Chapter 18
Layla
“I’m here,” Gabe says as more of a mantra, just before we walk in the front door at our mom’s small ranch. Neither of us are sure what to expect, and we only hope she’s okay.
Not able to speak, I reach out with my shaky hand and give his a squeeze, following him inside.
“Layla? Gabe? Is that you?” she calls. “I’m in the kitchen.”
“Yeah, it’s us, Mom. We’re coming,” Gabe answers for both of us.
We walk through the living room, Kleenex piled high on the coffee table next to cans of diet soda, empty water bottles and candy wrappers.
We round the corner into the kitchen and my breath catches, an overwhelming stench fills our senses.
I’m not sure if it’s spoiled milk or if my mom had an accident while she was waiting for help.
We spot her sprawled on the linoleum floor in a dirty blue nightgown with broken glass surrounding her and a chair tipped over, too far to reach.
“I’m so sorry to bother you two, but I slipped and couldn’t get up. I wasn’t sure who else to call.”
My chest tightens and I struggle to breathe, wondering what she forgot to end up in this position and how long she waited before she called us.
Fighting back my tears, I attempt to focus on the task at hand and force out words I hope will help calm all three of us.
“It’s okay, mom. I’m glad you had your phone close by to call us. We’re here now.”
Gabe steps towards her, the glass crunching beneath his shoes. He reaches over, lifting her as if she weighs nothing and carefully placing her back on her feet outside the mess. “Why don’t you help mom get cleaned up and I’ll take care of everything in here,” he suggests.
I nod in agreement. “Thanks, Gabe.”
He gives me a sad but encouraging smile.
For the next hour and a half, I zone out, doing what I need to do to help my mom, my heart aching more every second. She doesn’t deserve this. No one does.
We finally tuck her into bed and climb into Gabe’s truck to head home. He grips the steering wheel tight, his knuckles turning white. “You didn’t tell me it had gotten this bad, Layla. It’s not safe for her to be there alone anymore.”
“She swore she was okay. I believed her. I thought she was doing better,” I sob, tears streaming down my face. “She’s way too young for this, Gabe.”
“The disease doesn’t give a fuck how old she is,” he snaps.
Gasping, I flinch away from him, reflexively crowding the window.
Heaving a sigh, he immediately apologizes. “I’m sorry. I just feel so fucking helpless.”
“Me too,” I concede.
We drive a few minutes in silence and he finally asks, “Is mom the real reason you haven’t searched for another job outside Love Canyon?”
My body sags in defeat. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
He turns into my driveway and shuts off the car. “I’m sorry you’ve been dealing with all of this alone.”
“I know.”
“We need to find her a place that can help her.”
I gulp down the lump in my throat. “Can’t we take turns helping her while you’re home? Like doing errands for her and checking on her more?”
“Sure, we can, but what about when I go back? You can’t do this by yourself anymore, Layla.”
A defeated sigh falls from my lips. “I know.”
“We’ll start tomorrow.”
I nod my head robotically. “Okay.”
“You know there’s a good chance that we won’t find anything around here for mom.”
“Yeah.”
He gives me a look. “Maybe we should consider looking for something closer to me in Oregon. You could find a great job out there if you wanted.”
My chest tightens with both fear and anticipation.
After coming back, I almost wondered if I would leave again, but having my mom safe and close to both Gabe and me is ideal.
The thought of Levi flickers through my mind, but I swiftly shove it away, questioning my sanity.
My family needs to be my priority. Levi and I are barely finding our footing, and he’ll be leaving to go back to Vegas in a few months without me anyway. “You’re probably right.”
Taking a deep breath, I look at my brother with tears in my eyes. “I’m really glad you’re here, Gabe.”
Leaning over, he wraps me in his arms, hugging me and I squeeze him back. “I love you, Layla.”
“Love you, too.”
“Are you going to be okay tonight?”
Not really, but there’s no point in admitting it. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
We climb out of the car and drag ourselves inside. “I’m jumping in the shower and then I’m going to go out for a drink.”
“You’re walking?”
“Yes, I promise.”
“Okay, I’ll see you in the morning.”
Trudging to my room, I clean up, changing into a thin pair of black and white pajama pants and a black tank top.
Grabbing my phone, I send a quick text to work, letting them know that I’m not feeling well and won’t make it in tomorrow.
The moment I sit down on the edge of my bed, I jump up, antsy, on edge.
“I can’t stay here right now,” I mumble under my breath.
Slipping on a pair of shoes and a thin purple zip up, I grab my keys, phone and purse and start walking, my concern for my mom overwhelming.
A few minutes later, I find myself standing in front of Levi’s house, burdened with indecision and maybe a little bit of guilt.
He shouldn’t be the one I turn to, not when neither of us can stay.
I should go. Shifting awkwardly back and forth, I decide to take a chance, not wanting to be alone.
I slip into the backyard and tiptoe to Levi’s door, knocking softly, with my heart pounding like I’m doing something wrong.
Just when I’m about to give up, the door opens, and a bare chested Levi stands in front of me in nothing but navy blue boxer shorts making me gasp.
The hard ridges of his chest and abs leave my throat dry.
I drag my eyes up to his, finding him looking down at me with a sleepy but concerned gaze, his hair in sexy disarray.
“Layla,” he rasps, his voice low, rolling over me like velvet. “Are you okay?”
I nod, spikes erupting on the inside of my throat, while tears quickly well in my eyes. “Yeah,” I rasp, fighting to keep my lower lip from trembling. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”
Reaching for me, he wraps his hand around my arm, and soothingly tugs me inside, shutting the door behind me.
Without a word, he entwines our fingers and squeezes, a shock of heat rushing through me, warming me like a blanket.
Gently, he guides me towards his bedroom, his presence alone, soothing.
Still holding my hand, he sits down on his bed, watching me, waiting for me to speak, but I can’t. Not yet.
Gently, I twist my hand away, slipping off my coat and shoes, and discarding them on the floor before crawling into his bed without an invitation.
Sighing softly, he lays down next to me and gathers me into his chest, holding me tight.
Tears spill over onto his skin, and he tucks me closer, rubbing reassuring circles on my back.
Breaking the silence, he repeats his earlier question.
“Layla, I’m happy to hold you all damn night and even longer if you’ll let me, but first, I need to know, are you okay? ”
Instead of answering, I explain, “My mom has early onset dementia.” My admission squeezes my insides in a vice grip.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, pressing kisses to the top of my head as he brings me impossibly closer.
“Thank you,” I whimper, barely getting the words out. There’s nothing else to say, but his whispered words of regret and comfort calm me. Settling into his warm embrace, and inhaling his clean, woodsy scent, my tears eventually diminish as I drift off to sleep encased in his heartening presence.