“Gorgeous,” Mollie said, lowering toward the baby. “You are going to give your dad such shit, aren’t you, beautiful?”
“Hey, you can’t say shit to my kid.”
“Ha. Right. Like that’s the worst thing she’ll hear growing up with you two.”
Donovan greeted Declan with a quick shoulder tap, shook Vaughn’s hand and offered a brief nod to Quinn as the Irishman hung back near the door, looking uncomfortable and, as usual, surly. He also sported a fresh, dark purple bruise under his right eye and when Layla looked at Sayo, eyebrows up in question, her friend shrugged but looked more than a little satisfied that Quinn’s eye was swollen.
“Well done, mate. You’ve a world of grief ahead with a daughter that beautiful.”
Donovan shrugged. “Totally worth it.”
“Did you pick a name?” Autumn asked, bringing Layla’s attention away from Donovan and Declan. When the question came, she immediately caught Donovan’s eye, grinning as he nodded.
“You two have been so quiet about that,” Mollie said, sitting in the chair next to Layla’s bed. “It’s kinda weird, actually.”
They had discussed the name for weeks, nixing old Irish names and the old fashion monikers their grandmothers had been cursed with. None of them seem to fit and it was Donovan who’d made the suggestion that settled the matter altogether.
“Um,” she started, looking at Autumn, glancing at Mollie and Sayo. “If you don’t mind, Autumn, we’d love to call her Evelyn Meara Donley.”
The look Autumn gave her had Layla worried. She knew Autumn would cry, knew that Sayo and Mollie would because they understood what those two great women had meant to them all. Autumn’s mother and Layla’s had been such strong influences; they’d taught by example the importance of kindness, of determination and Layla prayed that one day her daughter would be just as determined, just as kind.
Evelyn had been lost to them all and her death still cut them deeply. Layla’s mother had shown each of the girls what work and ambition can bring to a resolute woman. She’d shown each of them that it wasn’t a question of if a woman can have it all; it was that what she could have was limitless.
Autumn’s tears came quick and Sayo’s chin quivered. Mollie pretended to notice something outside of the large window, as though she wasn’t sniffling, but they didn’t speak and Layla was about to explain how much she loved that name, when she caught her friends’ slow movements, gripping each other’s hands as though they need that life line to steady them.
“Oh, sweetie… I… Mama would have loved that. Just… so much.” Autumn lowered, kissing Layla’s face with her eyes trained on the baby. “Evie, right? That’s what we’ll call her?”
“If you want, honey,” Layla said, smiling at the redhead. Then, because Sayo hadn’t spoken, Layla tugged on her hand. “We wanted to call her Rhea too, but thought it would be too much and Evelyn loved us all so much. So does my mom.” Layla smiled at Mollie when she nodded, agreeing.
“It would have been, sweetie, but I appreciate the thought,” Sayo said. “Layla, it’s just as beautiful as your mom is.” She blinked, wiped her face dry. “It’s as beautiful as Evelyn was.”
“Well, whatever. I’m still godmother,” Mollie said, breaking up the emotional disorder. “I win.”
“You do, honey,” Layla said, appreciating Mollie’s humor and the break in the tears.
Their friends took turns holding the baby, except for Vaughn who didn’t seem comfortable around Evie and Quinn who wasn’t interested at all. Layla watched them, her small little family—focused, driven women and burly manly men who had all been leveled by the tiny baby making them speak in silly, exaggerated tones.
Next to Layla on the bed, Donovan held her, wrapped his arm over her shoulder and kissed her temple and just there in that moment, Layla felt the great swell of happiness she never thought would ever be hers. It was the end of years of torment, the frustration she felt anytime Donovan came to her mind. How far they’d come, how far they still had to go fought against the uncontained pleasure of watching her friends dote and love on their child. And around her, with his arms holding her as though she might disappear from him, Layla felt Donovan’s easy breath, the slow, instinctive touches he made against her wrist.
He was hers now, completely. Years ago, she would have never believed this life was possible. Not with the Demon, not with that arrogant boy who made it his mission in life to torture her. Now though, he wasn’t a boy. He wasn’t difficult or angry and he’d released that pain that kept him back, that prevented him from giving Layla all the things she didn’t know she wanted.