A Father's Fight: Blake and Layla #2 (Fighting #5) (12 page)

Eighteen

Layla

“As soon as the doctor gets here, we’ll start pushing.”
Danita, my nurse who’s been here with me since I checked in, squeezes my hand
and gives me a kind smile.

I nod, exhausted, in pain, and incapable of speech.

Why in the holy hell did I refuse the drugs? I wanted to
experience labor since I didn’t get to when I had Axelle. I’d read so many
birthing books that didn’t make it sound this hard. Fucking liars! My lower
back muscles have been in a constant state of contraction, and my womb is not
far behind.

Danita holds my hand between hers, her head turned to the
monitor. “Here comes another one, Layla.”

I want to roar, “No shit, I can feel it!” but instead roll my lips
between my teeth and prepare.

She leans down and fixes her eyes with mine. “Relax. Focus. Now
breathe.”

My fingers grip the edge of the bed as another wave of
contractions hits me hard. Every muscle in my abdomen pulls tight, tighter, so
tight they feel twisted, as if they’re about to break or rip right through my
skin. I bite down, holding back the moan of agony that pushes at my throat.

“Almost done. Keep breathing. You’re doing great.”

I gasp for air. Having forgotten to breathe, my head feels light.
Sweat breaks out over my skin. My eyes pinch closed. God, make it stop.

“Layla, shit . . .”

I open my eyes to Blake, who’s standing on the other side of the
bed, Axelle at his side.

Just seeing them here causes tears to spring free from my eyes,
and a guttural sob rips from my chest.

Blake moves in, grabbing my other hand and pulls it to his chest
before burying his face in my neck. “Sh, sh . . .” His lips move against my
skin, small kisses between his talking. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you. Sh . .
.”

Slowly the contraction fades, and I take a long deep breath of
relief and try to sink back onto the bed.

“Blake, right?” Danita smiles warmly at him.

He straightens but doesn’t release my hand while he rubs circles
against my skin nervously. “Yeah, yes. Blake.”

If I weren’t so tired, I’d smile.

“Nice to meet you.” Her gaze swings to Axelle. “And you must be the
big sister.”

“Yes, Axelle.” She throws up a tiny finger wave.

“Axelle, why don’t you come take my spot. You guys got here just
in time for her to push.” Danita places my sweaty hand into Axelle’s, and I
grin up at my daughter as she peers down at me.

Her eyes sparkle with tears, but they’re red, as if she’s been
crying.

I pull her hand up and kiss it. “Honey? I’m okay.” I regard Blake,
who’s staring intently at Axelle. Something passes between them. “Guys, I’m
fine.” My eyes narrow on Blake. “What’s going on?”

He seems to shake off whatever it was he was thinking, and his
soft stare bores into mine. “Besides the fact that we’re having a baby?” A tiny
smile curls his lips.

Did Braeden tell Blake
about Trip?
I made him promise he wouldn’t until after the baby is born so
I could tell him myself. No, surely Brae wouldn’t do that to his own brother.

The sound of voices at the door makes me glimpse over to see
Danita putting on a long gown, rubber gloves, and a mask. “Doctor’s here.” I
can’t see her mouth, but the smile in her eyes says it all.

It’s time to have the baby.

I grip Blake’s and Axelle’s hands tighter, excitement and
absolute terror warring behind my ribs.

“Aw shit,” Blake growls. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” His hand
gets tight.

I look up and follow his gaze to the entrance of my room where
Dr. Cole is standing, shaking his head.

“. . . another contraction . . .” A random nurse mumbles.

“Mr. Daniels, it seems the fates are against you.” Dr. Cole moves
into the room, already dressed in scrubs, and a few nurses busy to get him in a
gown while he pulls on gloves.

A low groan vibrates from Blake’s chest, and I yank on his arm.
It’s weak, but it’s enough to get his attention. “Blake, it’s okay. Let’s
just—
Argh!
”

The contraction grips me from what seems like out of nowhere.
“Holy shit . . .” I squeeze their hands, and the doctor takes his place along
with the nurses. I’m lost in the pain of my contraction but feel my legs being
placed into stirrups and the heat of a warm light between my legs.

I don’t need to look at Blake to know he’s probably shooting
daggers at the doctor who has a front row seat to every damn thing between my
legs. Oh well, he can get the fuck over it, or
he
can push a human out of
his
body if he wants a say.

A low groan rolls from my chest out my mouth, and Blake jerks
then swings his eyes to mine.

