HIS BABY TO BEAR - FIFTEEN - FUR-FECT MATES - A SHAPESHIFTER SERIES

C H A P T E R F I F T E E N

Sweat poured into his eyes, down his face, and down his neck. Every blow hurt more than the one before it. He couldn't get enough of it. Jerome's taped hands were burning, his knuckles screamed for rest, but as long as his sparring partner was ducking and jabbing, he kept going for him.

He feinted with his left hand and then attempted a punch with his right, but Mitch dodged out of it, spinning on his heel. Jerome charged again, this time feinting with his right and using it as a set up to go for Mitch's abdomen, pounding into it viciously after the first hit. Mitch backed into the ropes, the harsh fluorescent lamp reflected off his sweaty skin.

Jerome could feel every punch as it collided with his friend's exposed skin. The sight of two powerfully built, vicious operatives going at each other full force was enough to keep most of the gym quiet as they watched them duke it out. The man's wheezing was caused by the strength of his fists, but Mitch wouldn't let him have the upper hand for too long.

Mitch reclaimed control as abruptly as he'd given it up, pushing Jerome off of him just far enough to jump forward and then slam a heel in his cheek, sending Jerome flying across the mat and into the ropes. Jerome practically roared as his mouth guard flew out, scrambling to his feet and launching at Mitch.

Mitch took Jerome down with a well-timed side-step and a backhanded hit, just as Jerome managed to hook his leg behind Mitch's and bring the big tree of a man down on his back with a heavy oomph as well. Mitch burst out laughing, breaking the tension as Jerome was halfway up and about to dive back in.

"Sheeesh What's bothering you today? "I haven't gotten you down once, let alone twice, since Korea," he remarked, recalling a particularly nasty case of some jungle virus Jerome had been suffering from during one of their missions.

True to form, he had completely ignored and tried to go on with his regular schedule like nothing had happened. His squad had a field day, of course.

Jerome shook his head, his body still riled up, ready to go. The first fucker who got in his face would land with a broken nose, that much he knew. He picked up his mouth guard from the mat, noting absently that there was blood on it and that his mouth tasted of copper too. Wiping the back of his hand over his lips, it came back sweaty and bloody, the trickle of dark maroon blood breaking on his skin.

"There is nothing, man. "Must not be feeling it today," he grumbled, ducking through the ropes and landing on the cold gym floor.

Mitch was right behind him, carrying a towel and two bottles of water. He tossed one to Jerome, who caught it and gratefully tipped it in Mitch's direction. They returned to their bags, and Jerome sat down with a heavy thud, glowering at anything and everything that happened to be in his line of sight as he drank.

"There is nothing, man. "Must not be feeling it today," he grumbled, ducking through the ropes and landing on the cold gym floor.

Mitch was grinning maniacally as he dried his face and short dirty blond hair with a towel. He was the best recon guy Jerome had ever met, and he knew Mitch needed a little crazy, a little danger in every day to truly feel alive. That was something Jerome could understand. On slow days like this, a good beating could be a suitable substitute for a gunfight.

It wasn't that slow for Jerome. He'd left Libby's house early in the morning and, after hours of aimless wandering, had finally called up his crew to see if anyone was up for a quick training session. Mitch, fortunately, had slid out from beneath one or two of the hot blondes he and Jordan had taken home the night before and provided some much-needed company.

"I'm serious, man. What's going on? What happened at the Pillar the other day? " Mitch inquired, giving Jerome a puzzled look.

Pillar? Oh, the bar...

He couldn't even recall the name of the bar. It didn't have any manners. As he slung the tape off his knuckles in a quick rolling motion, bunching it up into a ball, the corners of his mouth drooped lower. For a brief moment, he stretched his fingers, feeling the blood rush back into them. He could see the beginnings of a bruise on a few of the knuckles through the tape, a clear sign of sloppy fighting. It only served to aggravate him further.

"You could say that," he said hesitantly. When Mitch gave him a look that clearly called him out on his nonsense, Jerome grumbled and took his towel from his bag, draping it over his shoulders. "I screwed up. Not last night, anyway. Before. And it has returned to haunt me."

