Hold Us Close (Keep Me Still) (8 page)

“H
ere at Axis, we give you the tools to cope, teach you realistic strategies to manage your anger by controlling your reactions and responses to everyday stressors.” The woman giving the introduction speech in what I refer to as the white room reminds me so much of Layla that it causes a pang in my chest. Her eyes are a crystal clear shade of blue behind her glasses, and she wears her sleek blonde hair in a ponytail. This is going to be the longest six weeks of my entire dammed life.

I sigh and settle in to listen. I’m still jet-lagged from the flight, and I didn’t sleep well last night for fear Corin was going to stab me in the middle of the night. She’s the only person who hates me as much or maybe even more than I do. Not that I blame her.

After the thirty minute “you’re all kinds of fucked up but we’re here to help” speech, I’m shown to a small room.

“No roommate?” I ask the stocky dark-skinned guy who hands me a stack of towels and bed sheets.

“Not for those of you in here for anger disorders.” He eyes me like this should be obvious.

Yeah, angry dudes living in close quarters. Probably not the best idea.

I set my stuff on a chair and lie down on the bare mattress. The words
anger disorders
flash behind my eyes.

I am officially a complete fuck-up of a human being. I’d laugh at myself if it weren’t so pathetic. I had everything I ever thought I wanted. A career I’d thought was a pipe dream. The beautiful woman I love loves me back and is risking her life to have my kid. But something in me—something uncontrollable that thirsted for pain and destruction—obliterated everything good in my life.

Which led me here. Rehab for out-of-control assholes.

I turn on my side and stare out the window at the ocean. I always liked the ocean. Its raw power is able to destroy, but mostly it stays calm, pushing and pulling with the current. Closing my eyes, I imagine that I can hear it. An image of Layla splashing me in the water and laughing on one of our many trips to the beach washes over me. It’s been so damn long since I’ve seen her truly happy. Since I’ve made her laugh.

I just want to make her happy. I’ll do anything. Everything.

I open my eyes and look around the small room. God I hope this works.

A
s my first session with Dr. Sanderson is ending, I make the request I’ve been wanting to make since I walked through the door to her office. “Can I ask you something? Something kind of off-topic?”

“Sure, I guess so.”

I pull the folded envelope from my back pocket. “Do you know a Dr. Clayton Kirkowitz? He’s a neurosurgeon.”

Dr. Sanderson nods. “I’ve heard of him. All good things. Why?”

“Um, I have something for him.” My hands are shaking, rattling the envelope that holds the words that poured straight from my soul onto paper. “I was wondering if you could pass it along.”

The doctor looks apprehensive as she takes it. “It’s not a death threat or anything, is it?”

I can’t help but smile. Shaking my head, I raise an eyebrow at her. “Do I really come off as
that
out of control?”

Relief hits me when she smiles back. “Permission to read what’s in here to be sure?”

I swallow hard and nod. “Sure.”

“Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”

“That’s all I can ask.”

B
ecause apparently these types of places enjoy torturing their patients, every Sunday is Family Day. Odds are most of us are in here because of our families. So yeah, let’s please take a day to celebrate that.

I don’t tell Layla about it because she doesn’t need the stress of a trip here. Her medical condition and pregnancy are enough to deal with. And because she’s the only person I actually consider my family, I’m shocked on my second to last Sunday when there’s a knock at my door.

“You have a visitor, O’Brien,” a male voice calls out from the other side.

Shaking my head, because I should’ve known she’d find out and show up, I pull the door open. “You didn’t have to—”

“Landen,” my mom greets me. “I know you weren’t expecting me.”

I clear my throat and stare at her. Her dark hair is cut shorter than I ever remember her wearing it, and there are flecks of gray in it. “No. No, I wasn’t.” My lungs seem to want to breathe a little harder and my heart pounds into my ribs with a vengeance. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s Family Day,” she says, as if that makes everything perfectly okay.

“Right. But since our family was pretty much based on bullshit, and I’m a grown man now, I was hoping we could stop pretending.”

