Page 28 of Baby Daddy Protector

One of the deeper themes of the film was hidden scars, things people hid from one another due to shame or embarrassment or out of some desire to protect another person. As I moved the now-empty popcorn bowl aside and snuggled against Z to share his body warmth, I couldn’t help wondering about all the things I still didn’t know about him.

I’d heard the stories about how his parents had died and how he’d grown up in foster care, but I’d still never heard much from him about his days with his SEAL team, nor had he told me exactly what had happened to get him suspended. But there was one thing above all others that I really wanted to know more about, something I’d noticed during sex—the scars on his back. I wanted to know how he’d gotten them and if they had anything to do with why he’d been forced to leave his beloved SEAL team. With the harsh media spotlight that was bound to shine our way now that the king’s condition and my pregnancy were public, I felt it would be best to learn as many of Z’s secrets as I could now, rather than hear about them on the six o’clock news.

“Can I ask you something?” I said, my cheek resting on his shoulder and his arm heavy and warm around my shoulders. I took a deep breath, reveling in his scent of soap and spice and warm, clean male. “Something personal?”

He shifted his weight a bit, clearing his throat. Talking about himself wasn’t his strong suit, I knew. But if we were going to weather the coming paparazzi storm together, there were things I needed to know. His gaze remained focused on the TV ahead. “Okay.”

“How did you get the scars on your back?”

I felt him tense and resisted the urge to recant my question. Instead, I gave him time, hoping that eventually he’d see it was safe to open up to me. My hand rested on his taut abdomen and I stroked my thumb over the ridges of his muscles, hoping to soothe him. “Do they hurt?”

“No.” The word sounded choked out and he coughed again. “Not anymore.” Z frowned down at me. “Are you sure you want to hear about that? You said gore wasn’t your thing tonight.”

“Give me the abbreviated version then.” I dropped a kiss on his pec through the cotton of his shirt.

Z sighed and closed his eyes, silent for a moment, as if coming to a decision. When he opened them again, both sadness and resignation lurked in their blue depths. “Rocks. Jagged, sharp rocks. That’s what caused them.”

I scowled. “Were you tortured?”

“No. It might’ve been easier if I was.” He gave a dismal chuckle. “I got them during a mission gone wrong. My friend, Deacon, had been shot. It was bad. We’d been given the wrong coordinates by the higher-ups and walked right into a trap. A deadly trap. Eight of our security support team members were injured or killed. Luckily, all of my SEAL team survived, barely.”

“You were injured saving your friend. You really are a hero.”

“Yeah?” Z shook his head and looked away. “Well, the US government didn’t see it that way. They didn’t appreciate me asking a bunch of questions after the mission. Things like who screwed up our orders and why we were sent into hostile territory and all but set up to die.” He flinched and cursed under his breath. “When Deacon was shot, we were in a remote area of the Central American jungle on a black-ops mission. It was beyond top secret, and if we were caught, we were to deny any knowledge of US involvement. Deacon and I were stationed on the rocky banks of a river, running surveillance. Easy picking for the enemy snipers. They took Deacon down with a bullet to the shoulder and another to the leg, then tried to end him with a shot to the head. I managed to duck behind some supplies, but they still nailed me in the right leg. They jammed our communications, so I couldn’t call for help or reinforcements. The longer we were stuck out there, the worse our situation looked. I had to get him out myself.”

I held him tighter, hating the pain and distance in his expression as he lost himself in the horrific memories. “I really thought we were both goners that day. There were so many bullets, so much gunfire, so much blood and death. My injured leg was useless, so I couldn’t stand, couldn’t walk. I had to drag myself and Deacon to safety in the cover of the jungle, scooting backwards on the ground. Those rocks were so sharp, they sliced right through my flak jacket. Deacon was out cold, so it was easier to carry his weight atop me, but the added pressure only made those rocks cut deeper. All I remember is just praying to God to get us out of there, to keep us safe, to not let us die like animals.”

Tears stung my eyes, and I snuggled closer to him, hoping to provide what comfort I could though it all seemed useless at the moment. “I’m so sorry, Z. That’s terrible. How did you end up getting out?”

“I didn’t find out until later, actually,” he exhaled slow. “Once Deacon and I reached the cover of the tree line, I passed out from the bloodloss and the pain. Next time I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital room at Walter Reed. Deacon was in the bed next to mine. We’d survived, thanks to the rest of our team. They heard the gunfire and came to help us, orders be damned. Without them, I wouldn’t be here now.”

I rested my forehead against his chin. “You should’ve been given a medal. You were a hero that day. How did you end up suspended instead?”

“Like I said, the brass didn’t appreciate me asking a bunch of questions they didn’t want to answer. But I couldn’t just let it go, even though my commander said I should. He said we could look into it ourselves later, after all the attention died down. I wasn’t about to drop it, though. I wanted answers. I still do. So they suspended me. Made up some trumped-up charges about dereliction of duty and whatnot. My commander had to pull God knows how many strings to get me tagged for this assignment, so I could earn an income until he could bring me back,” he shook his head. “I’d still rejoin the team in a heartbeat though. Those guys are the closest thing I have to family now. They’re my brothers. I’d die for each and every one of them without question. Then there’s the guilt.”

“Guilt?” I looked up at him, confused. “What in the world do you have to feel guilty about?”

“I just keep thinking that if I’d just paid more attention, just looked at things more closely that day, then maybe we would’ve discovered the trap ahead of time and Deacon and I would not have been injured.”

“Stop. No. You did everything you could.” I cupped his cheeks to force him to meet my gaze, determination pulsing through every nerve in my body. “You were a hero. None of that was your fault. None. Understand?”

He sighed. “The world’s a dangerous place, princess. Full of violence and scars. What happens when our baby is born and has to face all of that?”

I sniffled. “There’s nothing we can do about that. The world is dangerous, yes, and people get scars. It’s true. All we can do is help our child heal when they’re hurting, give them the skills to cope. When my mother died, I wanted to die, too. I didn’t know how to go on without her. My father felt the same way. We still carry those scars even if they’re invisible. But you know what? Sometimes it’s those scars that make you stronger, that make you appreciate life and beauty and goodness. The pain makes you appreciate the pleasure even more. Our child will be fine because we’ll make sure of it.”

Z hugged me tight, his breath warm on the top of my head. “I hope so, princess. I hope so. And I hope one day I’ll get to where you are, seeing the good in scars. Because right now, all I have to show for mine is the pain.”

TWENTY

Two weeks later, I was sitting in the royal family’s private jet at Dulles International Airport, readying for takeoff to Prylea. My father had finally been pronounced well enough to travel by his physicians, and in short order, he had demanded to return home to his beloved country.

Packing up the townhouse had taken a few days, as had filing the required paperwork and manifests for the flight, but at last we were all boarded and ready to go. I was seated near the front of the cabin with Z beside me while my father and the rest of his medical convoy were taking up the back portion of the plane.

I glanced over at my husband-to-be, picking up immediately on his worried vibes. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said, not looking up from the stack of papers he was sorting through. “Just the usual security threats.”

The ones he’d followed up on were flagged with little red Post-its. I had learned that much over the past few weeks we’d spent together. I’d also learned that while I’d been dealing with my lingering morning sickness and other adjustments of the first trimester of pregnancy, he and his team had been contacting local authorities about the letters they’d received from weirdos who seemed to know too much about the royal schedule or who’d mentioned the Halloween fire at the haunted house specifically.

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