Page 11 of Hold Us Close
My dreams come back to me, flooding me with memories I finally understand. The broken seashells. The ones I’ve always collected, even though my mom and my aunt both tried to push the perfect ones on me. Landen is my broken shell; he’s beautiful and dangerously jagged and sharp. He can cut me and hurt me and make me bleed tears. But maybe, just maybe, I can be the water that washes over him and smoothes those rough edges.
He says something else, but I’m drowning in memories of the ocean, deafened by music from outside and waves crashing in my mind.
I kiss him fiercely, plunging my tongue into his mouth as deep as I can. Reaching up, I press firmly against his shoulders until he gets the message and rolls onto his back. He stares up at me in wonderment as I ease myself down onto him. My head lolls back at the fullness.
I slide up and down, whimpering and moaning at how good he feels inside. How right we are together. We fit. Perfectly. Nothing that comes from this could ever be bad. No matter what anyone says.
“Layla, slow down.” His hands tighten on my hips. His tone is urgent. He’s pleading with me but I’m so close. I stroke myself against him as slowly as I can manage before slamming back down, impaling myself on his thick erection. A loud groan escapes his throat and it propels me forward. Digging my fingers into his shoulders hard enough to leave bruises, I pause for a moment to enjoy the sensation of my walls constricting around him. Finally succumbing to the pressure building in my center I ride him harder. Faster.
“Come inside me, Landen. Come now.”
“I…fuck,” he bites out.
“I can’t get anymorepregnant. Come in me. Please come in me. I want to feel you.” My words come out rushed and I’m breathless but he understands.
He fills me with rapid, scorching bursts and I cry out. The current inside of me shifts suddenly and I’m thrown headfirst into a violent orgasm of epic proportions. I collapse on top of him as my body becomes boneless.
The veins in his neck are straining as he finishes, and I lick his throat. He grunts a sigh of relief, and I place several more open-mouthed kisses on his neck and chest.
“I love you. God, I love you so damn much,” he says, kissing me on top of my head.
Resting my cheek against his bare chest, I try to form a coherent thought. “I know. Just…don’t ever stop.”
Iwake up Monday morning with a sickening realization in the pit of my stomach.
Today is the day Layla would be in California having surgery that could save her life if not for me.
Using all the strength I can muster, I push against the guilt as the weight of it hovers above my chest.
She’s still in bed beside me, beautifully naked and peaceful. She’s facing away from me. I lean over and kiss her on her cheek. Her temple. Her jaw.
“Good morning,” she mumbles, her voice still thick with sleep.
“Shh. Sleep, baby. I’ve got some phone calls to make then I’ll make you breakfast. Omelet okay?”
“More than okay,” she says, turning over to kiss me back.
I stroke a blonde strand of hair out of her eyes and she blinks up at me. “I love you, you know that? I’d do anything for you, Layla Flaherty.”Even become the one thing I never wanted to be.
Her gaze widens with understanding and she nods.
Placing one more chaste kiss on her mouth, I sigh. Time to face the firing squad.
After I’ve pulled my jeans on, I head into the guest room and retrieve my phone. Eighteen missed calls. One number. One voicemail.
“I hope you’re happy,” Kate hisses into my ear. Thank God it’s just her recorded fury and not the real thing. Still, it raises my blood pressure. We’re about six or seven hours ahead of her. Apparently she spent her evening calling me. I don’t even want to think about the kind of messages she’s left for Layla.
“If anything happens to her, Landen, I swear to God, I’m holding you personally responsible.” Tension ripples across my shoulders and my chest constricts. Sheshouldhold me responsible. I am responsible. Closing my eyes, I picture what Layla’s life would’ve been like without me. She would still be in California, rooming with Corin probably. Graduating on time.
I can see her. Sunlight glinting off her beautiful hair, carrying an armful of books, smiling at something some asshole said. Walking to class with Corin. Happy. Alive.
If not for me, she’d be having surgery today that would give her the fair shot at the long, happy life she deserves.
After I’ve listened to her aunt’s angry words enough times to memorize them, I close my eyes and let the darkness come. Until it covers me. And then a small light flickers in my mind’s eye. I’m standing there. A small child holding my hand. In a cemetery. At a headstone.
I don’t know how to deal with the fury from a situation I caused. There’s no one to blame, no one to shout at, no fingers to point. It’s me. All me.
I dragged her into my life, pulled her into this hell she doesn’t deserve. I practically stalked her to college, telling myself she needed me. When the truth was, the truthis,I’m the broken one. I’m the one who needs her the most.
