A Father's Fight

by J. B. Salsbury

  I smack his side. “That was humiliating. He’s a doctor.” My body melts deeper into his while he runs his big hand through my hair in long and lazy strokes.

  “I can’t . . . I don’t trust doctors, not anymore and not when it comes to you.” There’s a deep pain in his voice that shreds through my chest.

  God, how could I forget? After Dr. Xavier put Blake’s body through a living pressure cooker, pumping him so full of steroids he was crawling out of his skin, no wonder he’s suspicious. Add to that his already fiercely protective and possessive nature makes his reaction completely understandable.

  “Yeah.” I nod into his chest.

  “Promised I’d protect you and I am.” He says it as if it’s the simplest explanation. “I won’t fail you again.”

  I want to smack him, to scream in his face that he didn’t fail me. He’d had no control over his actions back then. I want to plead for him to understand that he saved me, but it’s a tired conversation, and no matter how hard I try, he can never seem to forgive himself for what happened that night.

  Silence hangs in the air, weighted with the memories of my past, a past I’d hoped I could move on from, but it hasn’t been as easy as I thought. I don’t hear Stewart’s taunts anymore, but along with my pregnancy there’ve been nightmares. They could be flashbacks from the past, things I’d forgotten or repressed, but either way Blake has had a front row seat to them all.

  I wrap my arms around his waist and feel the press of his lips to my head.

  “No one gets to touch you unless I say it’s okay, and Dr. Swinging Dick does not have my okay.”

  “Blake.”

  “What? Probably hits on half his patients.” He mumbles that last bit as if to himself.

  “His pregnant patients, I’m so sure.”

  “Don’t care if he’s a doctor. Pussy’s pussy, and not a straight guy alive isn’t turned on when he sees one.”

  I tilt my head back to meet his eyes and glare. “You did not just say ‘pussy’s pussy.’”

  He shrugs. “I did, but yours is different.”

  I roll my eyes and shake my head, the warmth that his words conjured up earlier cooling quickly.

  He tips my face up by my chin. “Yours is different because it’s not just pussy anymore. It’s mine.”

  The sincerity in his eyes, tick in his jaw, and grip of his fingers at the base of my neck are enough to bring tears to my eyes. I blink to stave them off.

  “You get me?” His thumb rubs firmly along my lower lip.

  I suck in a breath, aroused and so in love with the man before me. He’s proven over and over that he’d do anything to protect me. I close my eyes and lean to rest my cheek to his chest. The paper gown I’m wearing opens completely so my bare belly presses firmly to his abdomen.

  “Yeah, she gets me.” He holds my head to his chest and drops kisses to my hair. “Love you, Mouse.”

  We sit in silence just holding each other when a small knock on the door announces what I hope to be a different and very female doctor.

  “One sec,” Blake calls and releases me. He takes a moment to close my gown over my breasts, my belly, and even tucks the edge over my thighs to protect my modesty. “Alright, come on in.” He takes my hand in his and steps to the side of the exam table.

  Cassie walks into the room first, followed by an older woman who’s grinning. “Mrs. Daniels, I’m Patricia, the nurse practitioner. I’ll be doing your exam today, and can I just say”—her eyes swing to Blake’s—“I’ll take good care of her.”

  Blake nods his approval, and I lie back, sighing in relief that, although being with this big strong fighter isn’t free of its obstacles, I have no doubt that he’ll always protect me.

  Protect us.

  Something we’ve never had before.

  Three

  Blake

  It’s after twelve when I finally drag my ass to the training center. Once we got the news that Layla’s dilated “at a two, thirty percent effaced, and cleared for a v-back,” which basically translates into this baby could come at any time, I fed my woman and dropped her off at home.

  She’s still working with Cameron, but now that Eve is there to take over the majority of her duties, Layla has the option to come in or not, depending on how she’s feeling. With Axelle in school, I figured this was a good time for her to have a quiet house and get some much-needed sleep.

  As if on cue, a yawn claws its way up my throat. “Damn, who knew being pregnant would be so exhausting.” I rub my eyes.

