A Father's Fight: Blake and Layla #2 (Fighting #5) (4 page)

Before Blake, I never knew that it could feel like this. To open
up my body to a man, pregnant and vulnerable, and know deep in my soul that
he’d protect me, keep me safe, and die to do so. My legs begin to quiver with
the effort it takes to hold him to me, and bolts of pleasure strike from my
core. He breaks the kiss, pushes back and cups my ass to hold me, powering into
me faster now, but still gently.

Tension pulls at my muscles, and my hands work to find a
stronghold with the comforter because this orgasm is going to split me in two.
I can’t get enough air, and my back arches off the bed as I suck in one long
final breath before the thunderous ecstasy rockets through my body. My muscles
squeeze, as sensation rolls down my legs, arms, and up my neck until I’m dizzy.
Floating back down, my body is a noodle, incapable of holding me up, not that I
need to.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby. Amazing . . .” His words drift into groans
as he chases down his release. He drops down, arching his body over mine to
suck one nipple deep into his throat and growls with a final thrust.

Heavy breaths, our bodies tacky with sweat, we stay like that:
Blake’s hands cupped at my backside, his big powerful body arched over me,
cheek pressed to my chest. I run my fingers through his hair and grin at his
responding shiver.

“I love you. You’re amazing, always so gentle with me.”

He turns his face to kiss my chest then slides his hands up my
back to scoot me onto the bed fully and keep our connection. “Our baby is
growing in this hot little body, Mouse. Of course I’m going to be gentle.” He
pulls out and drops to the bed beside me, gathering me in his arms so that my
pregnant belly presses against his side.

I lay my hand flat against his chest, right over his heart where
it thunders against my palm, warming me further. “Remember what the doctor
said? Sex could induce labor.”

“Yeah, hope you’re not saying you wanna stop, because six weeks
without being with you after this baby is born will probably kill me. Not at
all interested in giving you up until I’m forced to by orders.”

I draw figure eight patterns through his six-pack and grin as his
goose bumps chase the path of my fingertip. “It’s been so long since I’ve felt
safe. At times like this, when we’re alone and I’m wrapped in your arms, it
feels like nothing could touch me. Like the world could end all around us and
I’d be shielded from it.”

Blake tenses at my side.

I don’t know where that came from; the words just came tumbling
out. It wasn’t so much a conscious thought, just a random string of whatever
was going through my head. “I know, it sounds crazy,” I say suddenly feeling
self-conscious.

I glide my hand back up to his chest and relax at the steady beat
of his heart, fearing I’d find it racing even faster than before.

“Blake, if there’s—”

My phone rings from my purse, which is sitting on the dresser
across the room.

He taps my hip for me to move. “I’ll grab it.”

“No, wait.” I hold on to him tighter.

He peels my fingers away from his ribs and moves to stand.

“Let it go to voicemail. I want to talk to you—”

Before I can finish my sentence, he’s up and heading to my purse.
“Could be Axelle.”

He’s right, but my guess is his wanting to grab the phone has
more to do with our conversation than it does Axelle’s safety.

I study his naked backside while he fishes out my phone, and lick
my lips as the stir of arousal pulls at my belly. Jeez get a grip! This must be
what it feels like to be a teenage boy.

He turns around and I suck in a breath. His front is even more
impressive than his back, but my perusal is short-lived when I notice he’s
glaring at my phone.

Oh crap.

Five

Blake

Four missed calls since before dinner, all from Unavailable.
I hit the phone history and see the word Unavailable listed at least twenty
times. Can’t say I’m too upset about this particular call though. It saved me
from having to look Layla in the eye again and tell her everything is okay when
it sure as shit is not.

“This the telemarketer who’s been calling?” I scroll down and see
that whoever this is calls in spurts. Over and over before giving up for hours.
All of the calls are listed as “missed.”

“Oh, yeah . . .” She pulls her sweatshirt over her head. “I think
so, but I don’t know. I send it to voicemail, but they don’t leave messages.”
She’s searching for her pants, but I get the strangest feeling that she’s
avoiding my eyes.

