Chapter 43
43
ARCHER
L ayla elbows her way through the Valentine’s day crowd clogging the front entrance of Ronan and Nicky’s guesthouse. She barely acknowledges a soul, making sure to maintain her grip on my hand as she guides me forward.
“Comin’ through, comin’ through!” she announces with each step we take, our red velvet cupcakes stored in the bag dangling from her arm.
My bossy fake-girlfriend is a woman on a mission. I like it.
The music is loud and everyone’s got a drink in hand, talking and laughing, some people even making out.
Once Layla and I have arrived at our intended destination—the couch positioned in the furthest corner of the room—I turn to face her, one edge of my mouth curled upward in amusement.
“Damn. Maybe I was wrong to call you my chihuahua. You’re definitely my pitbull tonight.” I reach for the front of her coat, slowly undoing the buttons.
My nostrils flare with every inch of her gorgeous body that I uncover. I suck in a sharp breath as I ease the coat off her shoulders and fully take her in.
She looks more than just pretty tonight. She looks glamorous, in a little scrap of a red dress that shows off her shoulders and her neckline and a whole lot of leg. Her bangs frame her captivating eyes and the rest of her hair is pulled into a fluttery updo. She looks like a vixen who stepped off of an Old Hollywood screen.
What are we even doing here? Since my parents are babysitting Sky tonight, I should have convinced Layla to skip this potluck shindig so we could have a party-for-two at home.
“Hey, you’re not the only one who can be protective,” she says defensively. “If anyone steps on your injured foot, I’m kicking their ass. Now, sit.”
I chuckle. “I told you, Layla. I’m fine.”
She’s not swayed. “Sit.”
With an exaggerated huff, I lower onto the couch. “Happy now?” I can’t even pretend to be annoyed. I love how she’s showering me with attention, and I especially like how she keeps touching me.
“Yes,” she declares. “We were walking around the farmer’s market for a long time. You need to take some of the weight off your ankle.”
“You worry too much.” I grab her hand, yanking her down into my lap. I groan at the weight of her soft ass pressed against my groin.
“Did I hurt you?” she asks in alarm, already trying to get up.
“Quite the opposite.” My arm bands around her waist to hold her in place. I grin when my cock twitches beneath her.
Layla sighs, covering my mouth with hers in a greedy, little kiss. I go right along with it, letting my arms come tighter around her. I don’t miss the way she wiggles her bottom for a better feel of my semi-chub. My hand falls to her thigh, fingertips sliding an inch beneath the hem of her—
“Get a room, maybe?”
Layla startles and abruptly steals her lips from mine. We both glance in the direction of the voice.
I see a vaguely familiar face wearing an annoyed frown. It takes me a few seconds to find the name. “Easton Raines?” I ask.
The man nods. Then a few seconds later, he seems to recognize me, too. “Wait—Ronan’s brother?”
“Archer Brighton,” I supply.
“Right, right.” The hockey player stretches a hand out to me and I shake it.
“This is my girlfriend, Layla,” I say, deriving way too much pride from spewing the lie.
“Nice to meet you,” he says to her with a tip of his chin as the two of them shake hands.
“Likewise.” She nods in reply. Then her eyes turn to me. “I’ll go deal with our jackets and the cupcakes. Can I get you a drink?” she asks sweetly.
I lean forward to try to get up off the couch. “I’ll get—”
“Sit,” she says in a stern voice I’ve never heard her use before. It’s kind of hot. “Now, what do you want to drink?”
“A beer,” I huff, staring her down.
She stares back. “Fine.” Her gaze softens with sympathy when she glances at the medical boot on Raines’s foot. “Can I get you anything?”
He shakes his head, lifting his water bottle. “Thanks, though.”
She throws me one more warning look. “Stay put.” Then she heads across the room. My eyes follow the sway of her sweet ass until it disappears into the throng of partygoers.
She’s really been taking care of me. I momentarily consider playing up my injuries just to prolong how much of her attention I can get. That might be an asshole move, though, so I decide against it.
Only when Layla disappears do I take a minute to check out my surroundings. As a military man, that should have been my first move when we stepped into this new environment, but all the Layla yumminess had me distracted.
Ronan’s open-concept guesthouse is decorated with red hearts taped to the walls and paper cupids dangling from the ceiling. Everyone is dressed in red or black or silver and R&B music plays in the air. There are far too many guests at this party. I’m sure we’re breaking the fire safety code.
