Hold Us Close (Keep Me Still) (4 page)

A
week has passed since I practically tore down our apartment with my bare hands. We cleaned up the best we could, but it’s a pretty safe bet we won’t be getting our security deposit back. I walk through the door and see Layla standing in the middle of the living room.

“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in Barcelona?”

I take a deep breath and answer, skipping the formalities of greeting her just as she did. “I’m suspended.”

Indefinitely, but I don’t tell her that part.

“What happened?” she asks, but I see the accusation in her eyes. She really means
What did you do?

I lay my car keys on the table by the door and set my bag on the one remaining barstool in the kitchen. How it survived my rampage is beyond me. Clearing my throat, I turn to face her. “Got into a disagreement with Vasquez.” More like my fist got into a disagreement with his face. Without me even meaning to, my right hand covers my left.

“And?” she prompts.

“And Coach said I needed to relax. I told him we were having some…issues. He said to take some time and get it handled.”

Her forehead wrinkles and she glares at me. “Get it handled? Landen, I told you I’m not—”

“Coach’s words, Layla. Not mine.”

She drops herself onto the couch and I do the same. We’re not touching, but the ever-present current of electricity warms the space between us. We’ve been sleeping in separate beds. Making small talk and avoiding any mention of anything that could set me off. Which is part of why I lost it on Vasquez today.

So low I have to lean in to hear her, she speaks without looking at me. “I talked to Corin last night about…about everything.”

There’s probably a sniper rifle trained on my forehead right about now. Her college roommate from New York has made it clear to me on multiple occasions that if I hurt Layla my balls will be pureed.

“By everything you mean…”

“All of it,” she says softly. “The baby, the surgery, you…you not wanting this.”

“Ah. And what did Ginger have to say?”

Finally she turns her beautiful ocean water eyes to mine. “She invited me to come stay with her for a while. She doesn’t think it’s good for me to be home alone so much. And you and I…”

You and I are done.
I hear it even though she doesn’t say it.

“You’re leaving me?” Fuck. My voice comes out weak and pathetic. My father’s two favorite nicknames for me.

“No! God, Landen, it’s just…I don’t know where we are right now. We pretend like…like there’s nothing to say, like not talking about it makes it not real. But how are you going to feel when I look like I swallowed a soccer ball? I don’t want you flying into a rage at the sight of me, and honestly…”

At some point, my head dropped into my hands. My elbows dig into my knees and I lift my eyes and turn to her. “Honestly what?” Her perfect mouth is doing that heartbreakingly adorable thing it does when she’s about to cry. I can’t help myself. I reach out with my thumb and brush it tenderly against her lips. “Honestly what, baby?”

Her eyelids flicker and she shakes her head before pulling back out of my reach. “Honestly, I don’t want to spend this entire pregnancy feeling guilty…and…and afraid.” The last word isn’t even loud enough to call a whisper, but it cuts me the deepest.

I stand, pulling my hand from her mouth as if she bit me. “Jesus, Layla. The last thing I want is for you to be afraid of me.” I’m pacing, and already I know I need to settle down, but she’s leaving and she’s afraid of me and everything is all screwed up. “You know I would never hurt you. Christ almighty, I’d rather peel off my own skin than hurt you.”

“I know that. That’s not what I meant. Not exactly.”

“Not exactly?” I stop pacing and examine her face. She still looks like an angel. Just a sad, tired angel. The stress of our situation is taking its toll on her. Like it or not, I’m hurting her.

“I know you’re unhappy,” she confesses. “When you hurt, I hurt.”

In that moment, the one when she utters those words, I am consumed utterly and entirely with inescapable self-hatred. I open my mouth to speak, but she’s not finished.

“I’m not afraid for me, Landen. I’m afraid for you. Afraid you’ll lose yourself. Sometimes, when you’re angry…” She closes her eyes for a few seconds, and I need her words like I need air to breathe. Except it feels like both are going to choke me to death. “Sometimes it’s like you’re someone else, and it’s like I don’t know you, or know how to help you.”

I kneel in front of her, pulling her to me until our foreheads touch. “Baby, you do help me. I don’t even want to think about the man I’d be if it weren’t for you.” Bile rises in my throat at the mention of me without her. The reflection of my father staring back at me thrusts itself into my head.

“I love you so much,” she whispers into my hair. “So much.”

I let my weight press against her. “I love you, too. God I love you so damn much it hurts. I swear we’ll get through this. Somehow. We will.” It’s then that I see the small, black suitcase peeking out from beside the couch. Fuck. “Please don’t leave me,” I plead. It doesn’t escape me that I’m literally on my knees begging.

