will never really understand her mother’s sacrifice. I beg for Abby to beat this shit. In fact, I try to barter with our maker, anything to save her. That’s around the time Claire finds me.

/>   “I’m not gonna ask if you’re okay, because I know you’re not. And I’m not gonna say I’m sorry, since that’s so worthless. But can I just sit with you?” she asks.

  I nod and wipe my face on my sleeve. Claire rubs a hand over my back and rests her head on my shoulder. If anyone knows how shitty this whole life and death deal is, it would be her. She’s lost a mother and a sister within just a few years. In fact, just sitting silently with her next to me, I start to feel a tiny bit less destructive, until she says, “Your daughter is beautiful.”

  I nod, figuring as much if she takes after Abby.

  “She has a ton of dark, curly hair that sticks straight up.”

  Fuck.

  “Her little lungs are strong. She was screaming her tiny head off the entire time I was in the nursery.”

  “Why are you telling me this shit, Claire?” I ask.

  “You should go see her.”

  Shaking my head, I tell her, “Not until I see Abby.”

  I’m worried that seeing the baby will only make me angry, mostly at myself, reminding me that if I hadn’t knocked Abby up, she could’ve gotten all the cancer treatment she needed. The guilt is like an enormous weight bearing down on my shoulders, and I can’t escape it. It’s threatening to crush me, because I don’t know how much more I can take. I’m killing her, the first woman I’ve ever loved, before she even gets a chance to be a mother.

  “Regardless of what happens with Abby, your daughter is here and healthy. Let me just take you to see her. Don’t you at least want to see the angel you two made? The one who is giving Linc so much hell that it’s actually funny?”

  “Already taking after her mama.” I cough out a laugh. “Is she really doing a number on Linc?”

  “Oh yeah,” she says with a smile. “He might be changing his mind on the whole having a family idea of his.” After a few moments of internal debate, she asks, “Don’t you think Abby would want you taking care of her until she can do it herself? You’re her father. Linc and I are just her guardians in case…”

  “Fine,” I cave. I do want to see her, and the mention of them raising my daughter is enough to get me moving. They only get rights to her if Abby doesn’t make it and if I sign away mine, and that will never fucking happen.