EPILOGUE
Layla
“Stupid, stubborn, asinine demon of evil jackassedness!”
“I… ow, baby, don’t, that’s my hand… I don’t think jackassedness is a word.”
“Are you freakin kidding me right now?”
“Layla, I need you to relax. Here comes another contraction.” Dr. Samuels’ voice was even, calm, but the firmness of her tone had Layla forgetting all the awful, filthy names she wanted to call her husband.
“See? I told you! I freakin told you, Donley you piece of… shit. Oh God!”
“Layla, come on now. Remember your breathing.”
And she pushed, dug her fingers into Donovan’s knuckles, not caring that he squirmed, that he wrapped his fist so tight around the rail of the bed that the whole thing shook. Layla felt like her body was being ripped apart, like something heavy and burning was trying to squirm and burst and fight from her body.
“Push, Layla, push!” Dr. Samuels said and Layla forgot how mad Donovan made her, how his stupid stubborn ass had them fighting traffic as they sped toward the hospital.
The contraction passed and Layla flopped against the mattress, relaxing when that awful pressure eased.
“Okay?” Donovan said, wiping her sweaty forehead dry.
She could only nod, waiting as the doctor and nurses buzzed around the room, worked beyond that tented curtain that hid her exposed body from sight. “This is bad. This is so, so bad. No one in life has ever felt such pain, I swear to Christ.”
Donovan kissed her neck when she stretched against the pillow and Layla had just enough energy to flick his nose. “Ow, brat.”
“Oh please. You don’t know pain, Donley.”
“But I will, right, princess? The way you’re squeezing my hand.”
A quick glare and Donovan shut up, the nurses and doctor laughing beyond that curtain as his stupid comment.
“In my defense, you’d been crying wolf for weeks. Twice you freaked me out at three a.m. claiming to be in labor.” Layla pushed his face away, ignoring him, wanting nothing more at that moment than to pull each of his eyelashes out one by one. Donovan adjusted his mask and tried kissing her forehead but Layla moved her head away. “Baby…”
“Oh shut up. I just wanted ice cream. It was the only way to get you up. Besides, you tried selling Honey to that slutbag bartender at McKinney’s.”
“Layla… that dog hates me.”
“And?” She couldn’t believe he was trying to reason his way out of very bastardly behavior. “He freakin loves me and he’s my damn dog.”
“But the baby… we can’t have that dog around the baby.”
Layla lifted on her elbows, screwing up her nose into a scrunch she hoped would tell Donovan to shut up. “I’d rather him around the baby than you.”
When Donovan stood up, dropped Layla’s hand, she caught the small pat the nurse to his left gave him and ignored the woman’s small quip of, “They can get mean if the pain is too much.”
“The pain is fine,” Layla said, leaning back against the hospital bed. “It’s this asshole not believing me when I said I was in labor that is a pain in my ass right now.”
“We got here, that’s all that matters, right?” She tried not to notice how his features had hardened, how they slipped between frustration and guilt.
“We got here too late for an epidural!”
“Okay, Layla, here comes another one.”
And when the doctor’s stern tone returned and Layla felt another searing wave of agony rush through her body, she forgot her anger. She forgot everything but the thought that Donovan was not holding her hand, that she couldn’t see his face. He was there as she jerked her head to the left, as she clutched the railing on the bed. “Don’t leave…” she said, catching his eyes, fear subsiding when he took her hand off the rail and held it.
“I’m not going anywhere.” His lips were warm, soothing as he kissed her knuckles. “I’m right here.” And Layla closed her eyes, gritted through that sharp pain and bore down, feeling the slow slip of something moving through her. “God, you’re so fucking strong.” She barely registered his hand on the back of her neck, helping her push, or his forehead against her temple. “I love you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you.”
“It hurts.”
“Can’t you give her something?” Donovan’s voice was loud, panicked and she missed the warmth of his breath when he shouted at the nurse.
“No time,” Dr. Samuels said. She could feel the woman’s fingers on her thighs. “Layla, push, right now!”
Then that slow burn grew sharper, brighter and Layla screamed from the core of her being, her heart stammering until she smelled Donovan’s cologne, felt his hot breath against her ear as he whispered encouragement, astonishment to reassure her, and they rode that wave out together.
An hour later Layla woke feeling like her skin had been electrified. She was calmer, relieved that the stinging burn of the baby ripping her body had transformed into something mild and numbing.
Blinking, she sighed, cringing only when her thighs, her center felt languid and buzzing and then she slipped her focus to Donovan as he sat on the other side of the room, snuggling the baby and sounding nothing like the tough rugby player he’d always been.
Layla had never seen him smile that way, all joy, bliss that could not be contained and just the sight of her new husband, hardly three weeks now, and that tiny little person sleeping in his hands had Layla’s eyes burning and that thick knot in her raw throat pulsing. He caught her gaze, smiling wider as he looked at her, then whispered next to that small bundle. “Here she is. Here’s your mama.” He spoke to the baby like she understood him, like she knew exactly what those jumble of noises coming out of his mouth made any sense whatsoever, but Layla didn’t care. She only had eyes for that soft, fragile skin and the sweet tuft of white blonde hair peeking out beneath the small cap as Donovan placed their daughter in her arms.
