by Bry Ann
Immediately, she wraps her arms around her stomach, protecting her and the life that’s there. It feels like everything around me is buzzing.
“Pregnant?” I whisper. “Like… with a child?”
I can almost feel her stiffen.
“No, with a giraffe, Adam!”
That gets my attention. She’s scared and pissed and protecting herself. She needs me, but I need me right now.
Pregnant.
With a child.
“I….”
She’s waiting for me. The longer I stutter and stay in shock, the more withdrawn she gets. Finally, she stands and wordlessly walks into the bathroom. This is supposed to be a beautiful moment, but my job. My world. Lacey herself. How will this child be okay? How can I be a good father? I’m sure Lacey will step up and be a good mother, but what if she can’t handle it? I hear the familiar sound of the lock. Shit. What did I just do?
She needed me. Of course she’s scared too.
I don’t even bother knocking. Honestly, I know she won’t answer. I wouldn’t either.
I grab a paperclip off the dresser and easily pick the lock. When I walk in, Lacey is on her hands and knees, furiously scrubbing the floor with a sponge. I flash back to the day I walked into the kitchen and found her cleaning. The day I found out she was cutting herself.
Without a word, I walk over to her and pick her up off ground, wrapping my arms around her. Her arms stay by her sides and she remains stiff. I don’t care. She still gets my comfort.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Okay.” She’s beyond mad. She’s hurt, which is way worse.
“Can I go now?”
I release her. “If you want.”
“Good.”
She goes right back down to the floor and continues scrubbing the blood off of it. There’s hardly anything there, but she’s scrubbing it like it’s caked in mud.
“I’m happy,” I say into the cold, empty bathroom. “Very happy.”
Lacey stops scrubbing and looks at me, eyes guarded. I crouch down in front of her and cup her face.
“I’m so happy. Are you?”
Lacey throws the sponge, sending it flying, and wraps her arms around me.
“I’m scared, but I love her already. We’ll make her happy.”
“Her?”
“It’s a girl.”
“How the hell do you know that? You’re barely pregnant.”
“I know.”
“Of course, you do.” She leans back with a shy smile, but it falters.
“I want her name to be Rose, Adam. Rose can live on. Through her. Never forgotten.”
“Whatever you want.”
“But… do you like it?” She asks shyly.
I laugh. “Babe, I’ll love her for who she is, because she’s our daughter, unique. Precious. I don’t really care what her name is, to be honest. Long as it’s nothing too strange, no directions, cities, or anything like that.”
I know Lacey doesn’t get the reference, but she still laughs.“I love you. I’m sorry.” “Don’t be sorry.”
I squeeze her tightly and then pull back, holding the sides of her shoulders.
“So…” I draw that word out. “Can I love you like I want with the baby inside you?”
Lacey’s hand subconsciously goes over her stomach.
“I don’t see a problem. I’m more concerned about the stitches.”
I laugh and drop my forehead to hers.
“We’re a mess.”
“I’m a mess. You…”
“Are a mess,” I finish. “Total mess.”
“You’re a beautiful mess.”
Fucking hell, could I love her any more? She’s the best mistake I ever corrected. Best decision I ever righted.
I scoop her up in my arms and kiss her with everything I have. I slide my hand inside the white tank top she’s now wearing. The one she put on to get stitches.
She moans as I massage her breast. I can tell she wants to move her hips into me but she refrains. Like always. She has to get herself comfortable to have sex. Still. Probably always, and I’ll never care. I’ll always understand.
I pinch her nipple. She squeals. My mouth moves from her face down to the side of her neck. I bite down there. She jolts, but it’s with pleasure, not panic.
“Adam…” she sighs, as I feel her body relax into me.
“Love you,” I whisper along her neck.
Goosebumps break out across her skin from the heat of my breath. My hand slides down and cups her stomach.
“Ours.”
Her hand goes over mine. She has tears in her eyes.
