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

“You warming up?” Stewart nods to the water bottle I have pressed
to my lips.

“Hmm? Mm-hm.” I choke back another shot-worth.

He watches me swallow and lick the sweet sticky stuff off my
lips. “That’s good, Laylay.”

I cringe at his ridiculous nickname.
He doesn’t even know me!

“Here.” He cracks the pop-top and hands me an ice cold can of beer
he must’ve pulled from the ice chest. “Chaser.”

“Thanks.” My tongue is suddenly ten times bigger than it was when
I got here. But, damn . . . I feel great: strong, ballsy, and ready to break
through any weird tension that lingers between me and Trip.

“Cheers.” Stewart holds up his cup. “To a life-altering night.”

Fuck yeah!
“Absolutely!”

A tap of our drinks moves in slow motion. Whoa . . . I blink and
try to hold open my heavy eyes. Eh . . . screw it. I let them droop, feeling too
good to fight it.

Another sip, then another, and . . .

One

Present Day

Blake

It never fails.

Sprawled on my patio lounger, legs crossed at the ankles, the tip
of my nose feels numb against the mid-January early morning chill. I pull my
beanie down low over my ears with one hand, while my finger absently toys with
the corner of a printed and folded up email I have shoved in my jeans pocket.
The flimsy paper curls beneath my thumb, worn thin from carrying it around and
reading it with the hope that something will pop out at me: a clue as to what
it all means. If nothing else, carrying it is a good reminder of what I have to
deal with and soon.

Go figure. When life finally starts smelling like roses, there’s
always something that comes along to drop a big fat fucking shit on my damn
bouquet. If I could put myself in a headlock, choke myself out for being such a
pussy, I would, but unless I miraculously become a double-jointed
contortionist, I need to face this head on.

But how?

An uneasy flutter batters the backside of my ribs, and I don’t
have to wonder what’s bringing on the distress. I remember it all too well.

Fear.

The last time I was scared, before I met Layla, was the night I
was dragged from my fuckin’ bed by dudes in masks and taken to military school.
Nothing since then has truly terrified me, not the toughest drill sergeants in
boot camp or the possibility of going to war. Hell, not even my first MMA fight
scared me. I craved battle, fucking thirsted for it.

But this is one fight I’m afraid to face because it involves the
people I love most in the entire world.

Ever since Stew went to jail, Layla, Axelle, and I have been
trying to build a life together. It’s been the best nine months of my life,
watching my woman’s body change as she goes through the various stages of
pregnancy, but it hasn’t all been a fucking party.

Axelle’s been struggling with the knowledge that her biological
father is a rapist. Layla’s dealing with guilt. It’s two steps forward and three
steps back some days, and the idea that someone could breeze on in and cause
them to relive any of the shit they’re finally getting through fires my blood.

I blow out a shaky breath.
Calm
down. Don’t lose your shit.
The email is not a threat, at least, not yet. My
hands ball into fists, gripping the inside of my jeans pockets, one crushing
the email, as I watch the sun peek up over the distant hills.

The sound of the sliding glass door yanks me from my thoughts,
and I jump from the lounger and whirl around. “Mouse, baby . . . no.” I move to
block Layla before she’s able to step one socked foot outside. “It’s too cold. You
need—”

“Blake.” Her big brown eyes are pulled tight.

Fuck, it’s that tone—the tone that precedes the
tongue-lashing that never fails to make my lips curl and my dick jump—but
she’s crazy if she thinks turning me on is going to make me change my mind.

“I’m pregnant, not sick. I’m fully capable of being outside.” Her
voice carries the rough edge of morning, and her eyes are a little puffy from
sleep.

She’s never looked so beautiful.

I open my mouth to argue and even move to usher her inside, but
her glare stops both.

“Look.” She motions to her body, which is still so fuckin’ tiny
except for her round belly. “Sweatshirt, leggings.” She lifts a foot and
wobbles, but I grab her to keep her steady. “Thick socks. I’m bundled.”

“I know, but it’s cold and flu season, and I don’t think we
should take any chances.” I rub her arms and hope to push her deeper into the
house, but she doesn’t budge. “Fuck, you’re stubborn as hell.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Blake, we live in Las Vegas. It’s gotta be
sixty degrees outside.”

I shrug and check my phone. “Fifty-two.”

“Let me out. I’ll even do this.” She pulls the hoodie of her
sweatshirt over her head and tugs the drawstrings so tight that the only part
of her face that shows is her nose and her lips. “There. Happy?”

