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

“As much as I love a good ole conversation about dead mathematicians,
I’ve been stuck on base with a bunch of dudes for way too long and the city
waits.” Brae stands and throws back the rest of his beer. “I’m off to break
some hearts.” He gives us a half-hearted salute. “I’ll touch base with you guys
tomorrow, and we can figure out our plans for Axelle’s barbecue.”

Axelle squeals and scurries over to give Brae one last hug.
“Awesome, see you then.” Her eyes find mine. “I’m going to say goodnight to
Mom.”

I nod and she takes off to my room before I turn to my brother.

“Thanks for the beer.”

“Of course.” I move around the island to walk him out.

Once at the door, he pauses and meets my eyes. “Do me a favor?
Just think about it. Mom really wants—”

“Have fun tonight.” I can’t help it. I just don’t want him to finish
that sentence. Whatever Mom really wants is only going to fuck with my head.
The fact is I can’t leave, not even for a day.

Understanding washes over his expression, and his jaw clenches
before he pushes whatever it is he’s thinking down and relaxes his shoulders.
“Right.” He moves to the door.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

He chuckles and smirks at me from over his shoulder. “Oh, so
don’t . . .” He scratches his jaw in thought. “Huh, I guess anything goes
then.”

I shove him through the front door, and even though it was an
easy shove, it doesn’t faze him. I remind myself to ask him later what he’s benching.
Later, when the request from my mom isn’t burning a hole in my head.

What the hell could she possibly have to say now? And why do I
even care?

Six

Layla

It’s cramped and dark. I can’t straighten my legs or maybe
it’s just that I don’t have the strength to. My head spins and I try to focus
on where I am.

Voices. Laughter and whispering jumbled together.

My legs move, but not by my will. They’re being moved for me. I
struggle to slam them closed but lack the strength and muscle control. They
fall open.

Something tells me I should fight, but I don’t. I’m numb. Not
only physically, but mentally. Detached and floating beyond my body.

Where am I?

I’m pulled on, rubbed against. My mouth is wet and warm. I gag
uncontrollably and try to turn my head away.

“Shit, she’s waking up!”

That voice . . . so familiar and yet . . . not.

I push back the haze and reach for consciousness. It’s within
my reach. I can feel it. Cold air hits my bare body and pulls me closer to the
surface.

Feeling returns in my feet, hands; my heart pounds in my chest.
I blink open my eyes only to recoil.

Blake!

His hand at my neck.

His angry glare, dark with hate, fixes on mine.

I can’t breathe! I gasp and try to rip at his arm, but I’m
frozen inside my body. I can’t scream, can’t fight, and succumb . . .

“Oh God!” I gulp air and shoot straight up in bed. My body is
tangled in the sheets. Sweat dampens my tee, and I smooth back the hair stuck to
my face. What the hell . . . another nightmare. They’re so vivid it’s like living
through it all over again, but with more clarity.

I reach over to find Blake, to curl up in his arms and let his
strength chase away the terror, but my hand hits the pillow. The sheets are cold
and I check the clock.

“Four a.m.” He hasn’t been to bed yet?

Last night after I left him and Braeden to their boy talk, I
watched TV in bed and talked to Axelle. By the time she went to bed, I could
hear the faint guitar sounds coming from Blake’s music room. I wasn’t sure if
he was in there with his brother or by himself, but either way I didn’t want to
interrupt.

Has he been in there all night?

I push up and slide from the bed, making sure my tee is pulled
low just in case Brae is still here. The door to the music room is closed, but
not locked. I push it open and hit a wall of dark. Maybe he’s not in here? I
flick on the light switch and a soft smile pulls at my lips.

Blake’s asleep on the couch, his arm behind his head, the other
resting at his chest, one long powerful leg cocked and leaning against the back
of the couch while the other hangs off the side. The sofa looks tiny in
comparison to his huge body.

