Layers of Her

by Prescott Lane

  “Stone?”

  Dropping her leg to the ground, I turn around and find a familiar woman’s brown eyes staring daggers at me. My sleeping daughter in one arm, she drops the diaper bag to the floor. “I told you not to be late tonight. I’ve got to work.” I love my sister, but she is one crazy woman. I should know. I consider crazy women my specialty.

  “I’m sorry,” Campbell says, standing up. “It’s my fault. I had an ache . . .”

  “Save it, honey. I know exactly where your ache was,” my sister barks.

  I’ve never seen another human being turn as red as Campbell. “Jade! Just because you’re my fucking sister doesn’t . . .”

  “Sister?” Campbell asks me. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

  “Relieved I’m not his baby mama?” Jade snaps.

  Campbell steps to Jade. “Actually, yeah,” she says. “I’d be scared you’d kick his ass and hurt him. I need him to teach class next week.”

  That was kind of funny, but Jade doesn’t smile, squinting her eyes just enough for me to notice. Like Campbell, my sister is dressed in black, but that’s where the similarities end. Jade’s all dark eyes and hair and ink-covered skin, while Campbell looks like an angel in comparison with her light hair, eyes, and skin.

  Jade hands me my little girl. Kissing her a couple times, I lift her to my chest so she’s nestled into my neck. She likes to fall asleep this way. Jade reaches out and rubs her little back. “She’s been fed, changed, bathed.” Jade gives Campbell one last bitch stare before she’s out the door.

  “Well, she officially hates me,” Campbell says.

  “Jade hates everyone,” I say. “She’s the only help I’ve got, so I have no choice but to put up with her shit.”

  Campbell smiles and tilts her head to get a better look at the most important woman in my life. “What’s her name?”

  “Tate. She’s a year and a half.”

  “Look at you,” Campbell says, giggling a little. “MMA fighter is a big ole softy.”

  “Watch it,” I tease, as Tate begins to cry softly. Campbell reaches over, pats her back gently, and begins to hum. It fucking breaks me in two. I turn away, biting out, “We should go.”

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have . . .” Campbell starts. “It’s just that I work with babies, so it’s a habit to hear a crying child and . . .”

  “She can’t hear you,” I say, kicking myself for acting like a jerk. “She has severe hearing loss.”

  Her face doesn’t show one ounce of pity. Instead, it’s some emotion I don’t recognize. “And you’re raising her all on your own?”

  “Yeah,” I say, expecting the next question to be about Tate’s mother, a topic I don’t care to discuss now or ever.

  “Then you can’t go back in the cage,” she says firmly. “What if something happens to you? What will happen to Tate?”

  It’s not that I haven’t thought about that, but I’ve got no choice. “Nothing is going to happen to me.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Look, I’m doing this one last fight for Tate. There are these devices that can make kids hear and. . . .”

  “Cochlear implants,” she says.

  “Right, forgot you’re a nurse,” I say. “Anyway, I’ve got an appointment with the only doctor in town that does these in six months. And I need . . .”

  “Six months?” she cries, almost shouting.

  “Like I said, he’s the only doctor that does these implants.”

  “I know Dr. Ridge,” she says, getting her phone out of her purse on the floor. “I’ll call him. See if I can’t pull some strings to get you in sooner.”

  Normally, my pride wouldn’t let me accept such charity, but for Tate, I’d swallow my pride tenfold. “Are you sure?”

  Campbell gives me the brightest damn smile. “That’s what friends do.”

  Friends? That’s all? Christ, I’m in the friend zone, the worst place to be with a woman! It’s better to be hated, I think. I watch as she steps away from me a little bit and makes the call. She starts talking and smiling and laughing—just working this man over perfectly. She hangs up and walks back to me, where I’m bouncing my now wide-awake daughter in my arms. “Tomorrow morning, seven thirty. He’ll see Tate before his office hours start.”

