Muscle

by Lexi Whitlow

  “You planned that whole thing,” Finn says across the courtroom. “You know you did. Liam never would have gotten tied up in any of that shit if it weren’t for you demanding money when he didn’t have a red cent to his name. And since he got out, he’s been a model citizen. Working his ass off for this kid, making sure there was money for her. He’s paid child support. He’s proven he can do what it takes to care for her. He put himself out there. What more do you want?”

  Liam laughs beside me, a low rumble from deep in his chest. It’s not an uncomplicated laugh—there’s a sense of anger in it, of a long, drawn-out battle that is just now ending. “She wants Brie, and not because Brie is wonderful. Or smart. Or a pretty perfect kid, all the way around.” Liam looks over at his daughter, smiling. Her face brightens instantly, the way it does whenever she sees him. There are hopeful tears in her eyes. “Brie, come on over here. Sit with Daddy.”

  Brie tries to extricate herself from her grandmother, but Marta holds on to her collar and yanks her viciously backwards. Brie yelps. “Ouch! Let go of me!”

  Marta yanks Brie’s collar again and swats her viciously on the arm. Brie starts crying, tears streaming down her face. She’s asking for her father, but Marta still won’t let go.

  The judge looks at Marta coolly.

  I feel Liam’s fist clench as I hold onto his arm, but he keeps his cool. He’s waiting for what comes next.

  “Enough!” the judge shouts. “Mrs. Maguire, this is not appropriate behavior for the courtroom. Furthermore, the complaints you brought to us from the CPS investigation you ordered don’t hold any weight. Despite your position in the community, we cannot prevent custody from going to Mr. Dougherty. He is the biological father, and he will be better able to care for Brie due to his physical and mental health and the seemingly stable relationship he has with his wife.” The judge lets out a heavy sigh.

  “This is ridiculous,” Marta shouts. “I was told that the court would rule in my favor. I paid the other judge with part of the reverse mortgage I got on my house, and it turns out that we see you for this. This is not fair—”

  “Please let go of the little girl, Mrs. Maguire. Let me state that your claims of needing more child support do not mesh well with bribery and the countless investigations you’ve paid for in order to keep custody of Brie for the past two years.”

  Marta huffs, but she lets go of Brie’s collar. A defeated look takes over her aging face.

  “This court hereby grants full custody to Liam Dougherty, and his wife, Skye Williams Dougherty. Mrs. Maguire will be granted supervised visits, should she want them.” The judge pounds his gavel once, and gets up to leave immediately. Brie rushes over to the two of us, wrapping her arms around her father’s legs while Marta watches us in dismay.

  “This is unconscionable, ridiculous. I can’t believe it,” Marta keeps repeating. The older woman from CPS puts a comforting hand on her shoulder, and Marta brushes it away angrily. “I don’t know how you two screwed up, but you absolutely did. There’s no way that that man is fit to care for my granddaughter, and you both know it.”

  “She’s coming unhinged,” Liam whispers to me as Brie hugs his legs hard, not letting go. Liam was right—this kid never needed to be in a courtroom. And I’ll make damn sure she doesn’t have to enter one again. “It’s beautiful to watch,” he adds.

  The edges of Liam’s eyes crinkle up, and tears appear at the very edges of his lashes. He wipes them away quickly, but he chokes up, and more tears come. He picks his daughter up and pulls us both into a tight hug. “We’re a family now,” he says, kissing Brie on the cheek.

  “I’m happy that we are,” Brie says. “I think we’ll all be happy together.” There’s a pause. “Should we go have lunch somewhere? I’d really like to eat at a restaurant. I’m hungry.”

  I smile, and I lean my head against Liam’s shoulder. “Yeah. I think we should. Hot French fries. Chocolate shake.” My stomach rumbles. There’s so much that’s buried in Brie’s words. For the past two years, I bet she hasn’t been able to ask that of her caretaker. Instead, she’s been subjected to endless scrutiny and strange punishments—and worst of all, the lack of access to her father. She doesn’t say all of this because she can’t. She doesn’t yet have the words.

  We leave the courtroom in a boisterous mob of movement—that’s how Liam’s family is. Everyone is talking over each other all at once, and we’re all laughing together. Brie can’t escape the hugs of her uncles and her grandmother, and she’s tumbling along with all of us as we walk out of the door into the sunlight.

  When I look back, Marta is alone, scowling at us, arms crossed.

  I guess that’s who she always was, but the effort she put out to get what she wanted—it wasn’t rewarded this time.

  Liam, Brie, and I huddle into a Lyft that takes us through the traffic to our house—our home, back in Queens. By the time we make the turn onto our street, Brie is sleeping against her father’s side, her small chest rising and falling. I make a mental note to take her on a shopping expedition as soon as I can. The collar of her uniform is dirty, and she needs all the attention she can get. Even seeing her as infrequently as I have, I can tell she simply needs to be with people who care about her in a real way. And I do—I can’t help it.

  This is my family.

  “Liam,” I whisper.