With timid steps so that I don’t wake him, I move to the edge of
the couch and squat down close to watch him sleep. He seems so innocent now. No
cocky grin or sexy dirty talk sliding from those lips. No, now they carry
innocence. Full, kissable, and parted slightly as he breathes deeply. His eyes,
usually full of mischief and insinuation are now closed, long dark eyelashes
splayed across his olive-skinned cheeks. He’s so handsome it almost hurts.

I take a second to consider what parts of him our baby will get.
Boy or girl, it doesn’t matter. He or she will be beautiful carrying his genes.
A slow sigh falls from my lips, and I bite my lip to avoid any other noise that
might wake him. He remains still, his breathing steady.

Unable to keep from touching him, I trace his full lower lip with
my fingertips and moan as the simple act unfurls a flurry of desire to feel his
lips on me. So soft—he shifts slightly and I hear the sound of crinkling
paper. Leaning in, I see the corner of an email peeking up from between his
body and the back cushion of the couch.

I pull on it, eyes squinting since I’m not wearing my glasses,
and read the subject. “Anonymous inquiry into birth records.”

His hand shoots out, grabs my wrist, and yanks hard.

“Ow!” I let go of the paper.

His eyes fly open. “Shit!” Stunned, he drops my arm and throws
both hands into the air. “Fuck, Mouse, are you okay?” He moves to touch me, but
something he sees in my expression makes him recoil.

“I’m okay. I am.” I force a nervous laugh. “Just scared me, but
I’m fine.”
That fucking dream!

“No, it’s not okay. You look scared out of your damn mind. What
did I do?” He blinks through sleep-fogged eyes, but I can hear the self-hatred
in his voice.

I lean in and grab his face, forcing his eyes to mine. “You
didn’t do anything. I had a bad dream. I was already shaky, and then I snuck up
on you.”

“I hurt you.”

“No, you just spooked me.” I lean in and drop a soft kiss on his
lips. “I shouldn’t have messed with you in your sleep.”

Shame washes over his expression, and I hate myself for making
him feel bad. “Damn, I was out of it.”

“You needed your sleep.” My eyes dart to the paper that’s wedged
between Blake and the couch. “What is that?”

His body tenses. “Hm?”

“That paper?” I motion to it with a nod.

“Oh, um . . .” He reaches over, pulls it out, and rather than
showing it to me, he folds it up and shoves it into his pocket. “It’s nothing,
just some leftover ends to tie up with my adopting Axelle.”

I stare at him, waiting for him to meet my eyes, but he doesn’t.
I have no reason to doubt him, but something doesn’t feel right. I slide a
strand of my hair between two fingers and twirl. “What kind of leftover ends? I
thought it was all pretty cut and dry.” He doesn’t answer, and panic speeds my
breathing. “Blake?”

He exhales hard and drops his head. “Dammit . . . fuck.”

My nerves, already shot from my nightmare and jumpy from waking
Blake, vibrate with panic at the defeat I hear in his voice. “What?”

He rubs his eyes with one hand. “I was hoping . . . shit.”

I crawl up onto the couch, and he shifts to sit up next to me.
“What the hell is going on, Blake?” My stomach somersaults.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the paper then sets his
worried eyes on mine. “I was hoping to keep this from you until I figured out
what it means.”

My eyes widen. “Blake, you can’t keep anything from me,
especially if it’s about Axelle!”

He cringes and I rip the folded up paper from his hands.

“I just want to keep you safe and the baby safe. I didn’t want
you to get upset . . .” He continues to talk as I unfold the single page email
that’s from the Las Vegas Police Department.

Blake,

As per your request, I’m notifying you that, on December 21
^st
,
the birth records of Axelle Rose Moorehead were requested by someone in
Spokane, WA acting under “Anonymous.” That same day the individual also
requested the divorce records of Layla Marie Devereux.

That is all the information I have for you at this time.

Det. Dave Hodgeson

Las Vegas Police Department

My pulse thunders in my ears, my hand shakes, and I can’t seem to
focus enough to ask one of the many questions swirling through my head.