I bite my lip to avoid the laugh that’s forcing its way up my
throat. “Not yet.” I scoop her up into my arms, and she squeals, having not
seen it coming. Her warm little body, ripe with my growing baby, does weird
shit to my chest. Having nine months to figure out what that is, I’ve come to
identify it as a mix of arousal and worship, and I don’t know what to do first,
make love to her or make a damn sacrifice in her honor.

In seconds, I have her to the lounger where I drop down and
arrange her comfortably between my legs. Her left hand rests for a moment on my
thigh, and I catch the glint of her engagement ring. My lungs release a tiny
bit of the air I didn’t know I was hanging on to.

The solitaire black diamond I put on her finger on New Year’s Eve
after making love to her in our bed is a meaningful reminder that she’s mine.

She loosens the drawstrings on her sweatshirt to reveal her
entire face and then nuzzles into my chest. “Mmm . . .
 
yeah, I like this better.”

“Yeah, me too.” I flex my hips, showing her how happy her
proximity makes me. This woman never fails to arouse me just by pressing close.

A tiny giggle bubbles from her lips. “I can tell.” Her arms wrap
tighter around my middle, and with one hand on her belly, I rub circles on her
back. “You wanna talk about it?”

My hand freezes for a split second before I get my shit in check
and act nonchalantly. “Always like talkin’ about my dick, Mouse. You start.”

Her low chuckle vibrates against my chest. “Not that.” She tilts
her head back so her coffee-colored eyes meet mine. “About why you’re not
sleeping.”

Unable to look her in the eye, I swing my gaze back toward the
upcoming sun. “Not tired. Been going to bed with you every night, so I wake up
earlier.”

I can feel her eyes on me but force myself to not look.

“Bullshit.”

My eyes jerk to hers.

“You don’t think I notice when you get out of bed in the middle
of the night? Or that I don’t hear you in your music room?” She drops her cheek
back to my chest. “I get up every fifteen minutes to pee, Blake. You’re not
sleeping.”

A groan grinds its way up my throat. I can’t tell her the shit
that’s been running through my head on a loop or about the damn email that’s
been fucking with my head. The most important things she needs from me are my
love and my protection. She’s walking around with a life one hundred percent dependent
on her, and she needs to know she’s safe. The last thing she wants to hear is
that the man who’s in charge of protecting her is a scared little bitch.

“I’m good.” I drop a kiss on the top of her head and hope she
doesn’t see through my lie. “Just busy at the gym.”

Weakest excuse ever.

“Right.” Yep, she’s not buying it. Shocker. She’d be more likely
to believe I’m grumpy after being abducted and anally probed by aliens.

Time for a subject change. “What’s on your agenda today?”

She takes a big breath, almost as if she’s sighing in defeat. “I
have to go back to the doctor today.”

“What?” My body tenses. “Why?”

Her hand runs up the back of my sweatshirt and around to my bare
chest and I swallow the moan that her touch always brings. “Don’t worry. It’s
routine this far along in pregnancy. They’re just checking to see if I’m dilated,
effaced, and if I’ve lost my mucus plug, which . . .”

Mucus. What the fuck?

“. . . pretty sure I’d know if I had what looks like a dead,
bloody, jellyfish drop out of my crotch.”

“Whoa. Just . . . no. I love your pussy, Mouse. Not sure I can
handle the thought of . . .” I shiver. “Ugh.”

She pushes up, a huge smile lighting her face. “Well, well, well .
. . The Snake isn’t so tough after all, huh?”

“Mucus plug?” I cringe and swallow back saliva that pools in my
throat.

“If you have a problem with
that
,
then childbirth is going to be difficult for you.”

“Nah . . . I’m good.”
Fuck,
I’m so not good.
“I won’t let you down, Mouse. You know that, right?”
Even if it kills me.

She drops back to my chest, and her arms encircle my middle. “I
know. Just—” Her body jolts, and she pulls her vibrating cell from the
pocket of her sweatshirt. She stares, silences it, and then shoves it back into
her pocket. “Anyway, this is a lot more than most people should have to handle
in a year. You went from living the life of a man whore—”

I smack her sweet ass.

She giggles and sinks in deeper between my legs. “A bachelor.”

“Thank you.”

“Now you’ve got a live-in girlfriend—”

“Future wife.”

“—with a teenage daughter and a baby on the way. That’s a
lot.”