In addition to all my siblings and their partners, I notice more than a few familiar faces in the crowd. All of the Westbrook brothers are here with their significant others. Cash and Meghan. Jasper and Emma. Harry and Nadia. Davis and Alana. Mason’s four younger sisters have made an appearance, too. They’re all playing one of those adults-only trivia game on the other side of the room. A few of Darius’s buddies are stepping through the door with their wives. I spot Liam and Eliza Kline as well as Cannon and Alexia Kingston, and I can’t believe they made the drive all the way out here for the party.
“Shit, man. Sorry I didn’t recognize you,” Raines says to me. “With the mood I’m in, I barely recognize myself these days.” I notice his crutches tucked against the wall behind the couch.
I cringe at the memory of that moment at the Sin Valley hockey game where my brother’s teammate hurt himself.
I glance out the window, cursing the darkened skating rink where I got my own injury. “You and me have something in common. Not that my ankle sprain is anything compared to your…”
“Broken fibula,” he supplies morosely.
“Fuck.” I cringe.
He emits a bitter chuckle. “At least you have a pretty girl to take care of you. Me? I’m stuck with my two hairy brothers bossing me around and forcing anti-inflammatories down my throat.” He points out two guys across the room. “Prison Guard Number One and Prison Guard Number Two, I call them. That’s what I get for hiring one brother as my agent and the other as my trainer.” He takes an angry chug from his water bottle.
The first man is in a deep, serious discussion with Darius and the other suits from the Sin Valley Saints hockey franchise. He looks like a real corporate type from the way he wears his business suit to the way not one hair on his head is out of place.
The other guy is younger with a devil may care grin I don’t like at all. He looks like trouble as he flirts with three of Mason’s four sisters at the same time!
Raines and I continue to chat as he tells me all about his injury. I’m no doctor but it sounds like a long road to recovery. I definitely feel like a punk for the way I’ve been limping around on my basic sprain.
“Looks like I’m out of the game for the rest of the season,” he concludes on a sigh. “My older brother is trying to find me a nice, quiet place in our hometown where I can relax and focus on my recovery.”
My head bobs slowly. “Sounds like a good plan. I hope the quiet time helps.”
“It’ll probably drive me stir-crazy,” he mutters. “I don’t think I’m cut out for the small town life anymore.”
I shrug a shoulder. “You’ll find a way to keep busy. Worst comes to worst, I can recommend a few good puzzle books.”
He turns up his nose at me and I huff a laugh.
Already missing my woman, I turn my attention toward the crowd. I spot Layla with her friends grabbing our beers in the kitchenette.
I also see Raines’s idiot brother. He’s sidling up to my girl with a smirk on his face. No fucking way.
He cradles Layla’s elbow and I stand up too fast. He leans in by her ear and I’m already wobbling in that direction. All the pain that was slowing me down for the past week is suddenly gone.
Raines chuckles, calling after me. “Go easy on my dumbass brother. What he lacks in IQ, he makes up for in puppy dog charm.”
Charm, my ass.
I’ve waited for Layla for years. I’m not gonna risk losing her to some horny dipshit now.
I don’t get far before Layla is backing out of his grasp. She gives the man a polite smile, shakes her head ‘no’ and turns in my direction, two beer cans in hand.
She spots me hobbling toward her and her eyes narrow. “Just where do you think you’re going?” she asks, meeting me in the middle of the room.
“To check on you,” I announce with a growl. “And defend you, if necessary.”
She rolls her eyes before motioning to my bad ankle.
“I’m a military-trained destruction machine,” I remind her with a macho huff.
“You’re injured.” She looks pretty pissed off.
I lean in to kiss her cheek, trying to appease her. “Not too injured to protect you. And definitely not too injured to dance with you.”
I set the beers on an end table, then grip her hand in mine. She doesn’t protest when I lead her away from the crowd.
We find ourselves in the little alcove right outside the washroom. I slide my arm around her waist and jerk her body against mine, finally earning a smile. Yes!
Her anger melts, dissolving into a dreamy stare. “You’re ridiculous,” she says, her words completely contradicting her facial expression.
“I’m protective,” I correct her.
She slings her arms around my neck as we sway together now. “You’re jealous .”
“And I’m realizing that you’re something I’m not willing to lose,” I fling back.
I expect another snarky comeback from her, but instead, Layla freezes. First, a quivering bottom lip. Then, a pair of big brown eyes full of tears.
“What is it, Belle?” I ask softly, cupping her cheek.