  Jonah, Rex, and Mason are in various stages of eating or drinking shakes in the small break room. I rest my head in my hands, elbows propped on the table to support its weight.

  “You think you’re tired now, wait until you’re up every two hours for feedings with a newborn.” Jonah shakes his head, but can’t hide that damn fatherly grin he’s been sporting ever since Sadie was born. “You’d be surprised how quickly you get used to being barfed and pooped on by a tiny person.”

  Mason sets down his fork and groans. “Dude, do you mind?” He nods to his food. “No talk of shit and barf while I’m trying to eat.”

  Rex muffles his laughter and takes a huge gulp from his protein shake, clearly not at all affected by the conversation.

  I tilt my head and study Jonah. How can he look so calm? He’s more of a hothead than I ever was, and yet he’s over there with a grin that would rival the Dalai Lama: all peace and harmony and not demonstrating even a sliver of the fear I can’t seem to shake. Of course, he’s not contending with a threat from the past in the form of a fucking email either.

  “You guys know what you’re having yet?” Rex pulls out a chair from the table, flips it around, and straddles it to prop his forearms on the back.

  “Girl.” It has to be because I can’t raise a boy. The familiar panic I’ve been pushing down for the last nine months rushes to the surface.

  “No kidding? A girl. Congratulations, man. Thought you guys wanted it to be a surprise.” Jonah shoves a heaping spoonful of yogurt in his mouth.

  “We do. That’s what my gut tells me. We don’t actually know for sure.” As many times as I’ve tried to convince Layla that we should find out the sex, mostly so I could prepare, she’s relentless and refuses. She says that she remembers the look on Jonah’s face when he found out he had a little girl, and she wants to see the same expression on mine. Shit. I groan and rub my temples.

  “What if it’s a boy?” Rex shrugs, but his gaze is intent on me.

  What if? Most likely I’ll fuck the kid up just as my dad did me. I mean, what if my son ends up lying, being disrespectful, sneaking around, and doing shit I don’t like . . . just as I did? A cold sweat breaks out over my skin, and I frantically search for a subject change. “You guys ever heard of a mucus plug?”

  They all respond in some form of negative, and I explain what it is in graphic detail.

  Mason shoves his food a good two feet from him. “You fucking asshole.” He gags and swallows hard. “Got a fight coming up, and I need to eat to train, and you drop that kind of crap—” He gags again.

  “That’s fuckin’ nasty.” Rex laughs and downs the rest of his shake without even cringing.

  Jonah plays with his yogurt, scooping spoonfuls and watching them plop back into the container, a look of disgust on his face. “I’m with Mason.” He turns and tosses the half-eaten container into the trash. “That’s disgusting.”

  “Oh, but puke and shit are okay.” I shake my head and push up from the table. Talking about this crap isn’t making me feel better. If anything, it only reminds me how unprepared I am for parenthood.

  Why can’t they all be as easy as Axelle? Yeah, she’s dealing with shit, but at least we can talk it out. In a year, she’ll be an adult and off to college. Easiest parenting gig ever.

  “You ready?” I flick the back of Mason’s head while moving past him to the training center.

  I hear something hit the trash, probably his uneaten food. “Yeah,
I’ll take hits from you over this conversation any day.”

  ~*~

  Layla

  I roll over and stare at my phone as it vibrates on the pillow next to me. I had it on the bedside table but got sick of reaching over to grab it every time it rang. I check the screen again.

  Unavailable.

  I send it to voicemail and drop it back to the pillow. Whoever has been calling me over these last couple days hasn’t left a single message, and it’s starting to creep me out. I considered talking to Blake about it, but he has enough on his mind as it is. I’m not even sure exactly what it is that has him acting so funny: not sleeping, spacing out in the middle of a conversation, and a general moroseness that is far from his normal easy-going attitude. In an attempt to pinpoint when his mood shifted, I track back week by week in my head. Christmas? Yeah, I’d say it was sometime around then, but why?

  A long sigh falls from my lips, and I roll from my side to my back, kicking all the covers off and resting my hands on my pregnant belly.

