A week has passed since I practically tore down our apartment with my bare hands. We cleaned up the best we could, but it’s a pretty safe bet we won’t be getting our security deposit back. I walk through the door and see Layla standing in the middle of the living room.
“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in Barcelona?”
I take a deep breath and answer, skipping the formalities of greeting her just as she did. “I’m suspended.”
Indefinitely, but I don’t tell her that part.
“What happened?” she asks, but I see the accusation in her eyes. She really means What did you do?
I lay my car keys on the table by the door and set my bag on the one remaining barstool in the kitchen. How it survived my rampage is beyond me. Clearing my throat, I turn to face her. “Got into a disagreement with Vasquez.” More like my fist got into a disagreement with his face. Without me even meaning to, my right hand covers my left.
“And?” she prompts.
“And Coach said I needed to relax. I told him we were having some…issues. He said to take some time and get it handled.”
Her forehead wrinkles and she glares at me. “Get it handled? Landen, I told you I’m not—”
“Coach’s words, Layla. Not mine.”
She drops herself onto the couch and I do the same. We’re not touching, but the ever-present current of electricity warms the space between us. We’ve been sleeping in separate beds. Making small talk and avoiding any mention of anything that could set me off. Which is part of why I lost it on Vasquez today.
So low I have to lean in to hear her, she speaks without looking at me. “I talked to Corin last night about…about everything.”
There’s probably a sniper rifle trained on my forehead right about now. Her college roommate from New York has made it clear to me on multiple occasions that if I hurt Layla my balls will be pureed.
“By everything you mean…”
“All of it,” she says softly. “The baby, the surgery, you…you not wanting this.”
“Ah. And what did Ginger have to say?”
Finally she turns her beautiful ocean water eyes to mine. “She invited me to come stay with her for a while. She doesn’t think it’s good for me to be home alone so much. And you and I…”
You and I are done. I hear it even though she doesn’t say it.
“You’re leaving me?” Fuck. My voice comes out weak and pathetic. My father’s two favorite nicknames for me.
“No! God, Landen, it’s just…I don’t know where we are right now. We pretend like…like there’s nothing to say, like not talking about it makes it not real. But how are you going to feel when I look like I swallowed a soccer ball? I don’t want you flying into a rage at the sight of me, and honestly…”
At some point, my head dropped into my hands. My elbows dig into my knees and I lift my eyes and turn to her. “Honestly what?” Her perfect mouth is doing that heartbreakingly adorable thing it does when she’s about to cry. I can’t help myself. I reach out with my thumb and brush it tenderly against her lips. “Honestly what, baby?”
Her eyelids flicker and she shakes her head before pulling back out of my reach. “Honestly, I don’t want to spend this entire pregnancy feeling guilty…and…and afraid.” The last word isn’t even loud enough to call a whisper, but it cuts me the deepest.
I stand, pulling my hand from her mouth as if she bit me. “Jesus, Layla. The last thing I want is for you to be afraid of me.” I’m pacing, and already I know I need to settle down, but she’s leaving and she’s afraid of me and everything is all screwed up. “You know I would never hurt you. Christ almighty, I’d rather peel off my own skin than hurt you.”
“I know that. That’s not what I meant. Not exactly.”
“Not exactly?” I stop pacing and examine her face. She still looks like an angel. Just a sad, tired angel. The stress of our situation is taking its toll on her. Like it or not, I’m hurting her.
“I know you’re unhappy,” she confesses. “When you hurt, I hurt.”
In that moment, the one when she utters those words, I am consumed utterly and entirely with inescapable self-hatred. I open my mouth to speak, but she’s not finished.
“I’m not afraid for me, Landen. I’m afraid for you. Afraid you’ll lose yourself. Sometimes, when you’re angry…” She closes her eyes for a few seconds, and I need her words like I need air to breathe. Except it feels like both are going to choke me to death. “Sometimes it’s like you’re someone else, and it’s like I don’t know you, or know how to help you.”
I kneel in front of her, pulling her to me until our foreheads touch. “Baby, you do help me. I don’t even want to think about the man I’d be if it weren’t for you.” Bile rises in my throat at the mention of me without her. The reflection of my father staring back at me thrusts itself into my head.
“I love you so much,” she whispers into my hair. “So much.”
I let my weight press against her. “I love you, too. God I love you so damn much it hurts. I swear we’ll get through this. Somehow. We will.” It’s then that I see the small, black suitcase peeking out from beside the couch. Fuck. “Please don’t leave me,” I plead. It doesn’t escape me that I’m literally on my knees begging.
“I won’t,” she reassures me. “I could never really leave you, Landen. You know that.” But I pull back and look up into her eyes. They’re shining with the promise of more tears. More pain.
You ruin everything, my father reminds me.
“I know.”