A Father's Fight

by J. B. Salsbury

  Raven and Eve rush to Layla, and I stand to give them room, but not before lifting Layla’s knuckles to my lips for a quick kiss.

  Brae doesn’t risk standing but swivels his rocker around. “You guys wanna see my amazing little nephew, Jack?”

  Rex holds Gia’s hand and peers over Brae. “Damn, he looks like you, Layla.”

  Gia nods. “I love the name. That’s the name of a stud.”

  “Yeah, it is.” I grin and cross my arms.

  A snort comes from across the room, and Eve has her hand on her chest, silent laughter making her shoulders jump.

  “Eve, what the fuck?” Cameron’s pinched glare is on his girl.

  She stops laughing abruptly as if she’d been poked in the side. “Cameron! You can’t cuss around the baby.” She shoves him, but he only grabs her arm and pulls her into his chest.

  Mason’s avoiding them, staring at a bunch of nothing around the room.

  “Why you laughin’?” I throw a baby pacifier that Layla has refused to use on Jack, figuring it was expendable. It hits Eve in the back.

  “Hey!” She whirls around, but Cam keeps his arms locked around her waist, her back pressed to his front. “It’s funny!”

  “What’s funny?”

  “Jack . . .?” Her eyes move around the room, but everyone is staring at her as if they’re waiting for the punch line.

  “Axelle Rose . . . ?” Eve rolls her hand through the air, but no one fills in the blank.

  “Oh my gosh, people.” She slaps her forehead. “Axelle Rose and Jack Daniels! That’s so rock n’ roll!”

  Layla and I find each other’s eyes simultaneously, and we’re silent for a few beats before we both burst into hysterical laughter.

  I sit down on her bed and pull her into my arms. “Our kids are the epitome of rock ‘n roll.”

  She leans into me, laughing. “Let’s just hope their names aren’t prophetic.”

  A crowd circles around my baby, and something tells me this is going to be a problem most of his life. With his mom’s good looks and my bad attitude, the guy’s going to get all kinds of attention, hopefully none of it from the police department.

  But even if he did, it wouldn’t matter.

  Because no matter what he does or what he becomes, I’ll never shut him out.

  Twenty-one

  Blake

  It’s amazing the changes a single day can bring. How holding the fragile life of my son in my arms can bring on an entirely different perspective. It’s as if his birth has finally connected me to some kind of parental hard drive. I’m not the same man I was when I rolled out of bed this morning.

  I rock back and forth in the dark hospital room while Layla’s soft breathing mixes with the tiny snores of our newborn son and lulls me into introspection. Jack in one arm, Layla’s phone in my palm, I contemplate what I’m about to do, consider the consequences rather than act on impulse. It’s not my usual MO, but it feels right.

  Clarity washes over me, and I see things now that I never did before: how a father would go to any length to protect his son, even if that meant sacrificing his relationship with him. I’d never put Jack through what my father put me through, but that doesn’t mean I don’t finally understand the reasons for why he did what he did.

  As frustrating as it is to admit to myself, I can understand why Trip didn’t fight for Axelle. According to Layla, he genuinely thought she’d be better off with a guy like Stew, taking the backseat in order for them to have a shot at a decent future. I’m not convinced it’s right, but I get it.

  I check Layla’s phone. It’s just past midnight, but something tells me that regardless of the late hour, he’ll answer.

  I press my lips to my baby’s warm cheek. “Come on, bud. We’ve got business to take care of.”

  Slowly, I push up from the rocking chair, and with quiet feet, I move out of the room to avoid waking Layla. She was a champion today and has been feeding our son every two hours. The poor woman needs as much sleep as she can get.

  Once in the hallway I tiptoe down the quiet corridor to a window that overlooks the city.

  “This is the first and most important lesson you’ll ever learn in life, Son.” Holding up the phone, I scroll through the text messages until I find the one I need. “How to take care of the women you love the most.” I hit send and press the phone to my ear.

