Hold Us Close (Keep Me Still)

by Caisey Quinn

  “Thank you. Oh God. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” It takes everything I have to keep from dropping to my knees then and there.

  “Can we see them?” Corin asks from within the huddle that’s gathered behind me.

  “Of course.”

  I don’t wait to hear anything else before tearing out of the room and through the double doors. “Flaherty?” I bark at a nurse walking past, who points a dry erase board on the wall.

  Rec Rm 1, it says next to her name.

  “Where is Recovery Room one?” I bark again, barely resisting the urge to grab the tiny woman and shake her.

  “Far end, last on the left,” the same nurse tells me, eying me cautiously.

  Of course. Layla’s always made me work for it.

  I sprint to the room, damn near ripping the door off the hinges as I yank it open. The soft white curtain is pulled closed, so I step around it. “Layla? Baby?”

  Her head is bandaged and her eyes are closed. She’s so pale her skin is nearly translucent, and her blonde hair fades into the pale yellow bed sheets. Why isn’t she moving?

  “She’s sedated,” the nurse, who must’ve followed me in, says quietly. “But she’s okay. Surgery was successful.”

  “I n-need…” Dammit, breathe, O’Brien. “I need to see her. I need her to open her eyes and tell me she’s okay herself.”

  “She’ll come around. Just be patient.”

  Story of my life, lady.

  Stroking what I can reach of Layla’s hair, I lean down and place a gentle kiss on her bandage, then on each of her eyelids, then on her nose before pressing my lips to hers.

  “I hope your name is Landen. Otherwise my fiancé’s going to be super pissed,” she murmurs against my lips.

  Startled shock shoves a noise from my throat and I step back. “Oh God, oh dear God. I have never been so scared in my entire life. You can never, ever, ever leave me. Ever.”

  Everything that’s been holding me rigid loosens, and I bend, letting my head fall to her chest so I can hear the beautiful music of her heartbeat. Tears burn fiery trails down my face, but wiping them would require moving.

  “I won’t. Well, I’ll try not to. Landen, I don’t understand. What happened?” Her small hand reaches up and fingers the bandage on her head. And then her eyes widen in panic as she reaches for her stomach.

  The monitors around us begin beeping like crazy. “Shh, babe, it’s fine. Everything’s fine. Breathe.”

  “H-how is she, Landen? Is she okay?” I can see in her eyes she’s doing the same thing I was. Stalling for a few more minutes of hope. “Can I see her?”

  I grin. “She’s healthy. The doctor told me just before I came in. Want me to have them bring her in?”

  “Yes, more than anything.” She’s breathing so heavily that I’m worried, but I know it’s excitement more than anything.

  “Baby, you have to take it easy. As soon as the C-section was over, Dr. Kirkowitz performed the laser removal of your hematoma.”

  “He did? Wait, how—”

  “Hey now, your aunt isn’t the only one that can pull strings. I’m a pretty big deal, you know.” I wink at her and she smiles.

  “Did they say how the surgery went? Am I, I mean is it…gone?” Her voice is strained. I would get her some water if I could stand to be more than five inches away from her.

  “The doctor said it went well. He removed the hematoma but I didn’t wait around for details. I needed to see you.”

  As much as I don’t want to tear myself from Layla’s side, I’m as anxious to meet our daughter as she is. And I’m terrified. I’m thrilled that we’re meeting her together, that she’s healthy and has two living parents who love her. I could probably combust at any second. So I step into the hall and ask a different nurse, since the previous one has seemingly vanished, to bring in our daughter. From down the hall, I see my mom and Kate and the others heading our way.

  “Can she have visitors?” Corin asks as they approach.

  “Yeah, but she’s been through a lot so just…you know...”

  We’ve all barely squeezed quietly back into the room when a male nurse wheels a clear plastic cart in. Skylar claps me hard on the back. A pink bundle with a tiny soccer ball beanie on her head is wrapped inside. And then it hits me. I’m somebody’s dad.

  Please, please don’t let me fuck this up.

  Just as I wait for The Colonel’s voice to remind me that of course I’ll fuck it up, someone clears his throat in the doorway. I’m holding our daughter as Layla smiles sleepily at us with tears in her eyes. And he’s here. The Colonel—in all his fully uniformed glory.

