Marco (The Men of Indecent Exposure #1) (39 page)

He made that sound so easy; made me being stuck on the outside seem like a choice. If it’d been that simple to fix this, I would’ve already done that. It killed me having so much distance between us. Of course, we saw one another often and spoke every day, but it was always just about the baby. Our time together had been limited to doctor visits; our conversations returning to the shallow
‘How are you feeling
’ phase we’d come out of a long time ago. It was like we reverted back to just being two people only bound together by circumstance.

Not by the love,
real
love, I knew had grown between us.

“She doesn’t want to be with me,” I admitted, getting straight to the point. “She made sure I understood that.”

My father studied me for a moment, not saying anything, just thinking at first, but then he asked a question: “Do you really believe that? You really believe you’re not what she wants?”

That night we talked, Brynn gave me the impression she wanted to forget what we’d grown to be. I was pretty sure she was more comfortable with us pretending to just be friends, so that’s the thought I held on to when I answered. “She couldn’t have been clearer.”

Again, my father observed me before going on, but this time he didn’t ask a question. He decided to be bolder in his approach. “You’re giving up much easier than I imagined you would if it came to this.”

What was that supposed to mean?
“If it came to this?” I asked, seeking clarity.

My father let out a long breath first, which meant he was about to tell me exactly what was on his mind. Straight up. No chaser.

“I had a feeling the two of you would eventually end up here. Your job? The dancing? There aren’t a lot of women out there who could handle being in Brynn’s position. So, I knew it’d just be a matter of time before this all came to a head,” he explained. “But I didn’t think you’d let her go so easily.”

If he didn’t already have my attention, he definitely had it now.
Was he kidding? Did he have any idea how hard this had been for me?

“You make it sound like it’s just so simple to get her back,” I said, hearing the anger in my tone, but I couldn’t help it.

“Isn’t it, though?” he shot back, calm as ever. “Isn’t getting her back just as easy as going down to that club and telling those people you quit?”

Thoughts I hated myself for having came rushing to my mind and I beat them back. This, my predicament wasn’t his fault, but it had been a direct result of me having to stand in as the father-figure to my family. Now, to me, he was making light of the role I’d been forced into, making it sound as if I
didn’t
have this huge burden on my shoulders. Keeping my family afloat had
always
been my cross to bear and I’d done that without complaining. However, suggesting that I just quit like no one would suffer felt like he was testing me.

“Quit,” I breathed. “Just like that, huh?”

To make matters worse, he didn’t even speak, just nodded to further imply the simplicity of my circumstances.

“That’s an interesting thought,” I added, not caring if he picked up on the sarcasm. “So, you’d be okay with Rosalina not being able to afford school? Or Marcela having to take out a loan to finish her degree? Or Bel having to change schools because tuition is too high?”

“Listen to what you’re saying,” he cut in. “You’re not even considering the fact that ninety-nine percent of the problems you just mentioned have already been resolved. Rosie’s got a scholarship for her first year and—”

“And what about the year after that?” I cut in. “Hmm? What’s she gonna do after that money runs out and she’s gotta find some way to pay for the rest?

My father shook his head. “I’m bringing in money now. Lorna got her promotion. You don’t have to be the only one to help, Marco.”

I was shaking my head before he even finished. I knew my father meant well, but this wasn’t all so cut and dry. Yes, he brought in money, too, but it was only enough to cover his and my mother’s expenses. And Lorna? She was just starting to get ahead. “I won’t put that on Lorna,” I added.

“Marco, but we’re family. Family is all about making sacrifices for the ones you love and you’ve been doing that alone for so long you don’t even know how to let the rest of us pitch in.”

I could feel my blood boiling and I fought it. I fought it because I honestly had no clue where it was coming from. All my father was doing was trying to shed some light on things so I could see them from a different angle, but… all I felt was anger.

“Why do you feel like you have to do this alone?” he asked and… what I’d been holding in came tumbling out.

The words, “Because that’s the way it’s always been,” came more harshly than I meant for them to, but the truth is:
I was full
. No, I didn’t blame my father for the way things were, but I couldn’t understand why no one but me seemed to understand how much pressure I was under. No one seemed to understand what it felt like to be all four legs of a table that held all your family’s hopes and dreams. It felt like, if I moved too far to the left or right, everything would come crashing down around me.

There was a period of silence that passed between me and my father. And while I half-expected him to be angry for the outburst, his expression was nothing but calm. I knew I’d feel terrible about that eventually, but right now I was just mad. Mad that I stood to lose the one woman I can say I ever really loved all because I tried to do right by my family. There had to be a way for me to find happiness without it being at the expense of everyone else.

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: