Page 6 of Hold Us Close
“Layla, I always knew I wanted to play soccer. And from the first time I saw you…” The hint of a smile plays on his lips. But I’m looking into his eyes and there’s no trace of a smile in them. “The first time I saw you, my world stopped. Things I thought mattered—soccer, how much my dad hated me, the fact that I’d never really had anywhere to call home, all of it—it just ceased to mean anything. All I could see was you, and I had to know you, had to have you.”
“You do have me,” I tell him, hoping the reassurance will help him to say whatever he needs to so that we can move forward.
He nods, and the thick knot in his throat bobs as he swallows. There’s a sudden shift in the air. I don’t know how or why, but I feel it and it sets me on edge. My pulse speeds up, sending blood rushing in my ears. Whatever he’s about to say is bad. I know it way down deep in my bones. He’s going to say something awful and change everything. Ruin everything.
“Landen, maybe we should—”
“There’s something else I know,” he begins, silencing me with the cold calm in his voice. “Something I’ve always known. About myself.”
I nod. “Okay. Whatever it is, I’m sure we can—”
“There’s one thing I never want to be, Layla. Ever.”
The icy hand of dread grips me by the back of the neck. I want to launch myself at him, stop him before he says it. But I’m frozen where I stand. “Landen—”
“A father.” He closes his eyes and lowers his head. “I never want to be a father.” It’s a confession and an apology all in one. Barely spoken above a whisper and yet it feels like he just shouted it in my face. My body caves, crushing my insides.
Seven words. Seven awful words change my entire life. In that moment, the room might as well have split down the center, cracking wide and deep between us.
It wasn’t “I’m nervous about becoming a father,” or “I’m scared of not being a good father,” or even “I didn’t everplanto become a father.” His words are present tense. And final.I never want to be a father.They echo off the walls, slamming into me over and over. Seven sharp daggers carving into my heart.
His confession turns the chill of anticipation to the hot burn of anger. “Well, it’s kind of late for that. Maybe you should’ve mentioned that one of the, oh, I don’t know, twelve dozen times we had unprotected sex? Or just at any point in the three years we’ve been living together.” I jerk upright and turn but he’s longer, taller, and quicker than I am. He’s on his feet and reaching for me in a split second.
Grabbing me by the arm and spinning me to face him, he pulls me closer in what feels like a hug and a goodbye all at once. My vision is blurry from the tears but I can see the intense anguish on his face.
“Layla, just…let’s just talk for a second. Your aunt said…she mentioned—”
“No,” I say, giving him a forceful push and managing to free myself from his grasp. “Don’t. Don’t say it. I can imagine what she said because she’s the kind of person who sees something in the way of what she thinks is right or necessary and misses the big picture.”
I’m shaking my head, but he continues. “It’s just that, she has a point about—”
“Don’t, please God, don’t,” I choke out. My tears fall and Landen pulls at me again, trying to hug me or hold me or…I don’t even know what. I thrust my arms out in a pathetic attempt to push him away. “Don’t say it.”
“Dammit, Layla! Just think for a second. With your medical condition and my—”
“Stop!” I practically scream at him. “Listen to me, please. Just stop. Just stop talking,” I beg. Reaching up, I place my fingertips against his lips. “Don’t, Landen. Don’t say those words out loud. Because once you do, then we’re ruined. No matter what happens, you’ll never be able to un-say those awful words. Promise me you won’t say them. Promise me.”
Understanding flashes in his eyes and he nods. I remove my hand from his mouth and back up a step, nearly slamming into the computer desk. His gaze flickers to the door and I want to slap him. He always does this. Runs. Bails when anything gets too intense. We’re having a baby he doesn’t want and his idea of dealing with it is going for a run. For the first time since we met almost five years ago, I realize I hate him. Oh, I still love him. But I hate him a little bit too. I didn’t even know I was capable of hatred. The realization makes me feel sick.
I sigh and yank myself away from him.
This is a first. This time, I’m the one who walks out.
The sound of the drywall giving way against my fist is only slightly satisfying. The pain distracts me but only momentarily. For all the years I wished to escape my father and his hatred, I’ve spent more time than I want to admit wishing he was still around to kick my ass. Apparently I’m sick and twisted and need it.
What a great parent I’m going to make.
You are worthless.
The burning heat of my rage flares inside of me. It’s red, darkening to black, and then white-hot and blinding.
You ruin everything.
Glass shatters on the floor but I don’t even know what I’ve hit. My fist connects again with something solid but I don’t feel one iota of relief. So I hit it again and again with the soundtrack of my dad’s voice telling me exactly what he thinks, what he knows, is true.
Her chance to have the ax of doom hanging over our heads removed finally came, and I fucked it up. Life as we knew it is ruined. Destroyed.
Much like our apartment.
