Hold Us Close (Keep Me Still) (9 page)

“I blamed myself. I blamed Jack. I blamed Javier. I even blamed the Army,” my mother says quietly. “I let my own shame keep me quiet in the corner when I should have stood up for you. Your father…The Colonel was powerful and had government connections. I knew my options were risk having to share custody with him, or letting my secret affair come to light. Looking back it was all such a—”

“Such a what, mom? A huge fucking mistake? Go ahead and say it. I’m a walking, talking, living, breathing mistake.”

“No,” she says, her shoulders shaking with sobs. “Never. I regretted stepping out on my marriage, betraying my husband, but I never regretted you. Not once after I found out I was pregnant did I regret what happened because I loved you the moment I knew you existed.”

“Hell of a way to show it,” I mumble under my breath.

“The only person who should be regretting anything is me,” The Colonel breaks in. “I said I could step up, could be a father. But I only half-ass committed. And I let you both down.”

“Don’t expect me to fucking forgive you,” I practically yell at the phone. “You treated me like a dog. Hell, worse than a dog. You know what the really screwed up part is?” My voice cracks under the strain of emotion, but I don’t care. “The really sick, twisted, fucked up part is that I preferred it when you hit me. Preferred when you yelled and threatened and punished me. Because that was better than the alternative. Better than being completely ignored. At least when you were screaming and swinging I knew you knew I existed.” A hard sob breaks its way to the surface and I want to smash everything in the fucking room.

“Landen,” my mother says softly, her voice sounding so much like Layla’s it hurts to hear.

“I was a kid. An innocent fucking kid who never asked to be born. Nothing I did was ever good enough because neither one of you wanted me to exist. Like I could fucking help that.”

“Son, please. Please give me a chance to explain. It wasn’t you I was angry with. It wasn’t you who wasn’t good enough or did anything wrong. It was me. I hated me. And that spilled over onto both of you.”

“Oh yeah? What’s with the epiphany, Colonel? Army make you go to sensitivity training or some shit?”

I’m up and pacing, trying to regain control of myself when he speaks again. “As a matter of fact, they did. After I hit you on Thanksgiving, your girlfriend’s aunt reported my behavior to anyone who would listen. And she has some serious connections. Thanks to her, I got some mandatory help. But it did help, and even though I’m still the same hard ass son of a bitch I’ve always been, I see the error of my ways, son. And I’m man enough to be sorry. To admit that to you. And to your mother. I can only hope that one day you both will be willing to give an old man another chance.”

“You can go to hell,” I say through gritted teeth. Leaning forward to glare at the phone, I brace both of my hands on the table and try not to tear the damn thing in two. “You should’ve walked away. You don’t say you’ll be a father and then spend eighteen years taking out the fact that you don’t want to be on a kid that had nothing to do with anything. If you were man enough to say you’d make it work then you damn well should have.”

The irony of the situation hits me so hard I nearly stagger backwards.

I’ve been doing the exact same thing to Layla. Telling her we’ll figure something out and then losing my shit over and over. We’re having a kid. A kid I know without a doubt is mine, and I’ve been a complete and utter asshole. She’s willing to risk her life to have my baby.
My baby.

My airway constricts and I can’t breathe. Vision blurring from the tears welling in my eyes, I interrupt whatever my mom and The Colonel are saying to soothe me. “I’m done here. I have to go.”

“T
hanks for letting me stay, Corin. It’s been kind of nice being here. In Spain, with Landen always out of town for work, I was alone a lot.”

“Um, he was obviously
in town
at some point,” Corin says nodding to my belly. “And you’re welcome.”

I laugh and roll my eyes. “So, any chance you’re going to give me some details about you and Skylar? Has he been
in town
yet?”

“God, pregnancy makes you such a perv.” She swats me with a napkin.

“Uh huh. Three years, Corin. You’ve been
I don’t like labels but we’re together
for three years.” I drag out the last word to make my point.

“I’m focusing on school. It’s not easy getting into law school, you know? Skylar knows that. We have an understanding.”

“Uh,
you
probably have an understanding. Skylar probably has an on-going relationship with blue balls.”

