“I love that you call me little sister when I’m almost old enough to have birthed you.” She grins up at my over-six-foot-tall brother and then claims her position at my side.
Brae’s eyes move between us, taking in my shirtless torso, her sated expression, and my unbuttoned jeans. “Ah, that’s why you didn’t hear me knockin’.”
“Servicing my woman, bro. Pregnancy makes her demanding.”
Layla’s eyes bug out of her head and she gasps. “Blake!”
Brae rubs his mouth, trying to hide his grin. “Fuckuva job, dude. I can see by your shit-eating grin it’s makin’ you miserable.”
“Oh my God, I’m outta here.” Layla kisses my jaw then whirls red-faced to head to the bedroom. “You guys have fun. Goodnight!” Her farewell is called over her shoulder with a tiny wave of her hand before she disappears into the room and closes the door.
I catch Brae’s eyes fixed down the hallway, a big smile on his face, before he meets my glare. “She looks hot, dude. Still tiny as hell, but with bigger boobs.”
I smack him upside the head. “Eyes to yourself.” Despite my irritation, I can’t help but grin at my brother, knowing he’s pushing my buttons and missing our verbal spars. “You want a beer?”
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
We move into the kitchen, and I pull two Coronas from the fridge, poppin’ the tops, and slide one to my brother, who has taken a seat at the island. “So what’s up? What brings you to Vegas? Someone die?” I’m half joking. The fact is it’s hard for Brae to get time off for trips, and my dad would have to approve of this visit, which means he’s here on a mission from The General.
He shrugs, takes a long pull off his bottle, and then fixes his eyes on mine. “Had a few days off. Wanted to get off the reservation.”
He’s lying. “You need a place to crash? Axelle’s got the guest room now, but you’re welcome to crash on the couch in the music room.”
“Nah . . . thanks though. I’m staying on the strip.” He leans back and locks his hands behind his head. Fuck, but the dude has doubled in size since I last saw him.
“Save money if you stay with us.”
“True but”—a slow smile spreads across his face—“can’t bring chicks home to fuck at my brother’s house with his teenage daughter and pregnant fiancée in the next room.”
I cringe at the thought of random bitches in my house with my girls. Raising my bottle to my lips, I nod. “Good point.”
We sit in silence and sip our beers, and I can’t shake the feeling that he’s here for more than a friendly visit. “How’re things on base?”
“Mm. Same.” His gaze darts around the room.
What the fuck. “Brae, man. Out with it.” My brother has never hid shit from me before; whatever he came to Vegas to say seems to be difficult.
“Don’t shoot the messenger, man.”
Beer churns in my gut. I knew it. “Deliver it already.”
He spins the bottle in slow circles. “They want you to come home.”
“Excuse me?” My parents have never asked me to come home for a visit. My mom claims it’s because I’m too busy, but we both know the truth. I can’t be around my dad for more than twenty-four hours without getting into a fight with him.
“You heard me. They’re requesting your presence.” He drags out the last three words, making it sound even more ridiculous than it already is.
“Why?” A humorless laugh burst from my lips.
“If I could tell you, brother, they wouldn’t be asking to see you in person.”
I shake my head. “I can’t, man. Layla’s due any day. No way I’m leaving her.”
He nods, but it’s halfhearted. “Sure, sure, I understand, but”—he sets his eyes, so identical to mine it’s freaky, on me—“it’d just be a day trip: flight in the morning, be home that night.”
“No way, I’m not leaving Layla.” Why do I sound so defensive as if he’s going to drag me home against my will? “I can’t believe after all these years they want me home and I’m supposed to jump at the sound of their whistle?”
He keeps his mouth closed, listening.
“I mean, come on, Brae. They haven’t had anything to do with me in years.”
“It’s not really Dad, bro. It’s Mom. She sent me.”
I blink and try to figure out if I just hallucinated. My mom doesn’t even piss without my dad’s say-so. What could possibly be so important that she’d need to see me in person? No, it doesn’t matter. “I love Mom, I do, but my priorities are my family.” I point toward the hallway. “Layla and Axelle are my family.”
