by Caisey Quinn
OTHER BOOKS BY CAISEY QUINN
The Kylie Ryans Series
Girl With Guitar
Girl On Tour
Girl In Love (coming in 2014)
Ebook formatting by E.M. Tippetts Book Designs
For Lauren
Because I quoted your infinite wisdom without even realizing it.
And for anyone who ever loved and didn’t give up.
“Layla! Put that down. Don’t touch those.”
My mother’s urgent tone causes me to drop the twisted, silver seashell I just lifted into my small hand. “But I like this one. It’s pretty, Mommy. Look.” I bend to retrieve it but she grabs my hand before I reach my prize.
“Not those, baby.” She points to the jagged edge of the shell next to the swirly interior that caught my attention. “Those are broken. They have sharp edges and will hurt you.”
For the rest of the afternoon, she points out the smooth shells with perfectly rounded edges. The complete ones without flaws. They are the only ones allowed into my pink plastic bucket.
But when she isn’t looking, I snatch up one I couldn’t resist. It is dangerously twisted and curved, warped by water and whatever had torn it from the larger piece it was once a part of. It glints in the sunlight, and no matter how hard I try to resist, it catches my eye until I give in.
“Layla!”
At five years old, I’m not quite sly enough to get away with much. Nothing gets past her.
Just as I try to slip it into my pocket for safekeeping, my mother grips my wrist and forces my clenched hand open. The shell gleams proudly, giving me away.
“See? What did I tell you?” She lets the shell drop back into the sand, rejected, forgotten. She shakes my wrist gently, just enough to distract me from seeing where it fell.
Surprise and confusion crash over me like an ocean wave. My hand is bleeding. Not horribly, but enough to sting once I see it.
“Stay away from the broken ones, sweetie. They’ll only hurt you.”
She says it twice more as she cleans and bandages my cut back inside our small, rented bungalow.
Softly, too low for her to hear, I mumble under my breath once she’s out of the room. “But I like the broken ones.”
I wake up sweating. For a moment, I swear I can still hear the ocean. But Salobrena Beach is the closest one and there’s no way I could hear it from here.
It’s been years since I’ve dreamt of my mother. Of either of my parents. The night they were murdered in front of me still sneaks into my nightmares from time to time, but this one was different. It was a happy one, I think. Though for some reason I’m reminded of blood.
I struggle to hold on to the image of my mom in a floppy black hat and a polka-dot one-piece. I can still remember wanting to be just like her when I grew up. But the dream vanishes like a vapor dissipating into the darkness.
I realize I’m in bed alone, and for a second, I’m confused. But then I remember my boyfriend is out of town for work.
He’ll be home tomorrow and I’ll tell him. Even though I was thirteen when I lost her, I’m hoping I might get to be just like my mom after all.
“Hey, do you want to have dinner at The Cantina or that new place we talked about trying out?” I ask my boyfriend as he enters our apartment and puts his gear down. “Or would you rather I cook something? I know you need a shower but I’m starving.” And I have news. Important news I’m hoping won’t freak him out. Or piss him off.
“Well, we can’t have that, now can we?” He comes over and places a kiss on my forehead. “Hello, by the way. Missed you too.”
He’s been in Barcelona for two weeks with his job. It’s only about eight hours from our apartment in Granada where I attend school, but I have a medical condition and don’t drive so time apart is brutal. Landen is a professional soccer player. Hottest one on the team, in my opinion. In the league, if I’m being honest. And the fact that he agreed to live within walking distance of the School of Public Health I attend instead of closer to his job is just one of the many ways he’s demonstrated his devotion to me, to us. I’m a lucky girl.
“Missed you back.” I press my lips against his, the tightness in my stomach reminding me that I missed him even more than I realized. I’ve been so busy with classes and Bridging the Gap, the organization I volunteer with, that I haven’t had time to think about it much. When we first moved to Spain, I missed him like crazy every time he went out of town. But somehow I’ve made a life for myself here. We’ve made a life for ourselves. And it’s home. I glance around our apartment, proud of myself for the little touches I worked so hard on. Earthy colors are in the curtains, lamps, wall art, and picture frames that adorn our living room. I love it here, love the cozy space that is just so…us.