“You’ve never answered.” It’s not a question as I can clearly see
all the calls are listed on her phone in red . . . oh, except one. I hit the
“I” for info on the call. Forty-seven seconds. She answered the phone and spoke
to someone for almost a minute?

“No, never.” She has her back towards me as she pulls her hair up
into a ponytail. “It’s a UFL-issued phone; it could be anyone. If it were
important, they’d leave a message.”

Why, my little Mouse, what
are you hiding?

“Huh.” I toss the phone back into her purse, and my mind races as
I pull on my jeans and throw my tee into the dirty clothes hamper. “Maybe next
time just answer; see what they want.”

I pin her with a stare and watch her squirm, which confirms my
conclusion.

“Yeah, uh . . . good idea.”

What the fuck? Chances are this is nothing, but what kind of nothing
is important enough to not share with me? My internal question is followed by a
wave of shame. I haven’t told her about the email, but it’s only because I
don’t want her to worry. Is it possible she’s hiding something from me for the
same reason?

“Baby?”

“Hm?” She blinks up at me.

Giving her one more chance to come clean, I pin her with a stare.
“You sure you have no idea who’s calling? You never answered any of these
calls?”

Seconds tick by, before she rolls her shoulders back and stands
tall. “I did once, on accident, but no one was there.” She shrugs, her too-cool
demeanor seeming more like a smoke screen.

“Right.” I can’t take my eyes off her, and something tugs in my
chest: worry, fear, anxiety. “Love you.”

She smiles and closes the space between us. Her belly presses
between my hips as she pushes up on her tiptoes and drops a kiss to my lips. “I
love you too, Blake. So much.”

She dips her chin and walks away.

“Mouse, hold up—” My phone rings in my pocket, AC/DC’s “Back
in Black” as the ringtone. “What the . . .?” I hit Accept. “Brae, man, what’s
up?”

“Dude, where the fuck are you, asswipe?”

“Nice to hear from you too, dick.” A tiny grin pulls at my lips,
hearing my little brother’s voice.

“I’ve been knocking on your door for-fuckin’-ever. Your car’s in
the spot, but—”

“Oh shit, you’re here?” I move out of my bedroom and down the
hallway to the front door.

“No, man, I’m in China, fuckhead.” He huffs out an irritated
breath. “I’m standing outside your—”

I swing open the door to see my brother wearing his military-issued
green tee shirt and fatigues. He’s got the phone to his ear, and he’s scowling.
“’Bout time. Shit.” He hits a button on his phone and drops it into his pocket.

I do the same. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“You gonna invite me in?” He holds his arms out. “Freezin’ my
dick off out here.”

“Of course.” I step back and open the door for him. “Small things
freeze easily. Come on in.”

He passes by me with a shove to my chest and a mumbled “asshole.”

“Braeden?” Layla calls from the kitchen and moves toward us with
a bottled water in hand. “What’re you doing here?” Her bright smile and
freshly-fucked blush make her even more gorgeous than she already is.

My kid brother’s eyes brighten a little, and I can tell he
notices it too. “Hey, little sister, you look amazing. Ready to pop, but amazing.”
He hooks her over the shoulder, and she leans in for an awkward side hug.

“I love that you call me little sister when I’m almost old enough
to have birthed you.” She grins up at my over-six-foot-tall brother and then
claims her position at my side.

Brae’s eyes move between us, taking in my shirtless torso, her
sated expression, and my unbuttoned jeans. “Ah, that’s why you didn’t hear me
knockin’.”

“Servicing my woman, bro. Pregnancy makes her demanding.”

Layla’s eyes bug out of her head and she gasps. “Blake!”

Brae rubs his mouth, trying to hide his grin. “Fuckuva job, dude.
I can see by your shit-eating grin it’s makin’ you miserable.”

“Oh my God, I’m outta here.” Layla kisses my jaw then whirls
red-faced to head to the bedroom. “You guys have fun. Goodnight!” Her farewell
is called over her shoulder with a tiny wave of her hand before she disappears
into the room and closes the door.