I don’t miss the flash of disappointment in his eyes and a strange tension pulls tight between us.
“Dude, you’re family too, but you know what I mean.”
“Sure, yeah.” He nods and takes a long swig of his beer. “Thing is . . . this is kinda important. It’s one day; you don’t have to stay the night. One day.”
My eyebrows drop low as realization dawns. “Hold up . . . so you know what this is all about?”
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I do.”
At least he didn’t try to lie.
“Just tell me what’s going on.” In the short amount of time I wait for him to answer, I review every possible scenario in my head. Maybe they’re moving, Dad’s retiring, or maybe now that I’m having a baby, they’re ready to mend fences.
How would I deal with the possibility of them wanting to be grandparents? I wish I could let the past die a cold miserable death, but the resentment that ignites in my gut proves the past is alive and kickin’.
I can’t handle the thought of my dad treating my kids the way he did me, ignoring our feelings and subjecting us to a military upbringing. My fists clench, and the beast that raged when Gibbs had me drugged reminds me how easy it was to act just like my father. Reminded me how close I am, how vulnerable I am to becoming exactly like him.
No, the safest thing I can do for my family, for Layla, Axelle, and our baby is to stay the fuck away from my parents.
“I’d tell you if I could, but I can’t. Promised Mom I’d let her talk to you.”
“Just fuckin’ tell me. No, you know what?” I chuck my bottle top into the garbage so hard it hits with a satisfying thud. “Fuck it. I don’t care.”
What could my mother possibly have to say to me now? After everything we’ve gone through, the silence between us over the past . . . way too fuckin’ long. She’s married to a man who despises me and has never had shit to say until now? Years of resentment resurface and my skin pricks with irritation. My fingers flex and itch to get at Layla, to bury myself inside her and work off the anger while reminding myself what matters. But anger-fucking my nine-month pregnant woman isn’t in the cards.
A heavy session in the music room oughtta do it.
“Sleep on it.”
I hear the sound of the key in the front door and breathe deeply to calm my nerves. “Axelle, come here for a sec.”
The sound of her dropping her backpack on the tile echoes through the room before Braeden catches sight of her and stands.
“Hey, Brae! What’s up?” She gives my brother a hug.
“Damn, short stuff! You look like you’re old enough to be hittin’ the bars.” He playfully pulls her knit beanie down over her eyes.
“Ha, barely.” She pushes the hot pink material back off her forehead. “But”—she holds up one finger—“I’m almost old enough to legally buy cigarettes.”
“You better not.” I growl and glare at my teenage daughter.
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head then moves around the island to the fridge and pulls out some kind of diet soda shit. “How long are you here for?”
Braeden shrugs and his eyes dart to mine, communicating that his stay depends on how long it takes for him to convince me to go home.
Plan on an extended stay, brother.
“Not sure yet.”
“Cool! We’ll have to barbeque or something while
you’re in town.” She takes a swig of her drink then eyes me. “Where’s Mom?”
“Bedroom. How was your study group?”
“Good, I think I’m ready to ace this exam. Killian is a whiz at math. I swear he’s like a modern day Carl Gauss.”
Braeden swings his gaze to me, his eyebrows dropping low, then slides it back to her. “Who the fu—er . . . crap is Carl Gauss?”
She looks at me, blue eyes sparkling.
“No.” I shake my head and take a swig of my beer. “Don’t look at me. I have no friggin’ clue who he is either.”
She rolls her eyes and drops a hip onto a barstool. “Does ‘It is not knowledge, but the act of learning that grants the greatest enjoyment’ sound familiar?”
My brother and I lock eyes for a second, and I can see the confusion I’m feeling reflected in his expression. We both give our version of negative grunts.
“Huh . . .” She giggles. “Did you guys graduate from high school?”
Her little jab has Brae grinning and pride swelling in my chest. I love that she’s brave, strong enough to throw sass, and not afraid to express herself. Just like her mom.
“Ah . . . I know who Carl Gauss is.” Brae locks his arms behind his head. “He’s the beer guy. Pretty good stuff too.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “No, he’s a mathematician. Killian talks about him a lot. I think he’s like, I don’t know, his idol or something.” Her hands shove deep into the pockets of her sweatshirt, and I know she’s saying something without using words. I just can’t figure out what it is. My guess is it has something to do with Killer.
He and Axelle have been friends for a while, but it’s obvious the young fighter-in-training has feelings for her beyond friendship. Her feelings for him are more of a mystery, and I can only hope that one day she’ll figure her shit out and give the guy a chance. That is, after I put the fear of God into the kid that he’ll be keeping his dick to himself until she’s . . . well, forever.
“As much as I love a good ole conversation about dead mathematicians, I’ve been stuck on base with a bunch of dudes for way too long and the city waits.” Brae stands and throws back the rest of his beer. “I’m off to break some hearts.” He gives us a half-hearted salute. “I’ll touch base with you guys tomorrow, and we can figure out our plans for Axelle’s barbecue.”
Axelle squeals and scurries over to give Brae one last hug. “Awesome, see you then.” Her eyes find mine. “I’m going to say goodnight to Mom.”
I nod and she takes off to my room before I turn to my brother.
“Thanks for the beer.”
“Of course.” I move around the island to walk him out.
Once at the door, he pauses and meets my eyes. “Do me a favor? Just think about it. Mom really wants—”
“Have fun tonight.” I can’t help it. I just don’t want him to finish that sentence. Whatever Mom really wants is only going to fuck with my head. The fact is I can’t leave, not even for a day.
Understanding washes over his expression, and his jaw clenches before he pushes whatever it is he’s thinking down and relaxes his shoulders. “Right.” He moves to the door.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
He chuckles and smirks at me from over his shoulder. “Oh, so don’t . . .” He scratches his jaw in thought. “Huh, I guess anything goes then.”
I shove him through the front door, and even though it was an easy shove, it doesn’t faze him. I remind myself to ask him later what he’s benching. Later, when the request from my mom isn’t burning a hole in my head.
What the hell could she possibly have to say now? And why do I even care?
Six
Layla
It’s cramped and dark. I can’t straighten my legs or maybe it’s just that I don’t have the strength to. My head spins and I try to focus on where I am.
Voices. Laughter and whispering jumbled together.
My legs move, but not by my will. They’re being moved for me. I struggle to slam them closed but lack the strength and muscle control. They fall open.
Something tells me I should fight, but I don’t. I’m numb. Not only physically, but mentally. Detached and floating beyond my body.
Where am I?
I’m pulled on, rubbed against. My mouth is wet and warm. I gag uncontrollably and try to turn my head away.
“Shit, she’s waking up!”
That voice . . . so familiar and yet . . . not.
I push back the haze and reach for consciousness. It’s within my reach. I can feel it. Cold air hits my bare body and pulls me closer to the surface.
Feeling returns in my feet, hands; my heart pounds in my chest. I blink open my eyes only to recoil.
Blake!
His hand at my neck.
His angry glare, dark with hate, fixes on mine.
I can’t breathe! I gasp and try to rip at his arm, but I’m frozen inside my body. I can’t scream, can’t fight, and succumb . . .
“Oh God!” I gulp air and shoot straight up in bed. My body is tangled in the sheets. Sweat dampens my tee, and I smooth back the hair stuck to my face. What the hell . . . another nightmare. They’re so vivid it’s like living through it all over again, but with more clarity.
I reach over to find Blake, to curl up in his arms and let his strength chase away the terror, but my hand hits the pillow. The sheets are cold and I check the clock.
“Four a.m.” He hasn’t been to bed yet?
Last night after I left him and Braeden to their boy talk, I watched TV in bed and talked to Axelle. By the time she went to bed, I could hear the faint guitar sounds coming from Blake’s music room. I wasn’t sure if he was in there with his brother or by himself, but either way I didn’t want to interrupt.