“I’ve had Dave keep an eye on things for me, just for a little
while. After Stew went to prison, I worried he had someone out there, a silent
partner who might go sniffing around. I honestly didn’t think Dave would find
anything, but . . .”

A dull ache forms between my eyes.
Unavailable.
“Do you think it has something to do with . . . with .
. .” I can’t say it, but a look of understanding washes over his face.

“I don’t know, Mouse, but I don’t want this shit hitting us out
of the blue when we’re not expecting it. ‘If you want peace, prepare for war.’
Remember? I was keeping my finger on the pulse just in case, and thank God I
was.” He cups my face, forcing my eyes to lock with his. “Whatever happens,
we’ll be ready.”

“If it’s someone from my past, what could they possibly expect to
gain from birth records and divorce records?” I guess it’s possible that Stew
has his lawyers working on something, but I’m not as worried about that. The
police have his confession, so he’ll be locked in jail until Axelle is grown
and has a family of her own. But, if
anonymous
and
unavailable
are the same then . .
. A flash of my nightmare has me curling into Blake.

“So what now?” I hand the email back to him, and he folds it up
and shoves it into his pocket.

“Now, you go back to takin’ care of yourself and our baby while I
take care of this.”

I grip his knee, imploring his eyes. “Blake, I want—”

“No.” He pins me with a powerful glare. “No one will get near you
or Axelle, do you hear me? You focus on getting this baby here whole and
healthy, Axelle focuses on getting into UNLV and what new music she wants to
download, and I take care of this.”

I blink a few times, considering how best to respond. Fact is
he’d be insane to think I’m going to stay out of this. I’ll always protect my family.
“Alright.” I nod and knot my fingers together in my lap, hoping he doesn’t see
my lie.

“Alright?” His unbelieving tone followed by silence calls my eyes
to his.

“Yeah.” I shrug.

He narrows his glare. “Alright.”

He doesn’t believe me, but he can’t prove I’m lying, so I just
nod and flash a shy smile.

“I’m tired.” I stand and hold out my hand. “You ready for bed?”

He takes it. “Yeah, babe.” A long yawn crawls from his throat.

I pull to get him to stand, but he doesn’t budge. “Are you
comfortable here?”

He tugs me to his lap and wraps his body around mine. It’s weird
because, being in his lap, I should feel like the one being held, but the way
his arms are wrapped around my belly, his head to my chest, it’s as if I’m
holding and comforting him. “No. I want to be in bed with you.”

I run my hand through his hair and kiss his head. “You okay?”

He grunts his “yes,” but doesn’t lift his head.

“You sure?” As disturbing as the email is, it only manages to
light a fire in my gut to protect those I love. Blake can do what he thinks he
needs to, but I’ll do what I can to end this before the demons from my past
come back to haunt us.

“Take me to bed, baby.” God, why does he sound so desperate? I
don’t know what to do or what to say, but every cell in my body wants to take
away the pain I hear in his voice.

“Okay.” I push up and take his hand, leading him to our bed. He
shucks his jeans and boxer briefs and my mouth instantly waters. He pulls my
shirt, but leaves my panties in place and crawls into bed, taking me with him.

Pulling my back to his front, he palms my breast and buries his
nose in the back of my neck. “I’ll never lose you.”

That’s what he’s afraid of? “Never.”

“I’d die without you.” His hand rubs my belly. “All three of
you.”

I reach over my shoulder and cup the back of his neck. “We’re not
going anywhere.”

He flexes his hips into my ass, and I can feel what the proximity
of our bodies is doing to him. A low moan vibrates in his chest, but rather
than instigate love making, he only pulls me closer until his breathing evens
out.

He’s asleep.

I sink into his hold and close my eyes, knowing that I won’t
sleep. The dreams . . . the detective’s email . . . rolling it around in my
head makes me feel dizzy, as if I’m falling.

Blake’s arms close around me even tighter, and I visualize that
he’s holding me together, keeping me grounded, until the drop feels more like
floating.

Seven

Blake

Throwing open the doors of the training center first
thing in the morning, I already feel a fraction better than I did last night.
The list of things that calm my inner turmoil is short: Layla, music, and
beating the shit out of something.

