by Nikki Ryker
Ryker releases my hand just long enough to shrug out of his jacket, folding it and pushing it beneath my ass. I whimper in pain. Regret dances across his face for just a moment, but then his hand is in mine again.
“Okay,” the EMT says, lifting her eyes to meet mine. “Now I need you to push.”
I close my eyes and bear down, a scream wrenching itself from me almost at once. My body is on fire and I sob when one push alone isn't enough to get him out. This isn't how it goes in the movies. Push, push, baby, right?
I don't know how long I'm pushing, screaming, and crushing Ryker's hand. It could have been an hour, or a day, but somehow, all at once, the pain eases and I feel something slither from me in the oddest way. Heather's hands are on me, and then there is a soft, warbling cry.
My eyes snap open at once, searching for him. Where is my baby? Is he okay?
"Bryan?" I gasp. "Please, where is he?"
"I'm clearing his airways, ma'am," the female EMT says in a voice of dead calm. "And the cord will need to be cut."
"I'll do that," Ryker says at once.
He has to pry his hand loose from mine to do it, and he leans forward, out of my line of sight for a moment. I feel cheated. I want the baby's father to be here, to perform this rite of passage. It just seems wrong for someone else to do this. But Damian is dead and would I have expected him to be here for his son, even if he was still living?
Ryker reemerges, holding a small, squirming figure in his arms. It's almost comical to see the big, rugged man clutching a baby to his chest. It's wrapped in something silvery that crinkles upon contact with my skin. But it's warm and I clutch Bryan close as Ryker slides him into my arms.
"Hang on tight," Ryker says, getting an arm under me. The female EMT does the same, and together they get me onto the stretcher. They wrap another crinkly blanket around me, and I don't protest. I'm too warm, too tired to do anything but hold my baby as I'm strapped in for the ride. It takes a few minutes to leave the mall and another few to get me into the back of the ambulance.
"Let me take Bryan," Ryker says, sliding into the seat beside the stretcher. The female EMT rides up front, flicking the sirens on once more. "You need sleep."
"I want to hold my baby," I protest. But my eyes are half-lidded, sleep dragging me downward at an alarming rate.
"I've got him," Ryker assures me. "Do you trust me, Cleo?"
"With my life," I say, the God's-honest-truth slipping out in an unguarded moment. Ryker is one of the few I trust.
His answering smile is dazzling. He holds out his hands for the small bundle in my arms.
"Then trust I've got him, Cleo. I'll kill anyone who tries to hurt him."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
I slide the bundle into his arms, and he clutches Bryan tight against his chest once more, warming my baby boy with his body. It's the last image I have of them before sleep drags me down into peaceful oblivion.
4
Ryker
My pen hovers over the official-looking form for just a second before I sign my name in the blank space provided. It's near Cleo's hurried signature, wrestled from her by an insistent doctor after they had settled her in a room. I sign the voluntary waiver offered by the nurse, aware this is the only way I'll be able to get my name to stick.
I stare at my name, signed as neatly as I can get it under these circumstances. Cleo will probably be pissed at me for doing this. I'm not Bryan's father. It's Bryan Leon Sutton scrawled into the name box, not Fenton.
But the blank space was there, taunting me, reminding me how little support Cleo has in the trying days ahead. She's already embraced the fact she'll have to be off work, cutting her pay to pretty much nil. She'll be heading back to the death trap of an apartment she inherited from her parents. It's no place for a baby. No place for her, either. She deserves so much more than she has. So much more than she's willing to let me give her.
Let her be pissed. If I'm listed as the father, she can press for child support if she needs it. Not that I expect her to do so, but the opportunity would still be there.
Heather watches me from the opposite wall, acting as my look out, just in case someone unsavory turns up. After the scene in the hallway this afternoon I don't trust that Trent won't try something. Her displeasure is aimed at me, though.
"This is stupid, Fenton," she grumbles. "You know that she can demand half your paycheck after this right? And I know damn well that is not your baby. You'd have been mooning over them both for months. What gives?"
