Chapter 5
POPE
Even with the windows in Savage’s office boarded up, the storm makes its presence known, growing stronger and angrier in conjunction with Allie’s contractions and mood.
Though, I can’t say I blame her.
With all the stress she’s clearly under, having to deliver her baby here, like this, instead of at the hospital where she planned, must be another blow to a woman already fighting something that’s had her twisted up for months.
The catastrophic winds batter the building and rattle the glass against the wood set up to protect it, a reminder that we are at Mother Nature’s mercy right now, no matter how badly we both would prefer to be anywhere else.
I’d do anything to help her through this, but deep down, I worry when all is said and done, whatever happens tonight is going to make things between us even worse.
Allie’s head snaps toward the violent sound, and she sucks in a sharp breath, her body tensing. I want to tell her to stop worrying about it, to concentrate on what we’re about to do, but maybe agonizing about the storm offers the distraction she needs so that she’s not focusing on the pain that I can do absolutely nothing about.
Or the fact that I’m the one here helping bring her first child into the world.
No matter the tiny glimpses of our old rapport peeking up since I arrived, the trust she’s placed in me to do this, she still has an impenetrable wall up around her. The same one she put there firmly that night everything between us came crumbling apart, and she refuses to bring it down for me even in this moment when she needs a lifeline to cling to.
Despite knowing the reason she put it in place, I want her to at least consider the possibility that I did what I did for her.
Not for me.
The fact that she can’t see that has been a festering wound in my soul for a decade. And today is only making it worse.
So many times over the last few hours, I’ve almost brought it up, tried to explain my actions that drove this wedge between us. Each time, I gulped the truth back down—afraid it would drive her further away and possibly make her fight me when it comes time to do the really hard work required to bring her baby into this world.
Her eyes move back to me, wide, full of fear, but I don’t know if it’s due to the hurricane or the fact that we’re about to do this.
I tug her hand into mine, relief flooding me when she doesn’t immediately jerk it away. “We’ll be okay.”
This building has weathered worse storms and come out unscathed, remained the heart and soul of Hawke Enterprises for almost fifty years. It isn’t going anywhere, despite what Mother Nature may attempt outside.
“You’ll be okay.”
Women deliver babies all the time, often without any medical support at all. We’re warm, dry, and safe here to do this.
“The baby will be okay.”
It’s coming early, but there’s no reason to think anything will go wrong as long as I can keep Allie’s head in the game and prevent her from panicking.
“You need to take some deep breaths and try to slow your heart rate a little for me, all right?”
Without the benefit of any of the typical equipment we use to monitor mothers in active labor, I’ve had to resort to the most basic of measurements and assessments—the things I can see and feel with my own eyes and hands.
And I don’t like what I see.
Her breathing is too raggedy.
Her heart racing.
Her body too tense.
She gives me a sharp nod, fighting the tears, but before she can make any attempt to relax, another contraction makes her stiffen, squeezing my hand so tightly she crushes my fingers enough to make me wince.
“Breathe, Al. You’re fully dilated. We’re going to start pushing soon, okay?”
She grits her teeth and shakes her head. “I. Can. Wait.”
God fucking love her…
Even in this much pain, lying on her uncle’s office couch, minutes away from delivering this baby, she still clings to hope that Dad, Gabe, Coen, and Atlas might actually find us in time to get her to the hospital. But from the sounds of what’s going on outside, I wouldn’t be surprised if they had to turn back completely. You don’t mess with this type of weather unless you want to end up where I should be right now, back at the ER.
Guilt claws at my chest at abandoning Nora and my station, my job, my duty, to come looking for Allie. But seeing how close she is to delivering, it almost feels like it was fate that I would be the one to find her.
Her clenched hand relaxes slightly, and I pull mine free of it and shake it, trying to get the tingling to stop.
“I’m sorry, Teeny, but this baby isn’t waiting. But we can do this—you and me.”