I pull her chin up so I can meet her eyes. “There any doubt in
your mind that I don’t want—wouldn’t beg—for what I have now?”

“No.”

“Good girl.” I drop a kiss onto her forehead and search for a
change of subject. “Who just called? It’s not even seven a.m.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t know. Unavailable. Probably a
telemarketer.” Her voice is tense somehow, but whether that’s from the phone call
or our conversation, I’m not sure. “Blake, just promise me if this becomes, I
don’t know, too much, you’ll talk to me.”

“Yeah, babe, I’ll do that.”
I’m
a lying sack of crap.

Her tiny body is on her side and between my legs, hands on my
back, and cheek to my chest, and I’d do anything for this woman. Fuckin’
anything.

Except that.

Two

Layla

“You didn’t have to come with me.” I rock side to side
on my butt to scoot back on the table, the crinkling sound of my paper gown
bouncing off the walls of the exam room. As every day brings me closer to my
due date, it’s getting harder and harder to move.

Blake glares at me from his position on the wall, leaning, arms crossed,
and looking more uncomfortable than I’ve ever seen him. “Why wouldn’t I come
with you?”

I study him, head to toe, and even though he’s nervous, his
presence alone fills the room. A tiny grin pulls at my lips. “Um . . . maybe
because you look about as comfortable as a nun in a sex-toy shop.”

“I’ve been to a couple of your appointments before.” His Adam’s
apple bobs, and I can make out the pinch of his eyebrows beneath the low brim
of his black ball cap.

“You came to the first and my ultrasound. This time I’ll get a
physical
exam.” My eyes widen and dart
to the stirrups, trying to communicate what I’m saying without actually having
to say it.

He cringes slightly and drops his gaze to his feet.
Message received.

With his chin to his chest and his eyes off me, I use this moment
to admire him fully. Big arms are encased in a red long-sleeved T-shirt, which
hugs every rigid muscle I’ve explored, memorized, over the last ten months.
Jeans hang low on narrow hips but pull tighter at his thighs. My tongue darts
out to moisten my lips, and I’m lost to my thoughts of Blake naked. Raging
pregnancy hormones have turned me into some sort of sexual maniac.

“Mouse.” The way he drags out my nickname on a growl draws my
eyes to his piercing green ones below the brim of his hat. “You’re already
naked, with nothing between us but some flimsy-ass paper gown. I’m not above
stepping between your legs right here if you keep lookin’ at me like that.”

I clear what I’m sure will be a lusty rasp to my voice with a close-mouthed
cough. “Oh, sorry, and no, let’s not traumatize the staff.” My actions
contradict my words as my eyes continue to study his thick neck, shoulders,
chest—

“Fuckin’ hell, woman.” He moves but freezes when a soft knock
sounds at the door.

My eyes dart to his, and I stifle a giggle at the look of
disappointment that washes over Blake’s face. “Come in!”

The door opens, and in walks a nurse I’ve seen on a few of my
previous visits. “Hey, Layla.” She startles slightly when she catches Blake,
who has resumed his position at the wall. “Oh hey.” With a hand extended, she
shakes Blake’s. “Nice to see you again. I’m Cassie, Dr. Evan’s assistant.”

“Yeah, I remember. Blake.” He nods and leans back against the
wall.

Cassie’s eyes come to mine. She’s young. If I had to guess, I’d
say she’s around Blake’s age, with a round face, big eyes, and the kind of skin
that’s probably never seen an ounce of makeup, not that she needs it.

She flashes me a kind smile. “So, Layla, are you getting excited?
This could happen any day now.”

Butterflies explode in my belly, or is that the baby, heartburn?
“I’m excited, yeah, but also a little sick of feeling like a stuffed turkey.”

“You’re ready, which is totally understandable at thirty-eight
weeks.” She pulls up a rolling stool and opens her file folder to ask me some
routine questions. “Any sign of the mucus plug?”

Blake groans until he notices us staring at him. “My bad. Go on.”

What a baby! And even still my stomach does somersaults at his
childlike sensitivity to all things mucus.

A few more questions and Cassie stands. “Okay, everything looks
good. I’ll let Dr. Cole know that you’re ready. We’ll check to see if you’re
dilated and/or effaced, and send you on your way.”

“Great. Thanks, Cassie.” She exits the room, and I search out
Blake, who has now taken a nearby chair and looks a little pale. “Blake, you
okay?”

