I bite down against the urge to tease him about taking care of his own dick and focus on what I asked him down here for.
“So Mom wants you to bring me home to share some big secret with me, huh?” I busy myself by sliding plates off the bar and racking them.
“I don’t see what the big deal is. Just go home, let her say her peace, and then you can come back to your perfect life.” He shrugs, but I can see the frustration working in his expression.
My hands freeze on the weights. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” He chugs down the rest of his water and tosses the empty bottle in the nearby trashcan. “Forget it.”
“I’m just trying to understand.” The words were meant for my own ears, but Brae’s eyes dart to mine. “Dad’s always been the only person she cares about, more than you or me, and now she says ‘jump’ and I’m supposed to say ‘how high?’” The plate I’m racking slams down harder than I intend. “How can she love someone so much that she’d . . .” Abandon me. I growl at my own weakness and have the sudden urge to hit the heavy bag. “. . . put up with his shit.”
“Don’t know. I mean . . . put yourself in her shoes, dude. What would Layla have to do to get you to leave her?”
What the fuck?
He must have read the question in my expression. “Think about it. What if she alienated you from your friends? Would you leave her?”
It takes me all of zero seconds to answer. “No.”
He shrugs. “What if she called you names?”
I shake my head.
“Bet you’d leave her if she hit you.” He lifts one eyebrow, contradicting his statement.
He knows I’m hopelessly hooked on Layla. There’s not much or anything she could do to make me walk away.
“Yeah, yeah, I see what you’re saying. But I will say, if Layla wasn’t good to our kids, if she . . .” I have to force the damn words from my lips because even though it’s hypothetical, it feels like blasphemy. “If she was emotionally abusing our kids, we’d have issues.”
“But would you leave her?”
Damn. The honest truth is . . . no, I wouldn’t leave her. I’d fix her, but never leave.
“Just go home. Hear her out.” He rubs his towel over his high-and-tight military haircut. “If it’s Layla you’re worried about, I’ll stay and take care of her until you get home.” He winks. Asshole.
Even though he’s giving me shit, he knows he’s one of two guys I’d ever trust keeping an eye on her and Axelle. The other is Jonah, but he’s busy with his wife and baby.
“I don’t know, man. I mean she’s due any day now.” What are the chances she’ll give birth while I’m gone? Orange County isn’t even an hour flight from Las Vegas. I’ve been at the training center longer than I’d be in Oceanside. I’m running out of excuses not to go.
The door to the weight room swings open and three fighters enter: Wade and two new guys he’s been working with.
“Daniels.” He greets me, but my brother also turns his head.
“Wade, this is my brother Braeden, United States Marine Corps.”
Wade’s eyebrows lift. “No shit?” He reaches out a hand, and Brae stands to shake Wade’s. “Nice to meet you, and thanks for your service.”
Brae cringes slightly, not enough for anyone to notice but me. It irks the shit out of him to take credit for combat he’s never actually experienced, but he plays it off well. “Thanks, man. Nice to meet you.”
The guys hit the weights, and Brae and I hit the cardio machines in silence. We don’t have to talk to know from the dead air between us and lack of teasing jabs our thoughts are on whatever it is waiting for me back in Cali.
And as much as I’d hate to admit it, I’m making flight arrangements in my head.
Eight
Layla
“As soon as Cameron announces a fight, I open a file here.” I click on the program and that opens to multiple files.
I decided after lunch today that the condo was too quiet and I needed something to do, so I came to the training center to go over some last minute things with Eve since she’ll be taking over while I’m on maternity leave. “The easiest way to do it—”
“Layla, you’ve shown me this.” Eve’s deadpan voice calls my eyes. “Multiple times.”
“Oh, well then”—I click off the program—“I can show you how to file the invoices for—”
She groans and drops her head into her hands, fisting her thick blond hair. “You showed me that too.” I slump back in my chair, and she swivels hers to face me. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing, why would you think something’s going on?” I force a light laugh and avoid her piercing glare.
“Why aren’t you home? We’ve been through everything I need to do here. Things are mellow until the next fight, so why not hit maternity leave early?” Her pinched brows and probing blue eyes attempt to read me.
“And do what? Sleep all day?”