Rock the Cradle: An Mpreg Romance (Silver Oak Medical Center Book 6)

by Aiden Bates

  "No one's going to send me to jail for getting a little rough with my kid. I didn't do anything wrong. He was being a brat and he deserved it."

  Alex balled his hands into fists at his side. "He was in the hospital for days. Did you even call to see how he was? You couldn't have failed to know the poor kid was hurt. His bone broke through the skin. It was sticking right up there, through the skin. A dog would have known it was broken. You just wandered on by, blithely telling him to rub some dirt in it and stop crying like a little girl. That's not like you.

  "All this crap about obsessing about our sex lives? That's not you, either. Sure, you'd be pissed about me doing anything other than hooking up with Derek. You wouldn't come up with a list of omegas and demand I marry one of them, sight unseen. That's a huge shift for you." Alex pointed at Ayla. "You have been pining for Ayla to come home for twenty years and once she does, you lash out? No. No, no, no."

  "He's been treating Mom like dirt, too," Ayla threw in.

  "Nah, that's been par for the course since you were kidnapped." Ivy pretended to yawn.

  "She gets what she deserves and nothing less." Dad chuckled. "If she hadn't let you go to your uncle's that day, do you think you'd have gone through what you did?"

  "I think me going there was your idea." Ayla narrowed her eyes at her father. "You didn't know what he was up to, and neither did she. It was his fault, and his fault alone. You running around and starting a new family, but refusing to give her a divorce and giving her dignity back? All you, buttercup."

  "I am right here," Mama pointed out.

  "Sorry, Mama." Alex turned toward her. "Mama, Dad needs this examination. Even if I'm wrong, and there is no medical problem, the judge might remember it at sentencing. And if there is, well, Dad can only benefit from diagnosis and treatment instead of incarceration."

  "I'm not sick. It's you that's sick." Dad stood up and walked over to Alex. He poked Alex in the chest, hard enough to leave a bruise. "You must be sick in the head if you think I'm going to just sit there and let you make all kinds of wild accusations, and interfere with my life."

  Mama turned to Dad. "Simon, I think it's in your best interests to have the exam."

  Dad rounded on her. "Excuse me? First disloyalty from them, and now from you?"

  "It's not disloyalty. I'm trying to save you from going to jail, Simon. You wouldn't do well in jail." Mama's lip trembled. "Even though you did betray me with this Veronica woman, I don't want to see you go to jail for it."

  Dad scoffed. "They're not going to send a guy to jail for disciplining his own kid."

  "Oh yes they will." Ayla smiled, cold and cruel. "I'm Joey's advocate. I'm going to make sure of it."

  Tears streamed from Mama's eyes, but she turned to Dad. "You see?" She lifted a hand at Ayla. "She is the expert. This is what she does. She puts violent men in jail. This is what she knows, Simon. If she's telling you you're in danger, listen. For once in your life, listen."

  Alex looked at his sisters. They glowered at their father without pity or mercy, and Alex could understand that. They'd gotten less from their father over the years, especially Ayla. Alex wasn't feeling all that charitably inclined toward the man right now either, but he still wanted to give the man some dignity. This was still his father. He still respected Dad, in an odd way.

  "Okay, Dad. I'm going to put it all out on the table. When you broke Joey's arm—"

  "It's nobody's business!"

  "I don't want to hear that. The law says something else. When you break someone's arm, in family or outside it, you show yourself to be a danger to yourself or others. That, on top of your other symptoms, means that getting an evaluation for you is a priority. You can either come in to the office with me, and we can do this in a way that lets you hold your head up, or we can have some people bring you in."

  Both Mama and Dad dropped their jaws. "You wouldn't dare," Dad gasped, as Mama put her arm around Dad's shoulders.

  "Try me." Alex met his father's eyes. "It's your funeral, buddy."