He leans back, pulls his hat off to run a hand through his
cropped hair, and then pops his hat back on. “Yeah, I’m good. It’s just . . .”
His gaze sweeps over my bare belly, which is poking out from the open front of
my gown. “I know it’s stupid. I just hate anyone seeing you naked, touching you
. . . down there . . .” He shakes his head. “Fuck, sounds ridiculous hearing me
say it.”

Warmth spreads through my chest. “I kinda like that you want my
nakedness to be for your eyes alone. But it’s the OB and it’s important.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just . . .” He tilts his head to peer up
at me. “Will it hurt?”

“No, it doesn’t hurt. They just check my cervix with their
fingers and—”

“That’s enough.” He holds up his hand.
 
“I don’t want to know.”

I giggle. “It’s no different from when you use your fingers—”

“Oh hell no.” His head swivels from side to side. “It better be
different. It better be a fuckuvalot different, Mouse.” He rubs his eyes. “Great,
now I’ve got that visual runnin’ through my head.”

“I love you, Blake Daniels.” I outstretch my arm. “Now get over
here and hold my hand.”

He pushes to standing and takes my hand, bringing my knuckles to
his lips just before another small knock sounds at the door.

“Come in,” Blake says, his eyes locked on mine.

The door swings open. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

I can’t see the doctor with Blake’s big body obstructing my view,
but what I can see is Blake’s eyes, the green barely visible behind his tightly
slit lids. In unison we slide our gazes off each other and toward the OB who is
standing just inside the room next to Cassie.

It’s not my usual doctor, which I expected because they told me
Dr. Evans was on call and delivering a baby. No, this doctor is not her. He’s a
he
. And a handsome he at that.

He smiles, his teeth straight and white. “Ms. Moorehead,
I’m—”

“Daniels.” Blake’s body is rigid, and he somehow has managed to
place his shoulder between the doctor and me so that I have to lean to make eye
contact with the OB.

Dr. Cole frowns and studies the file in his hand. “Oh, my
apologies, I must’ve . . .” He flips a page.

“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” I squeeze Blake’s hand. “Moorehead
is my last name. I just . . . I’m changing it.”

I plan on changing it to Daniels once we get married, but until
then I wanted to have the same last name as my daughter. It sounds silly, what
with Stew being a major grade-A fuckface, but with everything Axelle has gone
through, changing my name felt like abandoning her.

The doctor grins again, his eyes moving between Blake and me and
then to my ring finger. “For legal purposes, we’ll need to keep Moorehead, but
how about I call you Layla?” He gives me a kind and professional smile before
scribbling something in my file.

My hand, pinched in Blake’s tight grip, starts to ache.

“Two weeks until your due date.” He puts down my file and washes
his hands. “Are you having any issues you’d like to discuss, questions?”

I shake my head. “No.”

Dr. Cole plops down on the rolling stool while Cassie takes his
side next to a tray of supplies that from a quick glance only contains rubber
gloves and lubricant. “If you could go ahead and lie back for me, pop your feet
in the—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa . . . hold on there, doc.” Blake moves what
seems like one step but places his entire body between the male doctor and me.
“I hate to be a dick, but—”

“Blake!” I whisper-yell and hope my embarrassment and irritation
at his behavior comes through. I love that Blake is protective, but this is the
friggin’ OB’s office for crying out loud.

“Where’s Dr. Evans?”

“Mr. Daniels, Layla’s regular doctor is on call, so she’s at the
hospital, delivering a baby.” Cassie’s explanation is rushed, as if she senses
the tick in Blake’s time bomb. “I can assure you Dr. Cole will take good care
of—”

“Oh”—a humorless chuckle rumbles in Blake’s chest—“I’m
sure he will.”

I hook my fingers in his back belt loop and tug. “Stop it! You’re
being ridiculous.”

Dr. Cole looks amused by Blake’s outburst, which I know will only
piss Blake off more. “I’ve been studying obstetrics and gynecology for
over—”

“Yeah? Me too, but I didn’t get a fancy degree. You go to school
for what? Ten years to study pussy . . . as a dude? Yeah . . . no. You’re not
getting your fingers or eyes anywhere near my woman.”

I groan and drop my chin to my chest. This is happening. Is this
seriously fucking happening? I can’t even raise my eyes to see the expressions
on the doctor’s and Cassie’s faces, but their silence speaks volumes.