Maybe they weren’t the right words to say because her tears immediately start flowing down her cheeks again.
Fuck.
I never could stand watching her cry, but this feels like some new form of torture designed to bring me to my knees for the woman who doesn’t want me here, doesn’t want my help or offered comfort.
Do your job, Pope.
Pretend she’s just another patient.
It’s impossible.
But it’s the only way I’ll get through this.
I scan the supplies I managed to scrounge together, including a pile of Hawkeye Club T-shirts that match the ones we both currently wear—replacements for the soaked clothes we had on when we came up to Savage’s office. The too-short jeans I found in Gabe’s office at least stay up on my hips, but I would much rather be in a fresh set of scrubs for this.
Allie tenses again, and I check her progress as a crack of thunder shakes the whole building, making even me flinch.
“All right, Al. We’re going to push on the next one, okay?”
“Shit.” She takes a sharp breath. “Shit.” Another gasp. “Shit.”
She relaxes slightly, as this contraction ebbs, and I grab the towels and knife and set them next to me on the coffee table.
“I need you to turn and face me.”
Her eyes widen slightly, like she’s about to argue, but I shake my head. There isn’t any way she’ll be able to push without her feet propped on this, and I need her open to me to ensure the birth canal is wide and clear.
“Al, we don’t have time.” I lock eyes with her, ensuring she sees how serious I am. “Turn.”
I slide my hand under her, helping her move on the couch until she’s propped against the back and can put her feet up on the coffee table on either side of me.
“As soon as the next one comes, I need you to bear down and push, okay?”
She nods, the tears trickling down the established red lines on her cheeks. The combined physical and mental anguish she’s going through almost make words I should never say fall from my lips—ones that wouldn’t be fair.
I swallow them back and get ready, but it doesn’t take long before she tenses again and starts to strain. “Good. Keep pushing as long and as hard as you can…”
Five seconds…
Ten…
Twenty…
Thirty…
Forty…
The baby moves closer to this world with each passing second and effort on her part, and the contraction finally stops.
Allie slumps back, a sob slipping from her throat. “I can’t-I can’t do this—”
So many women have said the same words to me during their labors, and every single one of them was wrong. The pain gets into their heads, and Allie is doing this under the most unpleasant of circumstances.
“You can. You will.”
I give her a moment to just cry while I keep my eyes on my watch, preparing for the next contraction. She needs the moment. She needs to let it out so that when it comes time to push again, she can breathe and use all the energy she has left to advance her labor instead of panicking.
“We’re almost there, Al. A few more hard pushes. That’s all it will take. Another one will be coming soo—”
I don’t even get the word out before the next one hits, and despite her insistence that she can’t, Allie pushes hard, gritting her teeth and clutching the edges of the couch. The leather creaks in protest the longer the contraction goes on, but the baby makes great progress.
“Good, keep pushing. As much as you can…”
She does as I count my way through it, and when she relaxes again and opens her eyes, I offer her a reassuring smile.
“You did good, Al. Keep it up.” I slide my hand over hers and squeeze it. “We’re almost there.”
She huffs, shifting on the couch. “We? I’m doing all the work…”
I fight a grin and pull my hand back, ready for the next contraction because the baby will likely crown with another good push.
It doesn’t take long before she bears down again, her anguished cry filling the room, combining with the fierce sounds of the storm battering the club.
The baby starts crowning, and I position myself to grab it. “Keep pushing, keep pushing.”
Allie sags back as the contractions stop, her breathing heavy, chest heaving.
“That was good, Al. One more, two tops.”
Her head shifts from side to side against the leather, her damp hair twisting behind her. “God, why does this hurt so much?”
“Do you want me to give you the clinical explanation?”
She rolls her eyes. “It was a rhetorical question, Pope.”
That draws a grin across my face.
I’ve missed this with her—the back and forth, the banter.
Despite the hostility still permeating her words, it feels good to actually be talking to her. Incredible to be the one who’s able to help her through this, even if she doesn’t want me here.