  “How about we let Layla hold her?” my mom suggests, nodding to The Colonel and silently telling me to go speak with him.

  Other than a phone call while I was at Axis, it’s been years since we’ve spoken. Placing a kiss on Layla’s and then my daughter’s head, I hand Roxanne Hope O’Brien over to my mom.

  “Be right back, baby,” I promise Layla before I walk over to The Colonel. “Didn’t expect to see you here, sir,” I say, shaking my father’s hand stiffly.

  “Your mother called, and I just—”

  I wait as patiently as I can while he clears his throat, but I’m practically twitching to get back to my family. My family. Jesus, what did I ever do right to deserve this? “Yeah?”

  “I just wanted to say congratulations,” he finishes.

  He came all the way from Georgia to California to say congratulations?

  “Okay. Thank you, sir.”

  I glance over to see Corin assisting Layla so she can hold Hope. We’ve decided she’s going by her middle name—like her father. My career will have us moving around a lot and I don’t want guys using 80’s music lyrics as a way to charm their way into the new girl’s pants. Suddenly I hate every single person with a dick on the planet. Layla’s propped up and looking more alert than I expected while Kate and my mom take pictures.

  God she’s so damn beautiful.

  “Well, I’ll let you get back,” T“Well, I’ll let you get back,” ts he’r some odd reason :)t erring to her at this moment. But, if you want to leave it as it is the Colonel tells me, gesturing towards my daughter and soon-to-be wife. “Good seeing you…son.”

  He nods, and so do I. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  He looks so…sad. Looking at him, I see a version of myself. The one I likely would have become if not for Layla. I feel bereft, but what else is there to say?

  “Landen.” I hear Layla call my name softly, but firmly, from across the room. She tilts her head towards The Colonel’s retreating figure, and I know what she’s reminding me of. You don’t measure love in the number of chances you’re willing to give someone. Love doesn’t run out of chances.

  God knows she’s given me more than I deserve.

  “Colonel? Um, dad?” I call out.

  “Yes?” He turns back around to face me with his brows raised.

  I shift on my feet. “Do you maybe want to hold her? Get a picture for the baby book? Since you came all this way, I mean.”

  A smile transforms my father’s face into a version of him I can’t remember ever seeing before. “I would like that, very much, yes.”

  And somehow, some way, Layla has given me everything I’ve ever wanted and didn’t know I needed. That girl, that beautiful girl who floated through the halls like an unseen angel, who suffered such a devastating loss before I met her, has touched my life, brightened it, formed it. Made it worth living and helped me to focus on living it instead of punishing myself.

  She gave me the strength to forgive. Kept me still when I was weak and stupid, when I lost my temper, when I got scared and ran and nearly made the biggest mistake of my life. And I vow, here and now, watching everyone fall in love with my perfect daughter before my very eyes, to never take a single second for granted. If Layla’s surgery went as well as they say, she won’t need me to keep her still anymore.

  But it doesn’t matter. I’m still keeping her
forever.

  “DADDY! Daddy! Did you see me? That’s five! I beat my record!”

  I watch my daughter run off the field to her father, her dark ponytail flying behind her. My husband drops his clipboard and lifts her into his arms. My heart swells with happiness as the love between them cocoons them in a private celebration.

  “Mommy, did you see? Did you get it?”

  I press the pause button and lower the video camera. “I got it, sweetie. Way to go, superstar!” I high-five her and stand on my tippy-toes for a kiss. She’s a head above me in her father’s arms.

  “No kiss for the coach?” my husband asks, his green eyes gleaming with mischief.

  “Hmm…okay. You’re a superstar too, honey.” I wink and make a kissy face just before his lips graze mine. Even after five years of marriage, a tingling sensation from his touch still overwhelms me.

  “I’ll show you superstar,” he murmurs into my ear. For a moment, I’m lightheaded from his words.

  “Landen! This is a family place!” I slap his arm playfully and reach up to tickle Hope. He grins as our daughter giggles before launching into her play-by-play recap of the soccer game we just watched.