And now that Landen’s here, wrapping his strong arms around me, I never want him to leave again.
“Wanna jump in the shower with me?” he asks, yanking his shirt over his head in one swift movement, leaving me speechless. No matter how many times I see the tight, tan muscles of his athletic body, I still get all hot and bothered.
I lick my lips and try to think straight. “Um, I do. But I’ve already showered. And I’m seriously hungry.”
Pulling me to him, Landen growls in my ear. “I’m hungry too, babe. Starving, actually.” His warm, wet tongue slides up my neck and I moan. “God, you taste so damn good.”
His mouth meets mine in a kiss that’s sweet temptation with a hint of something rougher. Yes, please.
Food can wait.
His hands grip my hips and lift me onto a stool at the breakfast bar. He spreads my knees and drops down on his. Every muscle in my body goes soft, and I can’t help but moan as he slides my skirt up my thighs.
Raking my hands through his hair as he drops fiery kisses on my upper legs, I feel the smile spread across my face. “I love you so much.”
He chuckles and his warm breath tickles me between my legs. As does the stubble he’s sporting. “I love you too, baby.”
Baby. The word echoes in my head. A reminder of the talk we need to have.
“Landen,” I call out urgently, squirming as his tongue licks a path next to my panty line.
“Yeah, babe?”
“Um.” He uses a finger to pull the soft scrap of lacy fabric to the side, grazing my wet center. “Mm.”
Talking can wait.
The same instant that the tip of his tongue slicks up the most sensitive part of me, Landen’s phone rings. We both ignore it as he brings me closer to ecstasy with his relentless strokes. I barely hear mine ringing over my own sounds of pleasure.
“What the fuck?” he grumbles, standing as I come down from a heaving orgasm.
Both of our phones are ringing in turn. His. Mine. His. Mine again.
He wraps me in his arms and I lean into him for support. No way I can get down off this stool right now with my legs still trembling like this.
Keeping one arm around me, he reaches for my phone on the counter. “It’s your aunt,” he says over my head.
“Okay,” I pant, struggling to catch my breath.
“I’ll give you one minute to call her back and see what the hell she wants. Then we are finishing what we started. In the shower. I promise to feed you after.” He winks and I shake my head.
My hands are unsteady as I dial her back. “Hey, is everything—”
“Is Landen there? Put me on speaker,” my aunt demands before I can even finish my sentence.
I do as I’m told while staring into the still heated, needful gaze of the most beautiful creature on Earth.
“Hi, Kate,” Landen greets her through gritted teeth. “I just got home. Excellent timing.”
If she detects t
he sarcasm, she doesn’t mention it. “Good. I need you both to hear this. I have two words for you. Well, three. You ready for this?”
It isn’t like her to be all dramatic, so we’re both tense as we wait. “Hope so. What is it?” I ask, hoping to hurry things along so we can get back to what we were doing. Or about to do.
“Dr. Clayton Kirkowitz.”
The name doesn’t ring any bells. Judging from Landen’s expression, it’s unfamiliar to him as well.
“Oh-kay. What about him?” I ask.
“He’s the one doing the procedure I told you about. The laser removal of hematomas like yours. He’s had an astonishing success rate, Layla. I’m talking miracle status.”
Right. She did mention this the last time we talked. But the procedure was still experimental and not covered by insurance. Plus the man had a waiting list ten years long. “I remember now. But—”
“You’re next, Layla. I’ve been calling in favors and pulling strings and outright begging. His assistant said he had an unexpected opening. The insurance company is still giving me the runaround, but if you two can’t afford it, I’ll take out a second mortgage. Whatever I have to do. He’s scheduled your surgery for next Monday at eight a.m. I’ve already booked our flights to Los Angeles. I just wanted to make sure Landen doesn’t have a game and would be in town before I bought his.”