I still wasn't in the mood to unload the complex clusterfuck of feelings I had for Cleo. Not here, within earshot of her hallway. And not to Heather, who looked like she'd rather eat the birth certificate than let me sign it.
"She's a good friend, Heather. And she won't do that. I'll be lucky if she'll even let me give her a ride home. More stubbornness than sense in that woman."
"Oh God. You really love her, don't you?" Heather says, examining my face with something of a dumbstruck expression on hers.
I grimace, but my silence is answer enough. I don't have a clue what Cleo feels for me, but it can't hold a candle to what I'm feeling for her.
"You poor bastard," Heather says with a shake of the head. "You're in for a shitload of pain, you know that?"
Unfortunately, I was pretty sure she was right. There was no way in hell I would be able to convince Cleo to let me help. She'd probably bend over backward to keep me at arm's length, the way she always had. My teeth ground together in frustration. There had to be something I could say that would allow me past her guard. I didn't fucking care about even being in her bed at this point. I needed to take care of her. In whatever capacity she'd allow.
And then an idea hit me. Something perhaps a little cruel, but if it worked...
"I've got to go, Heather," I murmur. "Can you please cover for me?"
Heather looks ready to chew her own tongue, but she relents. We have too much respect for one another when it comes right down to the wire to rat each other out. Heather might think I’m, being an idiot, but she'll cover my ass all the same.
"All right, but you owe me."
Cleo is sitting up in bed, Bryan clutched to her chest when I enter the room. I turn away, ready to avert my eyes if she's breastfeeding the kid. It's none of my business. But Cleo just chuckles.
"It's all right, Ryker. He's asleep."
I turn back warily, guilt twisting in my gut for what I'm about to do. I can take anger, but Cleo's expression of betrayal will cut me right down to the quick. I try to convince myself it will be all right if she never forgives me. I will never forgive myself if I don't try.
Cleo traces a finger down the side of Bryan's face, stroking the chubby swell of one cheek. Dark eyelashes flutter against them, but remain closed. The baby's lips form a soft 'o' and he expels an exhausted breath. He has a smattering of dark hair on the top of his head. But aside from that little touch, it doesn't seem like there's a trace of Damian McNeil in the kid's face at all. That's a blessing I suppose. It would be horrific to raise the child who wore the face of your abuser.
"Poor baby," Cleo coos, clutching him close to her chest. "It's been a big day. He's all tuckered out."
“I still say you had the worst of it,” I say with a chuckle. “You were doing all of the pushing. Without an epidural, I might add."
Cleo is pale beneath the tawny cast to her skin. The doctor's say she lost a little too much blood. Not enough to warrant a full transfusion, but enough she'll be shaky and possibly anemic. She's gaunt and is swimming in the oversized hospital gown she's stuffed into. I draw all these facts around me like a shield, bolstering my resolve for what I'm about to do.
"You're moving in with me," I say, leaving little room for argument in my tone. And yet, Cleo argues anyway.
She draws herself up to her full height, indignation flashing in her eyes.
"Ryker, I don't need-"
"Bullshit," I hiss, low and fervent so as not to wake th
e baby. "Cleo, you need to stop pushing us all away. You're going to need help with this baby. Let me help you."
She purses her full, gorgeous lips as she glares at me. All I want to do is haul her close and taste them. If not for the baby in her arms, I just might have.
"You need to stop this Ryker. Stop torturing yourself. It's not your fault."
I quirk an eyebrow at her once in query. I don't know what the hell she's talking about.
Cleo sighs and nuzzles her face into Bryan's hair once for comfort before she continues. "This guilt trip is unwarranted. Ryker. I know you've been helping me because you feel responsible. You know, for what happened with Damian."
She lowers her voice as if the very mention of his name could somehow still hurt her. Her body cringes into the pillows and I want to drag Damian right up from his grave so I could peel the skin off of his bones. Anger swells like a balloon in my chest until I'm afraid I might burst, shouting at her.
"You think I'm doing this because I feel guilty?"