“Next one, big push.”
“Easier said than done, Pope—”
The contraction steals whatever her words were, and she bears down again, forcing the baby’s head farther out before her body relaxes.
Sweat drips down her temples, mixing with the tears that have been flowing non-stop since we started pushing. “Women voluntarily do this without medication?”
Fighting a laugh, I nod. “Actually, a lot do.”
“They’re fucking insane.”
“I’ll mention that next time someone tells me they want a natural birth.”
She scowls at me. “No, you won’t.”
I shake my head and grin at her. “No, I won’t.”
But keeping her talking and maybe even getting a laugh or a smile out of her will help her relax slightly going into the final effort.
Her fingers tighten around the edges of the couch cushions, and without me even having to tell her, she pushes hard, using every last ounce of strength she has left to get the baby’s shoulders through.
She collapses back as I scoop him up in one of the towels I had waiting.
“Good job, Al…”
Her eyes flutter open. “Why isn’t the baby crying?”
Terror fills her voice, and I immediately move to do what’s necessary.
“It’s okay, Al. Sometimes they need a second and some encouragement.” Adjusting my hold on the baby, I rub the chest and back, and a few seconds later, the first startled cry fills the air. “It’s a boy.”
Allie freezes and squeezes her eyes closed, releasing one of the most anguished sobs I’ve ever heard.
Relief.
Fear.
Maybe both.
I clean him up a little as he kicks and squeals, then hold him up so she can fully see him. “Pull your shirt up.”
She only hesitates a moment before doing it, exposing her breasts and smooth peachy skin the baby needs to feel against him right now.
I settle him to her chest, letting my gaze drift to her face. The sheer awe and love there makes my heart stall for a second, and I have to look away, or I might end up crying like she is.
Pushing to my feet, I retreat a half-step, trying to get myself back into doctor mode. “You should see if he’ll latch to feed. The colostrum you’re producing right now has a lot of important antibodies and other things he needs, and we don’t know how long we’ll be stuck here. He’s going to be hungry…”
Her eyes dart up to meet mine, the tears still flowing freely as she stares up at me. She uses her free hand to swipe them away and nods. “Okay. I’ll try.”
She adjusts the baby, giving him access to her breast, and he latches on and clings to her like the lifeline she is for him.
That’s always the way I felt about her.
Like she was the thing that kept me rooted in the real world when I spent so much time pushing myself to achieve stratospheric heights academically and could so easily get lost in those endeavors.
But that was a long time ago.
Emotion clogs my throat, and I have to turn back to ready her for the afterbirth and cleaning her up. Because God knows I can’t sit and watch her nurse another man’s baby right now without losing my soul completely.
* * *
ALESSANDRA
A loud crashjerks me awake, the heavy fog of sleep still trying to drag me back under, but Pope rests his hand on my shoulder, urging my head back down onto his lap.
“It was outside.”
It takes a few seconds for his words to sink in and for me to get my bearings.
Uncle Savage’s office.
The couch.
The storm screams outside, the wind rattling the windows again, fighting them for a way in.
Did I fall asleep like this?
I blink up at him, trying to remember, but everything is enveloped in a thick haze of bone-deep exhaustion I’ve never experienced before. Every part of my body aches, especially my chest, with each breath, but compared to the vivid memory of the pain that wracked me only a short time ago, this is more than bearable.
Especially snuggled up on Pope’s lap, his familiar scent enveloping me and bringing me back to the moment, even though my brain seems to want me to go back to sleep.
My gaze drifts up over Pope’s bare chest to my son, snuggled closely against his shoulder, wrapped up in what looks like one of the Hawkeye Club T-shirts, sleeping contently. “Did I fall asleep?”
He nods, his bourbon eyes examining me in the dark room. “Yes…”
The last thing I remember was Pope moving around the office, cleaning up after he had examined me for any complications post-delivery, averting his gaze while I fed the baby. Which means he settled onto the couch and moved me onto his lap at some point once I had passed out.