“Layla Flaherty! I cannot believe you just said that. What the hell are they doing to you in Spain? Where did my sweet little Georgia go?” She gapes at me and I laugh, but a sharp pang in my mid-section stops my laughter in my throat.

“Oh, ouch.” I rub one hand across my stomach and the other on my lower back until it subsides.

“Are you okay?” Her green eyes are wide and filled with fear. “Do I need to call someone?”

I snort. “No. Just growing pains. I’m fine.”

“Hey, um, Lay? I know you don’t want to hear this, but have you thought about alternate living arrangements? I mean, it’s something you should probably consider.”

“You’re right,” I tell Corin as we set the table for dinner in her small apartment. “I don’t want to hear that.”

“Layla,” she huffs out my name on an exasperated sigh. “I know you love him and I know we all want to believe that this place is going to be the answer to our prayers. But—”

“But what?” I ask, folding my arms over the small bump that’s begun to jut out between my hips.

“But what if it’s not? What if it would be better for you and for the baby to stay here?”

“Here as in…”

“Well of course you’re welcome to stay here as in right here in this apartment for as long as you like. But I mean here as in California. You’re all caught up on your correspondence classes, right? So why not just finish up the rest of them here and walk at graduation? Maybe get an apartment in this building. We could be neighbors. I could babysit.” The hopeful expression she wears makes it impossible to be irritated by her suggestion.

Thankfully the doorbell rings and the Chinese food we ordered is here. Sitting at the kitchen table as she pays the deliveryman, I imagine what it would be like. Me, on my own. Raising my child, mine and Landen’s child, alone. As much as I hate to admit it to myself, if Landen can’t get control of his anger and his temper, then Corin might be right. But he can do this. I know he can. Just the fact that he went to the Axis Center proves he’s a better man than his father could ever be. Because he wants to be more than anything.

Corin brings the food in and we’re quiet throughout dinner, which is unusual for us. The light jovial mood from earlier has been replaced with tension that thickens the air between us. Finally Skylar stops by to drop off some notes from a class Corin missed, and I excuse myself to go lie down.

T
he sound of a baby crying startles me and I jolt upright. I’m in bed. Something beside me is ringing. But there’s no baby. For a few seconds, I’m disoriented. Sitting up and noticing the plum-colored walls, I realize I’m in Corin’s guest room. The light from beside me catches my attention. My phone.

Glancing over I see Landen’s smiling face.

“Hey,” I greet him, knowing he’ll hear the heavy sound of sleep in my voice.

“Did I wake you?”

“Not really. I just woke up from a nap.” Cradling the phone to my ear, I prop myself up on my pillows. Well, Corin’s pillows. “How was today?”

He’s quiet and I can tell something’s wrong.

“Landen?”

“Fine, babe. It was fine. Just long is all.”

“Same here. You want to talk about it?” I trace the ivy pattern of Corin’s comforter with my free hand.

“Nah. I just needed to hear your voice.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Layla?”

I stifle a yawn to answer him. “Yeah?”

“I love you. And I’m trying to be ready for this, trying to be the kind of man worthy of being a father. I’m sorry if I haven’t acted like it lately.” The apologetic regret weighs down his voice.

I lie back all the way and stare at the ceiling. “I love you, too. And I know you’re trying. It means a lot to me that you’re trying so hard.”

A muffled sound, almost like a sniffle or possibly static comes through the line.

“Landen?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice rougher than before. “Yeah, I just…” Through our less than stellar connection I hear him sigh. “I just don’t want to be like him. God I don’t want to be anything like he was.”

The full weight of his words presses me down deeper into the mattress. “I know, baby. You won’t. You aren’t anything like him.”

“I’ve been acting just like him, Layla. I’ve been treating you like you dumped this kid on me instead of seeing it for the miracle it is. Instead of being grateful to have someone strong enough and capable of loving our baby for the both of us while I grew the hell up.”

Tears well in my eyes at his confession. He’s right, and it hurts to accept, but it’s true. “I know it’s a lot to deal with. I didn’t expect you to—”

“He isn’t my dad, Layla. The Colonel, he isn’t my biological father.”