  “You’re kidding?” I start chuckling like a fool and pull Campbell into me, but she gives me one little squeeze and then backs away. Lifting Tate in the air, I nuzzle her nose then turn her towards Campbell, motioning for her to blow a kiss. Campbell playfully acts like she’s catching it and places it on her cheek. Tate moves her hands together, signing more.

  “She signs?”

  “I’ve taught her a few,” I say. “Her pediatrician recommended it.”

  Campbell blows a kiss back to Tate, who squeals and reaches out for her. “Can I?” Campbell asks. I hand my daughter over to her as she passes me her phone, freeing up both her hands. “Just throw it in my purse.”

  Watching them smiling and blowing raspberries at each other, I reach for Campbell’s purse. I don’t have to look inside to know what I’m feeling. She must see my face change because she places Tate on the floor and reaches for her purse. “I’ll take . . .”

  “You brought a gun into my gym? No weapons in my gym,” I say, reaching inside her purse, taking it out, and examining it. “You know that.”

  “Give me that.”

  “No serial number. It’s not even legal.”

  “I need that,” she says. “Give it back.”

  “Not a chance.” Pointing the gun in a safe direction, I pop out the magazine and make sure there’s not a bullet in the chamber.

  “That’s mine. You can’t just . . .”

  “You want to get yourself killed?”

  “I know how to use it.”

  Handing her back the gun, I say, “Show me.” She looks pissed off as she lowers the gun to her side. Never in a million years would I have thought Campbell was packing. She lifts the gun, pointing it right at me. I grab her arm, twist, and have the gun out of her hand and into mine in less than three seconds. And in the same motion, I put her in a headlock—her second time tonight—and point the gun to her temple. “Now you’re dead.”

  Struggling, she pulls out of my arms, her eyes on fire. “I want it back.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I do,” she barks. “I went through hell to get it.”

  I put it in the back of my jeans and pick up Tate. Maybe I’m an asshole, but I don’t feel a twinge of guilt over relieving her of the weapon—even after she helped me with Tate. With a huff, she gets her purse and stomps out the door, mumbling curses under her breath. But they don’t phase me. Whatever she’s saying, I’m sure I’ve been called much worse.

  It’s dark outside, and I follow her to her car in the parking lot. “Tell me why you have it,” I say.

  “Will you give it back then?”

  “No. Why do you carry?”

  Campbell narrows her eyes at me. “Why does anyone? Protection.”

  “If that was true, you’d get it legally and have the proper permits.” I see her eyes lower, betraying her ever so slightly. “Is someone trying to hurt you? Because I’ll kill any motherfucker who puts his hands on you.”

  Her eyes dart up a little, and she blows off my question. “You know, when Tate gets her implant, you’re going to have to stop cursing so much or else her first word will be damn.”

  “How’d you know my favorite cuss word?”

  “You only say it a dozen times during every class.”

  “What’s yours?” I ask, hating that I sound like a child playing “you show me yours, I’ll show you mine”—although, if that will work on her, I just might consider it.

  “Dumb fuck,” she says, that familiar blush covering her cheeks.

  “I’ve never heard you say that.”

  She reaches for her car door. “I was calling you that like two minutes ago.” Laughing, I open the door, and before she slips inside
, she tells me, “Goodnight, Stone.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  STONE

  I step in the building almost an hour early for the appointment, but who the hell can sleep with my daughter’s hearing on the line? Tate, however, is having no problem at all, fast asleep in her stroller. I hate the damn thing. It’s big, hard to turn, and pink camouflage. Jade thought it was hilarious when she bought it for Tate. I would burn it down, but Tate loves to ride in it. She’s not even two, and she already knows how to wrap a man around her little finger.

  My eyes land on another woman who knows how to tie a man in knots. Campbell is sipping through a straw, scrolling through her phone while she waits at the elevator bank. This is the first time I’ve seen her outside of my gym. Her blonde hair is pulled up in a familiar ponytail, and she’s wearing loose fitting, light pink scrubs. It’s funny to see her in something other than her usual kickass, tight, black workout clothes. Still sexy as hell, but in an entirely different way. “You’re here early,” I say.