It took me over an hour in my music room to work off the pent up
frustration from all my unanswered questions. I fell into a restless sleep
after that, only to wake up to a terrified Layla, who looked like an animal that
had been beaten. And when shit can’t get worse, it usually does. She spotted
the email.

Talking to her about it loosened some of the tightness I’ve been
carrying in my chest, and her response was not what I’d expected. I’d
anticipated her reaction since I received the damn thing, and I would’ve sworn
she’d have been out for blood. Instead she agreed to leave the whole damn thing
to me. The victory I felt was short-lived once my brain kicked in and reminded
me that nothing with Layla has ever been that easy.

“Mornin’, Blake.” Vanessa, the training center’s receptionist and
huge pain in my ass, bats her eyelashes in greeting.

I ignore her stupid attempt at flirting. “Vanessa, heads up, my
brother Braeden’s coming in this morning.”

I texted Brae right when I woke up and invited him down for a
tour and a workout. He’s never been to the UFL facility before, and I figured
working out would be a good excuse to get him alone. If he’d just fucking tell
me what’s going on at home, I could tell my parents to go to hell and get back
to worrying about more important things: like the fact that someone’s after
information on my woman and daughter.

I roll my head to relieve the tension. “When he gets, here if you
could show him back—”

“He’s already here.” Her eyebrows pop up and a flicker of female
appreciation lights her expression. “If I’d known there was a younger, sexier
version of you out there, I would’ve been nicer to Layla after she claimed you.”

“Sexier? Yeah right.” I roll my eyes at Vanessa’s blatant attempt
at getting me riled. As if I give a flying fart what she thinks of me, Layla,
or my brother. “Where’s he at?”

“I left him with Jonah.” She jerks her head toward the hallway
with a flick of her reddish-blond hair. “They’re in the gym.”

I mumble a quick “thanks” and head off to find him.

Once inside the warehouse-like facility, I spot Jonah and Braeden
by the octagon. Their attention is on two fighters sparring inside. As I draw
closer, I recognize them as Rex and Mason.

I shove my brother from behind. “What up, dicklick?”

He stumbles one step, groans, and rubs his temples. “Hungover,
please whisper.”

“Idiot.” I shake my head and give Jonah a chin lift before joining
them to watch Rex and Baywatch. “Damn, that kid’s fast.”

Jonah’s arms are crossed over his chest, his gaze focused as he
studies the fighters. “Yeah, Rex isn’t even taking it easy on him anymore.
Baywatch is a fuckin’ animal in there.”

I nod and watch as Mase gets Rex into full mount position so
quickly the tattooed fighter barely has time to register what happened, much
less block it.

No one talks about it, but we all know where Mason’s extra drive
to kill is coming from. Eve’s choosing Cameron over Mase lit a fire to
annihilate in the kid’s ass. He came to Vegas all wide-eyed and innocent. Now
the guy takes the asshole ranks. He’s pissin’ people off, getting reprimanded
for talking shit to other fighters, even got suspended for a bar fight.

I don’t judge him. Hell, if Layla had ended up leaving my ass for
another guy, I’d be in prison for murder.

Just then Mason gets Rex in a ground guillotine choke. We all
step closer to the cage.

“Sweet move, Baywatch!” Jonah grips the chain link, calling into
the training fighters. “Rex, tap!”

Rex taps, as he should. The hold he’s in is next to impossible to
break, and we’re not here to kill each other.

Mase tightens the hold, his teeth bared.
Fuck.
My eyes dart to Jonah, who has his gaze focused on Mason’s
arm.

“Mase, let up!”

He doesn’t. Rex’s muscles go limp, but regain and struggle. Fuck,
he’s going unconscious. I hook a foot and climb the fence just as Jonah does
the same. Within seconds, we’re at Mason.

Jonah wraps one arm around the front of Mason’s neck as if he’s a
feral dog. “Let up! Now!”

