Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
LAYA
A fter showering, feeding Romeo, and dressing, I leave the bedroom and head downstairs, smiling as Owen talks to my son in a gentle voice reserved solely for him.
“Daddy is going to build you the biggest fort, little buddy. Just like on Mommy’s Pinterest.” My heart floods with love for them both. There’s something hot about a man holding a baby, especially barefoot in tight jeans and a white T-shirt stretched over his muscular frame.
Romeo stares back at him, and I swear it looks like he’s taking it all in. When Owen grins down at him with love in his eyes, a sharp pang hits me square in the chest.
Carlos never looked at him like that.
He never spoke of a future with our son. He didn’t discuss spending time with him, his dreams of a life together.
“You okay, baby? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. I think we need to get you a therapist for trauma or something.”
“You do?”
“Damn fucking right, I do.” He steps closer, and heat radiates from my pores at his fresh, masculine scent I know so well. “You clearly have PTSD, although…” He grazes a hand over his head, another sign of his nervousness I know so well. He did it a lot around me when I was younger, as if I terrified him by being so close to him. Resting his lips beside my ear, the touch of his breath sends a shimmer of desire through me. “I like you suckling on my cock.”
I rear back to search his eyes. “You do?”
“Absolutely, you can take me in your mouth whenever you like.”
Oh, sweet Jesus, how I’ve longed to hear those words. “I can?”
“Yes, baby, you can.” Then he steps back, and my body deflates. “Now. I made you breakfast. Sit.” He points toward the table. “I need to change Daddy’s buddy, then we’re going over to your parents’ for lunch.”
Daddy’s buddy? I practically melt on the spot.
“We are?” Excitement builds inside me at the thought of seeing my mom and dad, but it quickly diminishes at the thought of coming clean to them and, worse, to Tate.
“I’ll handle Tate,” Owen says with confidence.
An onslaught of panic ripples through me. “I don’t want any trouble, Owen.”
“There won’t be any trouble, baby girl. I’m just telling him how it is.”
I cock my eyebrow. “And how is it?”
“That we’re married, we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together, and that you’re the love of my life. I’m Romeo’s father.” The fact he included my son in his admission only makes my love for him shine brighter.
“I’ve got this, baby girl.” He takes my hand and kisses it, and I can only hope he’s right, that he does indeed have this.
M y mom rushes me as soon as I step foot into the house. Her familiar warmth wraps around me, bringing me the comfort I’ve craved for what feels like a lifetime.
She peppers kisses over my cheek. “My girl. Oh, thank God you’re home.”
Steph Kavanagh is a saint, concealed in high heels and sophistication that rivals any runway model’s. Beneath her exterior of a successful businesswoman and a fortune of wealth dating back decades, there lies a deeply passionate woman. Her drive and ambition to give others a better life, an opportunity to be better, and in doing so, she’s surrounded by a series of charities gifting her time and money in helping the next generation succeed.
It’s through one of those charities that my brother met his wife, Ava. She was a part of the charity in which my mom and dad host as summer guests and, in most circumstances, future education sponsors.
Ava was celebrating her birthday. Unbeknownst to my brother, her eighteenth birthday. The following morning, he found out, and they went their separate ways until a few years later when she interned at STORM Enterprises. They’ve been inseparable ever since, despite Ava’s dark, traumatic background that resulted in a monster from her past attempting to break them up and kidnap Ava. They remain stronger than ever, and it’s with the knowledge that my brother loves so deeply despite age or circumstance that I hope will win him over today.
“And let me see my boy!” My mom pulls back and beams in Owen’s direction, who walks in with Romeo in his carrier. “Oh my word, he looks just like you!”
I don’t know a lot about my birth parents other than they were addicts who passed away due to their misuse, but I do know that when I arrived here, I was a scared little girl used to eating out of garbage bags. My mom and dad showered me with the love every child deserves, and not once did I ever feel anything but family. So I know Owen looks at my son with such love and protection because it’s exactly how my parents looked at me, like they want to wrap me in cotton wool and treasure me all the same.