“Breathe, baby . . .” His tender voice combined with the feel of
his hot breath against my neck calms me a little, even though my womb is still
intent on squeezing this baby out.

“Alright, guys,” Dr. Cole addresses Axelle and Blake. “When it’s
time to push, I want you to hook your elbow beneath the leg you’re standing
closest to. Pull it back and count with us.”

Axelle nods. “Okay.”

Blake tightens his glare aimed back at the doctor.

The doc rolls his eyes and focuses his attention down low.
“Alright, Layla, I can feel the baby’s head. When this next contraction hits, I
want you to push, okay? Don’t push with your face. Push with your abdomen, got
it?”

I nod and try to relax during my brief reprieve.

“Blake, are you good?” I can’t put my finger on it, but something
seems off about him. It’s not the interaction with the doctor; it’s something
else. He looks . . . sick.

He turns his pale face to me, licks his lips, and nods.

“I can’t believe this!” Axelle’s voice is laced with pure joy and
excitement. “I’m getting a brother or sister today!”

I squeeze her hand, but as the tightening creeps up, I can
already tell this one is going to be huge. My eyes find Dr. Cole’s, and he checks
the monitor and then nods. “Here it comes, Layla. You ready?”

Blake and Axelle hook an arm under each of my knees, and at the
doc’s okay, they both pull back as the contraction shreds through me. I push,
hard, as I’ve never pushed before because I know the second I get this baby out
the sooner I can be done.

“Good, push . . . three . . . four . . . five . . . six . . . seven
. . .” Everyone in the room counts in unison.

There’s a fullness between my legs, a burning, stretching
sensation. Every muscle, even my neck and fingers, get wobbly with the force of
my strain.

“Good, Layla, keep pushing.” The doctor busies his hands between
my legs, but I can’t see what he’s doing beyond my belly.

The contraction fades, and I crash back into the bed.

“Looks like you’ve got a tow head.” Danita rubs my foot
soothingly.

“That’s some pretty blond baby hair.” Dr. Cole says and then glances
up at the monitor.

“Wait, what?” Blake’s eyes pass among everyone who is getting the
VIP show to my vagina, looking for clarification. “Hair?”

They nod, and Dr. Cole, after a few beats of silence, motions for
Blake to go see. “Yeah, come take a look.”

Blake kisses my hand and then my forehead, silently asking
permission for him to leave me.

“Yes, go see our baby.”

~*~

Blake

I move around Layla, stunned, wobbly, and—fuck,
I’m dizzy. I blink and stand over the doctor’s shoulder while a masked nurse
takes my old spot at Layla’s knee.

Blinking, I stare between Layla’s legs, and—oh wow—I
suck in air through my mouth and lock my knees to keep them from shaking.

They weren’t kidding. Coming out of my woman’s body, which now looks
very little like what I’m used to seeing, is the top of a head, blood-smeared
and covered in some kind of guck with a mess of golden hair. Even though it
looks like something out of a horror flick, warmth swells behind my ribs.

“Here comes another one, Layla.” Dr. Cole, who under the
circumstances is as cool as a fucking cucumber, gently pulls at the skin around
the baby’s head. “Get ready to push. Give me all you can, okay? We’re almost
there.”

“Oh, God . . .” Layla’s whimpered words dissolve on a growl as
she bears down. Axelle and the nurse bring her knees to her armpits.

My stomach tumbles, and I’m locked on the tiny head that slowly
emerges from her body, inch by inch, until—my leg gives, but I lock it out
and avoid bracing myself against the doc’s back.

Lord knows he’s got enough to deal with.

“Mom, breathe.” Axelle coaches her mom, who listens by blowing
out a long breath before sucking it back in and grunting through a push.

The room fills with voices, but they all blend together in a
symphony of chaos, encouraging and counting. And then the head is out. Oh my
God!

Dr. Cole turns my baby’s head, and a fierce growl tries to push
from my chest, but the noise never makes it to the surface. I’m stuck, locked on
the first glimpse of that tiny face.

My breath catches in my throat. Beautiful . . . the most
beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. A nurse hands the doc what looks like a tiny
turkey baster, and I blink hard, trying to focus.

Blood, suction, and then the sound: a tiny whisper of a baby
noise.

The room spins. Black darkens the edge of my vision. My head goes
light and I lose my legs.

“Man down!” The voice sounds so far away. “We’ve got a fainter .
. .”

Nineteen

Layla

A huge thud reverberates through the room.

