Winning Layla (#2)

Chapter 11

One Month Later...

Layla Edwards-

I stare out the window of the bookstore at the storm brewing outside. The sky is dark and blanketed with rain clouds. You can also hear the thunder starting to rumble in the distance.

I groan.

I used to love when it stormed, but over this past month, my growing belly and pregnancy hormones have kind of gotten in the way of that.

Right after Nash left the hospital, I was released that night and put on bed rest for two weeks at my parents' house.

When I arrived, I was greeted by my mother telling me that Nash had packed his things and left without me, which I expected. I mean, I did tell him I didn't want to see him, though I couldn't suppress the pain that went through my chest as I reminisced about what happened at the hospital.

When the two weeks were over, I came home to Colorado and to my normal routine. A routine without Nash. I still talk to Reece and November almost everyday. November refuses to speak to Nash about the way he acted, much to my protests. She gave birth to their son, Mayson, last week.

Gradually, I began working on the nursery. I had Reece and Rush come over to paint walls a yellow shade after I found out I am having two girls and one boy. While they painted, November, Sage, and I started discussing baby names.

After about an hour, we had come up with three names that I fell in love with: Sophia Willow, Lennon Rush, and Rhiannon Catherine Hendrix. Approximately a week later, I finished setting up just about everything the pups would need, all the while wishing that Nash would come to his senses and realize what a gift these pups are going to be.

I emerge from my thoughts and continue ringing up a customer's order before starting on wiping down the small café tables and counters.

After forty-five minutes, I start to lock up when I hear the bell on the entry door chime welcomingly. I turn around and feel myself tense when I see Nash standing there, looking like s**t with his hair overgrown and a beard in place of his goatee.

I decide on displaying a brave face before asking, "Can I help you with something?"

He looks at me and I see nothing but regret and pain looking back at me.

"We need to talk," he whispers, the statement coming out hoarse.