  Simon scowled and kicked at the floor. He looked so child-like in that moment Alex wanted to weep. "Fine," Dad spat out. "But you're not treating me for anything, you understand me?"

  "I wouldn't. I'm your son, I'm not supposed to treat you. And I'm a trauma surgeon, not a neurologist." Alex held up his hands. "These specialists are talking to you as a favor. I'm not qualified to do the evaluation anyway."

  That wasn't the whole truth, but only Ayla understood that. The neurologist and the gerontologist were ruling out two potential diagnoses that Alex already suspected. Dad wouldn't accept them coming from Alex, though. It was hard to take a life-changing diagnosis from a guy whose diapers you'd changed.

  Either way, Dad had agreed to the exam. The first part of the battle had been won. If only Alex could get over the look of betrayal in Mama's eyes.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Derek and Carmela left the studio. Derek was tired down to his bones. His head knew the fatigue was down to his pregnancy. It was just one more symptom of a condition he couldn't stop, another sign that his body no longer belonged to him. He pushed himself through it, and nothing showed through in his voice, but he didn't know how much longer he could go on like this.

  Of course, he couldn't afford to quit, either.

  Carmela was exhausted too, although her fatigue came from different sources. She was coping well with the re-introduction of her parents to her life, but it was still a challenge. She couldn't spend time with them every day. It was too much for her psyche. She could text with them, back and forth, and that seemed to be easier for her.

  It all still wore on her, and she acknowledged that, but she didn't want to stop. "It's helping," she told him when he asked. "I don't understand why or how necessarily, but it is helping. I don't want to back off or stop."

  "Well, you're the boss." They buckled into the car and got ready to go.

  The ride home, especially at this time of night, tended to be quick. Even with construction on 690, there weren't generally many other people on the road. When Derek heard a car start up behind him, he thought it was odd, but he didn't make any note of it. When it followed him out onto Walton Street, and then onto West Street, he didn't panic. This was the only way to the highway, after all.

  When the other car followed him onto the highway, and stayed right behind him in the same lane, Derek got worried.

  Any other time Derek wouldn't have been worried at all. Maybe the person just wanted to follow because they were worried about speeding. Maybe they were lost and hoped Derek would lead them out of a city that honestly wasn't all that welcoming in the wee hours.

  Right now, Derek wasn't in a position to give the benefit of the doubt to anyone, for any reason.

  He sped up. The other car matched his speed perfectly. Derek slowed down, and the other car matched him.

  Derek muttered a curse under his breath. "I'd rather she think I'm nuts than think I'm dead." He fumbled for the center console, which was just a little bit different in the new Subaru than it was in the Honda. "Hey Carmela?"

  Carmela hadn't said anything about their new best friend, but she hadn't ignored him either. "Yeah?" Her voice had risen half an octave.

  "Okay. My lock code is 0-4-1-5. Unlock it, turn off the flash on the camera, and see if you can get a picture of our buddy's license plate, would you?"

  "Got it." Carmela poked at the phone for a few seconds, and then she took the picture. She took a few tries to get it right, but she finally got something she was satisfied with. "What next?"

  "Go through my recent calls and find Detective Langbroek. Give her a call. If you're not up to English, just set the thing on speaker. We'll be good to go. Okay?"

  "Haven't you set this up for Bluetooth yet?"

  "Haven't had time." Derek looked around. The only cars on the road were his and the person following him. He cut across into the left lane, and then across both lanes of traffic into the right lane. Once he got into the right lane he dro
pped the speed, dropping back and watching the other car zoom past.

  He breathed a sigh of relief as Carmela connected with Langbroek. "Yes, I know it's late. Someone was following us. No, Derek did something stupid and they sped past us, but wait—they just turned around, right in the middle of the highway. We're on 690, on our way home. We've only just passed the first exit after we get on, please send help."

  The other car—now visible as an old white Bronco, because even violent creepy stalkers lacked in creativity—fell into line beside Derek. Derek's palms dripped with sweat, so he gripped the wheel tighter. He would not, under any circumstances, look at the people beside him. He refused to give them that kind of power over him.

