A Father's Fight Read online

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 tha
t’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.

  “Whe
re’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.”