  “Hey,” she says through a yawn. “I have the seven-to-seven shift today.”

  “You work too hard,” I say and know it’s true. She’s constantly running here and there, whether for work in the NICU or doing various charity things. I never hear her talk about family, boyfriends, or any friends other than Jenny, who sometimes comes to the gym with her.

  “You want me to show you to Dr. Ridge’s office?” she asks. “I’ve got a few minutes.”

  “Sure,” I say, and we start walking towards the breezeway that connects the hospital to a medical office building. A couple people say “hello” to Campbell, and she gives them a friendly “good morning” right back. But in between the cheery greetings, she doesn’t say a word to me or even look my way. Perhaps it’s just too damn early in the morning, or perhaps she’s still pissed about the gun. Who the hell knows what’s going on in a woman’s head?

  “This is Dr. Ridge’s office,” she finally says, walking up to the closed door. “The office staff might not be in yet.”

  “We’ll just wait,” I say as she turns to leave. “Thanks again for setting this up.”

  She turns back, giving me a little nod and wringing her hands together. “About last night.”

  “You kicked ass.”

  Finally, I get a big smile out of her. “Thanks, but I’m talking about . . .” She looks around then whispers, “I really need it back. I won’t bring it to the gym again.”

  “Can’t do that,” I say. “Do you know what could happen if you get caught with an illegal handgun?”

  “Six months in jail or a fine,” she says quickly, “unless I’m committing a violent crime.”

  She’s a smart ass, and just like everything else about her, it makes my dick throb. “You planning on committing a violent crime?”

  “Bring it to my next class!” she snaps and gets up in my personal space.

  Now that would normally make me want to ram my fist through a person’s face, but with Campbell, I just want to kiss her—slow, long, and deep. “Can’t. It’s in the river.”

  “You’re lying?”

  She’s wrong, and I get the feeling that doesn’t happen very often. “I tossed it in the Mississippi on my way home last night.”

  “God, you’re such a . . .”

  “If you really need it for protection, then I’ll take you to get a new one—legally. I know a guy. Then we can go to the range. Make sure you know how to use it properly.”

  “What makes you think I want to spend that kind of time with you?”

  “That’s the deal, baby.”

  “Well, baby, you can shove . . .”

  She stops when I let slip a little laugh, which frustrates her even more. I didn’t mean to laugh, but her acting like she can intimidate me is hilarious. “It’s not for protection, is it?”

  “No,” she whispers through gritted teeth.

  “Give me the fucker’s name,” I say. “I swear to God he won’t bother you again.”

  She glances down at Tate’s angel face. “You’ve got your own princess to protect.”

  “Then who’s protecting you?” I ask and take her hand.

  Campbell studies our hands for a moment, her fingers running along the veins and lines of my hand before she slips hers away. “I protect myself. Like always.” She plants a little kiss on two of her fingers and places them gently down on top of Tate’s head. “My shift is about to start. I need to go.”

  Are women mysterious on purpose? Or is it just part of their genetic makeup—like the size of their tits or eye color? I mean, what am I to make of the handholding? Or the hug last night? She’s pulled away both times, but she looks sad when she does, like it hurts her. Talk about a mixed message!

  But my answer is clear. This woman is occupying far too much space in my mind, in my thoughts, in my beat-off fantasies. I need to do something about it.

  *

  It’s not often you leave a doctor’s office fist-pumping the air. But Tate and I have reason to celebrate. Dr. Ridge was fantastic. He looked over all my girl’s medical records and pronounced her an excellent candidate for the implants. She’s booked for surgery in one month, which is much quicker than I thought it would be.

  Good thing my fight is in two weeks, because my crappy insurance doesn’t cover nearly what the surgery, implants, and follow-up therapies are going to cost. Right now, I’m not going to think about all that—the stress, money, hospital stay, or the four-to-six-week-long wait before the device can be turned on.

  I’m only going to think about the bright future my daughter is going to have. And I have one woman to thank for that.