  “Can we go get ice cream now? I get extra sprinkles, Daddy. You promised!” Hope forces him to meet her gaze as he confirms he’s going to follow through.

  “Yes, ma’am. Extra sprinkles it is. And if Mommy is a good girl, she can have extra cherries.”

  I almost drop the video camera. And Hope’s soccer bag. I clear my throat as we walk to the car. “Behave yourself, Coach.”

  “Never,” he mouths, waggling his eyebrows at me.

  I roll my eyes, even though anticipation coils tightly in my belly. Watching him fasten our daughter in her booster seat, I can’t help but ogle his muscular backside. Later, when Hope’s been bathed, and stories have been read, and she’s asleep and the house is still and quiet, I know he’ll make good on his promise to me as well.

  He stands and closes her door. “Speaking of behaving yourself, I think you’ve got some drool there, Mrs. O’Brien.” He grins, and I shake my head and step around to my side of our SUV. It’s been almost five years since I’ve had an episode. As far as we know my surgery was a success, but I still don’t drive—just in case.

  We pull out of the parking lot and I glance around at the other families leaving. I can’t help but wonder if everyone is as lucky as us. If they realize what a gift life is. How fortunate they are to be alive and healthy and able to come watch their able-bodied children play a game they enjoy.

  “Grandma and Grandpa were there. I saw them. Grandpa waved to me,” our daughter chirps from the backseat.

  Landen’s hands clench on the steering wheel as he pulls out of our parking space. I reach over and place my hand on his knee.

  “They were, sweetie. They had some errands to run but said they’d be at the tournament next week for sure.”

  “Can they come have ice cream with us? Grandpa likes sprinkles, too!”

  Rubbing what I hope are soothing circles on my husband’s knee, I twist in my seat and crane my neck towards Hope. “Tell you what, how about they join us for dinner next week after the game? We can have ice cream for dessert.”

  Landen’s muscles tighten under my hand. His parents reconciled after Hope was born. When The Colonel announced he was retiring to California so they could be near their granddaughter, no one was more surprised than us. Landen’s relationship with his father is still strained. They’re like warring countries that have declared a temporary truce. But I’ve seen the power my daughter has over The Colonel. Over everyone, really. But she owns him more so than anyone else, heart and soul.

  Not that it erases Landen’s memory of what his childhood was like. I don’t expect it to. After his injury last year, I feared he’d destroy our family with his darkness once and for all.

  Glancing at the smiling man next to me as my daughter agrees and chatters on about how she wants pink striped socks to cover her shin guards like so-and-so has, it’s almost hard to picture the man he was a year ago.

  In last year’s playoffs, the opposing team’s striker missed the ball and nailed Landen with a kick hard enough to tear three separate ligaments in his knee. We prayed it was just a sprain, something temporary. But when the final results came in, he knew. We both did. His career was over.

  For weeks, he marinated in his own anger, sitting alone in silence, barely responding to Hope or to me as he struggled to recover from his injury. Thick clouds of disappointment shrouded him in a place I thought I’d never be able to reach him.

  And I wasn’t. It was Hope. Day after day, she’d climb into his lap, lay her head on his chest, and just sit quietly with him. This alone was a feat in and of itself, as Hope rarely sits quietly. Even when the physical therapist came to force him through his exercise routine, she stayed glued to his side.

  Watching my beautiful full-of-light daughter even go near Landen when he was in such an awful place was difficult. He didn’t yell or hit things or break anything, but I could feel the force of his pain and frustration radiating from him. My instincts said to grab our daughter and keep her as far from him as I could until after he’d self-destructed. I even considered taking her back to Georgia and staying with my aunt for a while.

  I was standing in the kitchen making dinner and contemplating this when she began to pull him back to us.

  “Why are you sad, daddy?” I barely heard her small voice from the next room. I stepped into the doorway to see his response.

  Landen blinked a few times, as if he hadn’t even realized she was there. He forced a smile and stared into her face. Again, I wanted to snatch her up so his pain couldn’t spill out onto her. But I waited.

  “I’m not sad, sweet girl. Just trying to figure some stuff out is all.” He kissed her on the head and went to remove her from his lap.

