Marco (The Men of Indecent Exposure #1)(73)

I'd drifted off in thought when my father's hand came down on mine-firm, conveying nothing but his love and understanding.

"Son... I don't ever want you to think I, or anyone else, take the  sacrifices you've made for this family lightly," he began. "You've  earned every ounce of respect your sisters, your nieces, and your mother  show you. And me?" he went on. "There's not a father more proud than  me."

The anxiety building in my chest began to subside and I realized what  had triggered the feeling in the first place: being misunderstood. I  hated the idea of anyone thinking I didn't want more out of life than  this. I didn't want anyone thinking that it's been easy accepting that  people in my line of work often end up alone, but that's the cold, hard  truth. This job is hard on those who love us.

"But it's time," my father said next, bringing my focus back to him.  "It's time you start putting yourself first, Marco. And Brynn and your  daughter. It's time you put yourself and your family first. You deserve  to have that."

When he finished speaking, I didn't have words. Partly because I was too afraid to say what I was thinking: it was too late.

My father stood and my eyes followed him when he straightened. His eyes  shifted toward me as I stood, too. He prepared himself to leave, but  offered one last piece of advice before he did:

"Make it right, son …  Make it right."



The call came in a little after midnight, but the panic in Brynn's voice  had me wide awake as if it was the middle of the afternoon.

"I think it's time," was all she had to say to have me rushing around my  room, hopping into the clothes I kept folded on top of a bag packed  specifically for this very moment. That had been Lucia's idea, being  prepared like this, and I was grateful I hadn't ignored the advice.  Thanks to her, I was dressed and out the door in under five minutes.

I convinced myself not to exceed the speed limit by more than ten miles  an hour, but only because getting pulled over would slow me down as I  tried to get to her. So, at what felt like a snail's pace, I crept  along.

As late as it was, I dialed my parents' number. My dad had just been  with me earlier to set up the nursery and this moment was one of the  many things we discussed. It was around the time I was hanging the white  sheer curtains. He reminded me that, nervous or not, I had to be the  rock of Gibraltar for Brynn when it was time for her to deliver. He said  she'd probably be more scared than she let on and I had to let her see  my strength. While, yeah, I knew he was right, my stomach was already  doing back flips.

"Is she in labor?" my mother answered, sounding like I'd awakened her  out of a hard sleep. Still, her mind was sharp. She knew Brynn being in  labor was the only reason I'd call so late.

"Yeah, I just got the call. I'm on my way to get her now."

"Alberto!" she yelled through the speakers of my truck, telling my  father to wake up. "El bebé! The baby! She's coming, Alberto! It's  time!"         

     



 

I smiled a bit, listening to my father grumble while my mom roused him  awake. A little rustling preceded several thumps as they rushed around,  clearly intent on meeting Brynn and I at the hospital.

"All right, Ma. I have to hang up so I can call Luce and the guys and … " I  paused, running my hand over the top of my hair. "I have to call  everyone." A rush of fear and excitement passed over me and I had to  remind myself to breathe.

"Don't worry about calling your sisters. I'll take care of that. You  just focus on getting Brynn to the hospital. We'll see you there," she  promised.

I ended the call after and, once I was forced to stop at a light, I shot  the guys a group text to let them know what was happening. It didn't  seem right to wake them, but this way they'd see the message as soon as  they got up.

I took off into traffic again and it was so damn hard to stay even in  the vicinity of the speed limit. My foot kept wanting to push that pedal  through the floor, but I didn't. Finally, I pulled up in Brynn's  driveway.

I left the engine running and rushed around to get the passenger door  open so she wouldn't have to wait once I got her outside. Things could  progress pretty quickly so I was doing everything I could to make sure  we didn't have any delays.

My knock at her door was urgent as I shifted from one foot to the other.  The living room light was on so I knew she was already waiting. Still,  it took her a moment to get to the door and when she answered I realized  what had taken so long. She was already struggling. Just that quickly.

Her entire face was flushed with deep red undertones beneath the brown.  She sucked in deep breaths through her nose and then forced them out  through her mouth. I didn't expect to find her having such a hard time  so soon. It only took me twenty minutes to get here from the time she  called.

Seeing how bad off she was made me forget about our issues. All I wanted to do was help her, take care of her.

"What can I do? What do you need?" I asked, feeling helpless as I  watched her. She braced one hand against the mantle and the other  pressed flat to the side of her stomach.

She groaned loudly and I was at her side, holding on to her because that  was all I could think to do. A long breath blew between her lips and  her eyes fell closed.

"Whatever you need, I'm here," I told her. "I'm here."

She took another breath and then a step. "My bag is right there on the  couch," she said, pointing. I only left her long enough to grab it.

She didn't shy away when I reached for her hand when I came back. I got  her outside on the porch and she leaned against one of the beams beside  the steps while I locked up using her key when it was handed me. It  wasn't until then that I realized my hands were shaking; so bad it was  hard to turn the deadbolt.

Finally, I had the house secure and hiked her bag higher up my shoulder  before taking her hand again. She let me lead the way down the steps  slowly, but about halfway to the truck we had to stop again because  another contraction hit. One that seemed worse than the first.

She breathed deep, squeezing the hell out of my hand, but I pretended  not to feel it as I swooped around to stand in front of her. She leaned  forward and released my hand, gripping my shoulders instead as her  forehead came to rest against my chest. I held her like that, stroking  her back while listening to the heavy breaths that hissed from her  mouth.

The hint of warm cinnamon-sugar that belonged to her was strong as it  lingered in the air surrounding us. The deep gasps became guttural moans  that signified how much pain she was in. Honestly, because of the  recent state of our relationship, I had told myself to hold back  tonight. Be there for her, but don't force yourself on her. That was my  plan, but standing here? Holding her now? I had to be real with myself;  there was no way I could keep those lines drawn.

Realizing there was no lukewarm when it came to us-it was either hot or cold-I decided to just do what felt right.

My lips went to the top of her hair and kissed her. It was the most  physical contact we'd had in three weeks, since the end of the  relationship we had never fully admitted to having. My hands went to her  sides and I helped her stand a little straighter and she looked me in  my eyes. When she did, I saw the tears glistening there.

"I can't do this, Marco. I can't."

In that moment, hearing those words, I was reminded of our talk in the  car outside the doctor's office a couple months ago. She admitted then  to being scared about delivering and I knew she had to feel at least  that frightened now. And something I also remembered was my father's  advice:         

     



 

Now, more than ever, I had to be her rock.

Gripping her cheeks lightly, I brought her focus back to me. "Brynn, I  need you to listen to me," I commanded. She stared back, eventually  nodding when I had her full attention. "Breathe, baby. You're not doing  this by yourself. I'm here," I assured her, but that didn't feel like  enough. I felt compelled to also share the portion of that statement I  initially intended to keep to myself; the part that felt strange to  admit in light of our recent issues-the drama, the distance. However,  regardless of all that, it was the truth so I went for it.

"And, Brynn …  I don't just mean I'm here for this," I clarified. " … I'll always be here."

Her eyes softened and those labored breaths slowed as she listened and I  kept her close. To me, all the nonsense between us lately was  irrelevant now. The beautiful baby girl getting ready to enter the world  was mine. Brynn was mine. How could I possibly hold back with all the  love I had in me for both of them?

My family.

"Do you trust me?" was a question I'd asked her a few times before and  each time she not only told me she did; she showed me she did. And just  like all those times before, she answered the question with confidence.