  “Layla?” He answers on the second ring. “Are you okay?”

  I grit my teeth at hearing the worry in Trip’s voice. “Not Layla, man. It’s Blake.”

  “What do you want?” He’s lost the frantic tone and moved straight to asshole. “Another chance to kick my ass?”

  I take a deep breath and drop my chin to study my baby’s tiny lips as they suckle in his sleep. My son. My blood. What would it have been like to not be here for him? Watch another man raise him as his own?

  “Nah, man. Look, I, uh . . . I’m sorry about what happened earlier.” Kinda. “I didn’t know the whole story, but I wanted you to know that Layla told me everything.”

  “Oh.” He doesn’t give me much of an indication as to what he’s thinking.

  “Here’s the thing, Trip. I know you get that my girls went through a lot before moving to Vegas. Things are finally good for them, but that doesn’t mean they can shake off seventeen years of bullshit overnight.”

  “I realize that. I’d just waited so long already. Then hearing what went down with Stew . . . I needed to find them, make sure they were okay.”

  “Absolutely. Makes sense you’d do a little snooping, find Layla, and plead your case.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt them.” His voice is low and apologetic.

  “I know that. I do.” My eyes focus on my Jack’s tiny face. “Just took holding my son for me to figure that out.”

  “A boy, huh? Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” Yeah, this shit’s getting a little too friendly. “I’ll make this short. Layla talked about you even before we’d gotten together. You two had a thing that wasn’t some little bullshit high school hook up; you made a baby that grew into a young woman whom I love just as much as I do my own blood.”

  He clears his throat and I know he’s feeling this shit. I hate that I’m making him relive it, but he needs to know where we stand so he can respect the boundaries I set moving forward.

  “So you fucked up. Now you’re straight, but a ton of time has passed, and you dropped a pretty significant bomb when you breezed into town. My girls need a little breathing room while they come to terms with all that.”

  “Yeah . . .” He exhales sharply. “You’re right. I didn’t really think it through. I was too focused on getting to meet my daughter.” He seems genuinely apologetic, and, again, I feel as if we’re sharing some supersecret dad connection.

  “Give them some time. Let them process this shit. When they do, I’ll see what I can do about getting Axelle to reach out, yeah?”

  “Are you . . . wait, you’re fucking with me, right? I mean you jumped me, and now you’re saying you’re gonna help me?”

  The corner of my mouth twitches at the mix of excitement and confusion in his voice. “If you don’t do something to piss me off, yeah, I’ll help you.”

  “I, uh . . . I appreciate that.”

  “Don’t go thanking me yet. I need you to back off completely for a while. Layla was spitting fire when she found out you approached Axelle without her there. From here on out, no contact: no more digging around, no phone calls, text messages, or emails. Deal?”

  “For how long?”

  “Until they come around. I’ll text you my cell number when we get off the phone. Then I’m going to erase all the history of your calls and texts from Layla’s. You have something that needs to be said; you do it through me.”

  “I don’t know. I mean—”

  “You want to know your daughter?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you play by my rules. I won’t negotiate on this. You play. I’ll do what I ca
n to get her to reach out.”

  A few beats of silence tick by.

  “This is as far as my kindness extends, Trip. We’re talking about my family here, my fuckin’ reason for breathing. You heard the offer. Take it or leave it.”

  “Okay, okay. Deal.”

  “Alright. Now I’m going to let you go, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll be on the first flight tomorrow back to your hometown.”

  “Yeah.” He sounds a little pissed, but I don’t blame him. He’s waited this long to know his daughter, and now he’s going to wait longer.

  “And, Trip, one last thing.”

  “What?”

  My eyes focus on distant city lights, a world teeming with life. How many lives out there were ever fought for? How many sons and daughters were treated as if they were replaceable?

  “I know you have regrets, wish you’d done things differently, but I’m grateful you didn’t. Thank you. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have my girls.”

  “That’s a shitty thing to say, but”—he chuckles—“you’re welcome. And thank you for watching out for them.”