Just like any other time we’ve had to be in each other’s vicinity over the last decade, my first instinct is to pull away, no matter how comfortable I might be. To put much-needed space between us. But I’m too exhausted. My body and mind are both wrung out more than I knew possible.
The baby shifts slightly against him, and my chest tightens even more, worry immediately taking hold. “Is he all right?”
Pope glances at the little guy, rubbing his back gently to soothe him back to sleep. “He’s fine. They sleep a lot at this age.”
I try to swallow back the sob, but I can’t.
Not staring at the baby.
My baby.
The last few months, I’ve been terrified of this day, of what bringing this life into the world would mean for him, me, and the rest of the Hawkes. But now that he’s here, I can’t see any of the complications, just a perfect little angel with thick, dark hair and a tiny hand pressed against Pope’s chest.
Another sob slips free with the tears. “He’s so beautiful.”
Pope grins, glancing down at him. “He is. You did really well.” His eyes dart to meet mine. “I know this wasn’t easy for you…”
That’s the understatement of the century.
Nobody wants the ex-love of their life delivering their child, especially in the middle of this storm that seems intent on keeping us cooped up in here for any foreseeable future.
Whatever crashed outside was big—maybe the Hawkeye Club sign coming down. We’re going to have a lot of repair work to do when all this is said and done, and not only to the various Hawke Enterprises buildings. Getting stuck here with Pope ripped open old wounds I’ve tried so hard to let scar over and brought up memories I long attempted to forget.
I reach up and touch my son’s tiny fingers, inadvertently brushing against Pope’s bare chest with the movement. “Where’s your shirt?”
He smirks. “It was a little dirty, and skin-to-skin contact is good for babies.”
“So I’ve heard.”
All the books I read, trying to prepare myself for the delivery and having a newborn, threw so many things at me. It was too much to absorb, especially when I was caught in the abyss of trying to figure out how to protect my baby from his father.
One of Pope’s dark brows rises. “You want to take him?”
That vise cranks around my ribs, the same fear that I’m going to fail at this the way I did at keeping him safe gripping me. “He looks comfortable with you at the moment.”
Happy.
Safe.
All the things I can’t give him.
I let my eyes drift closed again, unable to look at the picture-perfect moment, knowing that everything is going to go to shit even worse than it already has as soon as we get out of here and the storm settles.
“Hey, Al?”
Pope drags his fingers through my hair gently, the familiar feeling relaxing me even more into him.
“What?”
“You seemed…”—he considers his words for a moment—“distressed by the fact that it was a boy.”
My entire body stiffens with his observation.
Of course, he would notice that.
Of course, he would ask.
Pope knows me too well not to.
He shifts slightly under me, never stopping the calming movement through my hair. “Were you hoping it was a girl?”
Shit.
I hadn’t intended to get into this with anyone—especially not Pope—today, or anytime, until I had some sort of plan, an idea of what I might be able to do to keep that dangerous man away from my child.
But he’s here now.
I don’t have any more time.
And if I don’t share the truth soon, no one will be able to stop his father from coming for him.
“No.” I shake my head. “It isn’t that. I just…” I suck in a deep breath and release it slowly before the words come tumbling out in a rush, racing to fill the room after I’ve held them back for so long. “I thought maybe if I had a girl that he wouldn’t care so much, that he might not be as likely to want to be involved in her life as if he had a son.”
Pope mutters something under his breath and shifts again. “Al, everyone’s been really patient with you and tried to respect your privacy during your pregnancy, but at this point, I think you need to tell me what the fuck is going on with the father of this baby.”
He’s right.
I open my eyes to meet his.
Gone is the professional doctor version of Pope Clarke, replaced by the one I used to run to when I needed comfort or advice growing up. The one who became so much more, only to snatch it away from me.
