Walk Away, The Romance of Nick and Layla (Part 1) (10 page)

“Do you forgive him?”

I squeezed Nick’s hand so tight I could
feel my blood stop. “In time I will. Right now I’m just dealing.”

“Do you two have plans to have children of
your own?”

I looked at Nick. Nick looked at me. He had
that dreadful look in his eyes. Probably because of what I had said before.
About leaving him. About the separation. I looked back to the journalist and
shrugged. “We haven’t discussed it. But I wouldn’t rule it out for the future.
We’re young. We can think about it in another five or ten years. Or whenever we
want.”

The questions kept on coming for another
twenty minutes. And while few of them were directed at me, I still stood at
Nick’s side, my hand in his.

It seemed like hours later by the time we
were making the drive back to Santa Monica. Traffic on the 405 was at a
standstill, which gave us time. Time to say absolutely nothing. After ten
minutes I couldn’t stand the silence any longer. And I needed a question
answered. Right away.

“Why did you do it?”

Nick turned and looked at me from behind
the wheel. “Why did I do what?”

“You just put your career on the line. You
put yourself in a position where you could fall. Hard. You didn’t have to tell
them we’re married.”

“Yes I did.”

“Why?” I asked, turning so that I was
facing him.

“I told you.”

“No you didn’t!” Goddamn it. Just start
talking! Don’t be cryptic-message-man!

“I told you, Layla, that I would give it up
for you. I don’t want to live in lies anymore. If people can’t accept me as a
musician because I’m not always a good man, then that’s their problem, not
mine. My priority is you and our marriage. The rest is secondary.”

I just looked at him. I had no thoughts whatsoever.
No emotion. Just nothing.

As he said he would, Nick packed up his
belongings that night when we got home. I couldn’t stand watching him pack so I
locked myself in the den, losing myself in movies for hours on end. Okay, so I lied.
I do hide occasionally.

It was late into the night when I finally
left my secluded space and headed to bed. Nick was already tucked in, seemingly
asleep. I changed into a tank top and drawstring pants and unclipped my hair,
letting it fall down against my back. I crawled into the bed next to Nick and
rested my cheek on his shoulder, my face nuzzled in his neck. I crossed an arm
in a V shape over his chest so that my palm was against his cheek.

“I thought you were avoiding me?” he
whispered into the dark.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Me neither.” I absently ran my thumb
across Nick’s cheek. He moved his arm under and around my body so that he was
hugging me. I turned into him and felt myself melting into him as he turned to
face me, embracing my wholly in his arms. Our legs intertwined and his head
rested just next to mine on the pillow.

And then I couldn’t control myself any
longer. I had wanted so badly to just break down and cry and now there was
nothing holding me back. So, I cried myself to sleep.

I was secretly hoping that by the time I
woke up I would sit up only to realize that I was by myself; that Nick had
slipped out of the house. And I hoped this for two reasons.

One. We would avoid any uncomfortable situations.
And two, my eyelids were swollen to the size of walnuts. Damn I hate crying.
And now Nick would see.

But when I slowly came to from my deep
slumber I realized that I was still sleeping on top of Nick, with his arms
hugging me tight.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It’s
never like this in the movies. She wakes up and he’s gone. Never confrontation.
Shit. We were about to have major confrontation.

Or... I could leave.

And then the phone rang. Of course. Maybe I
could just let it ring?

No. Nick stirred beneath me and I knew I
should get it. So I leaned over and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

" May I please speak to Nick?"

I looked at the clock. Nine. "May I
ask who is calling?"

"Vanessa Carrington." Who?

I cleared my throat. "One minute please."
I looked down at Nick and quickly tried to think of a way to wake him. Nick was
a deep sleeper. It would take an earthquake, a flood, or an orgasm to wake him
up. Hell, I wasn’t a miracle worker.

Oh. But he looks so peaceful. And really,
if I wake up him now, then he’ll know that I was here and that I ran away.

"He’s asleep in bed right now. May I
take a message?"

"Is this Layla?"

My forehead crinkled. "Yes."

"Oh gosh, I’m sorry. God, how
embarrassing."

Did I miss something? "What do you
mean?"

"We’ve met before."

"We have?"

"Yes. And I saw you on television with
Nick."

"Okay?" Where was she going with
this?

"You kicked me out of Nick’s house.”

My face went rigid. My back suddenly pained
me. Was this who I thought it was? "I remember."

"I’m sorry. I didn’t know that Nick
was married until the press conference. And when I saw you two together... God.
That whole situation that morning must have been so uncomfortable."

No shit. "Can I ask you a question,
Vanessa?"

"Um, sure." She sounded shy all
of a sudden. Like she was thinking that she should maybe hang up the phone.

"Are you the girl that’s claiming to
be pregnant?"

"No." God, what a relief.
"I’m not claiming anything. I
am
pregnant."

My heart stopped beating. So this was the
girl that Nick knocked up. And she’s on the phone. And I’m still talking to
her. "I see."

"I honestly didn’t know he was
married. He never said anything."

"Why would he?" She didn’t answer
my question. I just rolled my eyes. "Look..." I hesitated. I didn’t
really know what to say. "I know you’re in a tough spot, but what are you
expecting? Do you think Nick is going to marry you and you’ll live happily ever
after?"

"No." Sure you didn’t, sweetie.

"Then what do you want? You want
money?"

"No, I don’t want money."