Cleo's brow puckers and her mouth turns down in a frown. "You feel guilty for introducing us. That's why you've been doing all this, right?"
Did I feel guilty? Exceptionally. Guilty and furious with myself for letting her slip out of my fingers. It would have been one thing to hand her off to someone like Cruz. A bit of a hot-head himself, but with the good sense to keep the anger where it belonged. I could have watched her settle with someone who took care of her, treated her like the goddamn treasure that she was.
But instead, I let her fall into the hands of Damian, a man who wasn't even worthy to wipe shit from her shoe. If I kept her close, this wouldn't have happened.
"Cleo, you're my friend," I say carefully. My whole fucking world, I add silently. "Friends don't let friends live in a rat trap apartment with their new baby. Just move in with me."
Her jaw flexes and I read the refusal before it even comes from her mouth. She opens her mouth to deliver the final no, but I lay my trump card out before she can expel it.
"If you don't, Iwill tell Cruz."
Cleo's mouth snaps shut with an audible clatter of teeth. Her eyes grow round and betrayal flits over her face, twisting my heart. I would not budge though, not when I was making progress.
"You can't," she says.
"I can. You're part of the Spades. And don't give me any bullshit, Cleo. I know that wasn't some amicable chat in the hall this afternoon. Trent is threatening you. Cruz deserves to know that Trent is making threats to his people."
"He doesn't need to know!" Cleo cries, settling Bryan in the small plastic cradle provided by hospital staff. The baby stirs but doesn't wake. Cleo clasps her hands in front of her in a pleading gesture as old as time. "Please tell me you won't, Ryker. He's got so much to deal with already."
"I won't. If you move in with me."
Cleo lapses into silence and I'm convinced that she will say no again when a tiny whisper issues from her.
"You promise?"
"I promise. If you move in, I won't tell a soul. Unless he tries something more serious."
Cleo raises her eyes to meet mine at last and the surrender there is heartbreaking. I really am a bastard, forcing her into this position.
"It's only temporary," she says. "After the six weeks are up, I'll take Bryan back home. I'll figure something out after that. Do we have a deal?"
"Deal."
Six weeks with Cleo in my home? It sounded like the closest to heaven that a bastard like me would ever get.
5
Cleo
I was still miffed at Ryker for the little power play that he'd pulled in the hospital, but as I step into his large, two-story home in the heart of uptown Spade territory, I can't help but be grateful he did it.
My tiny two-bedroom home on Pine looks like a shack compared to Ryker's house. The slate gray siding and wide windows give it a serious, stately air that most buildings in South Hollen's lack. I cradle Bryan close to my chest as we ascend the stairs, shushing the squirming infant as we made our way inside. I'm still bone-weary after my labor, and I'm overcome by a sense of relief that I'll have someone to trade shifts with. Ryker had been invaluable during my stay in the hospital.
I settle onto his sectional, rocking Bryan. He ate in the car, so this is just routine fussiness on his part.
"Give me just a few minutes," Ryker soothes, eyes locking on Bryan with concern. "I just need to grab some things out of the car."
We'd swung by my place to grab the bassinet and some supplies for Bryan before making our way uptown. I nod to him with a small smile. Ryker's concern warmed a silly part of me, though I tried to tamp down on it. It wasn't like he was mine.
"Go ahead. We'll be fine."
My eyes scan the living room as he leaves. I guess being an EMT must pay better than bartending, along with all the other club activities that brought in money. Or maybe his parents had just been better off than mine. The flat screen that hung on the toffee-colored wall was twice the size of my tiny model. The plush armchairs pushed along one wall look like they could swallow me whole. And the whole place is just so clean. My flat couch is covered in dog hair and the place has seen little tidying up since I got too big to see my toes. I feel like a shameful stain sitting in the middle of perfection.
When Ryker returns, he's clutching the parts to my bassinet and balancing several boxes on one arm. He sets them down beside the couch and plucks a tool bag from the hall closet before returning. At least one box contains my clothes while the rest contain a baby swing, a rocker, and a boatload of diapers and bottles.
"I think I'll set up the bassinet first," he muses. "That way you can set Bryan down. You look dead on your feet, Cleo."
"Thanks," I drawl. "You know just how to boost a girl's confidence."
Uncertainty flits across his face for a second before he mumbles an: "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way."
I sigh. "No, I'm sorry. I'm just being a bitch. You can't trust a word out of my mouth for a few months. Hormones, you know."
Some of the worry lifts off his face and he nods. "For what it's worth, you still look like a million bucks to me, Cleo. No matter how tired you are."
My cheeks heat, and I'm grateful he's turned his attention back to the bassinet, because I could about kiss him for that comment. I ceased to feel attractive once I'd gained more than the recommended thirty-five pounds for pregnancy. I grip my baby a little tighter, chiding myself for the thought.
Not yours, not yours, not yours, I remind myself. Eden's probably pissy as it is. No need to be making eyes at her boyfriend.
Ryker sets to work, and for the life of me, I can't drag my eyes off of him. He's still cladded in his work shirt and the riding jacket with its club insignia. Even beneath the fabric, I can spy rippling muscle working as he sets up the bassinet. I just can't believe that I'm here, in this gorgeous house with an Adonis-like man working to make my life easier. This sort of good luck never fell into my lap.
I was used to my life being shit. My parents died in a drunk driving accident when I was four, leaving only my aunt to tend to me. Said Aunt had made my life hell until I moved out at eighteen. Jobless, with no life skills, I probably would have become a hooker if not for the intervention of Cruz's sister, Penny, who'd gotten me a place to stay, food to eat, and a job to pay my bills. Things had looked up.
Until Damian.
That is always the crux of things, isn't it? Everything always leads back to the six months of terror I'd spent in Damian's grimy apartment, wondering when the next blow was coming. I didn't know, even now, why I never told a soul. Maybe some small part that my aunt cultivated inside me thought I deserved what I got. Maybe I was ashamed of my weakness.
And then Cruz pulled me out of the mess and put me back on my feet again. I'd fallen in love with the rough biker, pining after him. But his eyes slid past me, always looking for the next girl. The next conquest. I'd embraced that it was his nature. No one could pin him down. And then Holly Madden had stepped in an
d changed everything.
Months ago, Holly had been forced into labor as the bartender at Rapture. A spitfire of a girl with a life twice as terrible as mine, she'd breezed into all of our lives and changed everything forever. I should hate her for stealing Cruz and putting us all in danger by helping kill Damian.
But I couldn't. It's my damn fault for chasing after taken men. First Cruz, now Ryker. I need to get a handle on myself before I break my heart. Again.
Ryker pauses in his work to glance up at me. "You okay, Cleo? You look preoccupied."
"I'm just tired," I lie, forcing a smile onto my lips. It reeks of insincerity, and for half a second I'm sure he'll call me on it. Then he shrugs and smiles.
"Maybe you should hand Bryan off to me. I've got the bassinet set up. You've earned your rest."
"I like watching you," I confess with a grin. "It's like watching a giant work with miniatures. It's kind of cute."
Ryker's smile reaches his eyes and sets them to sparkling. It's like a punch to my wild libido, to have him look at me like that. I want to set my sleeping baby in the bassinet, drag the riding leather off of his tall, gorgeous frame and drag him to the nearest bedroom. Or hell, I'll even take the floor at this point. Just so long as that muscled body twines around mine.
"You think I'm cute?"
"I suppose you have your charms," I say as lightly as I can. No need to let him read too deeply into the statement. Even if I want his attention, I'm not stealing another woman's boyfriend. I've caused enough trouble without becoming a homewrecker.
Ryker completes the bassinet and sets it in the bedroom nearby, laying a sleeping Bryan inside it. I let out a sigh of relief and sink lower into the couch cushions. "Thank God. I thought he'd never go back to sleep."
"Don't jinx it," Ryker says with a soft laugh.
"Thank you so much," I say, the gratitude trumping my irritation with him. "You're right. This place is cleaner and easier to babyproof. I promise we won't trouble you for too long. Just until I can get back to work."