Infertile.

I didn’t ask for more. I don’t want to know how or why she can’t have more children. The fact that God would rob a woman like her of the ability to bear life cramps my chest. I swallow back the lump that threatens to close my throat. And why the fuck do I feel like I lost something I never had?

“We better get dressed. I’d hate for Axelle to find us like this on our first sleepover.” She kisses my chest, then runs her nose along my skin and breathes in deep.

My heart beats a little faster, the blood in my body reawakening to her touch. I wrestle my thoughts into submission. Gliding my hand up her spine and into her hair, I bring her mouth to mine. I pull at her lips until she opens to let me in. Our tongues glide together in a sensual promise. We’re not through with each other, but now’s not the time.

With a nip to her lower lip, I end the kiss. We get dressed, her in a pair of sweatpants that she rolls twice at her waist, and a ribbed tank top. I throw on my pants and thermal. She moves to her dresser, tugging open the top drawer and pulling out a fluffy pink ball of cotton.

I bite my lip against a smile. The socks.

“My woman and her cold feet.” The memory of what those socks did to me the first time I saw them makes my mouth water. She drops her ass to the bed and slides them on one by one. And just like before, my shorts get tight. What is it about those socks?

I hold out my hand and pull her into my arms, kissing her head. “Channel surfing?”

“Perfect.”

It isn’t long after we sit on the couch in front of the television that the lock on the door clicks. Axelle walks in and drops her stuff on the kitchen table.

“How’d it go?” Layla calls from the couch, her body in a ball at my side.

Axelle stops just shy of the hallway, her gaze still fixed on the floor.

Layla pushes up and pivots her body to face her daughter. “Axelle? Everything okay?” A tremor of worry laces her words.

I stand and move toward Axelle, but stop a good distance away. My shoulders get tight. Something’s off. And then I hear the telltale sniffle. She’s crying.

“What’s up, kiddo?” Not the smoothest thing to say, but I have zero experience in this area. All I know is that my woman’s kid is upset. This will upset my woman. I need to fix it.

Layla rushes to Axelle, throwing her arms around her. “Oh, sweetie. Did he say no?”

Say no? Killer? No fucking way. That kid’s a breath away from genius, and only a stupid fuck would say no to a girl like Axelle.

“He said yes,” she whispers into her mom’s shoulder.

Layla pulls back and gives her daughter a shaky smile. “Well, babe, that’s good.” She brushes Axelle’s hair back from her face. “Why are you crying?”

“There were—ugh, they’re so stupid!” She wipes at her eyes and tucks her hair behind her ears. “Kids from school were at the coffee shop. They had… pictures… printed out from some stupid website.”

“Fuck,” I growl over Layla’s audible gasp.

Her wide, panicked eyes find mine.

Axelle sniffs. “They were passing them around. Telling me they were going to show the teachers and principal tomorrow. Started making jokes about…” She shakes her head.

Fucking asshole kids. What I wouldn’t do to go down there and scare the piss out of them. “What did Killer do?” That little shit better have done something, or he’s going to have to answer to me, and he won’t like what I have to say.

Her face crumples as she sobs. “He told the guys to shut the fuck up. They started pushing him and…” She covers her face and cries.

“Is he okay?” Damn, first these douche-bag dicks are messing with Axelle, and now my boy Killer?

“They hit him once, but he did some crazy move with his arms and got the guy in a headlock. He choked him until the guy passed out, and the rest of the jerks took off.”

Sleeper hold. Nice to know my work with the kid is paying off.

Layla frames her daughter’s face, forcing eye contact. “I’m sorry that happened to you guys. I meant to talk to you about the photos, but I didn’t realize how quickly they’d spread. It’s only gossip.”

“Mom, the picture is real. The picture isn’t gossip. Did you really take off your top? In front of all those people?” Her voice is strong with frustration, possibly shame.

Layla’s eyes slide to mine then back. “No. I didn’t. It was an… inside joke between Blake and me. They took that picture at the worst possible time, and I… I…”

“Your mom’s a good woman, kiddo. You know that. I know that. Who gives a flying fuck what anyone else thinks? Those kids from school are mean, insecure, and jealous as hell. You’re a sweet girl, you’re smart, you’re drop dead pretty. People will do anything to take a girl like you down.”

