When I come to, the room is bathed in orangish-blue light. I rub my eyes and glance around. Sunset. Stretching, I see that Landen is sprawled across me, both of us naked as the day we were born. And we’re on the kitchen floor. I stretch and my back aches in protest. My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten.
My head hurts and everything is blurry. I smile as my memory returns. I have a sex hangover. Landen fucked me. Really fucked me. Not just hard and fast sex like we’ve had before. Head-banging-into-the-wall, glass-shattering-on-the-floor, screaming-orgasms-of-epic-proportions fucked me.
And now he’s asleep in my arms, looking like an innocent little boy. Kissing him on top of the head, I ease out from under him. After a quick search, I find my robe slung over the breakfast bar. Pulling it on, I glance outside and see that it’s sprinkling. Something breaks through my sex-sluggish brain and I remember that Landen left his phone on the balcony. I step out to retrieve it, hoping it’s not too late.
When I tap the button to activate the screen, nothing happens. Hopefully it’s just dead. Stepping quietly back inside, I take it into the bedroom and attach it to my charger. The screen comes to life instantly and I’m relieved it’s not ruined. I start to set it down on the nightstand, but nagging curiosity gets the best of me. Whoever he was talking to really upset him. And if he’s been fired, I deserve to know. I enter his password, knowing it’s the day we met, and pull up his recent calls.
Holy shit. Shock hits me so hard I almost drop the sleek black phone.
Two calls. One missed from The Colonel and one where it appears Landen called him. I check the time. Eight minutes. They spoke for eight minutes.
Disappointment makes my chest ache. What in the world would he be calling his dad for? And why wouldn’t he have told me?
I can’t help it. I know I shouldn’t, but I peek at his text messages. There are several from his coach.
Here is the link to the place I emailed you about. They’re worth checking out.
Landen didn’t respond but his coach kept texting.
The club would handle the cost. It’s covered by your insurance.
I hope that you’ll at least consider it.
Let me know something soon.
I have no idea what he’s talking about. Glancing in the living room to make sure Landen’s still sleeping, I click on the link. Oh my.
If his coach is sending him info about a place like this, he must be in serious trouble. I read the description of the place. It’s in California. Then I click on the frequently asked questions. Several of the services mentioned sound a lot like the kind of help Landen could use.
“What are you doing?”
His gruff voice scares the crap out of me. I drop the phone as if it’s on fire.
“Um—”
“What the fuck, Layla? We go through each other’s phones now?” His broad frame blocks the light in the doorway.
“Sorry. It’s just, you left it outside and I wanted to make sure it wasn’t messed up from the rain.”
“Oh yeah?” Landen takes two steps, closing the distance between us, and snatches his phone up off the bed. “You had to read my texts and open my web browser to be sure?”
Swallowing hard, I stand up to face him. We have plenty of issues, like any other relationship, but we don’t lie to each other. “No. I wanted to see what upset you. I checked your recent calls. The text notifications popped up and I was curious.”
“Whatever,” he snaps. “Here. Knock yourself out.” He pitches his phone at me and stalks out of the room.
I let his phone bounce off the bed and hit the floor. “Hey. Talk to me,” I demand, following him out of the room, which is never a good idea when he’s pissed. But he’s overreacting this time. More so than usual. If anyone should be upset, it’s me. We live together. I tell him everything. If he has so many secrets he’s going to flip out over me looking at his phone, then we have bigger problems than I realized. Which is saying something.
“Why?” he asks, whirling around to face me. “Nothing you can’t figure out by snooping in my phone.”
“Don’t be an ass. I was worried about you. I do that sometimes.”
He snorts and turns from me again. “I’m going for a run.”
“Oh good. That’ll help. It always solves all of our problems.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He glares at me as he pulls on a T-shirt.
“It means, you’ve been talking to your dad, your suspension is obviously more serious than you let on, and my aunt has called you a million times. None of which you’ve even bothered to try and talk to me about. So yeah, good idea. A run should take care of everything.” I huff out an exasperated breath.
“I’m pissed off. Looks like you are too. It’s better for me to run off my anger than lose control of it here.” He laces up his running shoes as I stand there seething.
“Landen, we talked about this. You can’t run every time you’re mad.” I move in front of the door in a pathetic attempt to keep him from leaving. It didn’t work. I thought maybe I could help somehow; take some of his anger away. But the look in his eyes tells me I was wrong.
“Like hell I can’t. If I fucked you right now, I’d fuck one or both of us right into the emergency room.”
“Please don’t do this.” Angry tears burn my eyes. “I want to know what you and your dad talked about. I want to know what he said.”
“Tough shit.” He steps towards the door. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. Move.”
But I don’t move. I fold my arms and will him to stop being this way with everything I’m worth.
He looks at me as if I’m an unknown species he can’t understand or communicate with. His eyes are intense and desperate. “I’m trying to keep myself from hurting you. Christ. What do you want from me?”
“I want you to stay,” I say, knowing I sound like a petulant child. “I want you to grow up and stop running and stop acting like the incredible hulk. Don’t rip your shirt off and beat on your chest and blow up every time something doesn’t go your way. I’m pregnant. We’re both scared. We had messed up childhoods and we might both suck at being parents. You’re keeping things from me and I looked at your stupid phone. Let’s deal with it.”
Both sides of his jaw tick as he gives me a slight shake of his head. “Fine. You want me to stay? Here, I’ll stay.”
My shoulders sag forward with relief. We’re finally going to talk things out. For once. But before I can apologize for my hateful words, Landen grabs the vase off the end table, the one that holds the shells my mother and I collected every summer in Gulf Shores before she died. Before she was taken from me. It’s the one thing I have left that really reminds me of her.
“Don’t, please don’t—”
I wince when it hits the wall, shattering apart just like the vase does.
“Get out,” I sob, running over to where glass and sand and my memories are scattered all over the floor. “Just go.”
I don’t even look up when the door slams.
After I’ve cleaned up the mess the best I can, I find my cell phone in my purse and dial the only person I feel like I can really count on.
“I need help,” I choke out as soon as she answers. “How soon can you be here?”