She doesn’t even flinch at my words. “I knew you’d be angry. And I get that. But your doctor said we could use a conference room and there’s someone I want you to talk to.”

From the way she says
someone
, I know exactly who she means. “No. Hell no. I’ve heard everything I need to hear. From both of you.”

Instead of yelling, the preferred method of disagreement for The Colonel and I, my mom stares me down with folded arms. “You’re here to get help, right? So you won’t end up being the kind of father he was? I can’t imagine a better person to give you advice about how not to be like him than him. Can you?”

“I don’t want his fucking advice.”

She sighs and lowers her arms. “Landen, you’re still angry. And you’re angry because of him. Or because of me. Or both. But either way, we’re all a part of this. You can face the source of your anger head on or I can take a cab back to the airport and you can go it alone. But I would really like—”

Shit. Her voice breaks and she’s crying. I clench my jaw in an attempt to remain unaffected.

“—a chance to know my grandchild. Please,” she finishes.

“If either one of you lies to me, about anything, I’m done.” I step out into the hall beside her. “And I’m not making any promises.”

“Good,” she says, sniffling out the last of her tears. “Then neither will I.”

T
he conference room is small and plain. A square table with four chairs and a phone. Dr. Sanderson sits at the head of the table and I notice a red light flashing on the phone.

“Landen. Your mother surprised you with this visit. How does that make you feel?”

“Just jump right in with the psychoanalysis, Doc. It makes me feel sad. Hold me,” I answer, pulling out a seat for my mother and then one for myself.

She forces a tight smile but her eyes meet mine and amusement sparkles in them. “Sarcasm won’t help you. It’s not one of the suggested tools for dealing with anger. You know that.”

“That I do.” I sit while she and my mother say brief hellos.

“Okay,” Dr. Sanderson begins, taking a deep breath and pushing her wavy red hair behind her ear. “It’s up to you two if you want me here or not. I can stay and mediate, or you can have this conversation in private. Which would you prefer?”

“Private,” I say at the exact same moment my mother says, “Stay.”

We glance at each other and I shrug. “Whatever.”

“How about I give you a few minutes alone and then I check back in a bit?” Dr. Sanderson stands and places a hand firmly on my shoulder as she moves past me. “You can do this,” she says softly.

“Is that him?” I ask my mom once the doctor closes the door behind her. Jerking my eyes toward the flashing light on the phone, I try to ignore the tension building inside of me, the tightening of my chest.

“It is,” my mom answers, obviously not needing clarification. She takes a deep breath and locks her eyes onto mine. “Landen, I know this isn’t easy. None of it. What you and Layla are going through, dealing with a truth that was hidden from you, paying for the mistakes of others. But before we hash this whole thing out, I just wanted to say that no matter how you feel about all of this once we’re finished here today or how you feel about me, I love you.” Her eyes begin to fill with tears and I look down. No matter what she’s done or hasn’t done over the years, I hate seeing my mom cry. “And I’m proud of you.”

I close my eyes and I see myself destroying the apartment in Spain. Layla’s heartbroken expression when I threw her vase of seashells against the wall.

There’s nothing about me that anyone should be proud of.

When I glance up my mom reaches a hand out and places it on my cheek. I don’t lean into her touch but I don’t flinch away either.

“Ready?” she whispers.

No.
“Guess so,” I say instead.

I watch as she presses the red button below the flashing light. “Jack?”

“Annie.” The Colonel’s voice still causes my organs to seize up. “Is he…did he agree to—”

“I’m here,” I say, wishing his goddamn voice didn’t make me feel five fucking years old. “Let’s hear it. Whatever bullshit story you two want to tell me. I’m listening.”

“Landen, your mother and I—” The Colonel begins, but mom cuts him off.

“I was nineteen. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. There was no money for college and I had no skills, no real ones anyway, to get a job. But they hired me as a receptionist in the Army enlistment office at the community college.” Her body is still and her eyes are glazed over as if she’s actually somewhere much further from me. “Your father signed up on my first day. He also asked me to dinner.”

