Wrong Kind of Love

The house is dark and quiet, and I make sure to close the back door without making noise. With each step, I take toward the stairwell, anticipation buzzes through my veins. I’m minutes away from touching her, holding her, kissing her—from never having to spend another damn minute away from Tor for the rest of my life. I silently climb the stairs and enter the bedroom where Tor lays, peacefully sleeping. An overwhelming flood of emotions slam through me, violent and hard enough to take my breath away, and just when I’m about to sink to the bed beside her and take her in my arms, a tiny cry comes from the side of the room.

I move toward the bassinet in the corner, pride swelling in my chest when I see our baby girl bundled up in a blanket. Her face scrunches, tiny fists pulling up beside her head, and I question if I ever knew what love truly meant until this moment right here.

I scoop her up, cradling her against my chest. “Hey there, little princess.” And I didn’t know it was possible to love someone so much simply for existing. Just like Tor, this baby is my world, and I will do any and everything to make sure she is protected and loved. It’s my only purpose in life. It’s why I walked through fucking hell to get here. I press a soft kiss to her forehead. “I love you. Daddy loves you.”

Sheets rustle behind me, and when I turn around, Tor’s sitting up in the bed staring at me in shock. When I step toward her, a deep line sinks between her brows, and she covers her mouth with a heavy sob.

“Hey, doll.”

Tears roll down her cheeks, and I adjust the baby enough that I can swipe them away.

“This can’t be real,” she whispers, latching onto my wrist and holding my palm to her cheek. “You’re dead…”

“I was without you.” I glance down at our daughter and smile. “Without her.”

She throws her arms around me, crying into my neck, and when she finally pulls back, I kiss her. Soft and gentle, like a whispered prayer of forgiveness. “You did good, Tor.”

She settles against my side, placing her chin on my shoulder as she swipes a finger over our daughter’s cheek. “Her name’s Cayla.”

My chest goes tight, but the sorrow wanting to wash over me is swallowed by the happiness holding her brings. I nod, fighting the tears blurring my vision. “It’s perfect. She’s perfect.”

We sit on the bed, the three of us in each other's arms, until the warm morning sunlight washes over the hardwoods. I would die a million deaths if I had to for a moment like this.

38

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 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.

Tor snorts. “Not such a big bad criminal now.”

“Not at all.”

“A month old, and she’s already got you and Marney wrapped around her little finger.”

Something rustles in the bushes below the balcony, then someone whistles. “Ese?”

Ese? The only person who has ever called me that is Gabe. Who is supposed to be in prison, and who should have no idea where the hell I am because I’m supposedly dead. I push up from the chair and move toward the edge of the porch, glancing down at Gabe in flip-flops and a Hawaiian shirt. “What the fuck are you doing here, Gabe?”

His gaze shifts to Cayla, and a smirk settles on his face. “What the fuck are you doing?” He shakes his head then scales the trellis, hurling himself over the balcony railing. “

“There’s a door,” Tor mumbles. “Who the hell is this?”

“Tor, Gabriel.”

Gabe thumbs at Tor, giving her a once-over that has me wanting to knock his damn teeth down his throat. “Damn, Jude. Is that your muchacha?”

“I’ll punch you, Gabe.”

He holds up his hands, then plops down in one of the patio chairs. “You’re a bastard. I almost shed a tear over your dead carcass. Should’ve known better, amigo.”

“Gabe… I swear to God if you blow this shit for me.”

“Fuck me, ese. I’ve not blown shit. The Sinoloa cartel blew your shit like a hooker without a gag reflex.”

My jaw sets and I pass Cayla off to Tor, who flashes me a disapproving look before going inside. I glance at Gabe. “What are you talking about?”

“The cartel finds out everything.” Gabe shrugs a shoulder like this is no big deal. “Not going to lie, my dick got a little hard when I heard you sold out, Garcia. I’ll fucking piss on his dead body.” Gabe spits on the ground, and I’m glad Tor’s not out here because she’d lose her shit. “Him and his pussy cartel. Fucking joke.”