Has he been in there all night?
I push up and slide from the bed, making sure my tee is pulled low just in case Brae is still here. The door to the music room is closed, but not locked. I push it open and hit a wall of dark. Maybe he’s not in here? I flick on the light switch and a soft smile pulls at my lips.
Blake’s asleep on the couch, his arm behind his head, the other resting at his chest, one long powerful leg cocked and leaning against the back of the couch while the other hangs off the side. The sofa looks tiny in comparison to his huge body.
With timid steps so that I don’t wake him, I move to the edge of the couch and squat down close to watch him sleep. He seems so innocent now. No cocky grin or sexy dirty talk sliding from those lips. No, now they carry innocence. Full, kissable, and parted slightly as he breathes deeply. His eyes, usually full of mischief and insinuation are now closed, long dark eyelashes splayed across his olive-skinned cheeks. He’s so handsome it almost hurts.
I take a second to consider what parts of him our baby will get. Boy or girl, it doesn’t matter. He or she will be beautiful carrying his genes. A slow sigh falls from my lips, and I bite my lip to avoid any other noise that might wake him. He remains still, his breathing steady.
Unable to keep from touching him, I trace his full lower lip with my fingertips and moan as the simple act unfurls a flurry of desire to feel his lips on me. So soft—he shifts slightly and I hear the sound of crinkling paper. Leaning in, I see the corner of an email peeking up from between his body and the back cushion of the couch.
I pull on it, eyes squinting since I’m not wearing my glasses, and read the subject. “Anonymous inquiry into birth records.”
His hand shoots out, grabs my wrist, and yanks hard.
“Ow!” I let go of the paper.
His eyes fly open. “Shit!” Stunned, he drops my arm and throws both hands into the air. “Fuck, Mouse, are you okay?” He moves to touch me, but something he sees in my expression makes him recoil.
“I’m okay. I am.” I force a nervous laugh. “Just scared me, but I’m fine.” That fucking dream!
“No, it’s not okay. You look scared out of your damn mind. What did I do?” He blinks through sleep-fogged eyes,
but I can hear the self-hatred in his voice.
I lean in and grab his face, forcing his eyes to mine. “You didn’t do anything. I had a bad dream. I was already shaky, and then I snuck up on you.”
“I hurt you.”
“No, you just spooked me.” I lean in and drop a soft kiss on his lips. “I shouldn’t have messed with you in your sleep.”
Shame washes over his expression, and I hate myself for making him feel bad. “Damn, I was out of it.”
“You needed your sleep.” My eyes dart to the paper that’s wedged between Blake and the couch. “What is that?”
His body tenses. “Hm?”
“That paper?” I motion to it with a nod.
“Oh, um . . .” He reaches over, pulls it out, and rather than showing it to me, he folds it up and shoves it into his pocket. “It’s nothing, just some leftover ends to tie up with my adopting Axelle.”
I stare at him, waiting for him to meet my eyes, but he doesn’t. I have no reason to doubt him, but something doesn’t feel right. I slide a strand of my hair between two fingers and twirl. “What kind of leftover ends? I thought it was all pretty cut and dry.” He doesn’t answer, and panic speeds my breathing. “Blake?”
He exhales hard and drops his head. “Dammit . . . fuck.”
My nerves, already shot from my nightmare and jumpy from waking Blake, vibrate with panic at the defeat I hear in his voice. “What?”
He rubs his eyes with one hand. “I was hoping . . . shit.”
I crawl up onto the couch, and he shifts to sit up next to me. “What the hell is going on, Blake?” My stomach somersaults.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the paper then sets his worried eyes on mine. “I was hoping to keep this from you until I figured out what it means.”
My eyes widen. “Blake, you can’t keep anything from me, especially if it’s about Axelle!”
He cringes and I rip the folded up paper from his hands.
“I just want to keep you safe and the baby safe. I didn’t want you to get upset . . .” He continues to talk as I unfold the single page email that’s from the Las Vegas Police Department.
Blake,
A Father's Fight Page 5