  “Hm?” He’s stroking his daughter’s arm, content even though we’re stopped in traffic mere blocks away from home.

  “I’m not loud and—um, social—like your family.” I swallow hard. Everything has been building to this moment.

  “No, you’re not,” he whispers, his hand resting on Brie’s arm. My heart swells at the sight of it. He chuckles quietly. “I don’t need anyone else like my family, though. I need you.”

  “I want to stay. And I want to be part of your family.”

  “Good. I didn’t think you were lying back there in the courthouse, but you never know. You Brooklyn girls.” He shrugs.

  I smile. “I love you. That’s what I’m saying. And I want to be your wife.”

  “Thought so,” he says, grinning. “I didn’t have any doubts about that.”

  The Lyft pulls up beside our little house, and the driver looks back at us for a moment, giving the three of us a smile. “You two get married today? Congratulations.”

  “Something like that,” I say. “Anyway, we’re a family.”

  Liam slides out of the car after me, pulling Brie into his arms. When we step over the threshold, there’s a feeling of completeness that there wasn’t before. The first times we came into this apartment, nothing was for sure. But now, everything is.

  Liam

  Three Months Later

  “You’re what?” Something clenches deep in my chest. Before I met Skye, I never felt this way—protective, worried, concerned. And that one word—it changes everything.

  “Pregnant,” she whispers. She’s lying next to me in bed and holding one of those little white tests, the ones with the digital displays. I take it out of her hand, gingerly, like it might break into a million pieces or vanish into a cloud of dust.

  Pregnant. Two to three weeks.

  “Shit. Look at that.” We’re in our bed, in the safety and quiet of this house we share together. I let the tears come to my eyes and wipe them away, unashamed. “You know, I never had this with Tabitha. It was like—an emergency. She was four months pregnant when we found out, and we were real lucky she was mostly clean during that time. We got married real quick at the courthouse, and we were all walking on eggshells until Brie was born. She was perfect. But we never had this moment.”

  “When it was just exciting? Not anything else?” She looks at me with wide eyes, still naked from the night before, her leg slung over mine. She must have creeped out of bed and taken a test before I woke up. I didn’t even know, but I was here, waiting for her, mere seconds after she took it. After she saw that word.

  “Yeah. Something like that,” I say. Skye’s the
one who has a way with words, but all of that memory poured out all at once. It floods over me right now—the mixed happiness and terror that comes when you have a kid too early with a woman you barely know. This—this thing right here with Skye—this is different. Entirely different.

  “It’s still early,” she says. “I’m fucking nervous too. It’s not the same as with Brie, I know. But I don’t know. I’ve never done this before, and I have no idea what I’m doing. How to be a mom—”

  “You already are one, my librarian. Brie hasn’t had one. Not one she remembers, anyway. She has this idea of her mom, but nothing else. You’re the one who’s been getting up with her for months when she wakes up at six in the morning. Packing lunches for camp and holding her hand when she crosses the street. I’d be fine on my own—”

  “Sure,” she says, laughing. “I guess. I mean—you’d have to figure that shit out.”

  “No, no. What I mean is—yeah, I’d be fine. But I wouldn’t be so goddamn happy all the time. I’d be surviving, making sure Brie got from place to place. You’re the one who’s mom.”

  “I guess. I just haven’t had a baby before. And I don’t know what to do about work.”

  I shrug, pulling her close into me. Her hair has that light, tropical scent I noticed the first time I took her in. Her body, as always, feels small in my arms. Soon, she will be growing larger, carrying a life from both of us inside of her.

  “I was thinking of selling the bar,” I say. “It’s in a prime location. Bunch of fucking hipsters are moving into that neighborhood anyway, and we’d get a big-ass pay out. You take the year off. Write your first book. Grow that baby. Go back when you’re ready. Or who knows—you could make it big and we’ll never have to worry about money again.”

  She laughs and puts her lips to my cheek. “That’s why you married me, isn’t it? So I could write romance novels and make millions of dollars?”

  “That’s the only reason,” I say, laughing. “It was purely a business decision. Nothing else.”

  “Then I think your business sense sucks. You’re betting on an unknown.”

  “Nah,” I say. I pull her body into mine. The sun will be rising soon, and with that, Brie will wake up. She always does. A morning person, totally unlike me. Everything has been changing though, and I find myself waking up just to be with Skye before Brie wakes. “It was a very good decision. For business and otherwise.”

  I pull Skye on top of me, and she yelps, trying to pull the sheet with her. “No—oh my gosh—I already feel all weird and bloated and fat.”

  I pull the cover away from her and hold her by the hips. I’m growing hard just looking at her. She’s fucking beautiful in the gray predawn light of the bedroom. “You’re more perfect now than ever, Skye. I always had this dream,” I start. But then I pause because it’s a little bit embarrassing, and that dream never really made much sense.

  “What was that dream?” She puts her hands on my shoulders and bends down to kiss me. The warmth and silky softness of her body brings mine to life, and I pause, just feeling her against me for a moment.

  “Just you,” I say simply. “It was about you, I think. I just didn’t know it.”

