Hold Us Close (Keep Me Still) (2 page)

I
have no idea how much time passes as I stand there staring at my girlfriend. Thank God the human body will keep breathing and blinking and beating all on its own. Somewhere in the distance I hear Layla ending the phone call with her aunt. I struggle to listen as she promises the woman ten times that she will call her later.

I glance down to see if my body is vibrating. The steady hum of shock thrums through me and it seems like it must be.

“Still up for that shower?” Her lips are moving, so I know it’s her talking. But I’m already underwater. I blink at her.

“Um.”

“Yeah, I figured.” She huffs out a breath and leans against the counter. “Landen, I was going to tell you tonight. At dinner. I went to the doctor at student health last week. I’m almost four weeks along.”

Four weeks. The rewind button in my brain must’ve been pressed because I see the highlight reel of the last four weeks in reverse. Four weeks ago I was home for a few nights between games. The night before I left to go to Milan, she made spaghetti. Because it’s my favorite. Cheesecake for dessert. We didn’t make it. I ended up eating my piece off of her on the living room floor.

My mind searches for an alternate version of reality. One where I stop licking cherry glaze off her stomach and go grab a condom. Yeah. I didn’t. My brain can’t find the memory of that part because it isn’t there. We made love over and over until we passed out on the floor. I almost missed my flight the next morning.

“Landen. Please. Say something.” Layla’s ocean-colored eyes sparkle up at me like fine gemstones. But my expression darkens them. “Or don’t. But just know I’m not unhappy about this. I’m excited. And nothing you say is going to change that.”

I take a deep breath and tell myself to reach out to her. Hold her. Reassure her that we’ll figure this out together. My father’s voice is loud and thunderous in my head, stopping all forward motion.

You ruin everything.

It’s been so long since I heard it that I’d almost forgotten what it sounded like.

“I
need to go for a run,” Landen says. His eyes are unfocused and his fists are clenched. My head is spinning from the sudden change. One minute everything was perfect and now it’s a mess.

“You just got home,” I say, unable to keep the soft sound of pleading out of my voice. “I thought we were going to dinner.”

“Just order in. I’m not hungry.”

My eyes widen in shock. I mean, we’ve had fights. We’ve yelled and slammed doors. He doesn’t like me taking night classes, says that it’s unsafe. When I signed up for one so I could volunteer with Bridging the Gap during the day, he nearly lost his mind. But this is different. It’s not usually me causing the rage he tries so hard to outrun.

Until now.

I stand there, at the kitchen counter, in the spot where my life just went to crap in zero to fifteen seconds and watch him grab his T-shirt and walk out. I flinch at the sound of our door slamming shut.

For a minute, I’m overcome by loneliness. I was excited about telling him, nervous, but looking forward to it. Mostly. And now I can’t swallow. Can’t fight off the tears that well up so fast they’re falling faster than I can wipe them.

He left. Left me alone. Except…I’m not alone. Glancing down, I realize I’m already cradling my stomach with my arm.

“Daddy will be back, baby. I promise.”

I
t’s after midnight when I hear him come in. I hold my breath and wait. Surely he’ll come crawl into bed, apologize, and hold me. We’ll talk about our fears, reassuring each other that we’re in this together. By the time we fall asleep, everything will be okay. That’s what I tell myself as I release the breath my lungs were holding hostage.

We’ll keep each other still because that’s what we’ve always done.

I listen to the sounds of doors opening and closing. Hear the shower turn on. And off a few minutes later. Straining, I can barely make out the sounds of him fumbling around our small apartment. But I never hear him come in the bedroom. I don’t hear it because it doesn’t happen. He doesn’t even open the door to check on me. Which is so unlike him it makes my chest ache.

A lump rises in my throat as the apartment falls silent. We have a second bedroom with an old bed and a computer desk in it. The realization that he’s decided to sleep in there hits hard and provokes a fresh wave of tears.

I let my arm out from under my pillow. My hand slides across the cold sheets where he should be.

In the darkness, my mind races to take stock of what my options are if Landen doesn’t want this. If he only wants me and if pregnant me is a deal breaker. My heart refuses to accept that as a possibility. Landen loves me with a ferocity unlike anything I’ve ever known. But my mind…my mind is already a mother. Already trying to scheme and plan and make sure this child growing inside of me gets everything he or she will ever need or want. And that they never, ever have to feel this kind of sharp, stinging pain and rejection.