“I won’t,” she reassures me. “I could never really leave you, Landen. You know that.” But I pull back and look up into her eyes. They’re shining with the promise of more tears. More pain.

You ruin everything
, my father reminds me.

“I know.”

I
’ve been on the phone with Corin for over an hour explaining why I’m not coming to visit her after all. I’m freaking exhausted.

“He needs me,” I tell her on a sigh. “And he’s always been there for me when I needed him.” That’s what love is, I want to tell her. Being there. Keeping each other balanced. Not that we’ve been doing such a great job at it lately.

“Until now,” she snaps back, still as heated as she was when this conversation began. “You’re the one who’s pregnant, Georgia. He needs to get his shit together and man up. You can’t baby him anymore. You’re growing a human being inside of you for fuck’s sake.”

I huff out a breath and lie down on the bed. Landen left for his run as soon as I picked up the phone. Glancing at the alarm clock, I see it’s going on two hours since he’s been gone. The more upset he is, the longer he runs. “I know. I think I’m going to take a nap, Cor. It’s all just been…” A nightmare, I want to say, but I don’t because then she’ll launch into her ninety-nine reasons why I should just come stay with her. And this isn’t what I want to remember. I don’t want to look at my child one day and think,
Being pregnant with you was the worst nine months of my life.
Going over it all again seems like a surefire way to burn the pain into my memory.

“Okay,” she says, finally relenting. “Get some rest. But if he so much as raises his voice at you, I swear—”

“I know. And I love you for looking out for me. I know it sounds bad, but he really doesn’t direct his anger at me. Even at his worst. He just holds everything in and then he breaks. He can’t help it. I can’t imagine what it was like being raised by a man like his father.”

“You always make excuses for him,” she says softly. I almost nod, even though she can’t see me. Because she’s right. I do. But how can I not? It’s not his fault he’s like this. “Layla, if I’d known he had such an insane temper, I might not have encouraged you to—”

“Corin, stop. I’m a big girl and I make my own decisions. I moved here with him because I love him. Because this is my life and I want to spend it living and loving and hurting and feeling everything there is to feel. It’s just a crazy time right now, and we’re both adjusting to…the news.”

“Mmhm,” she mumbles. “If you say so. But seriously, if you need me, for anything, call. Or if you want Skylar to talk to him or whatever.”

“I will,” I tell her as my heavy eyelids start to drift shut. It’s not even all the way dark yet but I’m struggling to stay awake. “Promise.”

We say our goodbyes just as I lose consciousness.

T
he music pulls me suddenly from the depths of sleep. I might’ve been dreaming of the ocean again. But it isn’t waves I’m hearing crashing on the shore. Instruments, brass and wood fill the room so fully that I’m certain there’s a mariachi band outside my window. Looking at the clock on the nightstand, I see it’s just after ten. My bed is depressingly empty. The sheets on Landen’s side are cool when I brush my arms across them. Loneliness twists in my stomach as I sit up and listen for a few more minutes, wondering briefly if our neighbors are having a party.

My bare feet land on the hardwood and I step over to the window. A small festival is taking place on the street below. I vaguely remember seeing signs about it earlier this week. For a few minutes, I watch the people dancing as the sounds of their laughter float up to me. They look so happy. Carefree.

When Landen and I first moved here, we went to every festival held anywhere near us. We danced in the streets until we could barely stand. He’d twirl me around and around until I lost my balance and crashed into his arms. An unwelcome tear traces a path down my cheek with another close on its trail. Opening my window, I rest my head on the sill to listen. I gaze longingly at the scene in the street, wishing there was a way we could get back to that place. To happiness and dancing and being so consumed by love that seizures, angry rages, or dead or abusive parents couldn’t even hurt us anymore.

“Babe?” Landen’s voice startles me, and I rush to wipe the evidence of my sadness away.

“Hey, sorry. Did I wake you?” I close the window before turning to face him. The glow from the hallway lamp illuminates the outline of his tall, dark figure.

“No, I was up.” He steps closer, and I’m aching to reach out to him. The sleeping apart has wedged something solid between us that I don’t know how to remove. “Guess they’re partying pretty hard out there, huh?” Landen tilts his head towards the window.

“Remember that first night we moved in?” I ask him, stepping closer so we’re nearly touching. “We were nearly dead from the flight and still had a ton of boxes to unpack, but they had that Saints Day thing going on and we ended up dancing until almost sunrise.” I smile at the memory. Landen takes the final step to close the space between us, and I’m ready to beg him to put his arms around me. My need for contact, for his touch, is so strong it’s palpable.

“I remember,” he says.

“Remember after?” I breathe. My body trembles at the memory. After we drank and danced and had been welcomed by everyone and their brother, we stumbled half drunk up to the apartment and made love.

