A Father's Fight: Blake and Layla #2 (Fighting #5) (11 page)

I lean in, pinning him with a glare. “You were wrong.”

“Why the fuck do you think I’m here?”

“Now? You show up now, eighteen years later? It was you who
checked Axelle’s birth records and my divorce records, wasn’t it?”

His chest puffs out. “Yes.”

“Why?” I take a deep breath through another slight cramp. Blake
would kill me for allowing myself to endure this kind of stress. I need to
relax, if not for me, for the baby. For Blake.

“After the news broke about what Stewart did to that fighter and
the gossip back home carried its way to me, I’d realized that I fucked up. But
Layla, you don’t know the life I’ve had. I wasn’t fit to be a father, a
husband, or even a friend. After my mom moved me to Oregon, I lost it. I hated
knowing that you were out there raising my baby and I was so far away.”

“Didn’t hate it enough to come searching for us,” I say through
gritted teeth.

“I was in prison for ten years for armed robbery.” He recoils at
his own words, as if they came out without his permission.

I gasp and try to slam my lips closed, but I’m too late to stop
it.

“Look, I don’t know what happened with Stew and his crew of
fuckheads after I left, but I do know that what happened between us meant
something. Axelle was created by two people in love. Maybe not a conventional
love, but Layla, I haven’t stopped thinking about you once since then.”

The power of his words, the sincerity in his eyes, all of it is
sweet, but I don’t know if I felt the same even back then. I had a crush, a
really intense crush, but as soon as I found out I was pregnant, I didn’t think
much about Trip Miller. My baby was all I cared about, she became my world, and
I relinquished all my own dreams to make sure she was taken care of.

“What are you saying?”

He licks his lips and seems to think carefully about what he’s
going to say next. “I know I’m too late.” He nods to my ring finger and then to
my swollen belly. “I’d hoped there could be a future for us—maybe we
could get to know each other again and see what happens—but now all I ask
is to know my daughter.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t give you that.” I push my tea away, suddenly
repulsed by the smell or maybe just sick of all I’m hearing. “She knows
everything, Trip. She was there the night Stew confessed.”

He recoils. “Fuck . . . really?”

“She wants nothing to do with her biological father. She thinks
he’s a rapist.”

His mouth twists in disgust. “Do you think you could talk to her
for me? Let her know that . . . tell her our story.”

“My fiancé has legally adopted Axelle.”

He drops his head into his hands with a mumbled “Shit.”

“I’m sorry.”

His head still in his hands, face to the table, he nods and
sniffs.

My heart breaks a little at seeing him like this, but he
should’ve come forward sooner. Sometimes amends come too late.

“So that’s it then?” He rubs his eyes with his thumb and
forefinger. “I’ve lost you both.”

“Can’t lose what you never had.”

He lifts his head, his eyes bloodshot and watery. “Right.” I can
tell he’s pissed, but what was he expecting? To breeze into our lives and have
us run into his open arms?

“I appreciate you coming all the way out here to explain, and I’m
sorry I don’t have better news for you, but I need to get back.”

He curls his lips between his teeth, avoids my eyes, and nods.

It takes me a few seconds to hoist myself down from the stool. I
grab my bag and study the side of Trip’s face. No one in his right mind would
need a paternity test to see that he’s Axelle’s father. His profile is a
masculine version of hers, coloring identical. A sharp pain twists in my chest
and another in my side.

I breathe a few times until it lets up then rest my hand on his
shoulder. “I wish you the best.”

He doesn’t reply, and I turn my back on Trip, on the past, and
refuse to give it another second of my time.

A sense of freedom overwhelms me as I exit the café. I’m grateful
I got the story of how Axelle came to be. Chances are the other stuff Stewart
spewed happened after Trip left, but at least I know that my daughter was
brought into this world under better circumstances. I willingly lost my
virginity to Trip Miller and made a baby. I can live with that. And I think
Axelle can too.

I move through the hotel, ambling along the man-made river where gondolas
filled with tourists glide slowly across the water. Another cramp hits me, this
one harder than the last. I grip the railing that runs along the river and
breathe in . . . out . . . Shit! This one is lasting longer than the others. In
. . . out . . . in . . . I blow out a long breath, and a soft breeze of air
conditioning against my face brings my hand to my forehead. I’m sweating?

This can’t be labor. Can it?

Just breathe, get to the valet, and get home.

I take a deep breath and test my legs to make sure they’re steady
before I start moving again. Although the cramp is gone, there’s an awareness
that I haven’t felt until now. Maybe I’m overreacting, but I can’t help but
feel as if another cramp is coming.

