Claiming Serenity(65)

“I messed up.” She looked at Donovan. She was angry that his silence, his confusion made it seem like he expected them to take care of this for him. “I did something very stupid that I should have never done.” She hoped that glare conveyed her anger, that it showed Donovan that she didn’t respect him, that she wished she’d never once held a civil word in her mouth for him. “It’s a mistake I’m going to have to pay for the rest of my life. But I am not some stupid kid.” When her father snorted, laughed, disgusted under his breath like he thought she was simple, Layla felt a little piece of herself disappear. Suddenly she was the same small girl who’d sit on her father’s lap and listen to every word of every story he told her about Cavanagh and their people who’d built the town. But she wouldn’t cry, not in front of him, not now. Not when he looked at her like he didn’t know who she was.

“Think what you want, all of you. I don’t care. I’m not going to stand around here listening while everyone tries to decide my life for me.”

“Layla.” Donovan approached but she stepped back, grabbed her jacket and her bag from the back of the couch, then darted out of the room.

“Don’t even think about it, Donley.” She said this over her shoulder, as she moved toward the kitchen. “I told you to stay away from me. I told you I didn’t like you.”

Donovan stepped in front of her, tried to block her path out of the house and she noticed the twitch of anger filling his face. She could read him with her eyes closed. That temper surfaced and he didn’t think, she knew he didn’t, not after he growled, after he spat out, “For someone who didn’t like me, you sure gave it up any damn time I wanted it” and then seemed to immediately regret it. He stepped forward, reached for her when the shocked breath moved past her lips. “Wait… I’m sorry…”

But she wouldn’t hear it, him, she wouldn’t stop, not even when she heard her father telling Mr. Donley his son would have to man up, marry Layla like any decent man would do, not when her own mother started crying, sobbing her name as she moved through the kitchen toward the garage. She was down the long driveway, near the curb and at her car, had the door open when Donovan finally caught up to her.

“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.”