I hook Rex under the arms, and the second Mase gives in to
Jonah’s command, I pull Rex back and set him on his ass to recover.

“What the fuck, Baywatch?” I get in the punk’s face and ready for
him to take a swing. Hell, I walked in here looking to burn up some energy.
Weights would do the job, but I’d much rather beat someone’s ass. “You try that
shit again, I will end you, you understand?” I shove him back and he drops his
chin, breathing hard.

“You’re done for the day. Pack your shit, go home, and calm the
fuck down.” Jonah doesn’t waste another word on the kid and moves to check on
Rex, who has a huge fucking grin on his face.

“That was epic.” He pushes up, heads over to Mase, and grabs him
by his headgear. “Good job, man. No hard feelings.”

Baywatch shakes his head and has the decency to appear ashamed.
Good little shit. “Sorry, man. I’m . . . fuck . . . that was uncool. I’m
sorry.” He offers his fist to Rex, who fist bumps him back.

Better man than I. Although, it wasn’t too long ago I was all juiced
up and had no idea and pulled something similar with Rex.

“Rex, our resident punching bag.” I motion to him and he takes a
dramatic bow.

“At your service,” he says with a bloodied-lip grin.

We all laugh, the tension in the air dissolving enough that we
move to get on with what we came here for.

I hop the octagon fence and give my brother a shove. “Show’s over;
let’s hit some weights.”

He follows me toward the weight room. “Dude, that was kickass. I
can see why you like it here. I mean I get to train, but we never get good hand-to-hand
like what I just saw there.”

Poor guy never has been sent to the war he’s training for day in
and day out. I remember what it was like to know so much and have to bottle it
up, never given the opportunity to exercise my training in a physical and
tangible way.

I flick on the lights and hit the stereo, putting Black Sabbath
on Pandora to make sure plenty of hard metal pumps through the room and keeps
us energized. We hit the free weights first, and I realize immediately that my
baby bro has been spending plenty of time in the gym. He needs zero instruction
as we move mindlessly through our own workouts, grabbing weights similar to
what I lift.

He fatigues quicker than I do, but that could have a lot to do
with his extracurricular activities. As much as I enjoyed living that life when
I did, I’m glad it’s part of my past. I push him to hit the bench press, and after
a few sets, we take a water break.

“How’s the hangover now?” I toss him a towel that he immediately
presses to his face.

“Much better,” he says, out of breath. “Thanks for asking me down
here. I’d probably be nursing this hangover with a little hair of the dog in
the casino if you hadn’t texted me.” He takes a swig of water. “Also helped me
get rid of my date from last night.”

Well, I’ll be damned. My baby brother’s got game.

“Careful, dude. Vegas chicks aren’t like the chicks back home.”

He glares up at me. “Why not? I mean pussy’s pussy.”

I drop my chin and laugh at how he sounds just the way I did the
other day at the OB’s office. I take a minute to imagine the heaping pile of
verbal comebacks my Mouse would lob at Brae if she were to hear him say that. Damn,
I love that woman.

“I’m just warning you now not every girl is as innocent as she
might pretend to be. ’Lotta pros in Vegas.”

He lifts one eyebrow. “You mean prostitutes?”

I wipe the back of my neck with the towel. “No, not necessarily,
but professional manipulators that prey on pretty boys like you.” He throws his
sweaty towel at me, and I swipe it out of the air before it hits my face. “Just
be safe, that’s all I’m sayin’.”

He recoils, his lips twisted as if he’s tasting something he
doesn’t like. “Please, tell me this isn’t the you-better-be-using-protection
talk. Got that from Mom at fourteen.”

“Yeah? From Mom? I never got that talk.”

He shrugs. “That’s because you were too busy running off to play
piano when you were fourteen. I was going to the senior prom with ‘Kitty Cat’
Coffman when I was fourteen.” His eyes go unfocused and he grins. “Never heard
a woman purr before, but damn . . .” He shakes his head.

“You fucked ‘Kitty Cat’ Coffman?” That girl was gorgeous and four
years older than him. “She was in my grade.”