“Like I could forget,” he says, finally using both hands to pull me towards him.

“I’ve missed you,” I whisper, tilting my face up to his.

He nods and I watch the muscles move in his neck as he swallows hard. “I’m here now,” he answers just before claiming my mouth with his.

He backs us up to the bed and we fall into it together. The down comforter tangles around us as we pull at each other’s clothing.

“I need you. I need you so much,” I tell him between kisses. The emptiness inside me begins to wane as he pulls me higher so my head reaches a pillow. Our mouths separate only long enough for him to pull off the practice jersey of his that I sleep in.

“I know, baby. I need you too. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?” I suck his full bottom lip into my mouth before he can answer. His answering kisses are full of a fervor I can’t even match without hurting one or both of us.

“Swear. Cross my heart.” Landen sits up and pulls my white lace panties down my legs. I watch him toss them over the edge of the bed. Even in the darkness I can see the light shining in his eyes as he stares down at my naked body.

The force of his stare is so intense that he pins me to the mattress without even touching me. “Mine,” he says low into the room as he trails a finger between my breasts towards my naval.

“Yes, always,” I breathe, arching up in a plea for him to touch me where I need it most. Every night I’ve spent alone in our bed has filled me with a bone-chilling cold that made me ache. It dissipates inch by inch as he warms me with his touch until I’m burning up.

His hand stops, palm down on my stomach. I’m only about five weeks along so there’s no bump, but there’s something. A fullness. Maybe it’s in my head because I know I’m pregnant. I go completely still and wait for him to freak out and run. To leave me aching and alone. But he doesn’t. Instead, he leans down and presses his lips to my stomach.

“Mine,” he says again, and his voice is so possessive, so absolute, I want to cry. But I don’t. I rise and grab his face, pulling his mouth to mine. His tongue dances inside of me, and I’m dizzy from lack of oxygen as I try to get enough.

“Make love to me, Landen. Please. I need you.
Now
,” I mumble into his mouth.

He tears his mouth from mine long enough to strip off his black boxer briefs. Once he springs free, I reach down and stroke his hard length. He groans and leans over me once again. “Easy, baby,” he murmurs against my mouth. “I’ve missed you too. A lot.” His lips smile against my cheek and I pull him closer, lining him up with my already wet entrance.

“I’ve hated this bed without you. Don’t ever leave me again. You promised you’d never leave,” I whisper without even meaning to. I’m lost, mindless with emotions as my need for him overtakes all reason.

His eyes meet mine, pain and anger and regret flashing in them. “I’m so sorry, baby. I never meant to hurt you.”

My dreams come back to me, flooding me with memories I finally understand. The broken seashells. The ones I’ve always collected, even though my mom and my aunt both tried to push the perfect ones on me. Landen is my broken shell; he’s beautiful and dangerously jagged and sharp. He can cut me and hurt me and make me bleed tears. But maybe, just maybe, I can be the water that washes over him and smoothes those rough edges.

He says something else, but I’m drowning in memories of the ocean, deafened by music from outside and waves crashing in my mind.

I kiss him fiercely, plunging my tongue into his mouth as deep as I can. Reaching up, I press firmly against his shoulders until he gets the message and rolls onto his back. He stares up at me in wonderment as I ease myself down onto him. My head lolls back at the fullness.

I slide up and down, whimpering and moaning at how good he feels inside. How right we are together. We fit. Perfectly. Nothing that comes from this could ever be bad. No matter what anyone says.

“Layla, slow down.” His hands tighten on my hips. His tone is urgent. He’s pleading with me but I’m so close. I stroke myself against him as slowly as I can manage before slamming back down, impaling myself on his thick erection. A loud groan escapes his throat and it propels me forward. Digging my fingers into his shoulders hard enough to leave bruises, I pause for a moment to enjoy the sensation of my walls constricting around him. Finally succumbing to the pressure building in my center I ride him harder. Faster.

“Come inside me, Landen. Come now.”

“I…fuck,” he bites out.

“I can’t get any
more
pregnant. Come in me. Please come in me. I want to feel you.” My words come out rushed and I’m breathless but he understands.

He fills me with rapid, scorching bursts and I cry out. The current inside of me shifts suddenly and I’m thrown headfirst into a violent orgasm of epic proportions. I collapse on top of him as my body becomes boneless.

The veins in his neck are straining as he finishes, and I lick his throat. He grunts a sigh of relief, and I place several more open-mouthed kisses on his neck and chest.

“I love you. God, I love you so damn much,” he says, kissing me on top of my head.

Resting my cheek against his bare chest, I try to form a coherent thought. “I know. Just…don’t ever stop.”