“Now, if you could please find a female doctor or nurse to check
Layla, that’d be fan-fucking-tastic.” He leans back so his butt hits my knees,
creating a barrier between us while hiding my body. “We’ll wait.”

The warble of the rolling chair and shift in the tension tells me
Dr. Cole has stood up. “I can’t even imagine what you think my intensions are,
but I’m a medical doctor and have been for five successful years. I’ve not
given you a single reason not to trust me with—”

“You’re a dude, right? Gotta dick? Those are my reasons. Unless
you tell me now that you’re gay, and from the looks of you I’d guess you’re
not, you need to find a female for this exam. Sorry, bro, but doctor or not,
you’re male, and no male is getting up close and personal with her.”

“Oh my . . .” My face is on fire so much so that it starts to
numb. “I can’t believe this.”

Without another word, the sounds of feet shuffling quickly and
the door closing are the last things I hear before Blake’s strong arms wrap
around me.

“Don’t hate me, Mouse. Please . . . I just can’t sit here while
any man puts his face between your legs.”

I smack his side. “That was humiliating. He’s a doctor.” My body
melts deeper into his while he runs his big hand through my hair in long and
lazy strokes.

“I can’t . . . I don’t trust doctors, not anymore and not when it
comes to you.” There’s a deep pain in his voice that shreds through my chest.

God, how could I forget? After Dr. Xavier put Blake’s body
through a living pressure cooker, pumping him so full of steroids he was
crawling out of his skin, no wonder he’s suspicious. Add to that his already fiercely
protective and possessive nature makes his reaction completely understandable.

“Yeah.” I nod into his chest.

“Promised I’d protect you and I am.” He says it as if it’s the
simplest explanation. “I won’t fail you again.”

I want to smack him, to scream in his face that he didn’t fail me.
He’d had no control over his actions back then. I want to plead for him to
understand that he saved me, but it’s a tired conversation, and no matter how
hard I try, he can never seem to forgive himself for what happened that night.

Silence hangs in the air, weighted with the memories of my past,
a past I’d hoped I could move on from, but it hasn’t been as easy as I thought.
I don’t hear Stewart’s taunts anymore, but along with my pregnancy there’ve
been nightmares. They could be flashbacks from the past, things I’d forgotten
or repressed, but either way Blake has had a front row seat to them all.

I wrap my arms around his waist and feel the press of his lips to
my head.

“No one gets to touch you unless I say it’s okay, and Dr.
Swinging Dick does not have my okay.”

“Blake.”

“What? Probably hits on half his patients.” He mumbles that last
bit as if to himself.

“His pregnant patients, I’m so sure.”

“Don’t care if he’s a doctor. Pussy’s pussy, and not a straight
guy alive isn’t turned on when he sees one.”

I tilt my head back to meet his eyes and glare. “You did not just
say ‘pussy’s pussy.’”

He shrugs. “I did, but yours is different.”

I roll my eyes and shake my head, the warmth that his words conjured
up earlier cooling quickly.

He tips my face up by my chin. “Yours is different because it’s
not just pussy anymore. It’s mine.”

The sincerity in his eyes, tick in his jaw, and grip of his
fingers at the base of my neck are enough to bring tears to my eyes. I blink to
stave them off.

“You get me?” His thumb rubs firmly along my lower lip.

I suck in a breath, aroused and so in love with the man before
me. He’s proven over and over that he’d do anything to protect me. I close my
eyes and lean to rest my cheek to his chest. The paper gown I’m wearing opens
completely so my bare belly presses firmly to his abdomen.

“Yeah, she gets me.” He holds my head to his chest and drops
kisses to my hair. “Love you, Mouse.”

We sit in silence just holding each other when a small knock on
the door announces what I hope to be a different and very female doctor.

“One sec,” Blake calls and releases me. He takes a moment to
close my gown over my breasts, my belly, and even tucks the edge over my thighs
to protect my modesty. “Alright, come on in.” He takes my hand in his and steps
to the side of the exam table.

Cassie walks into the room first, followed by an older woman
who’s grinning. “Mrs. Daniels, I’m Patricia, the nurse practitioner. I’ll be
doing your exam today, and can I just say”—her eyes swing to Blake’s—“I’ll
take good care of her.”

Blake nods his approval, and I lie back, sighing in relief that,
although being with this big strong fighter isn’t free of its obstacles, I have
no doubt that he’ll always protect me.

Protect us.

Something we’ve never had before.