His eyes plead with me for the answers I haven’t given anyone. “Please, Al.”
Another sob rips from my throat, the tears welling and sliding down my temples. “I swear…I didn’t know who he was…”
Pope’s brow furrows as his shoulders tense, bracing himself for whatever truth I’m about to unload on him. “What do you mean?”
It’s going to sound so stupid.
Proof of how reckless and na?ve I really am.
How could I not see it?
How could I not know?
Swallowing my fear and regret to try to get through this explanation, I turn my head back to fully face Pope. “When we got together, I just thought he was, you know, a handsome, talented, flirty musician.”
“Musician?”
He repeats the word, and I can almost see him running it over in his mind, trying to think of anyone he might know who would fall under that category.
“You remember Dan, right? Dan Roe, who used to play at The Grind?”
Pope’s eyes widen, his jaw dropping slightly. “He’s the father of this baby?”
I give a sharp nod, then press my hand over my mouth to fight another hysterical sound from slipping out, shaking my head. “But you don’t understand…”
“Don’t understand what?”
“Who he really is.”
“Jesus, Al.” He tilts my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “Stop with the cryptic shit and just tell me.”
After keeping the truth locked away in a vault inside for so long, actually telling someone feels all kinds of wrong, like I’m revealing something meant to stay buried. But everything Pope said the other night at Nana’s was right—the Hawkes can’t help me if they don’t know what they’re up against.
“When I first got pregnant, I held off on telling him because we had so much going on with the fire at The Grind, and I knew he was not a serious relationship type of guy, that he was unlikely to want to be involved. I wanted to approach him carefully about it, but I was going to tell him because he had a right to know. I had planned to have that talk with him when he played at the reopening, but…”
Pope’s jaw hardens. “But then, the place got shot up.”
Vivid images flash through my head.
The joy of getting The Grind open again after the catastrophic fire.
All our regulars back for their favorite drinks after months of being shut down.
Even seeing Dan up on the small stage, singing and grinning at me, completely unaware that I was hiding my pregnancy from him.
Then everything changed.
“It wasn’t just the shooting that stopped me from telling him.”
The cracks of gunfire.
Breaking glass.
Screams.
People scrambling.
“That was the day I figured it out…”
The day everything came crashing down around me. All the plans I had for this baby, for a potential future for him—or her—changed the instant I realized I was completely wrong about the man I had let into my heart and my bed for that brief time.
“Figured what out, Al?”
I inhale deeply before unleashing the truth. “That Dan Roe is actually Daniele Roselli.”
Pope’s entire body stiffens, and his hand freezes in my hair. “Roselli?”
Another sob tumbles out of my mouth and fills the room, and I can’t fight the full tidal wave of tears anymore. “I swear, I didn’t know. No one did. Angelina sure as hell didn’t, or she never would’ve allowed him to play there.”
“What the fuck?” The sheer astonishment in Pope’s voice matches what I felt that day.
“We always assumed he asked for his payments in cash because he wanted to avoid taxes on them. Ang didn’t care. He brought in so much business when he played, and he was so nice and—”
Pope squeezes his eyes closed, his jaw locking. “I don’t want to hear about you and him together. Just tell me what I need to know.”
Shit.
His pain at thinking about me with someone else echoes precisely what I’ve felt over the last ten years, seeing him with other women, hearing him joke with everyone about all his romantic entanglements.
Why does he care?
He was the one who ended things back then.
It was his call.
So callous.
So abrupt.
So shockingly thoughtless that I never could have imagined anything I do in my life could affect him now.
But I can’t bear to see that pain flashing in his eyes, so I focus on the baby, so comfortable lying against Pope’s strong, hard chest.
“I was going to tell him that day, after everyone cleared out from the party. But then the shooting happened. Everybody inside ducked for cover or ran for the kitchen and the back door, and you and Nora and Skye and the rest of the family ran to the front to help Stone and Isaac and Kennedy. I was behind the register, kind of frozen for a minute, and then I peeked over it and saw Dan head straight for where the front windows had been. He stared at Roselli’s body while you all helped Stone, Isaac, and Kennedy…”
The memory of the look in his eyes when he turned back in my direction sends a shiver down my spine.