  He acted on instinct instead. When his brain told him to move, he moved, punching the gas to the floor. He didn't care if he got a speeding ticket. He took off as fast as his Outback could go. He had no idea, so far, just how fast that might be, but he was going to find out.

  The Bronco reacted fast. The driver jerked the wheel to the right. If Derek had still been fully parallel to the Bronco, he'd have been thrown off course. As it was, the jolt was intense. It was all Derek could do to keep the Outback on the road and moving forward.

  The Bronco sped up. It hit him again, tapping his back driver's side bumper hard enough to make Derek bite his tongue. He didn't stop, but kept moving. If he stopped, he and Carmela would die.

  The Bronco circled around just as they passed another exit and tried to ram them again, this time on the right. Carmela screamed this time. Langbroek, still on the line, must have said something, because Carmela explained what the attackers were doing in a breathless voice.

  Flashing blue and red lights zoomed up the on ramp, sirens wailing. Oh thank God. Langbroek had gotten help. Derek pulled off to the side. One cruiser pulled in behind him, while four more chased after the Bronco.

  Derek slumped in his seat. He was safe. His new car was going to need work, but he could live with that. It was just metal. Hell, he'd even wrecked it in a motor vehicle incident. The insurance company would have to pay him this time.

  The trooper waited for a long moment, making sure the Bronco didn't come back, before coming around to Carmela's side of the vehicle. "Derek Brown?"

  "That's me, sir." Derek kept his hands on the wheel and stared straight ahead. "Did Detective Langbroek send you?"

  "She did." The trooper grinned. "Looks like you're going to need some body work. I'll hang out until the tow truck gets here, and then I'll give you a ride home." He smirked. "Let them try the same thing with me. I'm allowed to shoot."

  Derek shuddered at the thought, but he didn't want to get into it with the cop. He nodded instead, and followed Carmela into the back of the trooper's cruiser.

  It wasn't his first time in the back seat of a cruiser. He'd gotten into plenty of trouble in those years between Mom's death and landing in the same home as Amadi. None of his antics had landed him in serious trouble, no more serious than his grandparents kicking him to the curb anyway, but a few cops had tried to scare him straight.

  And of course, he'd had to sit in the back of the police car while the cops processed the crime scene, back when Mom died. Even now, he could still feel the itch of drying blood. He scratched at his face, trying to remember that he wasn't a ten-year-old kid and no one's brains had been blown onto his skin.

  Carmela put a hand on his. "Hey. Are you okay?"

  Derek sat on his hands. "Just a few bad memories, is all."

  Carmela grimaced and stared out the window. "Do you think they'll come back?"

  "No." He rubbed his cheek on his shoulder. "They want to live. They know the troopers will shoot."

  Carmela slumped down. "I hope so. I want to live, too."

  Once the tow truck showed up, the trooper drove them back to Derek's house. Detective Langbroek met them there. Alex’s light flickered on when the trooper's lights flashed in the parking lot, and Derek groaned. Alex wouldn't file a complaint against him now, would he?

  As it turned out, he didn't. He came out of his apartment in his pajama bottoms and a tee shirt to see what was going on. "Derek? Are you and Carmela okay?"

  "Shaken up is all." Derek gave him a little smile. "Thanks for asking."

  Alex followed them into the room. "What's going on here?"

  Langbroek crooked an eyebrow at Derek, as though asking permission. Derek shrugged. He didn't care if Alex knew. He was just glad Alex was interested.

  "It seems someone tried to run Derek and Carmela off the road tonight." She licked her lips. "The car's been taken to evidence, but Carmela, you said you got a picture?"

  Carmela nodded. "It was his phone, though."

  Derek sent Langbroek the picture Carmela had taken. "This is what we have."