  But she wasn’t done. Thank God for the tenacity of four-year-olds. “Do you still love me?” she asked, her voice quivering enough to shatter my heart.

  He recoiled like she’d slapped him across the face. “Of course I do, baby. So much.” He gave her a small squeeze and she frowned at him.

  “Do you still love Mommy?”

  I held my breath. I knew he still loved me. We’d been through worse than this. But I also knew his anger was a very dangerous part of him that could overshadow the loving man I knew if he let it.

  “More than life itself, angel. I love you and Mommy more than anything. Always.”

  “More than soccer?” Hope shot back at him.

  Landen nodded. “More than soccer, more than air, more than chocolate ice cream cones with extra sprinkles.” She scrunched her face in disbelief and Landen rubbed his nose alongside hers.

  Hope sighed in the dramatic way she has, placed a hand on her hip, and pinned him with her most serious expression. “Then what do you still have to figure out?”

  Sometimes it really is that simple.

  Later, we talked a lot about that day. About that entire year. About how Hope would ask him frequently if his boo-boo hurt and how he realized that she wanted him to get better because his behavior was hurting her.

  This year he began coaching the men’s soccer team at the state university just outside of our home in Sacramento. And of course he coaches Hope’s pink-shin-guard, sock-wearing team on the weekends. He coaches both teams with equal enthusiasm—one of the many things I love about him. He never does anything halfway.

  He’s even remained passionately committed to controlling his anger disorder. He takes his medication religiously and still attends therapy twice a week. The guys he coaches would probably love to see him doing yoga with me in our living room every morning.

  If you glanced at us right now, you’d probably be envious. We look like the perfect all-American family. I’m hugely pregnant, Hope’s healthy and bright and beautiful, and my husband is handsome and successful. But if you look close, you might see our scars. We don’t hide them. Like the broke
n seashells I once loved to collect, what marks us is what makes us who we are.

  We wear our scars proudly, the one’s we got on our way here. But we are here now. Walking into an ice cream shop as a family. Smiling, teasing, laughing. This is our happily ever after, where we keep each other still in smaller ways that don’t involve seizures or angry rages—ways that need only a kiss, a hand on the knee, a hug. And this is where we will stay. Together. Loving each other with everything we have. Forever.

  Dear Dr. Kirkowitz,

  You don’t know me, but my girlfriend was scheduled to have laser removal surgery of a hematoma that’s pressing on her brain several weeks ago. I’m writing to explain why she didn’t.

  I’m sure you get tons of letters like this one. Letters asking you to make an exception, to find time in your already slammed schedule for someone’s loved one. I don’t know that my letter will be any different or that it will stand out enough to make you take it seriously. But my hope is that it will. Because Layla—that’s my girlfriend—is the most amazing girl, and she deserves a shot at a long, happy life more than anyone I know.

  When we were in high school, Layla taught me about patience. She taught me to overlook the unkindness of others and find value in life beyond the day-to-day hassles that we tend to focus on. I grew up with an abusive father, who, as it turns out, isn’t my father at all. Layla grew up without parents, because hers were shot by a mugger in front of her when she was just a kid. She was injured in the attack and her medical condition is a result of that injury. Most people would hold on to that, use it as an excuse or a place to lay blame for their problems. That’s what I did. Not Layla. She uses it as a way to remind herself to appreciate the fleeting happiness that life has to offer. She sees the good in people—even people like me.

  As I write this, I’m in a treatment center. I have a serious problem with anger. Most women would have cut me loose long ago, but Layla has stayed by my side, even when I’ve become the worst version of myself.

  During the past few years, Layla’s strength and dedication have taught me about love. I grew up unsure as to what that word meant. My mom said it often, but when I needed her to stand up to my dad for me, she didn’t. So most of my life I questioned whether or not that word had value. If it existed in the truly unconditional form so many people claimed to feel. Until I received an opportunity to live my dream—to play professional soccer in Spain. No one was more surprised than me when the girl I loved showed up at the airport, uprooted her life, and moved to Spain with me. And I learned yet another valuable lesson. A dream is worthless unless the person you love is a part of it.