A Father's Fight (Fighting, #5)

He drops his head into his hands with a mumbled “Shit.”


“I’m sorry.”

His head still in his hands, face to the table, he nods and sniffs.

My heart breaks a little at seeing him like this, but he should’ve come forward sooner. Sometimes amends come too late.

“So that’s it then?” He rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “I’ve lost you both.”

“Can’t lose what you never had.”

He lifts his head, his eyes bloodshot and watery. “Right.” I can tell he’s pissed, but what was he expecting? To breeze into our lives and have us run into his open arms?

“I appreciate you coming all the way out here to explain, and I’m sorry I don’t have better news for you, but I need to get back.”

He curls his lips between his teeth, avoids my eyes, and nods.

It takes me a few seconds to hoist myself down from the stool. I grab my bag and study the side of Trip’s face. No one in his right mind would need a paternity test to see that he’s Axelle’s father. His profile is a masculine version of hers, coloring identical. A sharp pain twists in my chest and another in my side.

I breathe a few times until it lets up then rest my hand on his shoulder. “I wish you the best.”

He doesn’t reply, and I turn my back on Trip, on the past, and refuse to give it another second of my time.

A sense of freedom overwhelms me as I exit the café. I’m grateful I got the story of how Axelle came to be. Chances are the other stuff Stewart spewed happened after Trip left, but at least I know that my daughter was brought into this world under better circumstances. I willingly lost my virginity to Trip Miller and made a baby. I can live with that. And I think Axelle can too.

I move through the hotel, ambling along the man-made river where gondolas filled with tourists glide slowly across the water. Another cramp hits me, this one harder than the last. I grip the railing that runs along the river and breathe in . . . out . . . Shit! This one is lasting longer than the others. In . . . out . . . in . . . I blow out a long breath, and a soft breeze of air conditioning against my face brings my hand to my forehead. I’m sweating?

This can’t be labor. Can it?

Just breathe, get to the valet, and get home.

I take a deep breath and test my legs to make sure they’re steady before I start moving again. Although the cramp is gone, there’s an awareness that I haven’t felt until now. Maybe I’m overreacting, but I can’t help but feel as if another cramp is coming.

“It’s okay. My water hasn’t broken. Until then, I’m fine.” I keep whispering my pep-talk as I follow the river’s edge to the casino.

Weaving through the tables and machines, another cramp hits me. “Holy fucking shit!” My jaw locks hard, my entire belly tightening up so much that I can’t take a full breath. I brace myself against a stool at a roulette table.

“Ma’am, are you okay?”

I don’t know who said it, the dealer or maybe someone at the table. I wave and force a smile. “Fine. I’m fine.”

I try to move on, my goal to get somewhere private to grab my phone and call Braeden, but two steps and I’m holding onto another stool.

“Fuck, Layla!” Strong hands grip my shoulders and pull me up. “Shit, you need to go to the hospital.”

Trip? I peer up at his face. “Are you following me?” A cramp twists in my gut, and I fall limply to his chest.

“No, I saw you stagger when you left.” He hooks his hands under my arms to hold me up. “So I followed—okay, so yeah, I followed you but only because I was worried.”

Blake would hate this. I need to get in touch with Brae. I push off of Trip, but it’s weak. “I’m okay. I just need to get ho—”

Warm moisture drops from between my legs, slowly bleeding down my inner thighs and soaking my yoga pants.

I tilt my head back and stare into Trip’s worried blue eyes. “My water just broke.”





Seventeen





Blake

“Thank you for choosing FlyWest, and welcome to Las Vegas.” The stewardess’ announcement couldn’t come soon enough. I’ve been crazed with getting back home to Layla to tell her about the breakthrough I had with my dad over the weekend.

After a long-drawn-out conversation last night, we ordered pizza and sat around while my parents listened to me talk. I told them about my music room and how long I’d had it hidden and explained that Layla was the first person I let in and how we fell in love. I gave them all the details that they didn’t know about Stew’s arrest and my legally adopting Axelle. It was midnight before I noticed how tired they both looked and insisted we finish in the morning.

And we did over breakfast.

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