Page 30 of His Relentless Angel

“Dad might be with her.”

He curses and closes the bedroom door behind me.

Autumn nearly knocks my head in when I whip the front door open. “What?”

“Good fucking morning to you, too,” Autumn snaps. “Jesus, you look like you’ve been run over by a tractor.” She pokes her head in, and thank god Dad isn’t with her because Isaiah’s moving boxes are stacked all over the apartment, with an RPG player’s handbook lying open on the wood trunk that serves in place of my coffee table. Dad would instantly know it belongs to Isaiah since I don’t play the game myself.

“What do you want? I’m busy,” I hiss impatiently, already thinking about how soon I can jump back onto Isaiah’s dick.

Her expression turns serious in an instant. “It’s Shayla. They’re at the hospital. Mom just dropped me off and left to go back.”

“What happened?” I step back to let her in, feeling like I can’t breathe as worst-case scenarios spin in my head.

“She tripped over a planter pot in the backyard and fell.” Before I can fly into hysterics, Autumn rushes to say, “She’s ok. Mostly. She twisted and fell on her side, and James took her to the hospital. Mom says she started getting contractions, so they’re keeping her at the hospital. They think she might have the baby early. We need to go.”

“Oh my god, ok. Let me get dressed real quick.” I hurry past her to my bedroom.

Isaiah is already standing at the open door and says, “I heard. I’m driving you to the hospital.”

“No, I’ll take Autumn. You’ll have to wait and come later so Dad won’t ask questions.”

“No, arguments, baby. I know how much you hate driving, and I’m not letting you drive like this.” He motions to the tremor in my hands when he follows me into my small bathroom.

He’s right. I won’t argue since I can barely keep my breathing under control, and Autumn still isn’t comfortable driving either after getting into a wreck last year thanks to a drunk driver T-boning her at an intersection.

We take the world’s fastest shower so we don’t show up smelling like sex, then race to get dressed. Isaiah pulls on a clean pair of pressed, dark jeans while I shove my feet into black bike shorts and a pair of flip-flops. He tosses me a clean, oversized T-shirt from his side of the dresser, and seconds after we’re decent, we’re all hurrying out of my apartment and across the parking lot to the furthest end where Isaiah has been parking his Lexus half-hidden under a large magnolia tree in case Dad randomly drives by my complex.

We meet up with my family in a waiting room near Shayla’s hospital room since the nurse won’t let us in to see her yet. I go to hug Mom first, who has her arm curled over Brady with Gentry hugging her hip. Dad has his arm over the shoulders of my youngest nephew, Artie, and he yanks me into his chest, wrapping me up in one of the big bear hugs I used to let him give me. When I pull away, he’s looking over my head at Isaiah, holding Mom, Brady, and Gentry. It’s so beautiful that I could weep more than I already am.

“How’d you get here so fast?” Dad asks suspiciously, leaving my side to greet Isaiah next.

I know Isaiah hates lying to my dad, but after I give him wide eyes, silently begging him not to say anything because this is so not the right time to reveal our relationship, he tells Dad, “I was already on my way into town when I heard the news.”

I don’t think Dad believes Isaiah, since Dad rocks back on his heels and gives him a shrewd look, but he lets it go. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I know James will be, too.”

Grayson is hugging Lainey close to his side, seated on the far end of the light cyan blue waiting room with James and Shayla’s youngest child, Mirabel, sitting astride both their laps, all of them with tears in their eyes. I drop to my knees on the scuffed vinyl floor before them and wrap my arms around all three.

“It’s ok. Your mom is going to be fine.” I look over my shoulder and raise my brows, silently asking if what I said is true. Dad nods, and relief hits me like a ton of bricks.

“It’s just a waiting game, now,” Dad assures me, though his eyes are just as red with worry as everyone else’s.

After too many hours of trying to keep the kids occupied and their minds off their mother while Isaiah and I stay on opposite sides of the room—though I’m always catching his eye, wishing he could hold me as I do my little nieces and nephews—James bursts into the room looking absolutely wrecked and in need of being admitted himself. His long black hair is sticking up at all angles, and he looks paler than I’ve ever seen him.

Mom cries out and claps a hand over her mouth with fear.

“She’s ok!” he shouts. “Effing epidural didn’t work. Again!” He sways on his feet, and Dad steadies him quickly.

The kids burst into various volumes of relief and joy at the news, scrambling past all of us to throw themselves against their dad.

“Dang, James, you could have started with that,” Autumn snarks, hiding how scared she was, rubbing circles over Mom’s back.

“What about the baby?” Dad asks. “Is she…?”

“Clara is beautiful,” he says with the first hint of a smile, though it’s as unsteady as he is. “A perfect miniature angel.” His brows crash together. “But they’re running tests right now to make sure she’s ok, and they say she might have to stay in the NICU for a week or two.”

I stumble over my feet reaching for Isaiah because, in all my fear and relief, I forget I’m supposed to be keeping my distance. Isaiah catches me, hugs me even tighter than Dad did, and kisses the top of my head. “She’s ok, B. They’re ok.”

“Thank god. I…I thought…”

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