  “Sorry, little guy.” I can’t explain why I feel as if the baby is a boy, but I do. Maybe it’s because Blake’s such a powerful man—I can’t imagine him producing anything but boys—or maybe it’s wishful thinking. “No sleep for us.” No matter how tired I am or how long I lie down with my eyes closed, I’m finding it harder and harder to sleep. I should clean something. Surely there’s something in the house that needs to be sanitized . . . again.

  I suppose I could drag my ass to the training center and do some busy work for Cameron. If nothing else, I’ll get to hang out with Eve and lose myself in some effortless girl talk.

  “Hey, Mama.” Axelle pops her head in through the bedroom door, backpack slung over her shoulder.

  I throw my legs over the side of the bed and push to sit up. My lungs crushed from the baby, I take a deep breath from the effort.

  Her eyebrows pinch together. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m just waking up from a nap. How was school?”

  She pushes into the room and drops down on the bed next to me. “Good. I aced my chem project. Looks like I’ll be graduating and off to college after all.”

  There was some concern after everything happened and Stewart went to prison; Axelle’s grades dropped dramatically. The school threatened to hold her back if she couldn’t pull them up, but thankfully she agreed to continue counseling and got a tutor.

  “Proud of you, babe.” I wrap my arms around her and kiss her temple. “Have you thought about where you want to go?”

  She shrugs her backpack off and pulls a brochure out of the front pouch to hand it to me.

  I take in the modern buildings, desert trees, and four bold letters. “UNLV?” I try to calm my voice even through my excitement.

  Her gaze drops and a light pink colors her cheeks. “I want to stay close, ya know, just in case you need me to help out with the baby.” She rubs her hand over my swollen belly with an expression of pure love lighting her bright blue eyes.

  “Honey, you don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine. I have Blake, Raven, Eve and—”

  “I want to.” Panic flickers behind her eyes before it disappears and is replaced with worry. “I mean I hope that’s okay with you.”

  “Of course it’s okay.” I run my hand through her long hair. “I just don’t want you to give up any college experiences for babysitting.”

  She sighs, her eyes fixed on her baby brother or sister. “I’m just . . . I’m not ready to go too far yet.”

  I get that. I do. She has issues with abandonment for obvious reasons, and until she feels safe to swan dive from the nest, there’s no way I’ll push her out. “Good. You can come home for dinner on Sundays, and I’ll do your laundry.”

  “Deal.” She leans in and kisses my belly. “I have a study group at the library tonight, so I’ll be home late.”

  “Okay, I’m going to the training center for a couple hours.”

  She walks out of the room, and for the second time today, my heart feels heavy with warmth. I have a man who loves me, a baby who’ll be here any day, and a daughter who wants to hang around a little longer.

  My phone vibrates again, and being lost in all the feelings tumbling though my chest, I don’t think to check the caller ID.

  “Hello?”

  “L-Layla?”

  My brows furrow at the unfamiliar male voice. I frequently get work-related calls from men, but there’s something about the informal way he says my name that feels personal.

  My back goes ramrod straight. “Who’s this?”

  “Please, just . . . don’t hang up.” He’s whispering, jittery.

  Adrenaline races through my veins, and my hand instinctively goes to my baby. “Who is this?”

  “It was me that night . . . you got pregnant. I—”

  I press End and toss the phone from my shaking hand. Whoever called was there that night? It was me that night. That makes him my rapist.

  Oh no! No, no, no, this can’t be happening.

  Images from that night eighteen years ago flash through my mind. Whether they’re actual memories or pieces of my nightmares, I don’t know. My breath comes quickly, and I squeeze my eyes closed.

  Bodies, confusion, they were laughing . . .

  My stomach turns violently, and I race to the bathroom sink where I heave and spit but manage to keep from throwing up. Who the hell was that and how did he find me?

  “I don’t want this. I don’t want this . . . not now.” Not when everything in my life is finally good. Safe.

  I take a deep breath and consider my reflection. Red-rimmed and watery eyes, pale skin, I swallow down some tap water and rinse my face. I’m not doing this. I refuse to allow whatever happened that night back into my life. No, I have control now. Total control. I breathe through the fear, in and out, until I’m back in command of my body. I’ll be okay.

