She pushes into the room and drops down on the bed next to me. “Good. I aced my chem project. Looks like I’ll be graduating and off to college after all.”
There was some concern after everything happened and Stewart went to prison; Axelle’s grades dropped dramatically. The school threatened to hold her back if she couldn’t pull them up, but thankfully she agreed to continue counseling and got a tutor.
“Proud of you, babe.” I wrap my arms around her and kiss her temple. “Have you thought about where you want to go?”
She shrugs her backpack off and pulls a brochure out of the front pouch to hand it to me.
I take in the modern buildings, desert trees, and four bold letters. “UNLV?” I try to calm my voice even through my excitement.
Her gaze drops and a light pink colors her cheeks. “I want to stay close, ya know, just in case you need me to help out with the baby.” She rubs her hand over my swollen belly with an expression of pure love lighting her bright blue eyes.
“Honey, you don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine. I have Blake, Raven, Eve and—”
“I want to.” Panic flickers behind her eyes before it disappears and is replaced with worry. “I mean I hope that’s okay with you.”
“Of course it’s okay.” I run my hand through her long hair. “I just don’t want you to give up any college experiences for babysitting.”
She sighs, her eyes fixed on her baby brother or sister. “I’m just . . . I’m not ready to go too far yet.”
I get that. I do. She has issues with abandonment for obvious reasons, and until she feels safe to swan dive from the nest, there’s no way I’ll push her out. “Good. You can come home for dinner on Sundays, and I’ll do your laundry.”
“Deal.” She leans in and kisses my belly. “I have a study group at the library tonight, so I’ll be home late.”
“Okay, I’m going to the training center for a couple hours.”
She walks out of the room, and for the second time today, my heart feels heavy with warmth. I have a man who loves me, a baby who’ll be here any day, and a daughter who wants to hang around a little longer.
My phone vibrates again, and being lost in all the feelings tumbling though my chest, I don’t think to check the caller ID.
“Hello?”
“L-Layla?”
My brows furrow at the unfamiliar male voice. I frequently get work-related calls from men, but there’s something about the informal way he says my name that feels personal.
My back goes ramrod straight. “Who’s this?”
“Please, just . . . don’t hang up.” He’s whispering, jittery.
Adrenaline races through my veins, and my hand instinctively goes to my baby. “Who is this?”
“It was me that night . . . you got pregnant. I—”
I press End and toss the phone from my shaking hand. Whoever called was there that night? It was me that night. That makes him my rapist.
Oh no! No, no, no, this can’t be happening.
Images from that night eighteen years ago flash through my mind. Whether they’re actual memories or pieces of my nightmares, I don’t know. My breath comes quickly, and I squeeze my eyes closed.
Bodies, confusion, they were laughing . . .
My stomach turns violently, and I race to the bathroom sink where I heave and spit but manage to keep from throwing up. Who the hell was that and how did he find me?
“I don’t want this. I don’t want this . . . not now.” Not when everything in my life is finally good. Safe.
I take a deep breath and consider my reflection. Red-rimmed and watery eyes, pale skin, I swallow down some tap water and rinse my face. I’m not doing this. I refuse to allow whatever happened that night back into my life. No, I have control now. Total control. I breathe through the fear, in and out, until I’m back in command of my body. I’ll be okay.
If I avoid his calls, he’s sure to give up eventually. I have no desire to relive the night I got pregnant with Axelle, and she’s made it clear she isn’t interested in her biological father. End of story.
Rejuvenated, even if only a little, I brush my hair and throw on a pair of leggings, an oversized Henley that says “Rock n’ Roll Stole my Soul,” and my favorite biker boots. If nothing else, getting out of this house and around people will help.
I eye my phone on the bed as if it’s a poisonous animal. “Don’t be such a wimp, Layla.” I grab it and shove it in my purse, vowing to only answer if I recognize the number and to make sure Blake doesn’t catch wind of any of this.
I will protect my family, no matter the cost.
Four
Layla
“Here.” Blake hands me two green pills and a glass of water then drops down beside me on the couch.
We’d just eaten dinner and settled in to watch “Vikings,” which we’d DVR’d a few nights ago. It’s the only show that we both agree kicks major ass, even if for completely different reasons. He likes the battle scenes, while I like watching Ragnar and Rolo do just about anything, preferably shirtless.