“It’s okay. My water hasn’t broken. Until then, I’m fine.” I keep
whispering my pep-talk as I follow the river’s edge to the casino.

Weaving through the tables and machines, another cramp hits me.
“Holy fucking shit!” My jaw locks hard, my entire belly tightening up so much
that I can’t take a full breath. I brace myself against a stool at a roulette
table.

“Ma’am, are you okay?”

I don’t know who said it, the dealer or maybe someone at the
table. I wave and force a smile. “Fine. I’m fine.”

I try to move on, my goal to get somewhere private to grab my
phone and call Braeden, but two steps and I’m holding onto another stool.

“Fuck, Layla!” Strong hands grip my shoulders and pull me up.
“Shit, you need to go to the hospital.”

Trip? I peer up at his face. “Are you following me?” A cramp
twists in my gut, and I fall limply to his chest.

“No, I saw you stagger when you left.” He hooks his hands under
my arms to hold me up. “So I followed—okay, so yeah, I followed you but
only because I was worried.”

Blake would hate this. I need to get in touch with Brae. I push
off of Trip, but it’s weak. “I’m okay. I just need to get ho—”

Warm moisture drops from between my legs, slowly bleeding down my
inner thighs and soaking my yoga pants.

I tilt my head back and stare into Trip’s worried blue eyes. “My
water just broke.”

Seventeen

Blake

“Thank you for choosing FlyWest, and welcome to Las
Vegas.” The stewardess’ announcement couldn’t come soon enough. I’ve been
crazed with getting back home to Layla to tell her about the breakthrough I had
with my dad over the weekend.

After a long-drawn-out conversation last night, we ordered pizza
and sat around while my parents listened to me talk. I told them about my music
room and how long I’d had it hidden and explained that Layla was the first
person I let in and how we fell in love. I gave them all the details that they
didn’t know about Stew’s arrest and my legally adopting Axelle. It was midnight
before I noticed how tired they both looked and insisted we finish in the
morning.

And we did over breakfast.

They’re planning on coming to town when the baby is born. My dad
is still healthy enough to travel, but my guess is if he chooses not to get
treatment, this’ll be the last time he comes to visit.

The plane taxis to our gate, and my leg is thumping double time
with the urge the break out of here. I texted my brother before we took off,
telling him that it was on time, and he said he’d be waiting at the curb.

With my woman.

I lick my lips with anticipation, hoping we have the condo to
ourselves for a few hours so I can show Layla just how much I missed her. Nothing
sounds better than stripping down and holding her to me. There’s no better
feeling in the world than having a naked Layla in my bed. It’s not even about
the sex; although, when we get naked, that’s pretty much inevitable.

The fasten seatbelt sign is off, and I’m up and hunched over in
the tiny aisle as the people filter from the plane. Once in the airport, I
power walk past the baggage claim and through the sliding glass doors.

My eyes scan left, right, but I don’t see the Rubicon. I check my
phone. I’m ten minutes late. Maybe they drove around and are coming back—

“Blake!”

I whirl around toward Axelle’s voice.

She’s stepping out of an old Jeep Wrangler. That’s Killer’s car.
Why the hell is he picking me up?

“Hey, kiddo!”

She runs up to me, and the closer she gets, the clearer I can see
the panic in her eyes. “It’s Mom. She’s in labor.”

My heart drops into my stomach, adrenaline floods my veins, and my
hands fist at my sides. “What!”

“Come on. I’ll explain in the car.”

We jog to Killer’s Jeep, and Axelle jumps in the back while I hop
in the front. “Talk. Now.”

“I was home and Braeden was waiting for mom to get home.”

“Home from where? Why wasn’t Brae with her?”

“I don’t know. But he got a call from some guy who said he was
with Mom and she’d gone into labor.”

I turn my body around as much as I can and face Axelle. “What the
fuck did you just say?”

“Mom went into labor at The Venetian, and some guy she was having
coffee with took her to the hospital.”

My eyes squint so hard they twitch. Anger settles deep in my gut
as I make a mental list of who I’m going kill first: Braeden, then this asshole
who has my woman, and then after Layla’s finished birthing our baby, she’s got
some fucking explaining to do. Why the hell didn’t she stay with my brother as
I fucking asked her to?

“Don’t go there, man.” Killian’s voice calls over to me even
though his eyes are on maneuvering us through the Vegas streets. “She’s with
your brother now. I’m sure she can explain.”

He’s right, but that doesn’t change the fact that I want some
fucking answers.

“Oh my God, we’re having a baby!” Axelle’s high-pitched squeal
and her grip on my shoulder ignite my excitement.

Fuckin A. We’re having a baby. “Drive faster, Killer.”