"Then what is it? Honestly? Because
since you know Nick and I are married now you wouldn’t have called if you thought
I would answer the phone. Or did you?"

"Maybe I should just have my lawyer
handle this."

"You know what Vanessa?" I knew
what I wanted to say, but I couldn’t say it. Because suddenly I felt for this
girl. She didn’t know. How could she? We kept it a secret. She just thought a
pop star was loving her. I couldn’t hate her for it. She’s just as normal as
me.

But this is my husband.

And this is their child.

I gave in. "Give me a minute." I
set the phone down next to the clock, got up off of Nick and walked to the
bathroom. I walked out with a glass full of ice cold water. And, with a quick
arm, I doused the freezing liquid all over Nick’s peaceful face.

He woke with a violent start, sitting up
straight and shaking his head. "What the fuck?"

Well, it wasn’t a flood. But it worked.

"You have a phone call." I
pointed to the receiver and looked away.

"Who is it?" he asked.

I couldn’t look at him. Instead I picked up
my robe from a nearby chair and wrapped it around my body. "Someone you
need to talk to."

And I walked away.

It was a least a good thirty minutes before
Nick walked into the breakfast nook. I glanced up at him from the morning
newspaper. He was still slightly damp. Like a cat that fell in a bathtub.

"What are you smiling about?"

"Nothing." I quickly straightened
my face and went back to my paper, feigning disinterest.

"So I take it you know who that was?"

"Yes. That’s why I gave you the
phone."

"Layla, I have to admit that I’m
surprised."

"Why? You needed to talk to her. You
two have a lot of things to work out."

"I know. But there’s a problem."

You mean a problem other than the fact that
you’ve managed to recreate yourself in another human being?

"Her doctor has strongly recommended
not doing the paternity test until after the first trimester."

"What?" I asked incredulously.
"How long is that going to take?"

"Another two months. Give or
take."

I threw my paper down on the table and
sighed. "Two months?"

"Yeah." He sat down at the table
next to me and fidgeted with his fingers. "But there’s more."

There’s always more. "God Nick. Please
don’t tell me she’s underage." That was the last thing we needed. Nick Hudson,
statutory raper.

"Not quite." Oh Jesus. Quite?
"She’s of age. But... Fuck." He expelled a huge breath and ran his
fingers through his hair. I could suddenly see the bags under his eyes. And the
brown, tired looking skin under his eyelashes. "Apparently, it was
her..."

"It was her what?" I asked,
trying to get the damn sentence out of his mouth.

Nick looked at me and finally became
serious. "She was a virgin."

When I was a child, maybe five or six years
old, I was playing at the deep end of our swimming pool and I fell in. I didn’t
know how to swim so once I was emerged in the water, I flailed my arms and legs
about the place, desperately trying to somehow swim to the surface and take a
breath of air. But I was being pulled down deeper under the surface, far down
into the water. I was helpless. Images of the world around me became blue and
distorted, like an unseen hand disturbing the fabric of air. I remembered
desperately wanting to rise to the top. And I remembered the horrible thoughts
of not making it, of slowly sinking to the bottom, of letting water fill my
lungs, and of dying.

I’d gladly go through that again. It would
be better than how I was feeling right at this moment. This was worse than
drowning; worse than dying. This was love. The most heart wrenching, death
inducing love I had ever felt.

I wished I were dead.

These are the facts: Nick cheated on me.
Big surprise. The girl is pregnant. And she was a virgin. Which could only mean
one thing. There was no way Nick couldn’t be the father. The tears slowly
dropped from my eyes as I slid down to the cool floor of the bathroom.

Another fact: Nick’s leaving. Because I
kicked him out. And the biggest fact of them all? I was even more in love with
Nick than I can ever remember.

Why do I keep doing this to myself? Why do
I let him hurt me and then just fall deeper and deeper in love with him? Why
haven’t I learned my lesson? Why don’t we just walk away and let inevitability
play out naturally?

I know why.

Because I need him. Bad.

It wasn’t his acts of cheating specifically
that turned me off. It was that I always went back to him after he did. After
he had been inside another woman, he was inside of me. Loving me. Touching me.
Moaning my name. Kissing my skin.

The door opened. And this must have been
it. The goodbye.

My head lifted up. And despite myself
another tear streaked down my cheek. As if I hadn't been crying enough over
him. More tears to add to the pile. I had to have made an ocean by now.

He was quick. I'll give him that. He was
kneeling beside me on that cold tile floor, not saying a word. Just a glance.
Then a stare. I think he almost half expected me to say something. As if I had
anything more to say. What hadn't already been said?

Those eyes of his stared straight into mine
before he reached over and tentatively brushed away that stupid tear. That same
hand
traveled
downwards until it reached my own
fingers.

"Where's the ring?" His fingers
tightened around my own, clutching as he examined my now bare ring finger.
"Layla..."

I smiled. "I’m giving it back."

"A Dear John leaving? Always thought
you were more creative than that."

"A virgin? Always thought you could do
better than that. Then again you always were good at popping those cherries,
weren't you Nick?"

"Didn't hear you complaining when you
moaned my name for the first time, Layla."

"Well it was the famous Nick Hudson
inside of me..."

"Layla just stop it."

"No, Nick, you stop."

"How many times do I have to say I'm
sorry?"

"I'm the one who's sorry. I'm sorry
that I wasn't enough for you. I'm sorry that I thought I could be. I'm sorry
that I wanted to be. I'll never be enough."