If I weren’t already lying down, I’d fall over. “What? Landen, what are you—”

“My mom had an affair. I’ve been this constant reminder of her infidelity. Not to say that makes it okay, but…that’s what he told me the day everything went to shit. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner.”

I’m so surprised I don’t know what to say. He rushes on. “I’ve been trying to tell you every day since I found out but I…I just couldn’t…deal. And I didn’t want that to be another excuse for the way I am. It’s not one. It’s just something I have to accept and learn to handle. Like my anger issues.”

My arms ache to wrap around him. The urge to ease the pain I hear in his voice is visceral. “God, Landen. I’m so sorry, baby. I wish I were there. I wish I could hold you and kiss you and just…make it better somehow.”

“It’s okay. Honestly, I’m glad to know the truth. I feel like…like it makes some kind of sense now. But it’s still no excuse. I’m done making excuses and letting anyone else make excuses for me. I left you alone in this. I won’t do that again, angel. I promise.”

Nodding, even though he can’t see me, I wipe my tears away. “I know. I knew you would get there. Eventually.”

“Sorry, I took so long,” he says softly.

“You were worth the wait.”

F
ive weeks of the same routine is enough to make a man
need
therapy. Wake. Shower. Eat. Therapy. Exercise. Eat. Therapy. Read. Eat. Therapy. Sleep.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Fuck me, I’m going insane.

And speaking of fucking, if I don’t get to see my girl soon, I might die. Seriously. I get to talk to her on the phone every night before bed, so that helps. Though it’s in a common room, and privacy is pretty much a foreign concept in this place.

But if I’m being completely honest? It was worth it. Coming here. Talking my shit out. For the first time in forever, I feel hopeful. I’m looking forward to getting back to Layla, back to Spain, and back to the team. Back to my life, which feels like it’s been suspended in limbo for five long weeks. It feels good to feel hopeful.

That is, I felt hopeful. Right up until my final evaluation with Dr. Sanderson.

“So, Landen. This is your last week here. How do you feel about that?” She leans back in her chair and eyes me passively. Like she couldn’t care less about my answer.

“Well, no offense, Doc, but I’m ready to get the hell out of here.”

A small smile teases at her lips. “That so?”

I shrug. “I mean, no disrespect or anything. It’s a nice place and I appreciate the fact that I’m not the only one with issues. I actually enjoyed group therapy a lot more than I thought I would. But yeah, I have a life to get back to.”

“Understood,” she says, leaning forward. “Let’s talk about that life for a moment.”

“Okay.” I fold my arms because I feel like I’ve done nothing but talk about my life for the past thirty-five days. What the hell else is there to say?

“Tell me a little about what you’re going back to.”

I frown, unsure of what her game is. She already knows all of this. “You know. My job, my team, my girlfriend.”

She nods. “Your pregnant girlfriend, right? The one with the brain tumor?”

“Hematoma,” I correct her through clenched teeth. “Your point?”

She sighs and leans back in her chair. “My point is,” she begins, aiming the pen she holds at my hands gripping the arms of my chair, “that your life still contains difficult situations that remain out of your control. True or false?”

“True,” I relent.

“So I’ve got good news and bad news, Landen. Which would you like to hear first?”

“Whichever.”

She stares at me for a moment. “Landen, your father…he was abusive. You’ve come to terms with that somewhat in the past few weeks. Yes?”

Fucking hell, I am over rehashing this shit. “Yeah. My mom had an affair when he was deployed. With a soccer player on a traveling team. Guy died of cancer a few years ago. It’s all out in the open now. Why my dad hated me so much.”

“Right. Well, can I be honest?”

“Please do,” I answer.

“I think there’s more to it than that. More to why you are the way you are and why he is the way he is. Would you like to hear my theory?”

“Isn’t that what I’m paying you for?” Well, what the club is paying her for, but no need to split hairs at this point.

“I suppose. Okay, well…bear with me for a second.” I don’t say anything so she continues. “Landen, did you ever hear about the road rage guy a few years ago? He got out of his car and had a confrontation with a woman in which he grabbed the small dog from her car and flung it into oncoming traffic.”