  I let my hands roam over her trim waist and down her back to the curve of her ass. She’s utterly perfect. Her breasts even seem fuller than they were before. I bring my hands to cup them and pinch her nipples, rolling them between my fingers. She moans softly. Acting automatically, almost on instinct, she positions her body over mine and takes my cock in her hand. I sigh, bucking my hips up toward hers. At first, Skye wasn’t confident. She wasn’t self assured or comfortable in her skin. But now, she gets on top of me by instinct, totally unabashed. She slides my cock inside of her, breath catching in her throat like it always does. I thrust upward to meet her, watching her as she sighs and starts riding me, her body falling into a steady, sweet rhythm.

  She grinds her body against mine, and I watch as the flush rises over her chest. When she looks down at me, I see the lust in her gaze. Her eyes are hooded and hazy with it, her teeth biting one plump red lip. Her speed and rhythm increase, and I watch, patiently, as she begins to tip over that edge into the most beautiful oblivion.

  Our wedding may have been fake, our relationship built on an impossibly shaky foundation, but the desperate, aching sound that comes from her is deeply, intensely real. She says my name, over and over, eyelids fluttering open and closed, her lips parted. I thrust inside her from below, filling her with each movement, riding her through her orgasm until she’s spent and falling against me. I roll over on top of her and pin her down, my hand on the nape of her neck. Her pussy is tight and hot, clenching me with each wave of her pleasure.

  “I love you, Skye,” I whisper, tangling my fingers through her hair. Her locks are messy, fanning out on the white pillowcase like a halo. A surge of emotion rushes through me, fire rising in my core. I thrust hard inside of her, balls growing tight, and release, the flood of sensation filling every cell in my body for a moment before receding like a wave from shore.

  Skye groans subtly, a soft sound from deep in her throat. She bucks against me again as I fill her, my body tired and spent. It’s quick—not complicated. We’re both quiet, hoping the noise won’t travel through the wall.

  But this is the missing piece. It’s what I wanted but didn’t know I could have.

  It wasn’t the women coming to my apartment, night after night. Nameless, forgettable. It was this—the contentment of waking up next to someone I love, a woman who keeps my family together, who puts me first. The woman strong enough to care for my child and carry my baby, fierce enough to keep me in line—and vulnerable enough to let me protect her and care for her as much as she needs.

  “I love you too,” she mumbles, yawning. Her eyes close, and we lie in bed together. The air conditioning clicks on in the room, a low hum filling the room. I close my eyes and listen to it. In her room, Brie is stirring and starting to sing to herself, like she does every morning. There are footsteps in the apartment above us, the sounds of breakfast being made and served.

  These are the sounds I might have thought boring before I ever met Skye. But here, with her, I realize these are the sound of a real marriage, of a life lived, a bond shared.

  That echo of a dream comes back to me. It’s not all exactly the same, but the feelings are.

  I lie beside Skye and close my eyes, buying a small slice of time before the day truly begins.

  When we both wake, it will be the dream I’ve been waiting for, and I only hope that I’m part of hers as well.

  This love will carry us far, for all the days of our lives.

  For an awesome opportunity and my author info, flip to the very back of the book!

  Deleted Scene: Skye

  I can’t stay. I have to keep reminding myself.

  “What’s happening between us…can’t be…” I start, but my thoughts won’t form into words. The wedding was two days ago, and we’ve fallen into a pattern that I don’t quite understand. We act like a real married couple. But after the court hearing, the document says that our marriage can easily be dissolved.

  Where do I fit in his life? What does he want beyond his daughter and his job at the bar?

  The word has crossed my mind. I hate to admit that it has. When I look at him, toweling off after a shower, my thoughts seem to scatter, and that word is the only thing I can think of. Love.

  It’s almost like a reflex, that thought.

  It must be mixed up in the desire I feel for his body.

  “What?” He shrugs. “You put too much thought into things. Best not to.”

  “Is that your life philosophy?” I go to the dresser in the corner and start looking for something I can wear to work. Something that might hide the bite mark on my shoulder. I blush at the thought and pull out a black knit cap-sleeve dress. It should be hung in a closet, but the closet doesn’t fit all of our clothes together. That might be a symbol for our entire relationship.

&nbs
p; Not enough space to fit everything. Not quite. Not the right fit.

  “Yeah. It’s gotten me this far.”

  “Yeah?” I say absently, sorting through the drawers to find a bra. “And how far is that, exactly?”

  Right as I pick up a lacy pink bra—one that Rhiannon gave to me right after the wedding with a saucy little grin on her face—I feel two strong hands around my waist, fingers traveling down to the waistband of my panties.

  “It got me into your pants.”

  “Oh good Lord,” I say, but I can’t help laughing. Each time he does something like this, I want to stop. To say no. To tell him I need to catch my train or read a proof for my boss. But I don’t. Instead, I wait for the tingle to begin at the base of my spine, the warmth to rise between my legs, the wetness to soak through my panties. I close my eyes and let the sensation overtake me.