Undefeated (Unexpected Book 5) (19 page)

“Babe, we have to take him to the hospital,” I whisper, taking him from her arms and holding him tight to my chest. He’s whimpering too, and I wish I could do something to take the pain away. “Sport, don’t worry. I’m here and I’m going to take you to the doctor. They’re going to set your arm and you’ll be good as new in no time.”

Holding my hand out to Mackenzie, I help her stand up. “Let’s get going, Harp is waiting for us in the car.”

A few hours later, after some x-rays, and a cast, we’re on our way home. The ride was short and silent. When we arrived, Mac took them to bed. It was time for me to go home, but I wanted to stay the night to make sure they were okay. I didn’t know how much I missed them until I turned onto the street and felt anxious to see them. Find out how their week was. I just wanted to see them. But shit, what met me was a nightmare. The fact that I couldn’t reach them in time to prevent their accident flipped my stomach and squeezed my heart.

Not having insurance affected the speed of the emergency room. They didn’t deny us, but they certainly weren’t in a hurry to help us either. Once our turn came, the doctor sent us to the x-ray department where they confirmed that my little boy had broken his wrist. A clean cut, they only needed to set it and cast it. As I held him during the ordeal, Harper remained glued to Porter.

Porter, the man I missed for an entire week. I worried that I wouldn’t see him again because he left without a word, without a goodbye. Six and a half days with this crushing pain of the unknown. Fearing the worst because he hadn’t been himself for several days before leaving. After he asked me to give him some time to work through his issues, he disappeared. Seeing him in one piece alleviates the fear, but not the anger. A phone call, a text. Some kind of sign to let me know that he was fine would’ve been enough.

Shit. I want to slip into his arms and feel them around me. Thank him for standing next to me during an emergency—supporting me. His presence, his steady voice, and occasional caresses anchored me during these past few hours. I have no idea what I’d have done without him.

It’s been two long, strenuous years without support, trying to keep my head above water when everything was pulling me to the bottom of the sea. Today, I took refuge under someone’s shelter. I borrowed a place to safeguard myself from the storm. A place where I’d like to stay for a few more minutes, days . . . but can I?

“You know, sometimes even the strongest person is allowed to lean on something—or someone,” Porter says, opening his arms. Without giving it a thought, my feet move, one in front of the other until I’m nestled into his chest. As his warm, strong arms close the cocoon, I let go of everything that I carry on my back. Tears prickle my eyes, but I hold them together until he speaks again, “I got you, Mac, let it go. Give yourself one night to fall apart, I promise to help you put the pieces back together. For a few moments let me care for you. Allow me to be your rock, if only for one night.”

My determination fades and the tears flow freely. He bends his head, his hot breath warming my face as his lips seek mine. The moment they touch; I give into him. It’s a slow, gentle, heartwarming kiss that touches each curve of my body, my heart, and my soul. For tonight, the broken-defeated woman is standing in one piece, letting her worries disappear and seeing herself in another dimension with someone that will be there by her side.

“I
thought you left us like daddy,” Harper’s syrupy voice makes my eyes flutter open.

The sunlight slipping through the windows makes me squint as I sit up. Shit, it’s the morning already. Pushing myself up from the couch, I walk to where the noise is coming from. My kids sit at the kitchen table eating scrambled eggs with pancakes on the side. Porter faces the stove. By the looks of the stack of pancakes on the counter, I guess he’s flipping a few more before he sits to share breakfast with the kids.

“Morning,” I say, kissing Harper’s little head, then walk to Finn who is holding a piece of bacon in his hand. “How’s your arm, baby?” Finn lets out a loud breath and continues eating his bacon.

Porter turns around, holding a plate similar to Harper’s; he sets it on the table and pulls the chair out. “Breakfast?”

The short brown strands of his wet hair, combined with those cocoa color eyes remind me of last night. His arms around me, his soft gaze holding mine, and his body cradling me as I let him care for me. All innocent, yet my body heated. I must confess there wasn’t anything PG about the places my mind traveled as his scent became one of my favorite aromas.

Pushing away those thoughts, I blurt, “You cook?”

“I can’t believe you still doubt me. You’re in for a treat. Breakfast is my strongest suit,” he confides. “My foster parents believe that’s the most important meal of the day. They made sure we always spent the first minutes of the day together while preparing the meal or setting the table.”

“You miss them.” It’s a statement, not a question. Each time he speaks of them, I feel the sadness in his heart.

He shrugs. “Eat.”

“I should be at work,” I counter, looking down at Finn. Worried that he isn’t able to tell me if something hurts or where it hurts.

“I called the flower shop earlier to let them know about Finn,” Porter says, taking my hand and guiding me to my seat, pushing the chair in after I sit down. “You went to sleep late and he needs you by his side for a few days.” He scratches the back of his head. “A couple of days won’t affect you, he needs you.”

I look toward Finn, and the moment I’m about to apologize for being such a bitch, I hear Porter’s voice. “Yes. Speaking.” My eyes move to where he’s standing, he’s holding his phone over his ear and his brows furrow, his jaw tightening along with his back. “I . . .” He closes his eyes, his shoulders slump and he presses his lips forcefully. “Yes, if that’s what he wished. That’s the address. Thank you for letting me know.”

He shoves the phone back in his pocket, opening his eyes. Regret and sorrow reflect through them.

“Bad news?”

“Later,” he answers abruptly. It’s not mean, but the warmth of his voice is gone. Harper springs out of her seat and her thin, delicate arms grab on to his waist. Porter hugs her back, looking down at her for a few seconds before he picks her up and holds her against him. “Thank you.” The words sound like more than gratitude and appreciation, but I bite back any other questions for later.

“How is he?” Porter asks as I walk down the stairs. He’s sprawled on the couch, holding his guitar.

“Asleep,” I answer. “Thank you for staying with him all day.”

After breakfast, Finn and Harper remained close to Porter. Finn wouldn’t leave Porter’s arms. I don’t blame him; they’re made out of steel and heavenly clouds.

“No worries, he wasn’t feeling well.” He answers, trying to sound normal but the edge to his voice doesn’t change. He’s been like that since the phone call he received during breakfast.

“What happened?” I ask, sitting next to him.

“My father. He died yesterday night.” Oh, no. I bring the tips of my fingers to my lips, wondering what to say. He’s never talked about his father. In fact, I thought he was dead like the rest of his family. His eyes close as his head leans against the couch. My hand reaches for his arm and I squeeze it gently. “This just shows that everyone is right. Once an asshole, always an asshole.”

I don’t get why he says that, who is the asshole here, him, or his father? “You?” I question, before assuming any further.

“Yes, me.” He hands me a wrinkled paper. “I went to visit him three days ago. He needed something from me and I refused to give it to him. You think that after all the shit I’ve lived through, I’d know that life changes in a blink of an eye.”

I hold in the gasp as I read the letter. His father caused the accident where his mother died? My heart bleeds for the poor little boy. “That’s where you went, to visit him?”

He nods lightly. “One more regret added to the list,” he says with a heavy voice. “He needed one thing before he died. Only one and I was a fucking asshole and denied it to him.”

“What else is on your list?”

“The Deckers,” he responds. I’ve no idea who the Deckers are and, instead of asking, I hold his hand and caress it hoping that he’d give me more information. “My foster family loved me unconditionally. They picked me up when I was homeless. Gave me the tools to become a better man and I was an ungrateful son of a bitch that hurt them with what they love the most—their daughter, AJ. Then there’s AJ.” He rubs his face with both hands, then pulls up his sleeves slightly and stares at his wrists.