Keep Me Still (8 page)

“Thank you for what?” For getting EKGs?

“For telling me. For trusting me.” His hand slides over my comforter and finds mine and I feel safe. For the first time in forever.

He has this look in his eye. For a second, I’m positive he’s going to kiss me. Then he leans in and places his lips to my forehead. Time stands still the moment his mouth touches me. I don’t even think my heart beats. That single point of contact changes something between us. When he pulls back I’m struggling to remind myself to breathe.

“It’s what’s friends do, right?” I force out a laugh to break the tension. But his darkening gaze presses deeply into mine.

“No idea. We’re a hell of a lot more than friends, Layla Flaherty.”

H
er
aunt is kind of hovery and overprotective, I’m learning. At first I thought it was because of her medical condition, but after a month of dating, I’m pretty sure it’s because she’s realized I’m a walking, talking erection.

They’re coming over for Thanksgiving, Layla and her helicopter aunt, and I’m stressed out for a couple of reasons. Layla knows my dad and I don’t get along. But she has no idea what an understatement that is. Here I am, always giving her shit about friends telling each other stuff, and I have one hell of a secret myself.

When the doorbell rings, my heart pounds, forcing blood to rush so hard through me I can hear it in my ears. Christ I need to relax.

I clench and unclench my hands a few times as I walk to the front door.
Everything will be fine. Just keep your mouth shut and don’t provoke him.

Right. The Colonel’s been drinking and watching football all day. I could breathe wrong and provoke him. No idea why my mom thought this was a good idea.

When I open the door to see Layla on the other side of it she takes my breath away. You’d think I’d get used to that face. That smile. Those eyes that light up every time she sees me. You’d be wrong.

“Hey, babe.” I give her a hug and her aunt raises an eyebrow so I back off.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Layla says softly. “We brought pie.”

I grin and take the two pies they’re carrying as they follow me into the kitchen. My mom makes a big fuss over Layla’s dark red sweater dress type deal, and they talk about food while I set the table.

When my mom calls for my dad to join us, I drop the carving knife I’ve been holding. We’re just sitting down when he walks in. The air becomes thicker, and without thinking, I reach over and put my hand on Layla’s bare knee. Somehow this calms me. I glance over to see if it’s okay and she’s biting her lip. Damn, I want to bite that lip. Okay, maybe it doesn’t calm me exactly but it does distract me from the many ways in which the Colonel could ruin this dinner.

She puts her hand on top of mine and I nearly choke on my drink. I clear my throat before I speak. “Colonel, um, Dad, this is Layla Flaherty and her aunt, Katherine.”

“Kate,” Layla’s aunt corrects me. She reaches to shake his hand but he ignores her, taking a drink of the dark liquid in his glass and eying my girlfriend in a way that makes me want to tackle his old ass to the fucking ground. Kate’s eyes narrow and I see from the corner of my eye that she’s sizing him up. Probably figuring out all my secrets and plotting the easiest exit route for her and Layla.

“This the reason you missed those two field goals last week?” His voice is gruffer than usual, his words slow and falling over each other. Great. He’s drunk. Not that he’s full of sunshine when he’s sober, but drinking brings out a darkness in him that I don’t want close enough to cast a shadow anywhere near Layla.

“No, sir,” I answer evenly, hoping he’ll let it drop.

My mom, ever the peacekeeper, jumps up to fix his plate. “Sit. Relax,” she tells him. He does, but his eyes don’t leave the girl next to me. She’s rigid under my hand until I give her a little squeeze. A forced smile pulls at her lips and again, I want to kiss that mouth so badly. Want to lose myself in the taste of her. The feel of her.

“Maybe if you spent more time practicing and less time gawking at Blondie, you’d have made those. Field goals win games. Or lose them, in your case.”

I take my hand off Layla’s knee so I don’t crush it. “We were down by two touchdowns, sir. I don’t think two field goals would have made much difference.”

Layla’s focusing on her plate—not touching it, just staring at it. Probably wishing she could disappear. Suddenly, without any change in her demeanor, a hand lands on my thigh. Despite the tension in the room nearly choking us both to death, my dick twitches at her touch.

“You watch your mouth, you hear me? Two field goals can be everything. If you took football seriously, there’d be scouts coming to see you.” The Colonel goes on about monumental games where field goals made all the difference. He might even refer to me as soccer fag once or twice. But my sole focus is on the small warm hand on my inner thigh.

She’s rubbing in a slow circle, applying pressure now and again—probably when she thinks what the Colonel says is affecting me. My mom and Kate are trying to make small talk but even their words are barely registering.

“Are you even listening? Goddammit. Can’t even show some respect for five fucking minutes. How the hell are you going to make it at West Point?”

His fist hits the table and Layla flinches. Son of a bitch.

“Don’t do that,” I say evenly. Her hand leaves me and I’m untethered. No longer attached to Earth by anything that matters.