No. No this is not happening right now. The room spins around me and every word out of her mouth is a ten-pound weight piling onto me until I can’t breathe.
“Hell yes we can afford it,” Landen practically shouts. “I’ll do whatever it takes. Tell him we’ll be there Monday. I can get my own ticket if you’ll text me the flight informa—”
“No,” I say evenly, interrupting them as they throw their Save the Layla Project party.
Landen turns to me, confusion contorting his handsome face. “Lay? I don’t care about the money or whatever you’re worried about. This is—”
“This is not happening. I’m not having surgery on Monday.”
“Layla? What’d she say?” I hear my aunt’s voice. It’s coming through the phone speaker on the counter right next to me but it sounds a million miles away.
“I can’t. I can’t have surgery,” I whisper. My eyes fill with tears because I already know from the look on Landen’s face how angry he’s going to be. “Not for the next eight months or so anyways.”
“What?” they both ask at the same time.
This isn’t how I wanted to tell him. I wanted it to be private. Special. But everything’s ruined. Because of me and my stupid defective brain.
“I’m pregnant.”
I have no idea how much time passes as I stand there staring at my girlfriend. Thank God the human body will keep breathing and blinking and beating all on its own. Somewhere in the distance I hear Layla ending the phone call with her aunt. I struggle to listen as she promises the woman ten times that she will call her later.
I glance down to see if my body is vibrating. The steady hum of shock thrums through me and it seems like it must be.
“Still up for that shower?” Her lips are moving, so I know it’s her talking. But I’m already underwater. I blink at her.
“Um.”
“Yeah, I figured.” She huffs out a breath and leans against the counter. “Landen, I was going to tell you tonight. At dinner. I went to the doctor at student health last week. I’m almost four weeks along.”
Four weeks. The rewind button in my brain must’ve been pressed because I see the highlight reel of the last four weeks in reverse. Four weeks ago I was home for a few nights between games. The night before I left to go to Milan, she made spaghetti. Because it’s my favorite. Cheesecake for dessert. We didn’t make it. I ended up eating my piece off of her on the living room floor.
My mind searches for an alternate version of reality. One where I stop licking cherry glaze off her stomach and go grab a condom. Yeah. I didn’t. My brain can’t find the memory of that part because it isn’t there. We made love over and over until we passed out on the floor. I almost missed my flight the next morning.
“Landen. Please. Say something.” Layla’s ocean-colored eyes sparkle up at me like fine gemstones. But my expression darkens them. “Or don’t. But just know I’m not unhappy about this. I’m excited. And nothing you say is going to change that.”
I take a deep breath and tell myself to reach out to her. Hold her. Reassure her that we’ll figure this out together. My father’s voice is loud and thunderous in my head, stopping all forward motion.
You ruin everything.
It’s been so long since I heard it that I’d almost forgotten what it sounded like.
“I need to go for a run,” Landen says. His eyes are unfocused and his fists are clenched. My head is spinning from the sudden change. One minute everything was perfect and now it’s a mess.
“You just got home,” I say, unable to keep the soft sound of pleading out of my voice. “I thought we were going to dinner.”
“Just order in. I’m not hungry.”
My eyes widen in shock. I mean, we’ve had fights. We’ve yelled and slammed doors. He doesn’t like me taking night classes, says that it’s unsafe. When I signed up for one so I could volunteer with Bridging the Gap during the day, he nearly lost his mind. But this is different. It’s not usually me causing the rage he tries so hard to outrun.
Until now.
I stand there, at the kitchen counter, in the spot where my life just went to crap in zero to fifteen seconds and watch him grab his T-shirt and walk out. I flinch at the sound of our door slamming shut.
