by Eden Butler
“You can’t run from this. Layla, please…”
She pushed him, not wanting his hands anywhere near her. “What do you want, Donley? It’s obvious you don’t want this… this…” she waved over her stomach, “the responsibility of this.”
“I shouldn’t have said that. I’m… shit, I’m an asshole.” He moved his fingers through his hair as though he couldn’t think of what to do with himself. “I’m also fucking scared out of my mind. And I just thought maybe my parents could…”
“Your parents? Yours? Really? In what world are your parents the beacons of responsibility?”
He came closer looking angry, looking like he wanted to shake her but held back, stretched his head back, staring up at the dark sky. “This entire situation is so fucked up.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” When he didn’t speak, she went for her car again, but he was right there, focused on her, blocking the door so she couldn’t get in. “What do you want from me?” she said, so tired, frustrated that he was trying to keep her from leaving. “What? What is it exactly that you want to do?”
“Don’t ask me what I want because I don’t know.” He jerked angrily away from the door, growling, head turning as though he needed something to punch or kick or throttle. He found the large box of discarded wrapping paper and the large black trash back inside it and kicked it all until rubbish and mess littered the curb and fell onto the street and released a loud, piercing growl that made Layla flinch. “I know what I do want. I want freedom. I want to enjoy my life while I’m this age. I want no responsibilities and I want the chance not to fuck up everything in my life like every other dumbass stupid enough to knock up some girl.”
She didn’t like how much that hurt her. She didn’t like feeling like someone Donovan had accidently fallen into bed with, like all the years, the months of them together, of them fighting against whatever they felt, what they both tried not to feel, was pedestrian, like it didn’t matter at all.
Donovan must have seen something in her face, something that brought him back from the brink. She tried keeping the hurt from her expression, tried to push back the sting of his words, but Donovan stood in front of her, those beautiful blue eyes shining, desperate as he tentatively held her arms. “Layla, this isn’t us. We aren’t ready for this shit.”
God how she wanted out of her body. She wanted to fly into the sky, forget who she was, what she would soon be. Layla wanted Donovan’s hands away from her body. Actually, she wanted them all over her but she knew that wasn’t possible, not now, probably not ever. Instead, she scrubbed her face as though inside her skin was a tingling itch that could never be abated.
“I know that. You don’t think I know that?” She fell back to what she knew; hating him, insulting him, deflecting her pain, her hurt so he could not wound her further. The anger, the shame, it all swirled inside her, collecting into a rage that sought one target alone. Him, that beautiful, insulting man in front of her. “But we can’t ignore it. We can’t play like it’s going to go away and for your information, you selfish asshole, men aren’t the poor victims when they knock up some girl. They get off easy. You’ll get off easy. You think I want to bring your kid into this world… proof that I actually had sex with you?”
“You weren’t complaining when your legs were straight in the air.”
“Yeah?” she screamed, pushing him back, slapping against his chest when he tried to calm her. “Well I will be now and for the rest of my freaking life thanks to you and your super sperm!”
“If I’d ever thought for one second this could happen I would have never asked… fuck!”
“Don’t act like this is something you didn’t think couldn’t happen, Donovan. It’s Biology 101. I screwed up. It wasn’t on purpose. Trust me, I don’t want to be tied to you.”
His laugh was bitter, harsh. “Obviously.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“God, Layla,” head back, gaze up at the stars as though his frustration, the truth should be obvious. Then Donovan glared at her. “One time… just one of me being gentle, with me not fucking you, of me loving you, and you run scared. I know you think I’m trash. I know you think you’re better than me so I’m fucking sorry that I have sullied your perfect body with my DNA.”
His words stopped her, actually made her step back so she could watch his face, try to see the lie there, that mask of honesty she knew Donovan wasn’t capable of hiding. But it wasn’t there. He wasn’t lying, he wasn’t hiding behind sarcasm or deflecting how he felt. Layla’s shock dimmed some of that fury warming her chest and his confession, that open expression on his face stunned her enough that her tightly constructed guard slipped. “You said it didn’t mean anything to you. You said nothing had changed.”
“I fucking lied!” She closed her eyes, blocking out the wet gleam in his eyes, the surprise that softened his features when he seemed to realize it was the first time he’d been entirely honest with her.
But it didn’t take away the hurt she had felt when she had asked what that last time had meant to him. To her, it had been more than overwhelming. It had meant more than she had been willing to admit, that night in his bedroom. That night, Donovan had touched her like no one had before. He’d been open. He’d been real, and Layla had only wanted more of that from him. But she’d been so afraid to admit it to herself, that she wanted all of what Donovan could give her. Yet when she thought that he might want the same, when she asked if he had, he had disappointed her yet again. He had taken it all back. And now he was telling her he had been lying?
Would he ever stop?
She wouldn’t wait around to find out.
Layla could feel her fingertips tingle. She felt the hollow reach of her disappointment, her desperation to be away from him rise up, move her legs backward, throw her into her car without a backwards look, uncaring that he threw himself after her.
“Where are you going?” She managed to slam her door shut, to turn the ignition and shift the gear into reverse and wouldn’t look at Donovan as he slapped his hand against her window. “Layla, stop. Where are you going?”
But she didn’t know, she only knew she needed to get away from him, away from her parents, from all the craziness, and as she drove down the street, speeding, unable to catch her breath, she only managed a glance into her rearview mirror, telling herself that wasn’t Donovan running after her car. That wasn’t him screaming her name, desperate for her to take him with her.
Donovan avoided the phone calls that kept coming. His parents, Layla’s, her friends, even Ethan, who Donovan hadn’t seen in almost two years, had called to threaten his life for knocking up his baby sister.
It was a clusterfuck of bad and Donovan knew he’d never worm his way out of it. Part of him wanted to be angry. She’d stupidly forgotten to keep herself protected. But he knew it was a mistake she hadn’t made on purpose. Of course not. She didn’t even like him. Why the hell would she purposefully let him knock her up?
She’d left him alone on the street in front of her house. She’d left Donovan to face their parents, to sort through their plans, their worry, their fear, until he could only fall onto the sofa, taking every insult, every scream they’d shouted at him. He deserved it. It was medicine he’d gladly take.
But then the night wore on, the hours stretched and Donovan sat at his apartment staring down at his phone, his fear and anxiety doubling as the messages came. “Where is Layla?” her mother had asked. “What have you done to her?”
What had he done? God, what hadn’t he done to her?
When one o’clock came around and her friends and parents continued to worry over her, Donovan stopped staring at his phone and made a call. Declan picked him up ten minutes later and for two hours they drove down every street, looked in every alley, desperately trying to find even the smallest hint of where Layla had disappeared to.
He’d gone home alone, defeated.
And then, at 3:24 in the morning, som
eone knocked on Donovan’s door.
He opened it too quickly, feeling that tight knot of fear that had developed in his stomach the moment he heard Mullens ask who had gotten her pregnant. But the fear dissolved completely when he saw Layla standing on his front landing.
It took every bit of control not to grab her, not to take her in his arms and hold her so tight that she’d have no hope of ever leaving. But her face was so pale and there were faint streaks on her cheeks, and Donovan knew he was responsible for every tear that night, likely every one she’d cried for months. He didn’t deserve to touch her. Not when he was the cause of all her pain.
The air around them was freezing with a hint of snow as they stared at each other, a slight awkwardness humming between them.
“Are you okay?” It was all he could think to ask and she shrugged. He didn’t blame Layla for her earlier anger or her tears now. He didn’t expect she’d ever forgive him.
Finally he noticed the large bag in her hands and the one resting at her feet, and realized her being angry at him was the least of the problems they had to deal with that night.
“My father told me that I had to either marry you or leave his house.”
He couldn’t help it, the comment came before he could stop it. “Are you here to propose?”
Layla’s frown was deep and Donovan wanted to kick himself. “No. Don’t… don’t ever expect that.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, meaning it. “That was a too soon joke.”
“He acts as though I’m sixteen and knocked up, not twenty-three.” He could tell she wanted to change the subject and he was glad for the switch in focus.
“Layla, our parents only ever see us as kids. To them, we’ll be sixty and still clueless kids.”
Layla shifted her gaze to the door and Donovan gritted his teeth, moved his fingers into a fist when he noticed fresh tears collecting behind her eyelashes. “I… I knocked.”
He stepped over the threshold wanting so badly to touch her. “I told you never to do that.”
He could see her fear, could almost taste it. “I… I’m not here to sleep with you. I just…” Layla took a breath, deep and long, as though whatever she planned to say required more effort than she could manage.
“Declan and Autumn, they’re practically married already and Mollie went to Maryville with Vaughn and…” she laughed, shaking her head, “they’re moving in together, can you believe it? He asked and she got freaked out. It’s why she wanted me to meet her tonight.” She blinked, and those building tears clung to her lashes. “Mollie’s moving to Maryville. Autumn and Declan will probably be off somewhere overseas with Joe once they graduate and Sayo…”
Layla closed her eyes and the dam broke, fresh tears leaking fast and hard, curving down the contours of her cheeks. “I went to the hospital because Sayo called me.” She covered her face, her head moving like she wanted the news not to be true.
“Layla?” Donovan reached for her but lowered his hand to his side when the head shaking only increased.
Her voice broke, and his chest clenched, like someone had thumped him hard. He knew the news would be bad; that look on Layla’s face told him all he needed to know. “Rhea stopped breathing tonight. They had to rush her back to the hospital. She’s only got… weeks, maybe days, Donovan. Those poor people, Sayo’s aunt and uncle…” Her next words came out as if they’d scraped against her throat. “I’ve never seen anyone so… lost.”
Donovan could only nod as he moved closer to her. The light above them caught in Layla’s blonde hair and her mused tangles fell against her face when she tilted her head. “It made me realize I couldn’t… I could never kill…” She closed her eyes again, wiping her face dry. “How could I do that? How could I take what I’ve been given and forget that it isn’t real? When there are people like Sayo’s aunt and uncle who pray for what’s happened to me? I just don’t…” She inhaled, breathing hard like she was tired of crying, like it was a struggle, all this emotion, all the pain the day had brought. “I thought maybe…”
The words stuck in Layla’s throat and she kept moving her gaze from her hands to Donovan’s face. In each glance up at him, Layla sought permission, a small hint of approval from Donovan that he wasn’t sure he was worthy to give. “If you were okay with it… maybe a family like theirs… who’d lost… who’d never had and wanted so badly… they’d take good care of my… of this baby, right?”