"Yeah?" Mitch inquired, leaning back against the cool stone wall and casting a long glance at Jerome. "Are you going to make good on it?" "

"I'm not sure if I can," he admitted honestly.

"Bullshit, man," Mitch exclaimed as he stretched his arms over his head and worked a kink out of his shoulder. "You can always fix whatever you screwed up. Unless the person who did you wrong is no longer alive. Isn't it true that life is all about second chances? "

He wasn't expecting a response, and Jerome didn't give one, instead undoing the end of the red tape wrapping around his other hand and peeling it off layer by layer.

How do you make amends for neglecting your child and the woman who could be your mate? Jerome questioned himself, keeping his thoughts to himself.

Yes, he used the word "might." The last time he'd been certain, it had come to bite him in the a$$ and torn a big old chunk out of him that he was still trying to fill with something else. The one thing he knew was that there were no certainties in life, and no matter how much he thought he was invincible, life kept proving him wrong time and again. As in Libby's case. And Reid. All that time, he jerked at the thought of them being alone.

She must have been terrified, he thought glumly, struggling to see the bright side of the situation.

"She's not dead," he said, leaning against the wall and taking a deep breath.

He despised feeling like that. Almost helpless. Every other problem he'd ever faced had been dealt with with varying degrees of violence, but this one? This one was completely out of his league.

Typically, he was able to rally and motivate himself to overcome whatever obstacle was in his path, while also motivating his men to do the same. He'd never needed a pep talk before, and now one of his crew was teaching him how to live.

There is no such thing as an overly high mountain or an overly deep valley. But he couldn't come up with anything this time.

Libby obviously didn't want him interfering with her or Reid Andrew's lives, but he couldn't leave. No way in hell would he abandon his child and his wife now, not before he knew they were safe. He might be able to live with the fact that she didn't want him to be a part of him growing up if she didn't want him to be a part of him growing up. So long as she kept him informed and promised to let the boy meet him if he wanted. He wouldn't blame Reid Andrew for never wanting to when he grew up.

He was an asshat, and he didn't need a third party to confirm it. Jerome was well aware of the type of person he was. Certainly not the type of man a woman would want by her side, assisting her in raising their children. Half of his life was spent attempting to kill the other guy before being killed himself, which did not make for ideal family security. Not to mention that he'd fucked her while he didn't even know her name, let alone anything else about her other than the fact that she needed to be protected.

"Oh, a woman?" That's a rough shit. I'm never able to get it right with the ladies. Mitch chuckled as he said, "Seems to always fuck up." "But, you know, all they want is to be treated properly." If you think you didn't respect her enough or if you need to mend something, lieutenant, I think you should go for it. Trying to beat the snot out of me here isn't going to get it done, but talking to her might."

Mitch arching one of his thick brows, he gave Jerome a long look. Mitch was the guy who was always cracking jokes and laughing about something or other. It wasn't like him to become solemn like that. If his crew was noticing so easily, Jerome must have been emitting distress signals like hell.

"I'm not sure if she wants me to," he said blankly, slapping his hands against his thighs, which whined in response with tiny cramps.

"You're not going to find out unless you go ask her, lieutenant."

"Take a look at yourself. A typical advice columnist. "I had no idea you had it in you, Mitch," Jerome smirked.

"Gotta pick up that skill with all the moaning and bitching you girls do," Mitch said, his grin crooked.

Jerome chuckled and shook his head. Sweat ran down his back and down his neck.

I've got to make this work, he thought, letting that thought sink in.

He'd never be able to forgive himself if he didn't try. Mitch was correct in this regard. He had no idea how things would turn out if he didn't give it his all. If he couldn't persuade Libby that he wasn't the creep he'd carefully constructed himself as, there was still hope for him to be a part of Reid Andrew's life. Regardless of how remote the possibility was.

If the mother didn't see reason a few Shaunrations ago, the reasonable thing for an Alpha to do would have been to barge in and take the child. But it was a different era, a less civilized one. Even bears had to be polite. Sometimes. Although Jerome wasn't above kicking a few asses and ignoring the questions in the name of his woman and his cub's safety and well-being, he knew he wouldn't take another step if it meant hurting Libby.

She was deserving of better.

But she would have to make do with him.