The Colonel’s red-rimmed eyes bulge. “What did you say to me?”

“Jack,” my mom breaks in. “Why don’t you go back down to the den and I’ll bring you some pie?”

He ignores her. As usual. “You were man enough to backtalk to me once. Do it again. What’d you say?”

Adrenaline has me breathing so hard I can see my own chest heaving. “I said, don’t fucking do that. Don’t hit things or slam things around Layla. She has a condition. Noises like that can—”

“It’s fine,” Layla says quietly from beside me. “I’m okay.” Her hand returns, and I realize there will be immediate consequences for my actions. It all makes sense. This is why my mom invited them. She thought he’d behave around company. But when the Colonel stands, I know she was wrong. And so does she.

So does Layla’s aunt apparently. “I think we’re going to clear out of here and let you all have some privacy.” She stands and jerks her head not-so-subtly towards the living room. We both look at Layla, waiting to see what she’ll decide. She’ll run straight out the door and never look back if she has any sense.

“That’s enough, you two,” my mom says in the sternest voice she’s capable of.

“Like hell it is. Just because he’s got his little piece of ass here, he thinks he can—”

“Excuse me?” Kate lurches at the same time I do.

“Apologize,” I command. This is it. It’s been coming forever. It’s almost a relief. Today’s the day I hit back. I just wish she didn’t have to be here to see it.

“I don’t know what she’s done to you or if she’s just convinced you that your dick is bigger than it actually is. But you’re on very thin ice.” He’s standing now, leaning towards me, staring me down, with both hands gripping the table. Probably so he doesn’t break my neck in front of so many witnesses. I’ve never understood why he hates me so much. I’ve just accepted that he does.

“We’re going, Layla.
Now
,” Kate announces. She reaches for Layla and I have no idea what happens next. Everything goes bright white and blinding pain collides with my face.

It takes me a second to get my bearings. Motherfucker. He sucker-punched me when I looked away.

When I can see again, I see her. Tears filling her eyes as her aunt pulls her towards the door away.

“I’m sorry,” is all I can say, but the ringing in my ears keeps me from hearing my own words.

H
e
hit him. His own father hit him so hard his head turned to the side.

I reach a hand up to my own face because I can feel his pain as if it were my own. This is why he doesn’t talk about him. Why he tenses up about at any mention of his dad, of football, or anything related to either. It makes so much sense I feel like a self-centered moron for not catching on sooner. I was so consumed by protecting my own secrets I never bothered trying to figure out his.

Aunt Kate drags me out of the kitchen, but when we get to the front door, I can’t leave. I can’t just walk out on the boy who kept me still, who whispered in my ear that I was safe, who calmed me when no one else could or cared to.

“Give me a few minutes? Please?” I beg as she walks out the front door, pulling her keys from her purse. “At least let me say goodbye and make sure he’s okay.”

She huffs out a breath. “Five minutes.”

I can’t believe he’s been living like this. I need to see him, need to hold him and tell him it’s okay. Even though it obviously isn’t. I need to do…something.

“Ten. Please? You saw…”

She closes her eyes. And then she looks up for a second before answering. “Tell him he can come stay at the house if he needs to. At least until his dad sobers up.”

I nod, grateful she’s not making a fuss. “Okay. I will. Thank you.”

I shut the door quietly behind her before turning to head back into the room of doom even though my every instinct is shouting at me not to.

It’s as if the house has become attuned to the tension. That or Landen and his dad carry it between them like an invisible aura that permeates everything it touches. Each step I take towards the kitchen pulls me into to thicker, heavier airspace. My heart pounds forcefully against my chest as I turn the corner back into the violent atmosphere I just escaped. Or was dragged from.

Landen’s mom is at the refrigerator, eyes closed as she wrings a green plaid dishtowel in her hands. Her lips move in a silent prayer and I want to scream at her to do something.

The boy I’ve only seen this worked up after soccer games stands with his bright green eyes blazing and his chest expanding noticeably with each breath. Glancing down I can see that his fists are clenched.

The Colonel is leaning almost lazily on the counter for support but as I come around to the side I can see the sneer on his face. They’re in some type of standoff. Waiting for the other one to make a move so all hell can break loose. Each daring the other to start something that will end in bloodshed. I want to scream and cry all at once. Mostly I want to bash Landen’s asshole of a dad over the head with the heaviest object I can find.

No one has so much as glanced in my direction. I can practically taste the adrenaline and testosterone surging through the room. Around me, into me.

“Hit me again,” Landen says so low I almost don’t hear over the blood rushing in my head. “Like you mean it this time. Hit me while I’m looking instead of when my head is turned.” His voice is lethal, laced with pure hatred but something else too. A sadness maybe. Confusion. Or hurt.

