Trouble in Hell (Hell Night 1)

“She actually gave me some earlier. It’s definitely helped.”

Trouble reaches out and smooths a finger down Elijah’s cheek. I watch his face as he does this. From the moment I first laid eyes on Trouble, I found him breathtaking. His good looks are astounding, but I’ve always sensed a darkness in him. Something mysterious and ominous lives just below the surface. It both intrigues me and sends shivers down my spine.

As he stands there and looks down at Elijah, that dark presence isn’t there. Tranquility is the only word I can find to describe the expression on his face. It’s like my boy offers him some type of peace.

Elijah opens his eyes just then and stares up at Trouble. A gentle smile displays across my face as I watch man and baby look at each other. It’s absurd to even think, but to an outsider looking in, it would appear as though these two were father and son.

“He’s got a strong grip,” Trouble states when Elijah latches onto his finger.

“He does. He also doesn’t like to let go,” I finish with a giggle.

“He looks like you,” he continues to observe, sending warmth to my stomach. I’m glad someone else thinks he takes after me. As of right now, the only trait Elijah has of Phillip is the single dimple in his left cheek.

“Thanks.”

“Where’s his father?”

The question has my breath stalling in my throat. I swallow the thick lump and force air in my lungs. I drop my eyes to Elijah. He still has Trouble’s finger in his grip. It’s not really a secret what happened. A simple search of my name would bring up the case, but it doesn’t mean that I like to talk about. I don’t regret Elijah for one minute, but I still try hard to forget about how he was conceived.

Taking a steadying breath, I lift my gaze back to Trouble. His eyes are watchful as he waits for me to answer.

“He’s, uh, not in the picture.”

His brows lift slightly. “Can I ask why?”

I want to tell him no, that it’s none of his business, but in a way, I feel like I owe him. He treated me when I first came to town, has checked on me regularly, and delivered Elijah. Never once has he asked for payment, something I feel guilty for and plan to rectify once I’m on my feet in Colorado.

“He doesn’t deserve to be,” I answer evasively. It’s the truth. Just not all of it.

“Even if that’s the case, he still has a financial obligation to the baby. You shouldn’t let him off the hook so easily.”

I push back the laughter threatening to break free. Even if he offered from the prison cell he currently resides in, I wouldn’t take a dime from him.

“I want nothing from him.” My voice carries a hard edge, afraid he’ll see more than what I want him to.

His phone rings, stopping any follow up questions, and I’m grateful. Even so, his gaze stays locked on mine.

“Doctor Trayce.” He listens for a moment, then says, “Thanks, Susan. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” More silence. “Will do.”

He hangs up, pockets his phone, and regards me once again. I worry he’ll continue with his questioning—it’s not like I don’t want him to know—I just don’t want to think about it.

“I’ve got a mom coming in with a sick child. Is there anything I can get you before I leave?”

I let out a relived breath and shake my head. “I think I’m good here.”

“Susan said she should be home in the next hour.”

He hesitates, his eyes flickering down to Elijah, before stepping forward. Shock and awe fight for supremacy when he bends and places a gentle kiss on his forehead. The look on my face must be comical, because when he stands and his eyes land back on me, he smirks. I’m stunned even more when he leans toward me and places a kiss against my forehead.

“I don’t know about the father, but you did a damn fine job of creating a beautiful baby,” he whispers, his lips still pressed against my skin.

I close my eyes at his sweet words. It’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me, and it sends butterflies swarming in my tummy.

When I open my eyes again, he’s already gone. My fingers touch the still warm skin his lips rested against. I was in a lot of pain during the labor, but I still vividly remember the kiss he gave me. It was soft and gentle, and had the situation not been what it was, I know I would have wanted more. Even now, through the soreness and ickiness left behind after labor, my girly bits tingle in awareness.

I’m pulled from my lustful thoughts when Elijah lets out a cooing sound, followed closely by vibrations in his diaper. I gaze down at my son and wrinkle my nose.

“You’re a rotten boy,” I say with laughter.