“Got it.” He lays heavy on the gas and soon we pull up to the
emergency entrance of the hospital.

My heart pounds in my chest to the point that I’m dizzy. It
wasn’t long ago I walked through these same doors the day Sadie was born. How
Jonah held himself together through that, I’ll never know.

We all jump from the Jeep and jog to the front desk.

“Layla Moorehead. She’s in labor. We’re her family.” Axelle’s
practically jumping.

“Hey, you can’t park your car there,” a security guard says and
moves toward us.

The front desk nurse glances up at us. “Room 323, Labor and
Delivery.” She stands and leans over the desk. “It’s right down—”

“Thank you!” Axelle calls out her gratitude from behind me as I’m
halfway down the hallway.

“Hey, the car!” The security guy must be talking to Killer.

I hear him toss the keys and the sound of them hitting the tile
floor. “Here, keep ’em!”

Axelle and Killer catch up to me as we zigzag our way through the
hospital, following the signs and arrows that lead us to Labor and Delivery.

We rush up to another desk with a young nurse sitting behind it.
“Hi, I’m Blake Daniels, here for Layla. I’m the father.”

Her eyes brighten. “Oh, yeah. They’re expecting you.” She hits a
few keys on her computer. “You can go on back.”

“Thanks.” I turn to Axelle, who nods, a huge grin on her face.
“This is it, kiddo. We’re having a baby.”

She nods again and claps her hands. “Okay.”

I kiss the top of her head.

“A-Axelle?” A man’s voice calls from a small couch in the waiting
room.

We swivel our heads in unison toward the voice.

Older guy, dark hair, decent size. He takes a tentative step
toward her, his eyes wide in shock. I can’t explain why, whether it’s the eerie
way he’s staring at my girl, or the strange familiarity of his face, but
tension scents the air.

She leans into me ever so slightly. “Do I know you?”

The man blinks a few times and moves closer.

“Stop right there.” The low growling command comes from Killer,
who’s now flanking Axelle on her other side.

The guy stops, his gaze bouncing between the three of us as if he
can’t figure out what to make of us.

“Who the fuck are you?” If he knows Axelle, I have to assume that
this douchebag knows Layla.

“You must be Blake.” He tilts his head, studying me.

He’s not in bad shape, about my height, maybe a few inches
shorter. He looks as if he’s probably one of those outdoorsy guys who hike and swim
laps. If push came to shove, I’d destroy the pansy.

I take step toward him, and he doesn’t back down. Gotta give him
credit for that. “You know me. I’ll give you one more chance to tell me who the
fuck you are and why you’re addressing my daughter like you know her.”

“Your daughter.” He laughs in a way that’s less humor more
teasing.

I shove him hard, and he rocks back on one foot.

“Blake.” Braeden pushes through the double doors, appearing in my
peripheral vision. “Stop.” He steps between us, his back to me. “Trip, man, back
the fuck off my brother. I told you to go home.”

Trip? Why does that name sound familiar?

The guy, Trip, motions to Axelle. “I just wanted to meet my
daughter.”

A gasp flies from Axelle’s lips a second before Killer descends. His
fist flies, cracking Trip in the jaw and knocking him on his ass.

“Killian!” Axelle rushes up and attempts to grab him from behind.

He holds her back, gently, but firmly. “You fucking dare show
your face around here, motherfucker!” Killer charges again, this time caught up
by Brae.

“Calm down!” He jerks Killer hard. “You hear me? Stand the fuck
down. This is not helping Layla.”

My eyes move between a stunned Axelle and a dazed Trip. Holy shit
. . . she looks just like the guy. Prettier, more feminine, but yeah, that’s
her biological father.

Oh hell no!

A guttural roar rumbles from my chest and I lunge. “You sick son
of a bitch!” I slam my fist into his jaw, making contact with a sickening crack.
“You’ve been snooping.” Another solid hit to his jaw. “Shoulda’ stayed away.” I
throw another punch, but I’m pulled back by Killer and Brae before I make
contact. I thrash, trying to break free, fear and anger swirling in my blood to
destroy the man who raped my woman. The man who’s been digging around through
birth records and now
stalking
my family.

“We got this, bro. We’ll take care of him.” Brae yells in my ear.
“Don’t get escorted out of here and miss the birth of your baby, man. Get your
shit together and go help your woman!”

“Don’t let that motherfucker go,” I growl.

“Got it. Now go.” Brae shoves me off toward the door.

I glare at the bleeding piece of shit on the floor and point
right at him. “I’m not even close to being done with you.” I hook an arm around
a whimpering Axelle. “Come on, kiddo. The boys’ll deal with him. Let’s go bring
our baby into the world.”