His own father
. My mind is struggling to comprehend the very idea that any man wouldn’t be bursting with pride at having a son like Landen.

“Landen,” I whisper. My voice barely carries itself to him. His head turns and his eyes widen at the sight of me standing there. If his dad uses this opportunity to catch him off guard again, so help me, I don’t know what I’ll do.

The Colonel lets out a noise, it might be a word, under his breath but I can’t make it out.

“Maybe you boys should go to your separate corners. You’re scaring poor Layla to death.” His mom forces a smile and huffs out a breath as if it’s all in good fun. Before anyone has time to do anything, the Colonel turns and staggers around Landen and walks out the back door. I flinch when it slams but I was expecting it so it doesn’t cause any tremors to come.

But Landen’s rage flares anyways. “The next time he slams something or does anything to cause Layla to so much as blink too much, I’m fucking killing him,” he says to his mom before turning towards me.

Our gazes collide as he comes towards me. The heat in his sends fire scorching through my veins. I want to grab him, kiss him. Tell him this isn’t his fault. That there’s something majorly messed up with his dad. I want to beg him to come home with me and never come back to this awful place again. The place where he should be safe and loved and isn’t.

My hands ache to touch him but the force field created by his residual hostility holds me back. “I’m going downstairs,” is all he says before he walks out, leaving me alone in a sea of awkwardness with his mom.

Looking at her, I know she can probably see the questions in my eyes. She doesn’t meet mine as she speaks. “He’s not a bad man, just… stressed. He’ll go out to the shed and blow off steam. Landen’s probably downstairs in the den doing the same. They’ll be over it by tomorrow.” She lifts her shoulder slightly and rolls her eyes. “Men.” She offers me an apologetic smile but her eyes hold the truth. I don’t smile back. I know what she’s doing. Trying to make light of something very dark.

How long has she been doing that?
My stomach plummets at the thought of a little boy with messy dark hair and tear-filled green eyes being kicked around like a junkyard dog.

“Okay,” I choke out over the lump that’s formed in my throat. “Thank you for dinner. I’m going to go down and say goodbye.”

“Door’s down the hall on your left,” is all she says.

When I find the door on the left, I think his mom must be mistaken. Or I chose the wrong one. It’s pitch black and I’m gripping the handrail to get down the stairs without falling and breaking my neck. “Landen?” I whisper into the darkness.

“Over here. Take five steps and make a right. Put your hands out.” His voice is thick and low. Wounded. Angry. I do as I’m told until I feel a well-worn leather couch beneath my hands.

I reach until I feel him and lower myself onto the seat beside him. Minutes pass and neither of us says a word. Until I can’t take it anymore. “That happen a lot?”

“Depends on what you mean by a lot.”

“Jesus, Landen. That’s not okay. He
hit
you.” I find his arm and wrap mine around it, leaning over into him. I don’t know how to comfort him, how to make it better. But God I want to so badly.

“It happens,” is all he says. His voice is raw and broken and it sends a painful sensation crashing over me. Peels away my skin and leaves my nerves exposed.

I want to climb on top of him. Kiss him, devour him. Fix him. Make it better, like he does for me. I take a few deep breaths and turn towards him. I can’t see it, but I know that muscle in his jaw is probably flexing. Know his fists are clenched.

“I’m so sorry.” I reach up and place my arms around his neck, pulling him to me, yanking him into a hug he may not want but I need.

He snorts out a small laugh. “You’re sorry? What the hell, Layla? Don’t apologize because my dad was a drunken asshole and disrespected you. That just makes it worse. I should’ve made the bastard spit teeth.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. He’s drunk, like you said. No amount of hitting will fix that.”

“Might be worth a shot,” he grumbles and pulls back. I open my mouth to protest but he lays his head in my lap and lets out sigh.

I rake my fingers through his hair for several minutes. “Does it hurt?” I ask, lowering my hand and tracing lightly over his jaw. It’s too dark to see if it’s bruised but I can feel that it’s swollen. My tears catch in my throat. Crying won’t help him. Plus I never cry in front of anyone. Haven’t since I was a kid.

“Not too bad. I can take it.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” I answer, my voice barely above a whisper. I wipe the solitary tear that escaped onto my cheek.

“Neither should you. Not from him or anyone. Listen, that shit at school, the way everyone—”

“Shh.” I shake my head, even though I know he can’t see. “I can handle it.”

“Say the word and I’ll set every single one of them fucking straight. I’ve already warned Cam and DW. If you so much as hear anyone whisper Freaky Flaher—”

“Landen. Enough. I’m fine. It doesn’t bother me anymore. Not since…”
Not since you came. Since you saw me.
“Since you.”