  We hang up and I shoot him a quick text with my number before erasing all his history from the phone. I shove it into my pocket and cradle my son with both arms. “And that’s how it’s done, bud.”

  On my way back to Layla’s room, it hits me. Trip, The General, and I have a lot more in common than I ever would’ve thought. We’ve all made mistakes, screwed up in varying degrees, but we can’t allow our mistakes to define our future. We have to look ahead, focus on that next step in the right direction, and fight hard to get what we want, even if that feels like throwing punches to the wind.

  At least we fight, and if we go down, we go down swinging.

  Epilogue

  Six months later . . .

  Layla

  “For the love of God, Layla, can we please do this already?” Braeden groans and drops his head back. He’s standing with his thumbs hooked into his pockets, leaning against the wall, looking every bit the military hero in his dress blues.

  “Okay, I’m ready.” I take a deep breath and check my reflection one last time.

  “You’ve been doing that for ten minutes.” He pushes off the wall, glaring at me through the mirror. “Pretty sure a guy ain’t going to show up in your reflection to tell you you’re the fairest of them all anytime soon.”

  I whirl around and glare at him. “Hardy har har.”

  He takes me in from my hair to my feet, and his eyes soften when they land on my shoes. “A wedding dress and biker boots.” He shakes his head. “You were so made for my brother.” He holds out his arm and nods for me to take it.

  “Thank you.” I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “As you should.” He flashes that Daniels’ crooked grin. “You’re the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.” A hint of color touches his cheeks. “Definitely the fairest in the land.”

  “Aww . . .” Hot tears burn my eyes. “No, no, no!” I stomp my foot. “You’re going to make me cry, and it took Eve thirty minutes to get these fake eyelashes on straight.” I pretend I’m checking my eyelashes and not actually soaking up the beginning stages of tears.

  He chuckles as we move from the bride’s room into the reception area of the church. It wasn’t our idea to get married in a house of God, but Blake wanted a traditional wedding to honor our parents’ beliefs and customs.

  At first I thought it was absurd. I mean we already live together and have a baby, but I love how committed Blake is to ensuring our parents are proud and comfortable with our situation.

  That’s also the reason I’m wearing a white dress. The Lord God above knows I sure don’t deserve it, but Blake insisted I deserve to wear white more than any other bride because I never had the option to do it the other way.

  “Your choices were taken away from you, Mouse. I want you to have them back. You want to wear white; you fucking do it and own it. Throw a big fat middle finger to the past, and take control of your future.”

  I went shopping with Axelle, Raven, Eve, and Gia the weekend after Jack was born and fell in love with a corset-style wedding dress with a black lace overlay on the bodice. Everything about it screamed rock n’ roll, and without even checking the price tag, I agreed to buy it.

  Standing outside the double doors that enter into the chapel, I fuss with my hair. Blake loves it down, so I had Eve style it in long, loose curls that hang around my shoulders, and instead of a veil, I opted for a thick black fabric that wears like a headband and ties at the nape of my neck.

  The church wedding coordinator presses her eye between the doors that lead into the sanctuary. “It’s almost time, you two, ready?”

  Brae looks down at me, grinning. “You ready—”

  “Wait!” I hold my finger up to the lady and turn to face Brae head on. “I forgot to say thank you for doing this. My dad . . . his wheel chair . . . I just . . .”

  “I’m honored.” He squeezes my hand and tucks it back into the bend of his arm. “Now let’s do this. Last time I was left in charge of you I fucked it up, and my brother swore wedgies and loogie drops to my forehead if I fucked it up again.”

  “Well, we can’t have that.” With my blood-red rose bouquet held to my waist, I squeeze my future brother-in-law’s arm. “I’m ready.”

  ~*~

  Blake

  Standing up here in front of all these people, wearing a damn monkey suit couldn’t feel any more awkward. Over two hundred of our friends and family sit facing me while I wait for Brae to walk Layla down the aisle.