My mom unclips and lifts Romeo out, and his little butt scrunches up, and I smile at his adorable, sleepy, pouty face. “Laya?” Tates voice cuts through my mom’s soft coos toward Romeo.
Slowly, I spin to face my brother as he practically runs toward me. The panic engrained in his face makes guilt swim through me. He gasps, his mouth falls open. “What the hell happened to your face?” His eyes dart toward Owen.
I had thought my face was no longer bruised and the cut almost gone, but clearly, I was wrong. I wring my hands in front of him but decide to rip off the Band-Aid. “My husband did it.” A deep growl emits from Owen, anger radiating from him, and I wince at the realization.
“He fucking hit you?”
Owen steps to the side. “Her husband didn’t hit her.” Tate’s eyes narrow before he brings his gaze back to mine, as if searching for the answer. “The mistake hit her. That same mistake is dead, so he won’t lay another finger on her ever.” He laces his fingers with mine, and Tate’s eyes follow the action. “I’m her husband now, and I’m going to worship the ground she walks on.”
Tate jolts as if he’s been electrocuted, then laughs, but it lacks mirth. “You’re kidding?”
Owen broadens his shoulders, and my heart hammers in my chest. “I’m not kidding. I love Laya and she loves me. I should have done this a long time ago, but…” He pauses and glances at my mom. “I made the mistake of giving her time.” He clears his throat, as it becomes apparent he’s getting emotional. “I refuse to give her any more time. I refuse to back down. She’s my everything, and Romeo is my son. We’re married, Tate. I adopted Romeo. Deal with it.”
Tate’s face morphs from shocked to pissed in the blink of an eye. “Deal with it?” he whispers while his focus remains locked on our joined hands. “Fucking deal with it!” he bellows, making me jump and causing Romeo to cry out. Owen grinds his jaw, and his grip on my hand tightens. I want to tell him it’s painful, but I remain motionless.
My mom shushes Romeo as she slips from the foyer.
“Fucking deal with it?” he screams again, and his face grows redder by the second, making my throat become dry and filling me with tension. Owen feels it too, so in tune with my body, like I am his.
“Enough,” he spits out while his free hand slices through the air. “Enough, Tate. Just calm the hell down.”
If he thought that was going to ease the situation, he was wrong. Tate’s eyes bulge, and before I know what’s happening, he lunges toward Owen. His fist connects with Owen’s jaw, and Owen releases my hand, pushing me to the side. I watch on in horror as Tate delivers blow after blow to my husband’s stomach, but he continues to hold his hands up, allowing him to pummel him.
“Oh, shit!” Mase and Shaw come rushing into the foyer, followed by Reed, who leans against the wall with not a care in the world. I want to scream at him to help, but Mase wastes no time in dragging a flailing Tate off Owen, who stands unperturbed by my brother’s outburst.
“You son of a bitch! You goddamn son of a bitch, Owen!” Spittle flies from his mouth, and I wrap my arms around myself, hating this, hating all of it.
Mase speaks lowly in Tate’s ear, and his shoulders seem to ease, so Mase loosens his hold, but no sooner does he do that does Tate fly through the air, sending Owen crashing into the side table.
The sound of them hitting the marble floor and my mom’s vase shattering sends a tsunami of memories through my head, and suddenly, my chest feels like it’s being squeezed, my airways become restricted, and I can’t breathe. Oh, sweet Jesus, I can’t breathe. My vision becomes blurry as panic takes hold of me.
I close my eyes, trying to regain some form of control over my own body, to no avail.
Carlos’s hand darts out and hits my face. The hateful glare in his eyes is terrifying. My head hits the floor with a crack, and all I feel is the terror of knowing our son is in the same room.
“He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill us,” I chant, feeling trapped inside my head.
Wetness coats my face, but I’m too detached to register what that is. “Please. Someone. Please.” My body shakes uncontrollably as I beg for someone to rescue us.
“I want to go home,” I murmur. “I want to go home.”