“Layla…”
She shook her head again. “I… I don’t know what I want. This baby, all this, I’m so confused. Donovan, I’m so damn scared.” She looked down again, shifting her heavy bag to her other hand and Donovan took it from her, bringing her gaze back to his face. “I didn’t come here to sleep with you.”
“You said that.”
“I just… My friends, they have their own worries. They don’t need me adding to it and I just…” He couldn’t look at those tears, couldn’t take the small sob she tried to silence as quickly as she made it. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Donovan didn’t think. He didn’t care that Layla Mullens had changed his life. He didn’t care that his fear felt heavy and burned his insides. He didn’t care that no matter what they decided, this baby would be in the world, a living, breathing part of him, of her. It only mattered that he cared about Layla, that he’d do just about anything to take the tears away from her.
Her bag landed with a thump behind him when he tossed it inside the door and Layla stopped trembling when he picked up the other one at her feet and threw it next to the first one.
Donovan didn’t wait for her permission, then. He touched Layla’s face and smiled. “Come here, brat,” he said pulling her against his chest.
Donovan spent New Year’s painting Vaughn and Mollie’s new living room. Their new place was older, a small Victorian about sixty years old that would be nice once they tackled the damage. He was there because of Layla. She had told him she would be spending New Year’s with her friends, at a paint party instead of a bar. Work that would distract her instead of fun that put off the reality she was facing. He knew he’d go wherever she was and so he’d tagged along, ignoring how cool her friends were to him, hoping that one day they’d stop treating him like he was a disgusting asshole for getting Layla pregnant.
“Want another beer, Donley?” Autumn had asked, but just after he nodded his thanks, the redhead took the cold bottle away. “You know what? You don’t need one. If Layla can’t drink then neither can you.”
“McShane…” But the snap of Autumn’s sneer flashed toward Declan had the Irishman retreating, pretending to be focused on the bare trim he’d been painting. Later, when Autumn had left the living room and Donovan and Declan were alone, his best friend shrugged, told him, “Give them time, mate. They’ll come ‘round.”
Donovan didn’t care if they did. He was the asshole who’d knocked up Layla. He’d take their snippy comments and glares just to be around Layla. Just to make sure she was safe.
She was carrying his baby. The baby, he corrected himself. Sometimes she called it a baby. Most of the time, she called it… just that, ‘it.’ She wasn’t being hateful. She just didn’t want to get attached and he followed her lead. The pregnancy was confirmed a few days into the new year and it was three more weeks after that before Layla would allow her mother to visit her.
“My poor baby,” Dr. Mullens had said the second she entered Donovan’s living room and spotted Layla on the sofa bundled up under a thick throw. The morning sickness had been God awful with far too many moans of “Donovan, for the love of all that is holy… call a priest. I need an exorcism” from Layla. The afternoon her mother arrived, three weeks after she’d first come to live with him, had been the first time Layla was able to move from the bedroom without wanting to vomit.
Dr. Mullens had been apologetic, pleading with Layla, saying things like “I was just shocked” and “Oh, sweetie, I’m such an emotional idiot,” and when both women starting crying about the situ
ation, about Cavanagh’s loss to Milford United, hell even about the damn death of the oldest lion living at the Knoxville Zoo, Donovan left them alone, only catching hushed words of apology and the sounds of Layla and her mother sniffling together on his sofa. Meara Mullins had been cautious with Layla, but still very sweet, and blessedly understanding when Layla told her that they’d planned to give the baby away. Little Rhea’s worsening health and her parents’ devastation had made Layla determined to heal another broken family. She wanted someone else to lavish their baby with the love she and Donovan didn’t seem ready to give.
“Whatever you want, honey,” Dr. Mullens had told Layla, and Donovan took the words as he heard them, sitting on his bed, staring down at hands, wondering why he couldn’t keep them still. “I’ll support you in whatever you decide.”
Donovan wished the same words could come so easily for him. But so far he hadn’t agreed to anything. He’d let Layla take the lead, make the decisions for them because he didn’t have the nerve to ask more from her. He’d already done so many pathetic things to her. He’d caused so much pain.
So he’d listen to Layla talk about interviewing adoptive parents. He listened to her talk about the plans she made for after the birth, when their lives were their own again, and still Donovan remained silent.
He remained alone.
The only time Donovan spoke up, at least initially, is when the mood swings became a threat. Well, a threat to his sanity anyway. He was simple. Donovan knew Layla’s hormones were taking her emotions and her logic for a long, dipping twirl around a roller coaster of crazy, then straight up to normal-for-Layla.
“You did it again. A-freakin-gain, Donley!”
That loud screech had come from Layla at two a.m. as she stood over the couch that now doubled as his bed waving an empty toilet paper roll in his face.