She drops her eyes, shaking her head. “God—sometimes, you make me forget who I am…” she whispers.
“I’m not sure what you mean by that.” And I’m not willing to let this conversation go until I know.
Her tentative gaze flicks up to mine. “I’m a single mother.”
“Yes, and?”
“And you treat me like…”
“Like the prize you are!”
“Archer…” she sighs. “To the world, I’m a burden, a failure, a statistic, the perfect fucking example of what a screw-up looks like.”
Anger spreads inside me like a wildfire. “Then the world’s got it all wrong. You’re not a fucking failure, Layla.”
“Aren’t I? Archer, I can’t even put a roof over my child’s head.”
“You have ‘circumstances’. So what?” I shrug before motioning down at my injured leg. “We all have ‘circumstances’. It’s part of what makes us human. None of that makes you a burden.”
“I’ve just become so used to feeling like an inconvenience over the years,” she admits.
“You. Are. Not. A. Failure,” I insist. “You’re a triumph. You’re a model of what resilience looks like. You’re strong. Gritty. Determined.”
“Stop saying those things to me. It’s not true. I’m none of those things.”
“Are you forgetting that you had the rug pulled from under you? The person who was supposed to be your support system pulled the rug out from under you, just for the sick pleasure of seeing you fail. Yet even with every single odd stacked against you, you wake up every day—tired and overwhelmed and afraid—and you stack one brick on top of the other with your bare hands, building a life for you and your child. You’re not a failure. You’re a fighter, Layla. Even with the game rigged against you, you come out swinging every day. That’s why I admire you so fucking much. And that’s why I will always do whatever I can to help you win.”
Stringing this many words together is torture. Laying my feelings out on a platter is worse than pulling teeth. But I do it for Layla.
Always Layla. Only Layla.
“Gosh. It feels like you’re speaking a foreign language.” She laughs softly. “My brain doesn’t know how to process it. “The people I’ve relied on most have always treated my wants and needs like an inconvenience. Eventually, I realized that they were all willing to leave me to drown.” She sighs shakily. “So I learned to swim on my own. I learned to do it all on my own.”
“I want to be your life raft, Layla. Any time. If you just let me.”
She shivers.
“I know it might be hard to let go of control, but whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here.”
She glances around the room before dropping her head and discreetly wiping her eyes. “You can’t make me cry now, Archer. We’re at a party. Everyone we know is here.” She curls her shoulders inward, trying to shrink in on herself. I won’t allow it.
I lift her chin, forcing her eyes to meet mine as our bodies press together. “If you need to cry, you’re allowed to cry, and I will fight any person in here who has a problem with it.”
She laughs softly, her eyes shining, rays of hope flickering beneath the veil of sorrow.
This house party might not be the ideal location for a come-to-Jesus moment, but if a shoulder to cry on is what Layla needs, then I’ll be that for her. Right here, right now. I don’t care who’s watching.
“My parents have always seemed annoyed by my very existence,” she goes on. “Razor always acted like I was a waste of space. And maybe it’s all in my head, but I feel like people judge me because I was the one who ended our relationship. As if staying with that horrible man and suffering for the rest of my life would have somehow made me a ‘better’ woman. I can’t remember the last time I made it through the day with out feeling this cloud of unworthiness hanging over my head. It follows me everywhere I go.”
I’m growing angry. So angry at the world for making her doubt her place in it.
Leaning down, I sweep my mouth over hers. “You’re allowed to take up space, Layla. You’re allowed to live and dance and smile. You’re allowed to have needs and desires and fears and dreams. Just like every other person on the face of this planet does.” I cradle her face with both hands, making sure she hears me when I say this. “You’re allowed to be loved.”
And you are.
You’re loved by me.
Even if I’m too chicken to say it.
“You’re worthy of all that and more, Belle.”
She lays her cheek against my chest and I feel my heart fighting against my ribcage, begging to be released, begging for permission to beat again. My heart only wants to beat for her.
“This has been a really stressful, messy time for Sky and me,” Layla whispers. “And I’ve spent so much time worrying about whether we were being too loud and too untidy and too much in your house, taking up too much space. But you’ve always treated us like we’re welcome, even though we’re not the perfect house guests.”
I kiss the crown of her head. “That’s because you’re not just house guests. You’re family.”
My family. At least that’s what I wish for.
“Thank you, Archer Brighton. You make me feel worthy. When you hold me like this, I feel worthy.”