Page 4 of Hold Us Close
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,ourchild—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.
Idon’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.Havetogether. 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 uprelentlessin the dictionary and there she’ll be. For synonyms, seepain 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.NowI’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.
