A Father's Fight

by J. B. Salsbury

  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 contac
ting 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.

  Twenty

  Blake

  The sun sinks behind the distant mountains as I rock my son in a chair by the window while Layla sleeps. His face is peaceful as he sleeps except for the occasional baby grunt or twitch of his tiny lips.

  His hair is the color of gold and he’s got a ton of it. It’s hard to say who he resembles more, but I can already tell he’s got his mother’s nose and her perfect chin. I lean down, placing a kiss on both, overwhelmed with gratitude that a woman as amazing as Layla would fall in love with me. Warts and all.

  “You need to eat.” Killian has been trying to get Axelle to eat for the past hour, but she refuses. If the tension in his voice is any indication, I’d say he’s getting past taking no for an answer. “Come on. Up.”

  I peek over to see Killer standing, his hand offered to Axelle, but she has her arms crossed at her chest and she’s glaring. My lips tick and I turn back to my son to hide my amusement. Stubborn as hell, just like her mother.

  “I’m not going, Killian. I’m not leaving my mom.”

  “I’m taking you to the hospital cafeteria, not fucking Siberia,” Killer whisper-hisses and I almost lose my shit and bust up laughing.

  She lifts her palm to his face. “Hold on . . . are you yelling at me in rhymes? This isn’t ‘Eight Mile,’ Eminem.”

  That’s it. I lose it. A long and low chuckle gurgles up my throat and the baby stirs.

  “You’re a pain in the ass.” Killer moves to the door. “I’ll grab you something and bring it back.” His eyes swing to me. “You want something, man?”

  “No thanks, Slim Shady.”

  Axelle giggles and Killer growls before storming out of the room.

  I swivel my chair to face her. “Kiddo . . . he’s right, ya know?”

  She crosses her arms over her chest and huffs. “Whatever.”

  “Why’re you so hard on him?”

  “I’m not hard on him.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m just not hungry.”

  “Axelle . . .” There’s a warning in my voice that has her up and stomping towards the door.

  She glares for a few seconds and pain works behind her eyes. It’s as if she knows she’s hurting him but can’t help it. “Fine. I’ll find him.” She throws back the door a little harder than she has to.

  Poor kid. I feel sorry for Killian. He’s had a thing for Axelle from the beginning, but she’s been through a lot this last year, and ever since Stew showed up on her doorstep, she hasn’t been the same. She’ll come around eventually. If Killer wants her bad enough, he’ll wait.

  My mind spins in one hundred different directions, but I still manage to smile like a damn idiot. Being here in this room with my woman, my ring on her finger, our daughter and newborn son, I feel indestructible. Not at all what I thought I’d feel.

  I thought love made me vulnerable. At least, that’s the way I was raised. Having no one gives me nothing to lose. Every time I revert to that way of thinking, Layla proves me wrong again and again. Holding my baby in my arms, I feel fear for the future. What kind of hell is this little man going to put me through: fear for his first fever, first broken arm . . .?

  My dad wasn’t completely right. Death makes a man think, but so does life.

  I hear a soft knock, and Braeden pushes through the door, checks Layla out, and then takes an empty chair and pulls it close. “You gonna let me hold him?”

  “No.”

  “Dude, I sat and had every bone in my hand fractured multiple times with your woman before you got here.” He holds his hand up and wiggles his fingers, wincing. “I deserve some uncle-nephew time.”

  “I gave him your name, dude. That’s all you get.”

  “Seriously?” His eyebrows pinch together. “You’re such a baby hog.”

  I’m half joking with my brother. I don’t mind if he holds Jack. I just don’t want to let him go. “Fine, but switch spots. He likes being rocked.”

  Brae takes my place and I lay my son in his arms. “Make sure to support his head.”

  It takes a few adjustments, but soon Jack is nestled safely in my brother’s arms.

  I lean in and whisper. “So . . . Trip?”

  “Shit, man.” He blows out a long breath. “I’m really sorry about that.”

  “My woman is stubborn as shit. I knew you didn’t have a chance of keeping her out of trouble for twenty-four hours.”

  “Yeah.” He nods. “She’s like, some kind of PI ninja with gnarly illusion skills. I seriously believed she was meeting with some mom-to-be-group.”

  I can’t help the rush of pride that swells my chest. “She’s a handful, bro.”

  He turns toward her sleeping. “Yeah . . . I need to get me one of those.”

  I smack him upside his head.

  “Dude, I’m holding a baby.” His whisper-hiss is accompanied by a pretty weak evil-eye.

  A chuckle rumbles in my chest, and I swear if I let myself, I’d giggle like a fucking girl. I’m so damn happy.

  “How was Dad when you left?” The tiny baby whines and Brae starts rocking.

  “Good, man. Really good. I think he’s gonna fight.”

  His eyes grow big with shock. “No kidding?”

  I nod and stretch, suddenly feeling tired after today’s ev
ents. “Yep. He’s also planning on coming out for a few days to meet my family.”

  “Amazing.” He goes back to admiring his nephew. “I knew your visiting would be good for him. I think he needed your forgiveness in order to want to go on living.”

  No kidding? How do I have that much power over a man like Duke Daniels?

  I gaze down at my son, who’s cradled in my brother’s arms, and it hits me. Jack isn’t even twenty-four hours old, and already he has me wrapped tightly around his baby finger. If he wanted me to crawl to him on my knees, I’d do it happily. Shit! Talk about a revelation.

  “Are you guys talking about your dad?” Layla says, her voice groggy.

  “Hey . . .” I move to her bedside, drop down by her hip, and brush her hair from her face. “How’re you feeling?”

  Her eyes are a little puffy, but the flush of her cheeks and the undiluted joy that radiates from her smile says it all.

  “Better, thanks.” She pushes up to sitting. “I’m so sorry I didn’t ask about your Dad.”

  “Nah, don’t be.” I drop a kiss to her forehead and she closes her eyes and sighs. “It’s all good.”

  “Good? As in . . .” She doesn’t say it, and I don’t blame her. It’s as if putting the idea in audible words is too much.

  “We’re good, baby. Facing death has made him see the light.”

  “Wow, that’s great news, Blake.” She shifts on the bed, and I prop up some pillows behind her the way the nurses showed me. “Will I finally get to meet them?”

  “They’re going to make a trip out as soon as you’re up for it.” A smile pulls at my mouth. God, I must look like a damn clown.

  “Knock, knock!” Jonah’s voice comes from the door.

  “Come in!” Layla pushes herself up, and I pull her blankets up as high as she’ll let me and tuck them around her legs.

  “You sure? We’ve got a whole crew in tow.” Jonah jerks his head to the people filtering into the room: Raven, Rex, Gia, and Mason whose grimace is apparent. Cameron and Eve trail in behind everyone else, his arm thrown over her shoulder. Ah, there’s where Baywatch’s mood stems from.