  If I avoid his calls, he’s sure to give up eventually. I have no desire to relive the night I got pregnant with Axelle, and she’s made it clear she isn’t interested in her biological father. End of story.

  Rejuvenated, even if only a little, I brush my hair and throw on a pair of leggings, an oversized Henley that says “Rock n’ Roll Stole my Soul,” and my favorite biker boots. If nothing else, getting out of this house and around people will help.

  I eye my phone on the bed as if it’s a poisonous animal. “Don’t be such a wimp, Layla.” I grab it and shove it in my purse, vowing to only answer if I recognize the number and to make sure Blake doesn’t catch wind of any of this.

  I will protect my family, no matter the cost.

  Four

  Layla

  “Here.” Blake hands me two green pills and a glass of water then drops down beside me on the couch.

  We’d just eaten dinner and settled in to watch “Vikings,” which we’d DVR’d a few nights ago. It’s the only show that we both agree kicks major ass, even if for completely different reasons. He likes the battle scenes, while I like watching Ragnar and Rolo do just about anything, preferably shirtless.

  “Thanks.” I throw back the pills and chase them down with a few healthy gulps of water. “You’d think after all this time I’d remember to take them.”

  He throws an arm over my shoulder, pulling me to the warmth of his side. “No need to remember when you got me¸ Mouse.”

  I wrap an arm around his firm middle and press my cheek to his chest, inhaling his masculine scent like pine trees after a long rain. It settles within and all around me, and I shove back the upsetting phone call from earlier. Whatever it is, I’ll ignore it until it goes away.

  Blake clicks the remote a few times. The only thing illuminating the dark room is the soft blue glow of the TV. Judging by last week’s episode, I expect we’ll start off with blood and bare-chested Vikings from the get-go. Yay me!

  A twinge of arousal tingles between my legs. I expected sex to be the last thing on my mind when I was this far along in my pregnancy. I certainly don’t remember bei
ng interested when I was pregnant with Axelle. Maybe the difference is Blake; he certainly throws off enough testosterone. I’ve also heard that women my age hit their sexual peak, and then there are all the hormones fighting for dominance and using my body as their battlefield. Funny, now that I think about it, I’m surprised I haven’t chained Blake to the bed and used him as my personal sex slave for the last few months.

  The visualization of my thoughts comes rushing in unbidden but oh so welcome: Blake’s massive arms above his head, locked to the headboard as they ripple with tension to touch me, his abs flexing as he pulls at his restraints, and his teeth grinding as I drag my tongue down his neck. My thighs squeeze together, and I imagine the salty taste of his skin against my lips, the evidence of my attention to his body standing proudly and pressing into my hip.

  A low moan slides its way up my throat.

  “Damn, Mouse . . . they’re not even doing anything but talking war strategy, and you’re getting yourself all worked up.” Blake adjusts his position on the couch, making no attempt to hide the bulge between his legs. “Can’t fucking concentrate when you squirm against me, makin’ that sound.”

  I tilt my head back to see the lust I feel reflected in his expression. “Can’t help it. Something’s wrong with me. I just . . . I’m . . .” I can’t say it; it’s too embarrassing.

  “Horny.” He lays it out so plainly I almost expect him to follow it up with a “Duh.”

  I cringe. That’s such an unattractive word, but I guess it’s the most accurate. “I think so, yeah.”

  Without another word, he hits pause, stands, and scoops me from the couch in a cradle hold. Even though I’ve gained thirty-five pounds, he still manages to handle me as if I weigh as much as a feather.

  “You sure Axelle’s gone ’til late?” he says with the guttural growl that drips off each word.

  Excitement explodes in my belly, and I nod, absolutely frantic to get at him. I lean in and run my nose along his neck, taking what I can of him into my lungs. My tongue darts out to taste the powerful column of his throat. “I’m sure, but even if she comes home, I’ll be extra quiet.” I nip at his earlobe. A low groan vibrates his chest, and by some miracle of the pregnancy gods, I feel it between my legs.