“We have to protect her, Adam. We have to. This,” she says as her hand tightens over mine, over the baby, “is your most important job we have. Over everything.”
She’s incredible. So fucking incredible.
I kiss her and pull her into me.
“I know, baby, I know.”
She kisses back, hands going around my back and into my hair, messing it up. On purpose, I suspect.
“Love me,” she whispers.
“Seriously, is it okay with the baby?”
She giggles. “I’m not far along, Adam. You really need to read up on this a bit.” “I promise,” I murmur.
“Good. You do keep those.”
“Yes, I do. Wanna know what else I promise?”
She shivers. “Yes.”
I chuckle against her ear.
“I promise to make you feel safe. I promise to make you come. We can go from there.”
That makes her wall crash down. She laughs, hard, against my chest. Full on giggles that I love so much.
“Oh my gosh, you’re really good at making me love you.”
She shakes her head and tries to let her giggles die down. I’ll help her. I slide my hand in her overly baggy jeans. One thing I love about these damn ugly jeans: they’re easy to get in and out of. She gasps when I reach her cotton panties. I trace my finger outside of them, finding her wetness there.
She lets go and grinds her hips against my hand.
“Please, Adam…”
That one word has the power to turn me ever the fuck on with her. Please. Begging me to make her feel good. I step away. She’s almost glaring at me, which is amusing.
“Clothes off,” I rasp.
She hesitates. I feel her wall slowly going up.“Stop that, Lacey. I think you’re beautiful as you are: scars, cuts, stitches, whatever. Just don’t hide from me, little dove. Please.”
She’s still hesitant. Kevin’s reaction did a number on her. I plan on working to remedy that, and I will remedy it. I shove that thought aside for now, because it pisses me off to no measure. And now is not the time for that.
I walk over and help her. I slide my hands over hers and help her remove the clothing. Before looking at her, taking her in, I remove my clothing, putting us on an equal level. I trace my hands delicately all along her sides.
“Beautiful,” I whisper.
She turns and shakes her head.
“Let me show you.”
I grab her hand and lead her into the bedroom. I push —place— her against the wall and virtually attack her. I kiss and touch every inch of her body.
“How… do you stand to touch me?” She breathes, turned on and emotional.
“You’re killing me here, little dove. You’re stunning. Perfect. Your body tells a story of survival. Triumph. I’m so fucking in love with you, and I sure as fuck love touching you. If this truly was some guilt thing, as you seem to think, I would give you a million dollars and free you like I should have. That would be my guilt; sure as hell not this.”
She bites her lower lip. I don’t wait for her to come to terms with the obvious. I run my hand down her lower stomach and slide a finger into her pussy. She whimpers as I finger fuck her against the bedroom wall. She’s trying to contain herself. Which I hate.
“Feel pleasure, Lacey. Let go.”
“I…”
&n
bsp; I pinch her clit.
“Ugh… oh my God,” she squeals.
I move my hands to cage her against the wall. I kiss her gently.
“Adam, I need to…”
“Shhh… I know.”
She relaxes. She trusts me with this, as best as she can, which is a huge honor. A gift I don’t take for granted.
I slowly slide myself inside her, running one of my hands along her neck for comfort. She whimpers against me and slowly starts to move her hips. I decide right then what we are doing. I need to make her come first, so I can take this to the bed. I don’t like to sexually tease Lacey too much. Whatever pleasure she can derive out of sex, I don’t like to mock or remove. Once in a while, but definitely not twice in one go. I pump in and out of her, using my other hand to find her clit, and I press down. That’s all it takes for her to come. Let go. She shudders and falls into me. She always does. I always catch her.
“I have an idea,” I whisper.
“I don’t like it already,” she whispers back.
I chuckle. “Come on. Up you go.”
I tuck my hands under her knees and lift her to the bed. I set her on the corner, and lie down fully naked.
“Come over here.”
“What?”
“Come here.”
“Don’t boss me around.”