“She okay?” Layla spoke to Donovan, smiling, but could not pull her attention away from the most beautiful little face she’d ever seen.
Donovan sat next to her, leaning down to pull the thin blanket over the baby’s shoulder when it fell. “There’s never been a more perfect baby ever.”
She smelled divine, soft, delicate scents that Layla couldn’t place and when she took her daughter’s hand and the baby instinctively wrapped her small fist around Layla’s finger, she thought that no moment had ever been more beautiful, no woman had ever felt so full.
The baby’s skin felt fine, like satin and the bones beneath it were delicate but strong—that prominent Donley chin and jaw, the beautiful slope of a button nose and when she blinked awake and stared at Layla like she knew exactly who she was, and the young mother’s breath stuck in her lungs. Perfectly round, crystal eyes that were identical to Layla’s tried to take in the world around her.
“She’s your clone,” Donovan said, kissing Layla’s forehead.
“No. She’s got your chin, your jaw. Those eyes, well…”
“I know. How long have I looked at eyes just like those?” Donovan leaned down further, moved his arm around Layla to hold them both against his large chest. “She’s so damn perfect, baby. Just…” and Donovan’s voice cracking, the labored inhaling of his breath and that precious little body squirming on her lap was all it took for Layla to lose it completely.
“How…” Donovan’s fingers against her face felt warm, comforting, “how can you love someone you’ve just met so damn much?” She didn’t have an answer for him. Layla didn’t think there were words that would come close to describing the swell of pride and love and joy that fought for dominance in her chest. The moment was magical, surreal, and she gladly shared it with Donovan, understood when the silence was all they needed.
“Look what we made.” His voice was a whisper again, so different from his usual tone. He sounded awed, overwhelmed as he moved his large fingers over that tiny forehead, down to the deep arch of those tiny pink lips. “Look what we did, baby.”
She was perfect and flawless and completely theirs.
“I’d give up Honey for her.” Layla blinked away her tears, gaze stuck on that precious face as she leaned against Donovan. “You were right.”
“Nah, we’ll build a fence.” She loved him for his compromise and she knew, at that moment both of them would agree to just about anything.
Sadly, Layla thought, that probably wouldn’t last.
The fence would work. Their backyard was big enough and she knew Honey would enjoy the chance at being left alone out there. They’d bought a tiny cottage three houses away from Joe’s in the older section of Cavanagh. It was white with a small front porch and two bedrooms that she and Donovan, and all of their friends had painted and organized in the last nesting phase of her pregnancy.
Her father had been overjoyed when Donovan asked her to marry him—a spontaneous idea that he’d been unable to keep to himself once she’d agreed and so Layla and Donovan went to their church and Father O’Bryant married them quickly, grumbling that they didn’t want a mass, but eager to have them married before the baby arrived.
The vows were simple, very Layla, very Donovan, small words of agreement, no demands of obeying.
“I’ve probably loved you forever,” he’d admitted. “I doubt I’ll ever stop.”
It had been enough for Layla, more than enough to satisfy her pushy father and only made that ridiculous smile on his face grow.
Layla had entered the hospital at midnight, newly married with dry paint on her elbow from the last minute touch up work on the hallway baseboards. She’d leave with her husband and her baby, to return to the small cottage their parents helped them purchase with the promise that Layla’s upstart clothing line would continue to grow.
Their parents had helped them, thrilled about the prospect of their first grandbaby and the idea that Layla and Donovan’s marriage had healed some of the scars Mr. Donley’s betrayal had caused. It was a slow process, tentative and awkward at first, but their families were healing and taking steps towards returning to the friendly companionship they’d once shared.
Parsons would come, or it wouldn’t, and graduation had brought Layla and Donovan closer to the lives they were building together. She didn’t care about New Zealand and he didn’t seem to either, deciding instead on an assistant coaching position at the private school they’d both attended as kids.
The door flew open and the second Layla spotted the wide smiles on her friends’ faces, a fresh wave of tears flooded her eyes.
“Sweetie, oh wow,” Autumn said, pulling Sayo and Mollie, who both greeted Layla with a kiss, to the side of the bed. The redhead’s eyes widened as she rubbed the fine, white hair on the baby’s head. “Oh, she’s so beautiful. We knew that from watching them bathe her, but really, Layla, she’s just so stunning.”
“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.
It was a sudden thought that came to her, a realization that struck her silent and Layla could only smile, close her eyes against the sensation of joy that felt all encompassing. Donovan had been hers for years. He’d said it with his attentions, with the hidden drive that urged him to focus on her, even with his harsh treatment, with the anger he wore around himself like a shield. He had been hers. It only took Layla, took Donovan, dropping those masks that blinded them, to realize how much they had always meant to each other. They only needed to look to each other, to claim what had always been theirs.
Sometimes, Layla thought, it takes a perfect mistake to remove the masks we comfortably place over ourselves to keep us from the people we are and the love we pretend we don’t want. Finding that love is one thing, keeping it is another, but Layla knew love had always been hers, just as Donovan had been. Just as she knew he always would be.
THE END