I catch Brae’s eyes fixed down the hallway, a big smile on his
face, before he meets my glare. “She looks hot, dude. Still tiny as hell, but
with bigger boobs.”

I smack him upside the head. “Eyes to yourself.” Despite my
irritation, I can’t help but grin at my brother, knowing he’s pushing my
buttons and missing our verbal spars. “You want a beer?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

We move into the kitchen, and I pull two Coronas from the fridge,
poppin’ the tops, and slide one to my brother, who has taken a seat at the
island. “So what’s up? What brings you to Vegas? Someone die?” I’m half joking.
The fact is it’s hard for Brae to get time off for trips, and my dad would have
to approve of this visit, which means he’s here on a mission from The General.

He shrugs, takes a long pull off his bottle, and then fixes his
eyes on mine. “Had a few days off. Wanted to get off the reservation.”

He’s lying. “You need a place to crash? Axelle’s got the guest
room now, but you’re welcome to crash on the couch in the music room.”

“Nah . . . thanks though. I’m staying on the strip.” He leans
back and locks his hands behind his head. Fuck, but the dude has doubled in
size since I last saw him.

“Save money if you stay with us.”

“True but”—a slow smile spreads across his face—“can’t
bring chicks home to fuck at my brother’s house with his teenage daughter and
pregnant fiancée in the next room.”

I cringe at the thought of random bitches in my house with my
girls. Raising my bottle to my lips, I nod. “Good point.”

We sit in silence and sip our beers, and I can’t shake the
feeling that he’s here for more than a friendly visit. “How’re things on base?”

“Mm. Same.” His gaze darts around the room.

What the fuck. “Brae, man. Out with it.” My brother has never hid
shit from me before; whatever he came to Vegas to say seems to be difficult.

“Don’t shoot the messenger, man.”

Beer churns in my gut. I knew it. “Deliver it already.”

He spins the bottle in slow circles. “They want you to come
home.”

“Excuse me?” My parents have never asked me to come home for a
visit. My mom claims it’s because I’m too busy, but we both know the truth. I
can’t be around my dad for more than twenty-four hours without getting into a
fight with him.

“You heard me. They’re requesting your presence.” He drags out
the last three words, making it sound even more ridiculous than it already is.

“Why?” A humorless laugh burst from my lips.

“If I could tell you, brother, they wouldn’t be asking to see you
in person.”

I shake my head. “I can’t, man. Layla’s due any day. No way I’m
leaving her.”

He nods, but it’s halfhearted. “Sure, sure, I understand, but”—he
sets his eyes, so identical to mine it’s freaky, on me—“it’d just be a
day trip: flight in the morning, be home that night.”

“No way, I’m not leaving Layla.” Why do I sound so defensive as
if he’s going to drag me home against my will? “I can’t believe after all these
years they want me home and I’m supposed to jump at the sound of their
whistle?”

He keeps his mouth closed, listening.

“I mean, come on, Brae. They haven’t had anything to do with me
in years.”

“It’s not really Dad, bro. It’s Mom. She sent me.”

I blink and try to figure out if I just hallucinated. My mom
doesn’t even piss without my dad’s say-so. What could possibly be so important
that she’d need to see me in person? No, it doesn’t matter. “I love Mom, I do,
but my priorities are my family.” I point toward the hallway. “Layla and Axelle
are my family.”

I don’t miss the flash of disappointment in his eyes and a
strange tension pulls tight between us.

“Dude, you’re family too, but you know what I mean.”

“Sure, yeah.” He nods and takes a long swig of his beer. “Thing
is . . . this is kinda important. It’s one day; you don’t have to stay the
night. One day.”

My eyebrows drop low as realization dawns. “Hold up . . . so you
know what this is all about?”

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I do.”

At least he didn’t try to lie.

“Just tell me what’s going on.” In the short amount of time I
wait for him to answer, I review every possible scenario in my head. Maybe
they’re moving, Dad’s retiring, or maybe now that I’m having a baby, they’re
ready to mend fences.

How would I deal with the possibility of them wanting to be
grandparents? I wish I could let the past die a cold miserable death, but the
resentment that ignites in my gut proves the past is alive and kickin’.

I can’t handle the thought of my dad treating my kids the way he
did me, ignoring our feelings and subjecting us to a military upbringing. My
fists clench, and the beast that raged when Gibbs had me drugged reminds me how
easy it was to act just like my father. Reminded me how close I am, how
vulnerable I am to becoming exactly like him.

No, the safest thing I can do for my family, for Layla, Axelle,
and our baby is to stay the fuck away from my parents.

“I’d tell you if I could, but I can’t. Promised Mom I’d let her
talk to you.”

“Just fuckin’ tell me. No, you know what?” I chuck my bottle top
into the garbage so hard it hits with a satisfying thud. “Fuck it. I don’t
care.”

What could my mother possibly have to say to me now? After
everything we’ve gone through, the silence between us over the past . . . way
too fuckin’ long. She’s married to a man who despises me and has never had shit
to say until now? Years of resentment resurface and my skin pricks with
irritation. My fingers flex and itch to get at Layla, to bury myself inside her
and work off the anger while reminding myself what matters. But anger-fucking
my nine-month pregnant woman isn’t in the cards.

A heavy session in the music room oughtta do it.

“Sleep on it.”

I hear the sound of the key in the front door and breathe deeply
to calm my nerves. “Axelle, come here for a sec.”

The sound of her dropping her backpack on the tile echoes through
the room before Braeden catches sight of her and stands.

“Hey, Brae! What’s up?” She gives my brother a hug.

“Damn, short stuff! You look like you’re old enough to be hittin’
the bars.” He playfully pulls her knit beanie down over her eyes.

“Ha, barely.” She pushes the hot pink material back off her
forehead. “But”—she holds up one finger—“I’m
almost
old enough to legally buy cigarettes.”

“You better not.” I growl and glare at my teenage daughter.

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head then moves around the
island to the fridge and pulls out some kind of diet soda shit. “How long are
you here for?”

Braeden shrugs and his eyes dart to mine, communicating that his
stay depends on how long it takes for him to convince me to go home.

Plan on an extended stay,
brother.

“Not sure yet.”

“Cool! We’ll have to barbeque or something while you’re in town.”
She takes a swig of her drink then eyes me. “Where’s Mom?”

“Bedroom. How was your study group?”

“Good, I think I’m ready to ace this exam. Killian is a whiz at
math. I swear he’s like a modern day Carl Gauss.”

Braeden swings his gaze to me, his eyebrows dropping low, then
slides it back to her. “Who the fu—er . . . crap is Carl Gauss?”

She looks at me, blue eyes sparkling.

“No.” I shake my head and take a swig of my beer. “Don’t look at
me. I have no friggin’ clue who he is either.”

She rolls her eyes and drops a hip onto a barstool. “Does ‘It is
not knowledge, but the act of learning that grants the greatest enjoyment’
sound familiar?”

My brother and I lock eyes for a second, and I can see the
confusion I’m feeling reflected in his expression. We both give our version of
negative grunts.

“Huh . . .” She giggles. “Did you guys graduate from high
school?”

Her little jab has Brae grinning and pride swelling in my chest.
I love that she’s brave, strong enough to throw sass, and not afraid to express
herself. Just like her mom.

“Ah . . . I know who Carl Gauss is.” Brae locks his arms behind his
head. “He’s the beer guy. Pretty good stuff too.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “No, he’s a mathematician.
Killian talks about him a lot. I think he’s like, I don’t know, his idol or
something.” Her hands shove deep into the pockets of her sweatshirt, and I know
she’s saying something without using words. I just can’t figure out what it is.
My guess is it has something to do with Killer.

He and Axelle have been friends for a while, but it’s obvious the
young fighter-in-training has feelings for her beyond friendship. Her feelings
for him are more of a mystery, and I can only hope that one day she’ll figure
her shit out and give the guy a chance. That is, after I put the fear of God
into the kid that he’ll be keeping his dick to himself until she’s . . . well,
forever.