“Man down!” A nurse rushes to where Blake used to be. “We’ve got
a fainter.”

“Blake?” It’s all I get out before the contraction tightens
again. I cry out, digging my nails into the bed.

“Here’s the big push, Layla!” The doctor’s busy; his shoulders
move as he assists in getting the baby out of my body. Danita stands beside him
with an open blanket.

Oh my God, this is it!

“Blake!” I call for him through a throaty snarl and try to push
up to see him.

“He’s fine, Layla.” The doctor’s urgent voice calls me back. “You
need to concentrate.”

I channel all my worry for Blake into my gut and give one final
push—one final burn so deep and intense I cry out—and then the
pressure is gone. I fall back onto the bed, panting, trying to keep my eyes open.
The sweet sound of my baby’s cry fills the room and tears leak out to stream
down my face.

Blake’s up, wobbling and holding back nurses. “I’m okay, dammit!”
He sounds almost drunk as he staggers to occupy his spot behind the doctor.

Axelle rushes over to him, dipping under his armpit to hold him
up. He takes her support, even though, because of his size, she couldn’t keep
him standing if she had to.

Her eyes are red and tearing as she stares in wide-eyed wonder. “Mom
. . .” Her hands cover her mouth and her shoulders shake in silent sobs.

“Congratulations.” Danita places the naked and goo-covered baby
to my chest. “It’s a boy.”

Blake rushes to my side, Axelle in tow but now no longer holding
him up. “A boy.” His whisper is reverent and filled with so much emotion that
the power of it breaks through the pain and straight to my soul.

My gown hangs loose around my neck, and our newborn son nuzzles against
my bare chest and falls asleep. His tiny warm body presses against my skin, and
my heart explodes with love: love for my life and all the amazing things I’ve
fought so hard to keep.

“Hey, little man.” Blake’s big hand covers our son. “God, Mouse .
. .” His voice cracks, and I catch sight of a single tear as it falls down his
cheek. He makes no attempt to wipe it away, wearing the love for his son like a
badge of honor. “He’s perfect.” His eyes, so much greener now and filled with
love, lock onto mine. He places a tender kiss on my lips, and I taste the saltiness
of another tear gliding off his powerful jaw. “Thank you. I’ll never be able to
thank you enough for this gift.”

I sniff back the emotion and place a free hand on his cheek. “I
know exactly how you feel.”

He closes his eyes for a brief moment before he leans down and
covers our son’s head, face, and shoulder with kisses, not at all concerned
with the gooey film. “I love you. I’ll always love you.” More kisses. “You’re
perfect, Son. No matter what you end up being”—he clears his throat—“I’ll
love you.”

Axelle whimpers and he reaches out to her. “Shit, kiddo.” He
sniffs. “Come here, babe.”

She’s bawling and tucks under Blake’s arm, her hand going to rest
on her little brother.

Blake kisses the top of her head. “I love you, Axelle Rose. I
love you just as much as I love your brother. Understand?”

A sob rips from her chest, and she turns into his body. “I love
you too.”

More tears erupt until we’re all crying and touching, whispering
words of reassurance to each other.

This is what life is all about. It’s these moments, these few
hours of euphoric joy that make up for years and years of torture.

Love.

Love is what makes the pain of the fight so worth it.

~*~

Blake

Things have mellowed out. We’ve all cried, and, fuck, I
hadn’t cried in forever. After we all watched the baby get his first bath and a
nurse assured us that Trip had been taken away and hasn’t been back, Axelle ran
out to get Brae and Killian.

Trip is something we need to talk about, but now isn’t the time.

I’m mesmerized as Layla has our son to her breast. My chest feels
tight at the beauty of watching the woman I love feed our baby from her body.
There’s nothing more miraculous in the world. I’m on a high, floating above the
world on a rush ten times better than anything life has ever given me. Better than
fighting, my music, all of it.

I push a strand of hair from Layla’s eyes, and she tilts her head
up. “He’s so sweet, Blake.”

“Yeah . . .” I run my thumb along her lower lip. “Just like you.”

Her cheeks flush and she smiles. “We need to name him.”

“I got nothing. I swore he was a girl, so I hadn’t even
considered boy names.” I dip down and press a kiss onto his beanie-covered
head, eliciting a tiny baby grunt that sounds a lot like
back off, I’m eating
. “Sorry, bud.”

“I was thinking since I got to name Axelle you should name him.”
Her face scrunches. “But um . . . I’d avoid naming him after any members of
your favorite bands.”

