Page 5 of Hold Us Close
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.
I’ve only seen him like this once before. When we first started dating in high school, his mom invited me to Thanksgiving. His dad was drinking. And awful. He hit Landen in the face right in front of me.
Later we sat alone in his basement and he was just like this. Broken. Closed off. Angry. Lost.
Somehow, I was enough back then. Our feelings for each other, his need for me, broke through the pain. But I can’t reach him now.
Because now I’m the one causing his pain. And he’s causing mine. This is unfamiliar territory for us.
I stare at him for what feels like an eternity. Our hurt feelings are swirling around us, pummeling him farther into the ground, and backing me up against the wall. He props an elbow on his knee and stares vacantly at nothing.
I lick my lips and take a step closer to him. Pulling in a lungful of air and hopefully all of my courage, I open my mouth to speak.
“Don’t,” he says before my words escape. “Don’t say it will all be okay. Don’t say we’ll get through this together. If you…” He shakes his head and looks away once more. I hear the words he doesn’t say.If you die on me, then we won’t be getting through anything together.
His voice is dead and cold and it backs me up. “Why are you doing this? Why are you pushing me away?” My questions are barely a whisper, and he’s so far gone I don’t know if they even reach him. Until he looks up at me. His normally vibrant green eyes are dark and ringed by exhaustion.
“Because I’m afraid.”
The tension holding me rigid eases up and I relax a little for the first time since yesterday. “I know. Me too. But that’s part of it, right? I think we’re supposed to be—”
“Not of that.” He shakes his head. His eyes close briefly and I take step closer. “Well, not ofjustthat.”
“Of what then? Of…” I crouch down so we’re face to face. “Of something happening to me? Of being left alone with a baby to raise? Of becoming your father?” Hearing all of it out loud makes my heart hurt for him. It’s a lot for anyone to deal with. And they’re perfectly rational, valid fears for him to have.
His eyes widen as they meet mine. The hardwood disappears from beneath me and I’m lost in his desperate, pleading gaze. “Of telling you the truth.”
Confusion contorts my face and has me tilting my head. “I don’t understand.”
He rubs his hand across the back of his neck and brings it around to his face. His long fingers rest on his lips for a moment, as if he’s trying to keep the words in—the ones he obviously doesn’t want to tell me.