“What can I say, brother?” He swipes a pretend piece of lint from
his shoulder. “Hate the playa’ not the game.”

“Dude, never say that again.” I toss my sweaty towel in his face.
“You sound like a douchebag.”

“Whatever, I appreciate your concern, but I’m a big boy.” He
chuckles and pushes up from the bench. “At least, that’s what she said.”

My jaw falls open on its hinges. “How dare you? That’s my line.”

He laughs and pulls his elbow over his head to stretch his
triceps. “Your concern for me is sweet, but I can take care of my own dick,
thank you very much.”

I bite down against the urge to tease him about taking care of
his own dick and focus on what I asked him down here for.

“So Mom wants you to bring me home to share some big secret with
me, huh?” I busy myself by sliding plates off the bar and racking them.

“I don’t see what the big deal is. Just go home, let her say her
peace, and then you can come back to your
perfect
life.” He shrugs, but I can see the frustration working in his expression.

My hands freeze on the weights. “What the hell’s that supposed to
mean?”

“Nothing.” He chugs down the rest of his water and tosses the
empty bottle in the nearby trashcan. “Forget it.”

“I’m just trying to understand.” The words were meant for my own
ears, but Brae’s eyes dart to mine. “Dad’s always been the only person she
cares about, more than you or me, and now she says ‘jump’ and I’m supposed to
say ‘how high?’” The plate I’m racking slams down harder than I intend. “How
can she love someone so much that she’d . . .”
Abandon me.
I growl at my own weakness and have the sudden urge to
hit the heavy bag. “. . . put up with his shit.”

“Don’t know. I mean . . . put yourself in her shoes, dude. What
would Layla have to do to get you to leave her?”

What the fuck?

He must have read the question in my expression. “Think about it.
What if she alienated you from your friends? Would you leave her?”

It takes me all of zero seconds to answer. “No.”

He shrugs. “What if she called you names?”

I shake my head.

“Bet you’d leave her if she hit you.” He lifts one eyebrow,
contradicting his statement.

He knows I’m hopelessly hooked on Layla. There’s not much or
anything she could do to make me walk away.

“Yeah, yeah, I see what you’re saying. But I will say, if Layla
wasn’t good to our kids, if she . . .” I have to force the damn words from my
lips because even though it’s hypothetical, it feels like blasphemy. “If she
was emotionally abusing our kids, we’d have issues.”

“But would you leave her?”

Damn. The honest truth is . . . no, I wouldn’t leave her. I’d fix
her, but never leave.

“Just go home. Hear her out.” He rubs his towel over his
high-and-tight military haircut. “If it’s Layla you’re worried about, I’ll stay
and take care of her until you get home.” He winks.
Asshole.

Even though he’s giving me shit, he knows he’s one of two guys
I’d ever trust keeping an eye on her and Axelle. The other is Jonah, but he’s
busy with his wife and baby.

“I don’t know, man. I mean she’s due any day now.” What are the
chances she’ll give birth while I’m gone? Orange County isn’t even an hour
flight from Las Vegas. I’ve been at the training center longer than I’d be in
Oceanside. I’m running out of excuses not to go.

The door to the weight room swings open and three fighters enter:
Wade and two new guys he’s been working with.

“Daniels.” He greets me, but my brother also turns his head.

“Wade, this is my brother Braeden, United States Marine Corps.”

Wade’s eyebrows lift. “No shit?” He reaches out a hand, and Brae
stands to shake Wade’s. “Nice to meet you, and thanks for your service.”

Brae cringes slightly, not enough for anyone to notice but me. It
irks the shit out of him to take credit for combat he’s never actually
experienced, but he plays it off well. “Thanks, man. Nice to meet you.”

The guys hit the weights, and Brae and I hit the cardio machines
in silence. We don’t have to talk to know from the dead air between us and lack
of teasing jabs our thoughts are on whatever it is waiting for me back in Cali.

And as much as I’d hate to admit it, I’m making flight
arrangements in my head.