“I still remember that red sweater you had on,” The Colonel says from the speaker. “I was nervous as hell about enlisting, but it was the family business so I didn’t have much of a choice. And then I walked in and you smiled at me and I couldn’t wait to sign those damn papers and get back out there to ask you out.”

My teeth are on edge as I listen to them reminisce. I don’t like it. Because it tells me they were happy once. And then I came along and wrecked everything.

“We dated for six months and then, much to both of our families dismay, we were married.” My mom gives me a small smile that I don’t return. I always wondered why my grandparents didn’t stay in touch. As a kid I blamed it on the fact that we moved so much. Guess there was more to it than that.

“Right after our honeymoon, I was sent on three back-to-back deployments. Leaving my beautiful, young wife home alone. Alone in our house, alone in our marriage.” Regret thickens The Colonel’s voice. My stomach clenches at hearing him like this. He sounds so…human.

“It was lonely.
I
was lonely.” My mom reaches out to touch my arm, or maybe my hand, I’m not sure. I pull back because I can’t stand the thought of being touched right now. Not by anyone involved in this conversation anyways. The one person I want to be here isn’t. Her eyes reflect the hurt my action causes, but I just can’t right now. “It’s still no excuse,” she says so low I barely hear her.

The Colonel clears his throat. “It was a long time ago, Annie.”

“Don’t make excuses for me, Jack. He deserves to know.” Squaring her shoulders as she sits up straight, my mom pulls in a ragged breath. “Some of the girls from my office were going to a soccer game. A tournament of some type. I went along for lack of anything better to do. That’s where I met Javier Guzman. He was part Italian and completely over the top when it came to getting my attention.”

I always thought the expression “you could hear a pin drop” was an exaggeration. It isn’t. I’m holding my breath and I’m betting The Colonel is too.

My biological father was part Italian. A professional soccer player, like me. And now I know his name.

Watching my mom smile at a memory I’m not sure I want to know about makes my head pound. “He was amazing on the field. Full of energy and aggressive…like you,” she tells me. “His team won the tournament that weekend, and my friends and I agreed to go out and celebrate with them. It was…” She bites her lip and her expression clouds over. “It was not the decision that I should’ve made as a married woman.”

She phrases it carefully. But I hear what she doesn’t say.
It was a mistake. You were a mistake.

“That’s enough,” I say, because I can’t take anymore.

“Landen—”

“No. I got it. You had an affair. You made a mistake and then you got to pay for it for eighteen years.”

“Son, give her a chance—”

I huff out a harsh laugh, interrupting whatever The Colonel was about to say. “Did you miss the point of the story, Colonel? I’m not your son. But wait, you knew that already.” Shoving my chair back, I stand to leave.

“Sit down. Now,” my mother commands in a voice I don’t recall ever hearing her use. “You are a grown man as you so helpfully pointed out. You’re about to be a father yourself. So sit your ass back in that chair and listen. You can be pissed and storm out when we’re finished.”

Where was this woman all those years when I needed her to be strong for me?

I wait a beat but then I sit. Might as well let them get it all out there so they’ll leave me alone.

“I came home two months later and your mother told me the truth. She didn’t lie or try to hide it. She was ready to sign divorce papers and walk away the day I returned.” The Colonel’s voice fills the room. My mom and I both look at the phone as if it’s actually him sitting there. “And I told her the truth as well. I hadn’t been the picture perfect husband while I was away either. Plus I was up for a promotion, and the Army likes family men. Men with wives and kids. So we talked and we decided to do what we could to make it work.”

“Except it didn’t work. Because you hated me,” I choke out, startled by the sound of my own voice.

“I never hated you, Landen,” he says evenly. “Never. But every time you did or said something that reminded me that you were another man’s son, I…I lost control. I’m sorry. God, there aren’t words to say how sorry I am.”

Squeezing my eyes shut, I take deep breaths and think of Layla. Of our child, the one who—so help me God—will have a better life than I did. If I have to live at the fucking Axis Center, or in a whole other country, whatever it takes, I will not ever put my child through what I went through.