The Wrong Kind of Love

The warm water gently washes against my ankles as I splash through the shallow surf. I've become that classic pregnant woman with swollen ankles and feet. I'm so done with being pregnant. I'm emotionally and physically done.

I make my way back along the beach, toward the house. Marney and I have developed somewhat of a routine living here. We eat lunch on the back deck together every day. He looks after me, and although it's not his forte, he tries to make me feel better about Jude not being here. I appreciate his efforts, even if they are fruitless. The main thing though, is that I know he will love Jude's daughter like a grandchild, because Jude is like a son to him. I think he secretly likes our settled lifestyle.

I reach the back door and can see Marney perched on the edge of the sofa, his attention focused on the TV. It’s not until I step into the living room that I can see the screen. A news crew zooms in on a swarm of police officers and canine units combing the tall grass behind a charred, overturned vehicle. The camera cuts to a young female news reporter.

"At three-thirty this afternoon, this detention service vehicle veered off the road and crashed into the ditch. It is unclear at this point what caused the accident, although another vehicle was involved. The vehicle was transporting three high security criminals, Marcus Banes, Romero Gonzales, and Jude Pearson, who were being transferred to a maximum security prison. Banes, Pearson and two prison officers were killed, their families have been informed. It's believed that the third prisoner, Gonzales escaped. A police search is now taking place.”

An ugly sob tears up my throat, and Marney’s attention snaps away from the TV. “Oh, shit.” He shoots up from the couch, quickly rounding it and taking me in his arms. It’s not enough to stop me from shattering into a thousand pieces, though. I cling to Marney, holding onto him like he can ground me in the midst of this utter destruction.

"You'll be okay,” he whispers, and from the strained tone of his voice, I can tell he’s crying. “We’ll be okay.”

But I won’t. There are only so many times that a person can keep being okay. And that’s when my waters break. “Marney, call the midwife.”

The labor was long and awful, and Marney looks every bit as traumatized as I am.

But as I stare down at her pink face, at her tiny little fingers made into tight fists, it was worth it.

I cry because my heart feels like it's ready to explode, and because I wish more than anything that her daddy was here to meet her. I gently brush my finger over her soft cheek and smile through my tears. I never wanted to be a mother, and the path that brought me here was like walking through hell itself. I have known this little person for an hour, and already the love I have for her is all consuming. I would do anything for her, die for her. She just became my everything.

"What’s her name?" the midwife asks.

I stare down at her. "Cayla," I whisper. “After her uncle.”

And that’s when Marney chokes up.

***

Something startles me awake, and I glance to the bassinet. But it is empty. Something moves in my periphery and fear for my child consumes me. I thrust my hand under my pillow and pulled out the nine millimeter, pointing it at the shadowy figure in the corner. One of Tom’s people? The cartel? Her father is Jude, and the list could be endless.

"Where's my baby?" I say, my heart racing with adrenaline.

"Our baby is right here, Tor,” his deep voice washes over my senses. I falter. “And she's so fucking perfect."

This can’t be real. Jude’s dead. I’m dreaming. He steps into the moonlight drifting through the open doors, then places Cayla in her bed and crosses the room. The mattress dips when he sits beside me and I reach out, tracing my shaking fingers over his warm, stubble-covered cheek.

“Jude?”

“I’ve missed you so damn much,” he says, pressing his lips to my wrist.

I choke on a sob and bury my face into the space into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of him that my mind hasn’t been able to replicate no matter how many times I try.

His fingers wind into my hair, and he touches his forehead to mine.

“I’ve missed you,” I breathe, clinging to him, terrified that if I let go, he’ll vanish.

He brushes his lips over mine, his lips soft yet desperate. “I promised you I wouldn’t leave you. Nothing can fucking keep me away from you. Not a damn thing.”

Jude

Paradise. This is fucking paradise. A constant breeze blows over the balcony, accompanied by the rush of waves hitting the shore below. Tor’s right beside me, and our baby girl is in my arms. Cayla makes a tiny grunt, scrunching her face. “It’s all right, little girl. Daddy’s got you,” I whisper, rubbing a finger over her soft cheek.