I laugh and sit up. Her eyes drift down to my abs. I smirk. When she sees the smug smile on my face, her cheeks heat. I lean forward and grab her, pulling her back. She laughs and topples over me. Her head is lying against my chest as she tries to push up.
“Since you’re here,” I say playfully, “you might as well straddle me.”
“Um, I… Adam?”
“Don’t be shy. It’s just me. Come on.”
Slowly, she does what I ask, but she’s scared. It’s really obvious.
“Hey, Lacey. Will you look at me?” It takes her a second, but she does. Hesitantly. Her lips are swollen and her cheeks are rosy. Her grey eyes are slightly wide, and definitely unsure. She’s so beautiful.
“Thank you for carrying our child, Lacey. Thank you so, so much. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. After our little Rose, of course.”
Her eyes soften and, for the first time since I met her, there’s no trace of the prisoner she once was.
“I love you, Adam.”
Then I let her lead. And she does. Every day getting a small piece of her power back.
Lacey
“Lacey, you’re pregnant.”
Last night was the craziest, scariest, best moment of my entire life. It’s crazy how I could go from cutting myself on the bathroom floor to feeling like luckiest, most loved woman alive. I’m all over the place. My life is all over the place. This baby’s won’t be. I’ll protect her. I’m sure it’s a her. Adam is happy, but he doesn’t understand yet. She’ll come first every single time, because if she doesn’t, I’ll leave him. The bullshit I put up with won’t fly with her.
I swing the door open to see Cut standing there. Adam was freaked about me training. I can already tell the big mafia boss is going to be a complete spaz for my whole pregnancy. I told him I’d handle it. And I will.
“Why are you wearing that?”
Cut gestures up and down to my sweatshirt and long pants. The pregnancy is not the reason I’m wearing this. I don’t even have a bump yet.
“I’m training in this today.”
He cocks an eyebrow, I presume at my bold attitude. I don’t know what’s up with me today.
“I’m not going through this with you. If you’re not dressed out, there’s no training.”
“Just this once. Please..”
I need to train now more than ever.
“Since when do I take to begging? I don’t give a fuck. No clothes. No train. You aren’t getting heat stroke on my watch.”
“I’m pregnant,” I blurt out.
His eyebrows raise. Genuine shock crosses his scarred face.
“Congratulations,” he says slowly, assessing to see if I’m okay.
“I’m happy,” I reply, averting my gaze.
“Good for you, then. I’ll take that into account. You do, too. Push hard, but be careful.”
“I know. I will.”
“Alright. I’m not stupid, girl, you aren’t showin’ yet, not that I’d care. Sweatshirt. Off.”
“Cut, seriously, please.”
Cut walks over to the corner of the room and picks up his bag. He doesn’t even give me a second glance as he swings the door open.
“Cut, wait!”
He turns around, light blue eyes uncaring.
“I messed up,” I mumble.
He swings around, slamming the door. His arms cross over his chest.
“I want your sweatshirt off. I want your sweats off. We’ll take it easy, but you’re training. Not hiding. We’ve worked too long and hard together for that shit.”
Cut takes a deep breath and pulls a stool out of the corner of the room. I don’t remember that stool ever being there.
“Look, Lacey, you think this shit is just about training? Learning to fight? I hope to God you never have to use anything I teach you. This is way more about the mind. People like us, we have a lot to fight. This shit on the mat is what gets us strong enough to deal with the stuff our minds throw at us. All that said, sweat outfit off.”
I can barely get my mouth to work. Cut has never so much as mentioned his scars. From the deadly, almost vulnerable look in his eye, I know he never does. It’s a big deal that he opened up to me in this way. So, despite my reluctance, I slowly slide my sweats down. Then I slowly remove my sweatshirt. I don’t look at Cut. Shame fills me. I place my hand over my stomach and take a step back. I know my stitches are prominent through my shirt. My new cuts are on display, along with all my disgusting, old ones: the scars, burns, and writing carved into my skin.
“Lacey,” Cut’s voice rings through firmly. “You’ve seen my scars. You can’t seriously think I’m judging you. Why are we back to this?”
I can’t even believe we are having this talk. Cut barely talks to me. Let alone shares with me or has me open up to him. I have no clue what’s going on.
“I… did them to myself.”
“I know nothing about your life, girl, but I know they didn’t all come from you.”
“No,” I whisper.
“Then alright…”
“But some were from me. A lot were, and—”
“Does it look like I care?”
I look up at him, hesitantly.
“I’m here to train you, not judge you.”
When I don’t so much as move, Cut points to the ground.
“Sit.”
I don’t take well to orders, not after everything I’ve been through. But Cut, Adam, my doctor... they’ve earned my respect. I know when they give orders it’s to help me, not to hurt or belittle me. So all that said, Cut asked me to sit, so I do. Right there on the mat. I cross my legs over one another and lean forward so my hair covers my face. Cut scoots forward to straddle the stool. His usually cruel-looking face looks distant and stern.
I know Cut is so much more than he appears.
“Lacey. Wanna know why I took you on? I don’t train girls. Period. It’s a rule. No offense, but I don’t do simple self-defense training. Burning calories, all that shit. You’ve trained with me long enough now to know that the way I train is brutal. You have no use for it. You’re no criminal and that’s predominantly who I train. I’m sure you understand why.”
I nod. It may sound sexist, but when you get to know Cut, you get why he sets the rules he does and takes on the clients he does. I think, in his own way, he’s protecting women by
referring them elsewhere. He’s all for them taking self-defense, but his style is one that no normal person should have to endure. He’s borderline cruel in training.
“I don’t talk about it. I’m sure you understand why. I find avoidance best.”
Me, too.
&
nbsp; “But obviously, I have scars, too. Covered head to toe in ‘em. Make me look fucking ugly and terrifying, when for a long time, that is not how I wanted to look. It’s what pushed me into this field I’m in. That said, I took you in because I saw it. You are a broken person with the spirit of a fighter. Despite how it may seem, I don’t expect perfection from you, but I sure as hell expect you to get back up when you fall down. I may have never taken a blade to my skin, but I’ve drank myself damn well nearly into a coma at nineteen after I so naively thought someone could love me like this. I did that for a while. Hated myself, the whole bit. ‘Til I got sick of it. Picked myself the fuck back up. Learned to fight. Learned to build a reputation. I found criminals gave the fewest shits about the condition of my skin. In fact, they found me more badass than anything else. I got up. You’re still beautiful, scars and all, girl, you got someone who loves you and enough strength to deal with whatever hell your mind chooses to inflict on you on a daily basis. So that day you stood up to me, I picked you. I put faith in you. Don’t let me down. But more importantly, don’t let yourself down.” There’s a pause.
“And you’re going to be a mom now. I know enough about ya to know the type of lessons you want to impart on your kid. Show the kid what it means to get up and be strong. At the end of the day, how he or she turns out won’t be about what you look like, but will be all about the example you set.”
I stare at him, jaw dropped. I don’t think he even realizes how much his words mean, from someone who actually understands. Understands what it’s like for your outside to actually match your inside. Most people get to hide in their skin; we don’t.
“Thank you for opening up to me,” I whisper, running my finger gently over the fresh, raw skin on my arm. “I don’t think you understand how much…” I choke on my words. “I’m sorry. I know you hate emotions,” I say quickly, avoiding his gaze. When I chance a look, I notice there is almost softness in his pale blue eyes. Almost, but not quite. He won’t allow it, and I can’t fault him for that. For anything. He’s an angel in devil’s skin. Or what the world would say is devil’s skin. I think he’s perfect, because I know what’s inside. He’s shown me a small bit of it.
“You’re fine, but I do want you to stop cowering because you fucked up. Got a few new marks. Someone got in your head, whatever. From now on, you take that shit out on the mat. You don’t give into it. Understand?”