  I keep my shoulders back, arms loose, hands clasped in front of me. The small string quartet plays a familiar wedding song, but as I stand here getting ready to make my woman my wife, the melody sounds new, as if it were created just for us.

  My eyes scan the room, passing over all the gazes set on me, to settle on my dad. Over the last six months, he’s endured rigorous amounts of chemotherapy and radiation. His once strong body is now almost half its size, his skin pale and almost hanging off his bones in some places just like the starched fabric of his dress blues. The small bit of hair that’s finally growing back on his chemo-ravaged scalp is completely white.

  But his eyes shine with a ferocity I’ve never seen in him before. His posture is that of man ten times his size and weight, and he gazes up at me with the pride of a father who has spent his entire life hero-worshipping a son. Our eyes lock. He nods and it’s so small, but it communicates support and love.

  My mom has her hands wrapped around one of his in her lap, and she smiles in a way that seems to say, I knew you’d be okay.

  Layla’s mom and dad are sitting together in the front row on the opposite side from my parents. They were older when they had Layla and now look more like great-grandparents. We were able to fly them in town and arranged for a nurse to accompany them. When I called Layla’s dad back before I proposed, I told him I’d make sure he was there to give his daughter away. He didn’t believe I could make it happen, but now he gets it. I’d do anything, pay any amount, cross to the ends of the world and beyond if it meant making my woman happy.

  A baby-sized squeal comes from behind me, and I turn to see Axelle moving to her spot across from me with Jack in her arms.

  “Sorry,” she mouths and moves into her position as Maid of Honor. “Diaper change.”

  Jack squeals and flashes a toothless grin before leaning forward to gum his sister’s shoulder. I roll my lips between my teeth to avoid laughing, at the same time thinking we need to move this along because Jack clearly needs to feed.

  The sound of the quartet fades, and then they start up a new song that has the entire room standing and turning toward the back of the sanctuary. My stomach flip flops with excitement, and I stand tall, my eyes fixed to the back of the room.

  The double doors swing open, and with the mid-day sun shining behind her, I can only make out her silhouette. That alone h
as my knees wobbling and me holding my breath.

  An angel.

  She’s my fucking angel.

  One slow step at a time, Braeden walks Layla toward me until she’s fully visible beneath the lights. Her big brown eyes set on mine and I catch my breath. My hand moves to my chest of its own accord as if trying to protect my heart from her beauty.

  They continue to advance, not fucking fast enough, as the music plays.

  Gorgeous.

  Breathtaking.

  One of a kind.

  The whispers of the people in the audience mimic my thoughts.

  As they reach the end of the aisle, Layla’s eyes break from mine to watch as Braeden wheels her father to her right side. He’s hunched over in his chair, unable to sit up fully, so Layla squats at his side, pulling one of his shaky hands into hers, then turns to face the pastor.

  “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?” the pastor says with a Bible clutched to his chest.

  Layla’s dad sits up as tall as he can, throwing back his shoulders just as I’ve seen her do countless times. “Her mother and I do.” He places a tender kiss to her knuckles then holds out her hand to me.

  My heart leaps in my chest. I already have Layla in every way a man possibly can, but something about the act of having her handed off to me by the man who gave her life and nurtured her to be the woman she is, pulls something deep within me. Humility and feelings of unworthiness wash over me, and I claim Layla’s hand and bend to meet her father’s eyes.

  “Mr. Devereux, thank you for trusting me to take care of your daughter. I won’t let you down, sir.”

  His bottom lip quivers, foggy brown eyes shine with tears, but he remains stoic. “No, I don’t believe you will.”

  Layla and I stand, and Brae wheels her father back before taking his place at my side. We turn hand in hand to the pastor, and I can’t help peeking over at her. Her face is made up just enough to enhance her already perfect features, lips painted a deep red that reminds me of a ripe cherry. She sees me staring and smiles so sweetly that my heart kicks double-time. I’m surprised I turn back to the pastor without pulling her in for a long, deep, wet kiss.