  Pushing the stroller with one hand and carrying Tate in my other, I find my way up to the NICU. Maybe if Tate had been born in a hospital like this, things would’ve been different. Then again, maybe if I’d been more selective about the woman I slept with—taking into account more than the size of her tits—things would be different, too.

  But at that time in my life, a woman like Campbell just didn’t exist in my world. Hell, they still don’t. She’s some sort of anomaly, like that weird tree that grows upside down in Africa. I watched a whole show on that one night when Tate was up crying. It’s called the Baobab tree, I think. I wish I’d known a woman like Campbell would one day walk in my gym, instead of just nailing my wood into every tree out there.

  Tate bangs on the glass of the nursery window, and I quickly grab her hand, waving an apology to the nurse inside. The nurse motions to the row of babies, asking me which one is mine, and I shake my head and say loudly, “Got my hands full with this one.” The nurse flashes me a smile like she totally understands.

  The truth is, I wouldn’t mind doing the whole daddy thing again, if I did it right this time, if I had someone to do it with. The nurse peeks her head out the door. “You looking for someone?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Campbell May. She works in the NICU.”

  “I’ll get her for you.”

  The door closes behind her, and I watch her walk to a back area. Babies are supposed to be chick magnets. I don’t mind having an ulterior motive with my sweet girl. I lift Tate up to look in her eyes and say to my daughter, “Work your magic, baby girl.”

  I know she can’t hear me, but damn if she doesn’t start clapping and blowing kisses to Campbell as soon as she comes into view. And Campbell completely eats it up. She doesn’t ask to take Tate from my arms this time—she just does it, planting a huge kiss on her cheek. “How’d it go?” she asks without looking at me. Has my plan to use my daughter as bait backfired?

  “He’s going to do the surgery in a month.”

  “Oh, Stone, I’m so happy for you,” she says and tickles Tate’s tummy then strokes her blonde hair. “And for you, too, sweetie.”

  “Wouldn’t have happened without you,” I say. “We’d like to take you to dinner to thank you.”

  Campbell immediately stops tickling. “No need,” she says. “I didn’t do much. Just made a phone call.”
>
  A young nurse in scrubs turns a corner and walks up to us. “Campbell, I didn’t know you have a baby! And she looks just like you!”

  Campbell is stunned for a moment then starts to shake her head, but the nurse isn’t seeing it. Her eyes have turned away and are all over me now. I’m sure Miss DTF—that’s “down to fuck,” if you don’t know—would be into dinner with me, or maybe just a quick screw in the supply closet.

  What did Miss DTF say about my daughter—that she looks like Campbell? Damn, she’s right. How did I not notice that before? Campbell and Tate could be mother and daughter—both blonde, fair, big blue eyes. I’ve often thought Tate didn’t look like me. I’ve got blue eyes, but my hair is dark, almost black. Tate doesn’t look like her mother, either. It’s kind of weird.

  “And you must be Daddy, then?” Miss DTF asks.

  Campbell looks like she’s trying to decide whether to vomit or kick the shit out of this woman. “Yep, Daddy,” I say and flash a grin to Campbell then pull her to my side. “We were just making some dinner plans.”

  “Oh,” Miss DTF says then excuses herself into a patient’s room.

  “God, I hate her,” Campbell says, taking a step away from me.

  “I don’t know,” I say with a smirk. “She seems like a very capable and willing young woman.”

  She straps Tate into her stroller. “I can get her number for you, if you want.”

  “Damn,” I groan, pushing the three of us into an empty room, then turning the stroller away from Campbell and me.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  “Something long overdue,” I say.

  Before she can protest, I step close to her, my body pinning her against the wall. I don’t believe in intimidating women—she easily could move if she wanted to—but she doesn’t. Her skin is flushed, she’s breathing heavy, and I know if I felt her panties, they’d be soaking wet. I lean into her, my mouth hovering over hers, her warm breath calling me in like a morning fog you know you shouldn’t go into, but you can’t stop yourself.

  “You can say no,” I whisper.

  Her lips part. “I can say no, but I choose yes.”