Her blue eyes, shining with tears, stare into mine. She doesn’t talk, but looks at me as if she’s hearing a foreign language that she’s desperate to understand.

“I realize that you’re being forced to face things, mature things that a sixteen-year-old girl shouldn’t have to deal with. But this is life, and life can get ugly. Your mom loves you. Together, you girls can get through anything. Including some piece of shi—crap, gossip. You feel me?”

She blinks, looking stunned, then gives a slow nod. Layla’s cheeks are streaked with tears that she makes no effort to hide. On instinct, I take the few steps and pull them both in for a hug. They melt into my body, each wrapping one arm around my back.

I kiss Layla’s head. “With my fight coming up, things are going to get worse before they get better. If you girls are up for the challenge, we’ll get through it. Together.”

They hold on tight, neither of them saying a word.

“What do you say?” I release them and wait for their answer.

Layla looks to her daughter. They do some of that non-verbal conversation crap that chicks are so good at, and smile.

Axelle stands tall, tucks her hair behind her ears, and dries the moisture from her eyes. “Yeah, we can handle that.”

A smile curls my lips. “Sweet. Now, who’s up for some crappy TV?”

“Oh, me. River Monsters is on at nine.” Axelle takes off down the hallway to her room. “Let me throw on my jammies.”

My eyes move to Layla. Her lips are parted, and one hand is placed over her heart.

I shrug. “What?”

She turns to me slowly, her face soft… “That was perfect. I mean… thank you.”

“Not a big deal, Mouse. Just speaking the truth. She’s a smart girl. No use in candy-coating.” I lean against the wall. “Gotta say though, I’m barely restraining myself from going to the coffee shop and teaching those little shits a lesson. You fuck with my girls, you fuck with me. And that—oomph!”

She barrels into my chest, and I have to catch my breath.

Her arms wrap me up. “I…”

“You what, sweetheart?” There’s no way to know, but something about her trailing off sounded like she was about to say I love you.

“I… am in the mood for ice cream.”

I sag against the wall, my body heavy under her words. Is it possible that I want her to love me? Even if I can’t say the same? I do like her, a lot, to the point that being away from her for even the smallest fraction of time is physically painful.

But love? No. No way.

Love is something that grows over time. Not a fleeting feeling to be thrown around casually and tossed aside when it no longer suits.

A quick burst of adrenaline spikes in my blood. What have I done? I’ve been flying on the high of hot sex and mushy feelings. I haven’t stopped long enough to think this through. Now I’ve got a sixteen-year-old girl depending on me to shield her because I’m having more than simple feelings for her mom. The room gets small and closes in. What if things don’t work out? I mean, it’s bound to end sooner or later, unless we get married.

Me? Married?

That was never part of the plan. All my daddy issues combined with the fact that I’m a dick does not a husband make. Or a stepfather.

Yeah, it’s decided. She can’t love me. Love equals expectations. Expectations lead to disappointment. And disappointment is the death of marriage.

It’s good that she doesn’t love me.

Fucking splendid.

Why in the hell do I feel like I’ve just been punched in the stomach?

Twenty-four

Blake

It’s been one week since I tore shit up with Jonah and Rex, and I’m still crawling in my skin. Nothing’s helping. My music no longer makes a fucking dent in my hostility. I feel great when I’m with Layla, but one mention of her past and—fuck.

I’d been convinced that it’s genetic, but if that were the case, it would’ve started earlier than a few weeks ago. I wrote it off to my protective side kicking in, since having Layla in my life has brought out a possessiveness that I didn’t know I had. But that doesn’t explain the paranoia and the rage that constantly lurks just beneath the surface.

It’s time to get some help.

I drag ass to Doc Z’s office as my last resort. Opening up and exposing a weakness is a rule one no-no in my book. But I’m out of options and looking for answers.

Knocking twice, I crack the door. “Hey, Doc. You have a minute?”

“Oh, sure.” In a quick move, he shoves paperwork into the top drawer of his desk. “What’s up?”

I step inside the small room, and the smell of antiseptic and Ace bandages fills my nose. Closing the door behind me to avoid being overheard, I sit where Doc motions for me to take a seat. “Is it your back? Do you need another round of cortisone?”