Page 61 of For the Love of Layla

In… out.

In… out.

“Hey, Liam?” I call out, pressing my back against the door as I start to tremble, anxiety taking hold.

“Yeah?” I jump as his voice comes from the other side. I didn’t hear him follow me. I rush to the sink, turning on the faucet with sweaty palms, “Did you get my keys back from Fairview? I was just thinking I should really get some of my stuff from the house today.”

Silence.

“Yeah, I have them. We can go after breakfast, babe. Come on, it's going to get cold.” His voice comes out chipped and tense, as I stare at my heaving chest in the mirror. Honesty, be honest with him, just ask. It’s Liam. Come on, be a fucking adult. You can’t hide in the bathroom like an idiot.

You love him, so talk to him. He never left, don’t leave him now because you’re freaking yourself out about a nineteen-year-old case file.

I splash water on my face before I open up the top drawer looking for a toothbrush and honestly stalling like a mother fucker. What if Liam pushed her? He was a kid, six years old? Maybe there was someone with him up there. There had to be, that makes sense. His mom was super sketchy.

But why?

I push around in his bathroom drawer until my eyes land on a small gray case shoved to the back. I almost leave it there, giving up on my pursuit of a toothbrush and going out to handle things like an adult, but my lizard brain won’t let me put it back down. There is another case inside, this time two small round bowls connected by a middle band. My heart sinks.

Contacts.

My heart rages in my chest as I squeeze my eyes shut tightly. A familiar pair of intense brown eyes stare back at me from in mind's eye, and the world tilts. My knees wobble before giving out, the case rattles to the ground and I follow it. Staring blankly at the case, pleading with myself to find the strength to open it up. Leaning forward, I snatch it from the floor, clenching it as bile rises in my throat. Every suspicion, offhand comment and encounter waging war inside my mind as I start to unscrew the cap.

“Layla? Everything okay?”

I jump, “Yeah, I’m coming!”

Fixing the lid, I shove it back into the case, pushing it into the drawer before throwing open the bathroom door colliding into Liam’s sturdy frame. His hands immediately snake around me, holding me tightly. I can feel the tension in his hold. It nearly matches mine, “What took you so long?”

“Girl stuff, Liam, damn.” I deflect, leaning up on my tiptoes and kissing him lightly before heading into the kitchen. I can feel the sweat building in my palms as I slip into my seat. Liam following closely after me. His hands quickly find me, his soft adoring touch lingering on the pulse point on my neck.

If there is a higher power, please let me be wrong.

We’re only halfway through breakfast when I can no longer hide the trembling in my hands, nor can I stand the intensity of his ocean blue stare. It’s peeling me open with visceral accuracy, forcing me out of my mind and into the open. I swallow hard as I lay down my fork, barely able to taste the food I have been shoving unceremoniously into my mouth. “Liam…” I finally look up, meeting his eyes as his hand tightens around his own fork, the metal handle digging into his skin, “Something on your mind, little star?” He smiles, but there’s nothing comforting about it.

“What… what happened to your nanny?”

I watch him clench and unclench his jaw. He doesn’t ask any questions and my heart sinks a little farther, “Miss. Katla was my entire world, all I had ever known. She was… as far as I was concerned, my mother.”

“You didn’t answer the question.” I whisper, “How did she fall?” I snail my hands to the lip of my plate, my legs bouncing underneath the table. The smirk that falls over his face makes goosebumps break out over my skin and my heart spins in a freefall, landing at my feet. He cracks his neck, “She was an au pair, not a nanny, from Iceland. Always complained when I made fun of her accent.”

Oh god….

“Now don’t go and do anything stupid, lítla ást.”

A whimper leaves my throat and I nod, my arms and legs refuse to respond to my brain's commands. Rooting me here withhim.

I knew, I always knew.

“Layla… let’s talk about this, okay? We can get through anything. You’re mine, Layla, I did what I had to.” He drops the accent, his voice deep and gravelly. All at once the shock wears off. My chest clenches with the effort to keep my raging heart on the inside. I’m half surprised it's not actually at my feet at all. It feels like it should be. I grip the plate, sending it flying into his face. I don’t have a goal or a location in mind as I shove from my seat, the table groaning as it scoots roughly on the floor. I run.

All this time, all the lies. He held me while I cried.

I slam the bedroom door behind me, locking it just before he barrels into the other side with all of his weight, making the solid door bow as I scream, scrambling away from it. “Layla, open the fucking door!” The desperate, gravelly distortion in his voice shakes me to my core. I whimper as I struggle to force the words that linger on the tip of my tongue, but they won’t come. My tongue feels too big and strange in my mouth. Like I never learned how to use it in the first place.

Why? Why torture me? Revenge? Oh god, Liam.

“Come on, Layla, let me explain. Just open the door.” He says calmly, too calm.

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