“Well crap.” I fix my eyes on the ceiling and shake my head.
“You’re saying I have to abandon the dream of a son named Lars Ulrich Daniels?”

A tiny giggle vibrates her chest. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m
saying.”

Hmm . . . I stare at his tiny face poking out of the human
blanket burrito he’s wrapped up in. He’s feisty, strong, destined to be
insanely handsome. My lips curl into a grin. Above all that, he’s heroic. His
life alone is healing Layla’s heart and my relationship with my dad. Hell, even
Axelle seems soothed in her brother’s presence. What name encapsulates all
that?

“How about Jackson?”

She lifts an eyebrow, peeking up at me from under her long
eyelashes. “As in Michael?”

“No, as in Braeden Jackson Daniels.” Yeah, hearing the name from
my lips, I know it fits.

Layla studies our now-sleeping son. “Are you a Braeden Jackson?”
A warm smile softens her expression even more. “We could call him Jack.”

“A fighter named Jack, guitar player named Jack, ballet dancer named
Jack, they all work.”

She tilts her head back, hitting me with a smile that just about
drops me to my knees, all soft and gooey and full of love. “It’s perfect.”

“You sure you’re okay naming him after my brother?”

“Of course. After all, he was here for the better part of my
labor and—oh, Blake!” She shakes her head, her hand coming over her
mouth. “I have so much to tell you.”

“Shh . . .” I run my hand over her hair, which’s a tangled mess.
“It’s okay. I know about Trip.”

Her eyes pop wide. “You do? But ho—”

“You really wanna do this now?” I tuck a strand behind her ear.

The burn that should flare at the mention of Axelle’s biological
father is absent. Nothing could touch the high I’m on. Maybe now is the best
time to talk about it.

“I didn’t mean to go behind your back, but you were dealing with
all that stuff with your family, and Trip wouldn’t let up. I just wanted to put
everything behind us so we could move forward, ya know?”

She goes on to explain the Unavailable calls, Eve’s picking up
the call, and realizing it was Trip. I can understand why his contacting her
was intriguing enough to seek more information. Looks like ole Stew wasn’t
totally forthcoming that day in Layla’s apartment when he spewed all that
bullshit about how Axelle was conceived. Fucking asshole piece of shit.

“And then I went into labor. He was there, saw me, threw me in a
cab, and called Brae.” She shrugs, and I can hear the heaviness from fear of
what could’ve happened in her voice.

I’m still not happy about that assface showing up to talk to my
woman, but he helped her when she needed it. I cringe inwardly. “Shit.” I run
my hand over my head. “Guess I owe the guy an apology for the beating, eh?”

“Beating!” Her hand shoots out to grip my forearm. “What did you
do?”

I have a hard time meeting her eyes, not wanting to show her my
guilt. “I, uh . . . may’ve expressed my irritation at him showing up and
confronting Axelle with a little fist-to-face therapy.”

She’s silent, and when I pull my eyes up to hers, she’s white,
her mouth gaping.

“Baby, you okay?” I run my fingers along her hairline to tuck a
long strand behind her ear.

“He saw Axelle?” She blinks and swings her gaze to mine, color
coming back to her cheeks slowly until her expression fires with anger. “He
effing confronted
my
daughter!”

I roll my lips between my teeth to avoid laughing.

“He had no right to do that, Blake. And when I was in labor and
couldn’t protect her.” She hammers her fist into the bed. “What a dick!”

“You sayin’ no apology then?” A mellow chuckle escapes my lips.

Her eyes meet mine and fury melts into determination. “Tell me
you got a good one in, just one solid knock to his jaw.”

I shrug one shoulder. “UFL didn’t hire me because I make kick-ass
cookies, Mouse. What do you think?”

She snorts and nods. “Good.”

“Wish I could take credit for the first punch.”

Her eyes narrow. “Brae?”

I lift one eyebrow. “Killer.”

She sighs and drops her head back to the pillow. “God, I love
that kid.”

“Pretty sure Killer’s after our girl.”

“Well, if anyone has the patience for Axelle, it’s him.”

We sit in silence, Layla staring at Jack, and my eyes bouncing
between my son and my woman.

“You tired?”

“Mm-hm.” Her head lolls to the side, a peaceful smile on her
face. “You want to take him?”

I carefully scoop up my tiny boy and hold him to my chest.

Amazing how quick life can change. There are periods where we
soar and some where we plummet, but as long as we hold fast to what matters,
fight for the things that count, we die happy knowing we did our best to battle
for what matters most.