Hold Us Close (Keep Me Still) (6 page)

I
wake to sunlight streaming in through the blinds. Memories of the night before come back slowly and I savor them. Landen’s sharp, clean scent stirs as I rouse the blankets around me. Smiling, I disentangle myself from the sheets and make my way to the bathroom.

I smile at my reflection in the mirror. Things aren’t perfect, but I feel like we made real progress. Landen and I are “us” again. For the first time in a week, I feel like I can breathe. No secrets, no more separate beds.

My still sleep-heavy brain vaguely recalls a mentioning of omelets. After debating showering for five minutes, I decide omelets come first. Wrapping my robe around me, I head into the living room. Muffled shouts are coming from somewhere but I don’t see Landen. Until I do.

He’s on the phone on the balcony, waving his arms wildly. Panic sends all of my physiological responses into overdrive. Oh God. Something’s happened and it’s bad.

My heart thrums hard against my ribs, sending blood rushing to my head. If he got let go from the team and he’s screaming at his coach like that, his entire career will be over. Without thinking, my body propels itself forward and slides the glass door to the side. I step out onto the warm concrete and reach for him.

“Landen,” I say softly, approaching him from the back and reaching for him. Either I startled him or he’s just heard something awful because his arm flies up and the back of his hand connects with my mouth.

For a moment, I’m confused. A far away ringing sound grows louder and I blink until I can see straight.

“Oh God. Shit. Layla.” Landen whirls around and takes me in with wild eyes. He was already angry and now he’s panicking. His phone clatters to the ground as he reaches for me. “Baby, I’m so sorry. You’re bleeding.”

“I’m okay,” I reassure him. But I might not be. My upper lip feels five inches thicker and the faint metallic taste of blood touches my tongue.

“The hell you are,” he says, lifting me in his arms and carrying me into the kitchen. He sets me down on the counter like I’m made of glass. I watch helplessly as he grabs a dishtowel and runs it under the sink faucet.

Wincing in pain as he presses the damp towel to my mouth, I try again to mumble that I’m fine. But Landen is a man on fire. Once I’ve taken the wet rag in my hands, he practically leaps over the breakfast bar to get to the freezer. In a blink, he’s tucking ice into the dishtowel and placing it gently against my lips.

“Who were you talking to?”

“No one,” he says evenly, avoiding my eyes by staring at my wounded lip. “No one important,” he finishes. So much for no more secrets.

“I’m really okay. Promise,” I tell him. But with the ice on my mouth, it comes out more like, “I’m ribby okay. Probbise.” Tilting my head upwards with the intention of reassuring him, my eyes meet his and I’m terrified of what I see in them. Pure, unaltered self-loathing. His expression resembles one of actual physical pain. I wrap my legs around him and pull him closer to me. “Hey, look at me. I’m okay.”

I put my hand over his and tug until he lowers the makeshift ice pack. Immediately I wish I hadn’t. His already turbulent gaze widens and clouds over.

“I hurt you,” he whispers. “All I do is hurt you.”

“Landen, don’t. Don’t get like this. It was an accident.” Reaching my hand up, I stroke the rough stubble on his jaw.

His pain breaks over both of us and I’m trembling from the sheer force of it. Placing his hands on either side of me on the counter, Landen braces me in his arms. Resting his forehead on mine, he sighs. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I can’t stop hurting you. Literally. Everything I do hurts you in one way or another.”

My heart aches for him. He does hurt me, but not in the way he thinks. He hurts me by not seeing what I see when I look at him. Sliding both of my hands around the back of his neck, I whisper, “I’m tougher than you think, Landen.” I’ll never tire of the way his name feels on my lips. Even when they’re swollen and hurting.

“Tell me what to do, baby. Tell me how not to hurt you.” He stares down at me with pleading eyes. All I want is to make him understand. I love him, anger and all.

“Kiss it better,” I say, pouting my injured lip at him.

His brows dip in confusion. He’s the broken shell, and I’m the water. Need pulsates within me. The need to wash over him and ease his pain, smooth the jagged edges he uses to hurt us both.