I lost my parents when I was thirteen and a stranger murdered them. I want this baby to be loved and hugged and have the kind of childhood I did before my parents were taken away. A hint of a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I let myself remember. My mom and dad used to dance in the kitchen. They used to sing embarrassingly loud in the car. Even if I had a friend with me. Hot tears burn down my face and leak into my ear. They kissed me—and each other—in public. They held my hands everywhere we went.

They would’ve been amazing grandparents. Manufactured memories of Christmases we’ll never have together assault me and I cry harder. For what I’ve lost. For what my child will never have.

Something warm stirs inside of me and it takes a few seconds to realize what it is. I’m sad about Landen’s reaction. I know this. I know I’m disappointed and hurt. But underneath that lies an emotion I’m not all that familiar with.

I’m angry.

How can he not want this? I know in the depths of my soul that he’s afraid. Scared that something will happen to me if I don’t have this surgery. I’m scared, too. But at some point, maybe the instant I realized I was responsible for the life growing inside of me, I stopped being afraid for myself.

I just want this child—my child,
our
child—to have the kind of life he or she deserves. And if Landen doesn’t want this and something does happen to me, I don’t know what kind of life my baby will get. My aunt is not the motherly type at all. She loves me and would do anything for me, but she’s not the most affectionate human being on the planet. She’s kind of cold actually and singularly focused on her career now that she isn’t raising me anymore. I love her and am so grateful for everything she’s done for me, but she’s not someone I would want to raise my child. And Landen’s parents…Oh God.
Oh God.
It makes so much sense that I could cry out in relief.

His mom is a decent person as far as I know, but his father is a nightmare. Literally. He’s an awful man that I’ve only met a few times and each time he was horrible. He was violent and abusive, and how Landen turned out to be such an amazing man in spite of that is nothing short of amazing.

That man is never coming near my child. Ever. If this hematoma on my brain bursts and I die, I will come back from the grave and haunt him to death if he ever goes anywhere near my baby.

Understanding that this is most likely the cause of Landen’s reaction earlier sinks in and allows me to breathe a little more easily. He never talks about his dad. He refuses to and shuts down completely if I ever dare to bring the man up in conversation. We don’t discuss his childhood at all unless he’s telling me about one of the many cities he lived in.

I tell myself that Landen probably just feels overwhelmed. Like he won’t know how to be a good dad because he didn’t have one. My stomach unclenches slightly and I focus on overcoming the sobs. Lord, this night did not go as I expected it to.

My friend Corin is the only person I’ve told I am pregnant.

“Are you worried about what Landen will say?” she asked when I told her. I told myself since she’s in California she couldn’t possibly understand what Landen and I have. How strong our connection is. I smiled and shook my head even though we were on the phone and she couldn’t see me.

But now, lying here alone with tears slipping down my face and onto my pillow, I’m thinking maybe she understands a whole lot better than I do.

I
don’t sleep. Despite nearly running a marathon, my mind won’t give me rest. My body is exhausted and screaming at me to ice it or just never do that again. But I can barely hear it over the sound of my father telling me what a colossal fuck up I am.

I had a feeling it would be like this so I’m in the guest room. I don’t know jack shit about pregnant women, but I’m pretty sure anyone growing a human being inside of them needs their sleep. The last thing she needs is for me to be tossing and turning and keeping her awake.

No, asshole. The last thing she needed was for you to just walk out.

I lose count of how many times I get up and cross the room towards the door, only to talk myself out of it and lie back down. I don’t know how I feel yet, and I don’t know what she needs to hear.

When the sun comes up, I’m still lying here, trying to figure out a way to save some semblance of the life Layla and I had together.
Have
together. Shit.

I rub my fists roughly into my eyes and wish that I could go back in time. Wish that I had been more insistent about using protection.

But I can’t and I wasn’t. So Layla gets to pay for my selfishness. For my wanting to feel nothing between us when we made love. And if this pregnancy means she can’t have the surgery she needs—the surgery that could save her life—then I basically killed her.

The thought hits me at the exact same instant a clenching ache seizes my chest. My stomach pitches, and for a second, I’m positive I’m going to throw up.

A whistling noise from my phone pierces the air, indicating I have a new message. Probably Layla asking where the hell I am. Stretching my arm out, I grab it off the nightstand.

The screen lights up but it’s not Layla.

