132. A Fucking Lot #2
We exchange pleasantries until we’re almost at the hospital.
“You surprised the fuck out of me checking yourself into rehab. I was pissed and I was proud. But if I’m honest, the hardest part was the shame.”
Fuck me. How did I do him wrong in this situation?
“How did I not know? How did I not see you were struggling so much? I beat myself up. How did I miss my son needing my help? I’m sorry I failed you, Layton. I’m sorry you needed me and I was so… whatever, that I couldn’t be there for you.”
What?
“Will you forgive me?”
“Pop, there’s nothing to forgive. Not this direction anyway.
” I move my finger from the driver’s seat toward my body.
“I didn’t ask for help. How could you have known?
” I stare out the windshield and gather my nerve.
“I don’t want to get too deep into it, but I lost my last piece of Mom in that wreck. ”
His head whips to mine, and his eyebrows draw together. The questioning look on his face shows the confusion he must be feeling.
“Did she ever tell you about her texts to me?”
“Nothing more than she called and texted each of you all the time.”
“Well, she sent me a lot. Ones that were priceless to me. It’s why I kept that old nicked-up phone for so long.
It was melted in the wreckage.” I swallow thickly.
“I lost her again at that moment, and it was more than I could handle. The broken body. The wrecked career. Losing her a second time. Anyway, like I said, I didn’t ask for help.
None of those things could be fixed anyway, so… ”
“Livy said something to me—hell, it might’ve been her first day on the ranch—that she assumed you were my carbon copy. That maybe we butted heads because we were alike, not because we were so different.”
“Ha.”
“I walked away from that conversation and was accosted by a similar one I had with your mother. You might’ve been ten or eleven.
We’d argued over something, probably because you were a teenager and acting like one.
And Emilia reamed my ass over something I said or did to you.
She told me I was less patient with you because you were me, only shorter. ”
I jerk my chin back and turn to my dad.
“I’ve always been hard on you. Not intentionally.
Certainly not maliciously.” He throws the gear shift in park outside the hospital.
“But you always hit a nerve about things I didn’t like in myself.
Livy was right, and so was Emilia. Only you’re not shorter anymore.
Now, I’d love to continue this, but my grandson is being born.
You game to go welcome him into the world? ”
“Absolutely.” The dismount from the truck isn’t nearly as smooth, but I leaned into my strong side and leveraged where I could play to my strengths. It wasn’t graceful, but it didn’t hurt.
“One last thing?” he asks, pushing the elevator button.
“What’s that?”
“Livy calls you on your shit the way Emilia did me on mine.” He leads the way into the elevator. “She’s smart and gracious and exactly what you need. I hope you’ll keep her around. Even after the therapy.” He winks on the last word and looks up as the dial tells us our floor.
When the doors open, I’m bum-rushed.
Brighton is first. She’d make a decent cornerback if the league took women.
She’s a wall tackling me, not once acting like my body is any different than it was a year ago.
She launches in on her list of grievances, but I pull her tight into me, effectively halting her ability to breathe and, therefore, speak.
“I’m not done.”
“You never will be. And I’m counting on that. Has my nephew arrived?”
“Yep.”
“What?” Pop exclaims at my side. “That wasn’t two hours.”
“According to Willa, it was fifteen hours plus that two, so don’t underplay it,” Bright retorts.
“Does that mean everyone’s in the room?” Pop strides for the door and pushes through, growing a foot with each step.
Bright follows closely, and I bring up the rear.
Pop is locked in a tight hug with Exton by the time I push through the door.
The conversation stops, but I don’t care. My eyes roam until I see Livy curled up in a chair, watching the goings-on in my loud Italian family.
She stands when she sees me. Her gaze never leaves my face, and she skirts my family and rounds the bed, planting her face in my chest and, apparently, letting go of pent-up emotion.
I swallow roughly, my feelings on the surface and welling in my closing throat.
“Pix.” I exhale, wrapping her in my arms. “Back where you belong.”
I squeeze my eyes closed, shutting out my family and the beeping of hospital equipment that I never once considered when I left the rehab this morning.
I split my hands over Livy’s back and rub one up and down her spine, moving another to her neck. “It’s okay. Let it out.” I don’t know how long we stand like this, but when I open my eyes, people in the room avert their gaze like they got busted watching us.
I use the hand at her neck to pull her back ever so gently and drop my mouth to hers.
She scans my eyes and my face, and the first thing she says is, “Where’s your beard?”
“Do we need to give the beard a name? It seems everyone misses him.” But more seriously, I add, “How are you, baby?”
She drops her forehead between my pecs again and uses a hand to find one of mine. “I’m better now.”
Another infinite minute later, she steps back just enough to look at me. “You should meet your nephew. He’s such a cutie.”
I scan the room for the baby. “He’s having a one-on-one with his namesake, who doesn’t look like he’ll ever surrender his new favorite person.”
I make my way to Willa and drop a kiss on her forehead. “Good job. Major points for the naming. Winning.”
“Did you just quote Charlie Sheen to me on the day my life changed?”
“You know it. You did great, Willa. Can’t wait to meet the little work of art… If Pop ever lets him go.”
I turn and find myself wrapped in a hug with Exton. “So glad you’re here, Layton. Thank you.”
“Of course.” Though neither of us is talking about this hospital room. At least, I’m not.
Emberleigh extends a fist to bump, and I respond with the same but hug her quickly, before moving on to Braxton. There’s a beat there, an unknown. But he bear-hugs me, which is saying something since he’s taller and broader than I am. “You look great, man. So proud of you.”
No one is wearing kid gloves. Their hugs and backslaps aren’t measured. No one is giving me a wide berth or standing flank on my weak side. The innate dance of two months ago is all but dead.
At that moment, Eli walks in with balloons tied to a box of something and a cake.
Livy’s hand slides into my large paw, and I squeeze her there. “How’s Kyle?”
She smiles at her shoes. “He’s good. Lots to show you. Later, of course.” She pauses and leans into me. “Are you going back tonight?”
I bob my head once.
“Because it’s worth it?” She exhales deeply. “Or because you’d rather not be at home?”
I turn and tug her with me out the door. As soon as we make it out the door, I press her into the wall, one hand at her neck and fall on her mouth. I growl as I kiss her, and she moans into my mouth, trying to get closer to me. I tip her chin as I loom over her.
“Pix, my home is where you are. Beach house, lake house, ranch house, teepee. You are home.”
I drop a peck on her lips. “I’m going back because when I get home, I want to be as strong as possible.
I need to know that I’ve done right by myself and by my family.
That includes you. Nothing in me wants to leave you.
It was hell the first time. This time… Well, I don’t even want to think about it.
Today is day twenty-six. I committed to at least twenty-eight.
I don’t break my commitments, baby. And it’s a couple of days.
I can do it. You can do it. We’ve survived worse forty-eight-hour stretches, right? ”
Tears stream down her cheeks, and I slide my thumbs to wipe them. It doesn’t work. “This is going to be futile if you keep crying. I’m not catching them, just smearing them.”
She smacks my arm. “You fool. I’m crying because of what you said, not because of two days, or a week or whatever.”
“Pix, I’m going to marry you. Make you mine in every way. Erase all that worry from your mind that with you isn’t exactly where I want to be. I’m making sure I have the tools to keep my word.”
She lifts on her tiptoes and pulls my mouth to hers. “Get after it, Ranger.”
I slap her tight ass as we walk back into the room.
Exton walks toward me, carrying his son. He’s the proudest I’ve ever seen him. He reminds me of a lion strutting. He lifts the baby to me like an offering, asking me if I want him. I tap my pocket… an old habit. I find my gum and agree. His eagle eyes don’t miss it, and his face sobers.
“Gum. Want some?”
“Nah.” He looks at his son. “Kimpton, this is your uncle Layton. Listen to only half of what he tells you because he’s likely to get you in trouble. Uncle Layton, meet Kimpton Alonzo Ranger.”
My eyes whip from my nephew to my brother. “Alonzo?” I mouth.
He smiles and tips his chin, placing his hour-old son in my hands.
“Don’t spike him,” Willa says from her place on the bed.
My big hands cradle this new life. “Hi, little dude. I’m your uncle Layton. Don’t listen to your daddy. I know all kinds of things that are worth getting in trouble for. And I can tell you how to get out of it too.”
“Bullshit,” Braxton coughs into his hand.
“That uncle is boring. He’s a parent.” I emphasize the word. “I’m fun. Stick with me, kid.”
“I have horses.”
“Pay no attention to him. I’m your favorite. Deal?”
I adjust him so he’s in the crook of an elbow and find his hand wrapped in his blanket burrito. I knock his knuckles with mine.