For a full minute he’s silent and completely still. I’m almost afraid I’ve shocked him into a coma. And then something warm and unexpected presses against my inner thigh. Holy Lord. Landen just kissed me on the leg. He’s never even kissed my mouth. I want to him to. I want him to so badly I can’t stand it. It’s all I can do not to grab him and drag his face to mine. But with the tension from tonight’s dramatic events and the mention of the way things are for me at school…our pain is out in the open instead of buried where we normally keep it. And it’s leaking out into the room and suffocating me.

Part of me doesn’t want him to kiss me for the first time right now because I don’t want the memory tainted by how much we’re both hurting. And part of me doesn’t want him to because in this moment, with his secrets right on the surface, I’d give him anything. Everything. If he kissed me right now, it wouldn’t stop there.

And we both know I’m not ready for that.

My breath hitches as he places another kiss on my thigh, higher this time. His right hand inches up my dress, gently caressing my leg as he goes.

A steady pulse begins somewhere inside of me and lands at the juncture between my thighs, just below his head.

“Landen,” I breathe.

His lips tickle my flesh as he speaks. “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

My mouth forms the word but doesn’t say it. The sound of my own breathing fills my ears. His lips are parted this time when they come into contact with my inner thigh and I can feel the wetness of his tongue coming closer to my panties. A small whimpery sound escapes my throat and he grips me harder, his hand coming closer to touching me in a place I’ve never been touched.

This is not smart. We should definitely stop. Except…it feels like he needs this. Needs me. A distraction. Something good to come out of being blindsided by an angry drunk that’s supposed to love him. Protect him. Instead of being the one he needs protection from.

And I’m aching for him to touch me. All reason is fleeing the room leaving nothing in the space we occupy other than want. Need.

His fingers graze the edge of my panties as he places another gentle open-mouthed kiss on my inner thigh. And another. He’s waiting for permission. He won’t push any further without it.

I let my hands twist in his hair and try to think straight.

I’ve never been kissed and I’m about to let him put his fingers inside me. Or go down on me. Or both. Whatever he’s about to do, I’m about to let him. I’ve heard girls talking about it in the locker room and on the bus. I know what it is. I live in the world. It just never sounded all that appealing until right this moment.

“You can touch me,” I say softly into the darkness.

“Layla,” he groans, pulling his hand back a few inches.

“I want you to.” It’s true. I’m ready. Ready for all of it. As long as it’s with him. I trust him. I’m high from the realization. Or maybe from his hands and mouth touching me in between my legs. Both probably.

“Layla, your aunt’s ready to go,” his mom calls from the top of the stairs.

I nearly have a heart attack right that second.

The intimacy between us snaps, slapping us both back to reality. Landen sits up so fast he nearly headbutts me. “Oh God. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…I don’t know what I was—”

“It’s fine. Stop.” I grab his hand and squeeze as I stand up and smooth my dress down over my thighs. “I have to go. I’ll call you later.” My legs tremble beneath me as I try to make my way around the couch through the darkness.

“I think that’s supposed to be my line.” There’s a hint of laughter in his voice and it makes me smile. This Thanksgiving wasn’t such a bust after all.

“Very funny.”

He stands and starts to walk to the stairs beside me. “I’ll walk you out.”

As much as I don’t want to leave him, I don’t want him to have another run-in with his dad even more. “Stay. I’m a big girl. I can find my own way out.”

“I’m not afraid of him.” The evenness of his tone makes me sad. He’s really not afraid. He’s completely accepted the fact that his own flesh and blood could jack his jaw just for the heck of it at any time.

Placing a hand on his chest, I press him back towards the couch. “I know you’re not. But I think we’ve both had enough excitement for one night. Don’t you?”

He sits and I can feel his head at my waist. “Maybe.”

I run my fingers through his hair one last time. “Happy Thanksgiving, Landen.”

He snorts out loud. “Right.”

“Hey. Don’t do that. I got to see you. Normally holidays are Stove Top from the microwave or pizza in front of the television. We don’t go too crazy since it’s just the two of us. But I got to see you, so it’s good. I’m happy.”

“You are?” There’s an emotion thickening his voice that I don’t have a name for.

“Not that your dad is such a jerk, but that I got to be with you. Yes.”

“That helps,” he says so low I almost don’t hear.

“Hey, my aunt said you could come to the house and stay for a while. If you want.” My eyes are finally adjusting, and I can see that he’s leaning back into the couch with his head tilted back.

“I can’t leave my mom. If I’m not here when’s he’s…I just can’t leave her.”

His words wrench something loose inside of me. Landen the protector. Mine and his mom’s. I can’t kiss him goodbye on the mouth because if I do I’ll never leave and Aunt Kate will have to come drag me out. But I can’t just walk out either. Not after everything.

Leaning over from behind him, I slide my arms down his chest and press my mouth to his abused jaw in a whisper of kiss. I let my lips graze the side of his face from his jawline to his temple before placing a lingering kiss on his forehead.

I don’t know how exactly, but somehow I know it’s enough.