The warmth of his breath teases against my skin. Stretching to kiss him, I’m startled when he grips my chin in his large hand. A small whimper escapes as I stare into his tortured gaze. For a split second, I’m terrified. Swallowed whole by the fear that he’s about to tell me he can’t do this—or just doesn’t want to. But then he sighs and places his lips within a centimeter of mine. “Do you remember our first kiss?”

I nod. How could I forget? It was only a few years ago, in California, in an alley outside a nightclub. It nearly crushed me, my need for him. “Of course I do,” I whisper, my lips barely brushing against his.

He peppers my jawline with whispered kisses, causing me to shiver. “It was the first time I ever controlled myself. Held back. Didn’t give in to the inferno burning me up inside.”

“Oh yeah?” I breathe, my chest rising against him as I do.

His nose traces the trail left by his hot mouth. “I’d never really been able to control myself before. Before you.”

My head lolls back as the muscles in my neck give out. “Glad I could help you with that.” I feel the curvature of his mouth as he smiles against my neck.

He groans as I pull the string that holds my robe closed. “Layla.”

“Sometimes losing control is a good thing, Landen. Sometimes I want you to. I know you’re careful with me, and I appreciate that. I do. But sometimes…”

His strong hands stroke up my inner thighs and I gasp as he spreads my knees apart. “Sometimes what, baby?”

“Sometimes I want you to lose control. Want you to take me however you want. Wherever. Whenever. As hard or fast or rough as you need to.”

“Jesus, Layla.” His eyes are wide as his lust and fear mingle in his stare.

“I’m serious. Let me be what you need, Landen. You’ve always kept me still when I needed you, when I was falling apart.” I brush my nose against his. “Let me be that for you Don’t run. Don’t break anything.” I lean up so that my mouth is next to his ear. “When all that aggression builds up, just…give it to me. However you need to.”

He bolts upright as if I’ve literally shocked him with a live wire. “Baby, I’d…I’d hurt you.” Shaking his head, he stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. He takes a step back as if I’ve become dangerous to him somehow.

Reaching out, I use the waistband of his jeans to pull him back to me. Licking my lips, I gather all my courage and look up at him. His gaze penetrates mine and I tug the hair at the nape of his neck. “You wouldn’t. I promise. Fuck me, Landen. Just let go. Give me your anger. I can take it. I want it.”

Turmoil burns in his expression. We’ve made love countless times. He’s always gentle. Always thorough and attentive. But I’ve watched him play soccer, watched him lose his temper. I know what’s inside of him. He needs more than slow, sensual love-making, and I want so badly to give him what he needs. Just like he’s always done for me.

If fucking me will siphon off some of his excess rage, I’m ready to take whatever he can give. Maybe I need it too.

Crashing my mouth to his, I ignore the scream of pain from my injured lip. When he tries to pull back, I yank his hair even harder. My heels dig into the denim covering his ass as he presses against me.

His teeth scrape my bottom lip, causing me to moan out loud. He lifts me from the counter top and I let my robe slip all the way open. Wrapping my legs around his waist and hanging on for dear life, I tear at his flesh with my hands and mouth.

Air whooshes from my lungs when he slams my back against the refrigerator door. Something that must’ve been on top of it crashes to the floor. Bottles clank together inside but we don’t stop.

“Dammit,” Landen bites out when we run out of breath.

“Don’t stop,” I pant, struggling to suck oxygen into my lungs.

He shakes his head, and I can see him warring with himself. What he wants is battling it out with what he thinks I can handle. “What about the…” He clears his throat and lowers me to standing. “What about the baby? I don’t want to hurt the—”

“You won’t. I checked. Unless you have a baseball bat in your pants, I think we’re fine.”

He grins and pins me against the fridge. “Well, I have been told it’s pretty impressive.”

Rolling my eyes, I lean up and kiss him softly. “That it is.”

“You really want this?” he asks hesitantly, tilting his head in this sweet way he has.

Instead of answering, I pull him to me roughly once more. I let my hands explore his bare chest, the muscles in his stomach, his sexy hip bones that jut out just above the dark trail of hair that leads to his erection. And then I lean in and bite him. Hard. Just below his rib cage.

“Ow, Layla. Fuck,” he calls out. Good. I surprised him.

I smile sweetly up at him, giving my best innocent expression. “My bad, babe.” I lower my head and place my lips over the spot I just sank my teeth into. Running my tongue over to the other side causes him to suck in a breath. And then I bite him again. Harder this time.

“What the hell?” He grips me by the shoulders and hauls me upright. “Fucking quit.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

His eyes gleam. He’s turned on and confused. But mostly turned on. He breathes in and out deeply enough for his chest to press against mine as we stand there facing off.

“About our first kiss,” I say, trailing a finger down his heaving chest. “What exactly did you want then?”

He eyes me curiously for a moment before placing a hand flat against my chest, backing me up against the fridge once more. “This. I wanted this.” Before I have time to blink, he thrusts two fingers deep inside me.

I cry out, lost in sensation as he plunges in and out.

“And this,” he says, lowering his mouth to my neck and sucking hard enough to hurt.

“Oh god, oh god, don’t stop.” His fingers find that spot inside of me, and my legs give out.

“I wanted to fuck you right there in that alley. Wanted to bury myself in your tight wetness. I wanted to claim you, make you come so hard you’d never push me away again.” He pulls his fingers out, causing me to cry out in protest. “Don’t say you want me to fuck you, Layla, unless you really do. Because you know better than anyone, there’s a lot of shit built up inside of me. You know I can hurt you. I will hurt you. Even if I don’t mean to.”

“Sometimes hurting is good. It makes me feel alive. You want to know something?” I breathe out as he slips his fingers back inside of me.

“I do.”

“I would’ve let you. I would’ve let you take me in that alley. I would’ve let you put your fingers inside of me in high school, would’ve let you lick me, finger me, fuck me, whatever you wanted that first night. I want you every way there is. All of you. Always have. Always will.”

I can see in his eyes as he stares at me, his breath sharp pants, the desire radiating off of him—my confession sets him on fire. Landen grips me under my butt and lifts me onto him. Before I know what’s happening, I’m flat on my back on our breakfast bar. I watch as he tears his jeans off and yanks my legs apart.

“Hold tight, baby. It’s going to be rough.”

W
hen I come to, the room is bathed in orangish-blue light. I rub my eyes and glance around. Sunset. Stretching, I see that Landen is sprawled across me, both of us naked as the day we were born. And we’re on the kitchen floor. I stretch and my back aches in protest. My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten.

My head hurts and everything is blurry. I smile as my memory returns. I have a sex hangover. Landen fucked me.
Really
fucked me. Not just hard and fast sex like we’ve had before. Head-banging-into-the-wall, glass-shattering-on-the-floor, screaming-orgasms-of-epic-proportions
fucked me.

And now he’s asleep in my arms, looking like an innocent little boy. Kissing him on top of the head, I ease out from under him. After a quick search, I find my robe slung over the breakfast bar. Pulling it on, I glance outside and see that it’s sprinkling. Something breaks through my sex-sluggish brain and I remember that Landen left his phone on the balcony. I step out to retrieve it, hoping it’s not too late.

When I tap the button to activate the screen, nothing happens. Hopefully it’s just dead. Stepping quietly back inside, I take it into the bedroom and attach it to my charger. The screen comes to life instantly and I’m relieved it’s not ruined. I start to set it down on the nightstand, but nagging curiosity gets the best of me. Whoever he was talking to really upset him. And if he’s been fired, I deserve to know. I enter his password, knowing it’s the day we met, and pull up his recent calls.

Holy shit. Shock hits me so hard I almost drop the sleek black phone.

Two calls. One missed from The Colonel and one where it appears Landen called him. I check the time. Eight minutes. They spoke for eight minutes.

Disappointment makes my chest ache. What in the world would he be calling his dad for? And why wouldn’t he have told me?

I can’t help it. I know I shouldn’t, but I peek at his text messages. There are several from his coach.

Here is the link to the place I emailed you about. They’re worth checking out.

Landen didn’t respond but his coach kept texting.

The club would handle the cost. It’s covered by your insurance.

I hope that you’ll at least consider it.

Let me know something soon.

I have no idea what he’s talking about. Glancing in the living room to make sure Landen’s still sleeping, I click on the link. Oh my.

If his coach is sending him info about a place like this, he must be in serious trouble. I read the description of the place. It’s in California. Then I click on the frequently asked questions. Several of the services mentioned sound a lot like the kind of help Landen could use.

“What are you doing?”

His gruff voice scares the crap out of me. I drop the phone as if it’s on fire.

“Um—”

“What the fuck, Layla? We go through each other’s phones now?” His broad frame blocks the light in the doorway.

“Sorry. It’s just, you left it outside and I wanted to make sure it wasn’t messed up from the rain.”

“Oh yeah?” Landen takes two steps, closing the distance between us, and snatches his phone up off the bed. “You had to read my texts and open my web browser to be sure?”

Swallowing hard, I stand up to face him. We have plenty of issues, like any other relationship, but we don’t lie to each other. “No. I wanted to see what upset you. I checked your recent calls. The text notifications popped up and I was curious.”

“Whatever,” he snaps. “Here. Knock yourself out.” He pitches his phone at me and stalks out of the room.

I let his phone bounce off the bed and hit the floor. “Hey. Talk to me,” I demand, following him out of the room, which is never a good idea when he’s pissed. But he’s overreacting this time. More so than usual. If anyone should be upset, it’s me. We live together. I tell him everything. If he has so many secrets he’s going to flip out over me looking at his phone, then we have bigger problems than I realized. Which is saying something.

“Why?” he asks, whirling around to face me. “Nothing you can’t figure out by snooping in my phone.”

“Don’t be an ass. I was worried about you. I do that sometimes.”

He snorts and turns from me again. “I’m going for a run.”

“Oh good. That’ll help. It always solves all of our problems.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He glares at me as he pulls on a T-shirt.

“It means, you’ve been talking to your dad, your suspension is obviously more serious than you let on, and my aunt has called you a million times. None of which you’ve even bothered to try and talk to me about. So yeah, good idea. A run should take care of everything.” I huff out an exasperated breath.

“I’m pissed off. Looks like you are too. It’s better for me to run off my anger than lose control of it here.” He laces up his running shoes as I stand there seething.

“Landen, we talked about this. You can’t run every time you’re mad.” I move in front of the door in a pathetic attempt to keep him from leaving.
It didn’t work.
I thought maybe I could help somehow; take some of his anger away. But the look in his eyes tells me I was wrong.

“Like hell I can’t. If I fucked you right now, I’d fuck one or both of us right into the emergency room.”

“Please don’t do this.” Angry tears burn my eyes. “I want to know what you and your dad talked about. I want to know what he said.”

“Tough shit.” He steps towards the door. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. Move.”

But I don’t move. I fold my arms and will him to stop being this way with everything I’m worth.

He looks at me as if I’m an unknown species he can’t understand or communicate with. His eyes are intense and desperate. “I’m trying to keep myself from hurting you. Christ. What do you want from me?”

“I want you to stay,” I say, knowing I sound like a petulant child. “I want you to grow up and stop running and stop acting like the incredible hulk. Don’t rip your shirt off and beat on your chest and blow up every time something doesn’t go your way. I’m pregnant. We’re both scared. We had messed up childhoods and we might both suck at being parents. You’re keeping things from me and I looked at your stupid phone. Let’s deal with it.”

Both sides of his jaw tick as he gives me a slight shake of his head. “Fine. You want me to stay? Here, I’ll stay.”

My shoulders sag forward with relief. We’re finally going to talk things out. For once. But before I can apologize for my hateful words, Landen grabs the vase off the end table, the one that holds the shells my mother and I collected every summer in Gulf Shores before she died. Before she was taken from me. It’s the one thing I have left that really reminds me of her.

“Don’t, please don’t—”

I wince when it hits the wall, shattering apart just like the vase does.

“Get out,” I sob, running over to where glass and sand and my memories are scattered all over the floor. “Just go.”

I don’t even look up when the door slams.

After I’ve cleaned up the mess the best I can, I find my cell phone in my purse and dial the only person I feel like I can really count on.

“I need help,” I choke out as soon as she answers. “How soon can you be here?”