Quarry successfully defended his title eight times over the course of his reign in the ring. And, even after he’d lost it, he remained a substantial competitor in the sport. Proof being that, even at thirty-three years old, he was offered another shot at his old belt. A shot he not only took, but also won. That wasn’t all that shocking though. He’d been born to be a champion.
However, it was at the press conference after the fight where he truly surprised everyone—including me—by announcing his retirement. When a reporter asked him what he was planning to do next, his gaze had bounced to mine as he proudly answered, “First, I’m gonna knock up my wife. Second, I’m getting a cochlear implant so I can finally hear my little man screaming at me. And, lastly, I have no fucking clue. But one and two are more than enough to keep me busy for a few years.”
Yep. He was still breathtakingly unapologetic. That would never change.
And that was how I ended up eight months pregnant with our daughter, Quinn Eliza Page, and sitting in a doctor’s office, anxiously waiting for them to activate my husband’s cochlear implant. The entire Page family was not-so-patiently waiting in the hall. Actually, it seemed like Quarry was the only relaxed one. Even March, who was digging through all the doctor’s drawers, seemed edgy.
“You ready?” the doctor asked from behind his computer.
“No!” I exclaimed.
Quarry chuckled and squeezed my leg. “I think he was talking to me, Rocky.”
I chewed on my bottom lip. “Right. Well, my answer remains the same.”
“Look at me,” he urged.
I peeked up at him, tears already pooling in my eyes.
“What the hell? Why are you crying?” His face gentled. Tossing an arm around my shoulders, he pulled me into his side.
“I have no idea! It’s just a big change.” I sniffled.
“Come on. This is nothing. Now, in a few weeks when you give birth to that hellion growing inside you, that’s going to be a change. This though? It’s the easy stuff, Rocky.”
It was easy. Especially compared to everything we had already overcome together.
Quarry’s dad was definitely one of those hard things for the two of us. Actually, he was a tough subject for all the Page brothers. Clay had had quite the rap sheet, including blowing parole, so when it had come time for sentencing, it was clear he’d never walk as a free man again. This bothered me more than I could ever explain. I owed my life to “Don Blake,” but the rest of the Page family still wore Clay’s scars.
When the truth came out about why Clay had been at the community center with me that night, everyone had seemed relieved. Watching their faces when they’d realized he’d actually done something right for once was the only happy part of the whole ordeal. And, because of that, I never could have fathomed Quarry’s reaction when I’d innocently mentioned mailing his dad a letter in prison. He’d been livid. Till had shared his opinion, but Flint, surprisingly enough, had taken my back on the issue. After multiple heated family discussions, Till, Flint, and—yes—even Quarry had eventually given me permission to mail their father monthly pictures. This agreement had come with caveats. The two biggest being: I was never allowed to give him our address, and I wasn’t allowed to have any correspondence with him. No notes. No chats. For the love of God, no visits. Only pictures. I’d immediately agreed. All things considered, it was more than fair. And it spoke volumes about the amazing men the Page brothers had become.
“Relax,” Quarry urged, brushing his lips across my jaw. “This is a good thing.”
I swallowed hard and nodded, not even the least bit relaxed.
March suddenly flopped into the chair beside his father. “Is she seriously crying again?” he signed.
Quarry smirked and ruffled our son’s dark-brown hair. “If you think this is bad, you should have grown up with Aunt Eliza. She cried about everything, pregnant or not.”
“She still does,” he mumbled. “So, you getting new ears or what?”
Quarry’s gaze drifted back to mine, and he arched an eyebrow in question. “I don’t know. Am I?”
Drying the tears from under my eyes, I straightened in my chair. “Yeah. You’re right. This is nothing.”
Tossing his arm around the back of March’s chair, Quarry anchored his hand on my thigh. “Okay, Doc. We’re ready.”
The doctor began rattling off information, going over a few simple instructions and warning us to keep our expectations low. We had been told that sounds were easy, but it sometimes took a while for voices to become clear with the implant. And, over the last few days, I’d been obsessing over the fact that, sometimes, it didn’t work at all.
I listened with rapt attention, but Quarry barely paid him any mind and instead snuck his fingers down to tickle March’s neck.
I tapped his arm to catch his eyes then snapped, “Pay attention!”
He made teasingly wide eyes at March, which made him laugh, before turning back to me. “Okay. What in the ever-loving hell is going on with you right now? You freaked when I lost my hearing. Now, you’re freaking when I’m about to get it back?”
I swallowed hard, those damn tears appearing once again.