It’s another woman, one I’d rather not talk to at the moment. But I can see the eleven missed calls and my screen is filled with text messages. Look up
relentless
in the dictionary and there she’ll be. For synonyms, see
pain in my ass.

“Kate,” I greet Layla’s aunt.

She doesn’t bother with a greeting. “You’ve got to talk to her, Landen. She’ll listen to you.”

I sigh and roll onto my back.
Now
I’m suddenly tired. Exhausted really. “Good morning to you, too.”

She huffs a breath right back at me. “We don’t have time for this. You want to make jokes? Fine. Make jokes. While you’re busy laughing, I’ll be on my way to the airport. And when I see you in California, I’m going to murder you. Lucky for me, I know enough people at the DA’s office to make a convincing case for suicide.”

My sleep-deprived brain can’t even make sense of her words. Though it does register that my life was just threatened and it’s not even eight in the morning. “Wait, California? Did you not hear what she said?” Layla’s aunt is an extremely successful litigator and is generally pretty sharp. I don’t want to insult her intelligence by stating the obvious, but clearly she’s confused.

Trying to muster the courage to say the words out loud, I clear my throat. “Uh, not to be a dick because I know you’re stressed and probably having as hard of a time dealing with this as I am, but Layla made herself pretty clear. She’s pregnant, Kate. She can’t have surgery on Monday.”

Jesus. She’s pregnant
.
I hear her soft, sweet voice, full of determination echoing in me head.
I’m pregnant.

Since Kate has no trouble insulting my intelligence, she continues. “Yeah. Got that. Landen, listen to me. I know this is a delicate issue. But we don’t exactly have the luxury of time on our side.”

“I’m listening.” I sit up and put my feet on the hardwood floor. “If you have some miracle solution to this, I’d love to hear it.”

For a moment, she hesitates. I hear a small intake of breath and then the words I should’ve expected but didn’t. “She can have an abortion. There are several clinics in LA. I could meet the two of you at one and she could get it handled this weekend. By Monday she’d be fine for surgery.”

An intense throbbing begins to vibrate in my head. Fuck. How did it get like this? One minute I’m damn near bursting with excitement about coming home to my girlfriend after a huge win and the next…
Christ
. The next thing I know I’m discussing abortion clinics with Layla’s aunt before I’ve even had breakfast. Once again, I’m strangled by the fierce urge to vomit. And overcome with the need to hit something. Hard.

My jaw clenches and I breathe through my nose. “Sure, Kate. I’ll just tell her that we’re heading out today and that we’ll swing by an abortion clinic once we land. How well do you think that’s going to go over?”

“Well then let me hear what you’ve got, Mr. Can’t-Be-Bothered-To-Cover-His-Dick. Because I’m out of options over here. Dr. Kirkowitz doesn’t re-schedule. If she doesn’t get the surgery now, then it could be five or ten years before he has another opening. If she even makes it that long. Do you get that, soccer boy? Has that ever really resonated with you?”

My fist closes so hard on the phone that it’s a wonder I don’t break the thing in half. “You’re damn right it resonates with me. Every hour, every minute, every second, I’m painfully fucking aware that any one of them could be her last. Every time I walk out the door for practice or a game or camp or to go get a jug of milk down the damn street, I know. I know that it could be the last time I see her face, her smile. That I could come home to ambulances or her body lifeless on the floor. So I screwed up, okay? I get that and I’m sorry.” Bone-deep regret settles over me and I sink to my knees, weighed down by desperation. Thank God she can’t see me. “I’m so fucking sorry. Tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix her, how to fix this.”

“I don’t need fixing.” I hear her voice, angelic and ten shades of pissed off, from behind me. Looking up at her, I see the burning determination in her eyes. And the tears.

“Baby,” I say, reaching for her. But she steps out of my reach.

“Hang up the phone, Landen,” is all she says.

“I have to go, Kate.” Her aunt starts to say something, but I press end and she’s gone. And it’s just me and my girlfriend. Well, and someone else I can’t bring myself to think about yet.

“Talk to me. Don’t run. Don’t go for a run. Don’t shut me out and pretend this isn’t happening. It is.” A nearly imperceptible shudder passes through her and I want to hold her. To wrap her in my arms and protect her like I’ve always done. But I can’t fix it this time. Can’t fix us.

Rocking back on my heels, I slide myself down the side of the bed and sit on the floor. She sighs and leans against the wall. Waiting. Waiting for me to say whatever I’m supposed to say to make this right. Except…I don’t know what that is.