  "More of that good, smart thinking, Derek." She winked at him. "You sure you don't want to go to the Academy? You'd make a top-notch Trooper."

  Derek blushed. His hands trembled, so he kept them hidden. "I'd probably have to cut my hair, though, so I'll have to thank you and pass. Detective, I thought the whole gamble was that we were more valuable to the Greers alive, but too frightened to testify, than we were dead. When did that change?"

  Langbroek ducked her head. "The problem with gambles, Derek, is that sometimes they don't pay off. I'm not sure when the intimidation versus elimination balance shifted. It could be that Martin's been getting orders from Bill in prison. That happens sometimes, even though we try not to let it. The good news is that I can't imagine how my bosses wouldn't let me give you a protective detail now that this has happened. The bad news is that you've now got to deal with a protective detail, which literally no one thinks is fun."

  "Do you think they might have just been trying to intimidate them?" Alex did look over at Langbroek now. "I mean they're still here, and they don't seem to be hurt although I'm going to want to check that out after you've left."

  Derek gave him a disbelieving look.

  "What?" Alex crossed his hands over his chest. "I'm still a doctor, even after hours."

  "Anyway." Langbroek's cheeks turned pink. "No, I don't think they were just trying to intimidate here. I think this was a very serious attempt on Derek and Carmela's lives. If they'd just been trying to scare them, they'd have made it showier and they wouldn't have tried so hard to hurt them. It's only Derek's good driving that saved the day."

  "And the arrival of the troopers." Derek wasn't about to take credit. "I'm pretty sure I was toast there. Thank you for sending them, and if you could thank them for showing up that would be helpful."

  Langbroek grinned. "I will. And hopefully we'll have a detail in place for you before you get up tomorrow morning, okay?"

  "Thanks." Derek stifled a yawn. Now that the adrenaline was fading from his system, the fatigue was coming back.

  "Go get some sleep. You're not going to be able to keep fighting if you're walking around like a zombie." Langbroek patted him on the shoulder and headed for the door. "Take care, and let me know if you see anything unusual."

  "We will," Alex promised.

  Carmela headed off to her room. It was the place she felt safest. Derek didn't blame her. Alex wanted to check her out for whiplash first, but Carmela wasn't having any part of it. "I'll keep you posted, Doctor," she told him in a cool tone.

  She'd reverted to speaking in Spanish again. Derek hoped it was a temporary setback.

  Once Carmela had withdrawn, Alex looked Derek over and checked him for any sign of injury. Derek wondered, perhaps meanly, if he'd have been quite so solicitous if Alex knew about the baby in Derek's belly.

  Derek would have to tell him eventually, but not now. Not yet. The time wasn't right. Alex had just had to have his father examined for dementia, and maybe for Lou Gehrig's Disease. It felt wrong to spring a baby bomb on him on top of all of the other stuff. Derek wouldn't pretend he didn't have a selfish motive, too. He didn't want to lose Alex’s affection while Derek was in the middle of his own crises.

  He'd tell h
im, because Alex had the right to know. For now, though, he would just enjoy falling to sleep in Alex’s warm embrace. He knew Alex would be gone before morning. If nothing else, Alex would have to go to work, and look in on his father, and look in on his brother. He couldn't stay over at Derek's house.

  It would be nice to grab breakfast together sometime, though.

  That night, Derek dreamed about a house. It was a nice house, a pretty little place on a hill with a nice yard and a swing set in the back for the kids. Alex played out there with them, enjoying the sunshine. The children laughed and ran amok, like children were won't to do.

  Just when Derek moved to join them, a loud "pop" filled the air. Smoke from the muzzle of Derek's father's gun filled the room, and then coalesced to make a wall. "Are you kidding me?" His father's words slurred from across the room. The space was no longer a bright, modern kitchen, but in his parents' single-wide back in California. The cracks in the linoleum filled with crimson. It could have been blood, or it could have been lava. In his dreams, it could be hard to tell sometimes.