“He called someone as he grabbed his guitar and moved toward the back of the café to leave. He told whoever it was that his father was dead.”
Pope shakes his head. “How did we all miss this? I don’t…in all the time we’ve been dealing with Roselli, how did we not know he had a son?”
It’s the same question I’ve asked myself for months now as I struggled with what to do about the revelation and berated myself for not knowing who I was involved with.
Even though it was a casual thing.
I should have known.
Should have but didn’t—until it was too late.
“I don’t know, either. Maybe he was raised by his mom? I remember Dan telling me he spent a lot of time in Baton Rouge when he was younger, not here.”
A muscle in Pope’s jaw tics, and the baby fusses restlessly against him, perhaps sensing the shift in the mood. Pope lifts his hand from my hair and rubs the baby’s back gently, soothing him, quieting him back down, and he presses his tiny little hand flat against Pope’s chest again.
My breath catches in my throat. “With his dad dead, I didn’t know what was going to happen, but then he came in a few weeks later when we reopened, and he told me that we needed to talk about the baby. He knew, Pope. He fucking knew it was his…”
“Have you talked to him about it?”
I shake my head. “I’ve been avoiding him, making sure I’m never alone at The Grind so he can’t pop in and corner me. I know he won’t talk about it in front of anyone. He knows how much the Hawkes hate the Rosellis. He knows how complicated the situation is, but then he showed up at my place this morning, and I realized he’s never going to let this baby go.”
“What the hell do you mean he showed up at your place?”
Oh, shit.
My body starts trembling thinking about it, and I want nothing more than to pretend it never happened so I never have to relive it again. But Pope needs to know how dangerous Dan really is.
“He was at my apartment when I was leaving…tried to stop me.” Each breath I take makes my lungs burn. “I-I thought he was going to take me. Hurt me or the baby…but I got away from him. Tried to get to Nana’s.”
“Jesus Christ, Al.” He tips my chin up. “I’m so sorry that fucker ever touched you.” Anger darkens his eyes. “You need to talk to everyone. The whole family needs to know what’s happening. Isaac and Stone can figure out what we need to do legally, and Gabe and my dad will come up with a way to protect both of you…”
Each inhalation becomes more of a struggle, my sobs coming so hard and heavy now that it feels like it’s impossible to stop. “I’m so sorry, Pope.”
“Are you really apologizing to me for falling for the wrong guy, Al?”
There have been so many “wrong guys” since Pope and I split.
Far too many.
None of them were even a fraction of the man Pope was at seventeen.
I shake my head, locking gazes with him before lowering mine to my son. “No, for the shitstorm that’s about to hit us.”
My head starts spinning, making the already dim room somehow darken even more around the edges of my vision. “Pope, I don’t…feel…so good.”
His gaze quickly narrows on me. “Shit. What’s wrong, Al? Tell me what you’re feeling.”
He gently lifts my head off his lap and slides out from under me, settling me flat on the couch. I try to follow him to see where he is going with the baby, but my eyes won’t seem to focus.
Pope’s face suddenly fills my vision, and he takes my cheeks in his warm palms. “Al, can you hear me? Tell me what’s going on.”
“I can’t…”
Breathe.
Seem to form words.
See beyond the pinpoint in front of me occupied by Pope’s concerned eyes.
Stay awake…
“No.” He shakes my face slightly, and then his hands roam over me. His fingers press against my throat. “Al, no. Stay awake. Stay with me. Al? Jesus Christ. Al?” The rising panic in his voice and his touch can’t keep me connected. “Stay awake until help gets here. Stay with me!”
I want to do that.
I want to stay with him and the baby.
But the darkness is too inviting.