For a minute, I’m overcome by loneliness. I was excited about telling him, nervous, but looking forward to it. Mostly. And now I can’t swallow. Can’t fight off the tears that well up so fast they’re falling faster than I can wipe them.
He left. Left me alone. Except…I’m not alone. Glancing down, I realize I’m already cradling my stomach with my arm.
“Daddy will be back, baby. I promise.”
It’s after midnight when I hear him come in. I hold my breath and wait. Surely he’ll come crawl into bed, apologize, and hold me. We’ll talk about our fears, reassuring each other that we’re in this together. By the time we fall asleep, everything will be okay. That’s what I tell myself as I release the breath my lungs were holding hostage.
We’ll keep each other still because that’s what we’ve always done.
I listen to the sounds of doors opening and closing. Hear the shower turn on. And off a few minutes later. Straining, I can barely make out the sounds of him fumbling around our small apartment. But I never hear him come in the bedroom. I don’t hear it because it doesn’t happen. He doesn’t even open the door to check on me. Which is so unlike him it makes my chest ache.
A lump rises in my throat as the apartment falls silent. We have a second bedroom with an old bed and a computer desk in it. The realization that he’s decided to sleep in there hits hard and provokes a fresh wave of tears.
I let my arm out from under my pillow. My hand slides across the cold sheets where he should be.
In the darkness, my mind races to take stock of what my options are if Landen doesn’t want this. If he only wants me and if pregnant me is a deal breaker. My heart refuses to accept that as a possibility. Landen loves me with a ferocity unlike anything I’ve ever known. But my mind…my mind is already a mother. Already trying to scheme and plan and make sure this child growing inside of me gets everything he or she will ever need or want. And that they never, ever have to feel this kind of sharp, stinging pain and rejection.
I lost my parents when I was thirteen and a stranger murdered them. I want this baby to be loved and hugged and have the kind of childhood I did before my parents were taken away. A hint of a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I let myself remember. My mom and dad used to dance in the kitchen. They used to sing embarrassingly loud in the car. Even if I had a friend with me. Hot tears burn down my face and leak into my ear. T
hey kissed me—and each other—in public. They held my hands everywhere we went.
They would’ve been amazing grandparents. Manufactured memories of Christmases we’ll never have together assault me and I cry harder. For what I’ve lost. For what my child will never have.
Something warm stirs inside of me and it takes a few seconds to realize what it is. I’m sad about Landen’s reaction. I know this. I know I’m disappointed and hurt. But underneath that lies an emotion I’m not all that familiar with.
I’m angry.
How can he not want this? I know in the depths of my soul that he’s afraid. Scared that something will happen to me if I don’t have this surgery. I’m scared, too. But at some point, maybe the instant I realized I was responsible for the life growing inside of me, I stopped being afraid for myself.
I just want this child—my child, our child—to have the kind of life he or she deserves. And if Landen doesn’t want this and something does happen to me, I don’t know what kind of life my baby will get. My aunt is not the motherly type at all. She loves me and would do anything for me, but she’s not the most affectionate human being on the planet. She’s kind of cold actually and singularly focused on her career now that she isn’t raising me anymore. I love her and am so grateful for everything she’s done for me, but she’s not someone I would want to raise my child. And Landen’s parents…Oh God. Oh God. It makes so much sense that I could cry out in relief.
His mom is a decent person as far as I know, but his father is a nightmare. Literally. He’s an awful man that I’ve only met a few times and each time he was horrible. He was violent and abusive, and how Landen turned out to be such an amazing man in spite of that is nothing short of amazing.
That man is never coming near my child. Ever. If this hematoma on my brain bursts and I die, I will come back from the grave and haunt him to death if he ever goes anywhere near my baby.
Understanding that this is most likely the cause of Landen’s reaction earlier sinks in and allows me to breathe a little more easily. He never talks about his dad. He refuses to and shuts down completely if I ever dare to bring the man up in conversation. We don’t discuss his childhood at all unless he’s telling me about one of the many cities he lived in.