“Yeah, I guess. Sounds vaguely familiar. You think I have road rage?”

“No. And I don’t think he did either. I think that what he had was actually something called Intermittent Explosive Disorder. He didn’t have a criminal record or a history of violence. He did have a sudden outburst, which caused him to do something hurtful that most people wouldn’t have done.”

“I’m guessing this is the bad news portion of our session?”

She folds her hands in her lap. “It is. This is the part where I tell you that I’m pretty certain your father, or the man who raised you, has IED. And I’m fairly certain you have it as well. Childhood abuse is one of the leading causes.”

“IED.” I test it out in my mouth. It tastes like shit.

“Yes. Intermittent Explosive Disorder. I can give you some pamphlets or you can google it. Up to you.”

I feel like a neon sign flashing the bright red words FUCKED UP is hanging over my head. “Okay. So how do we cure it? I mean, how do I make it go away before I toss Fido into traffic?”

She tilts her head and gives me an apologetic smile. The full weight of what she’s saying settles onto my chest.

Shit. “There’s no cure, is there? I’m stuck like this for life?” A lump constricts my airway. I try to think about the strategies I’ve learned these past few weeks. Deep breathing. Taking stock of the good things in my life. Layla. Soccer. Finally knowing the truth.

“Tell me what happens, Landen. When you first feel yourself getting angry. What happens?” The doctor sits right across from me but her voice is far away.

You are worthless.

“I hear him. My—The Colonel. Telling me I’m worthless. Pathetic. That I ruin everything.” My voice sounds strange in my own ears.

“Breathe, Landen. Take a few deep breaths.”

I do as she says.

“Focus. Stay with me, okay? There’s more, Landen. Remember, I have good news too, okay?”

I open my eyes. I don’t even remember closing them. “Right. Okay.”

“Listen, lots of people go through things and come out better for it. I just watched you tamp down your anger all on your own. So that tells me you have been paying attention these past few weeks.”

I nod, realizing she’s right.

“Here,” she says, handing me two squares of paper. “One of these is for your blood pressure. As expected, yours is pretty high.”

“And the other?” I ask, glancing down at the unrecognizable scrawl on the pages.

She gives me a tense smile. “It’s an antipsychotic.”

“Holy shit. You think I’m psychotic?” Well this just went from bad to worse.

“Relax. No. You’re far from it. But it also functions as a mood-stabilizer. At first it will make you sleepy. But once your body adjusts to it, which usually takes about two weeks, it will keep your physiological responses from sky-rocketing when you get upset.”

“Do you think it will work? Keep me from having rages when I get angry?”

“That would be the hope. But if it doesn’t, we can try Clonazepam, also known as Klonopin. It’s been used from everything from seizures to anxiety.”

“I’m actually familiar with that one. My girlfriend took it for a while. She has seizures. Or she used to have them. New medication seems to be working extremely well.” Thank God. Another thing to be thankful for. My mouth goes dry at the thought of anything happening to my girl. Or the baby she’s carrying.

“Ah. Well, here’s the thing. And as a doctor, it might sound strange coming from me.”

That gets my attention. “I’m listening.”

“Ultimately, I don’t want you to be on medication. I want you to be in therapy on a regular basis. I want you to use what you’ve learned here to keep yourself in check when things get out of control. So if it’s up to me, meaning if I’m the doctor who oversees your care, we’ll start with the heavy hitter, the antipsychotic, then we’ll wean you down to a mild anti-depressant, and then hopefully, one day, we’ll stop the meds altogether.”

“When I’m cured.”

“Um, no.” She pins me with another sympathetic head tilt. They must teach it in med school. “The thing is, the
truth
is, there’s no cure for IED. It’s not something that goes away, Landen. It’s something you learn to live with. To deal with in more appropriate ways than flying into a rage and breaking every stick of furniture you own every time you get upset.”

She says something else. Actually, she rambles on for what seems like forever. But I don’t hear her. All I hear are the words that ruin my life, shattering the picture of my family I have in my head. The one where Layla and I raise our kid in a safe, happy home like she wants.

I have IED. And there’s no cure for it.

That past five and a half weeks have been a complete waste.