36. Layla
layla
. . .
Brian hasn’t come home in days.
Thank fucking God, because I’m still trembling from the way he put his hands on me. The bruise on my side is tender, and it throbs when I move too fast.
I’m curled up in bed, with only the glow of my phone lighting the room, as I scroll through the comments on the video I posted of Reed’s bar and the footage of Ruby Ridge.
It’s blowing up; it’s my most-viewed video ever.
People keep mentioning how cozy it looks, how they can almost smell the whiskey through the screen.
I smile softly, feeling a pride I haven’t felt in a long time.
A notification chimes in; I swipe down to see it’s Reed.
My heart aches and swells in one breath.
Reed
You still awake, sunshine?
Layla
Yeah, I can’t sleep. Are you looking at the moon like me?
Reed
Yeah, baby. I miss you.
Layla
I miss you too
Reed
When can I see you again?
Layla
I have some brand deals and events out here. I’m hoping once that’s done, I can fly back out there.
Reed
I’ll be waiting, sunshine.
I bite back a smile that barely reaches my eyes, rolling onto my back, my heart fluttering like it forgot it was allowed to feel something good.
I wipe my thumb across the screen, rereading his words until my vision blurs.
For a moment, I almost forget the bruise, the silence in my apartment, the dread lurking in every shadow.
The click of the lock comes within my hearing, and I clench my jaw, feeling my stomach flutter with nerves, nausea, and worry.
My phone slips from my hand and falls face down onto the blanket just as Brian walks in, carrying a bouquet of sunflowers and an iced coffee.
His expression is gentle, almost pleading.
“Baby,” he says gently, stepping closer. “I’m so sorry.”
The words ‘taste sweet in his mouth,’ but all I feel is the sting of his palms and the weight of a man I wish I didn’t have to fear.
He places the coffee on the nightstand, the clink of ice echoing loudly in the silence. The bouquet follows, petals brushing the wood.
“Look at me, baby,” he says, his voice trembling just enough to sound human. “Please.”
I don’t look at him as he begs.
Keeping my eyes on the wall, I trace the faint shadow of moonlight slipping through the windows.
My chest feels taut, I feel the pace of my breaths quickening, and this dread curling low in my stomach.
He moves closer, the mattress sagging beneath him. I flinch before I can stop myself. His hand halts halfway to mine.
“Layla…” His voice cracks, and he drops his gaze, as if he’s the one hurt. “I don’t know what got into me. I just—” He exhales shakily, running his thumb over his lower lip. “You’re everything to me.”
I’ve heard them before. Every time he crosses a line, every time he swears, it won’t happen again. And for a moment, I almost let myself believe it, because that’s what I always do.
He reaches out again, his fingertips brushing my wrist. “Please, baby. Just look at me.”
Brushing my hair out of my face, I tilt my head slowly until I meet his blue eyes.
He looks exactly the same as he did when he laid his hands on me; same tousled hair, same tired eyes, but all I see is a flash of anger, the way his jaw tightens before everything goes black around the edges.
“Brian,” I whisper, my voice barely there. “You can’t do this again.”
He smiles, small and shaky. “I know. I know, baby. I’m fixing it. I swear.” He leans in, pressing a kiss to my forehead before I can pull away. “You’ll see.”
The coffee sweats on the nightstand, dripping condensation onto the wood.
I stare at it, at the brown ring it leaves behind, at the tiny mess that will stain if I don’t wipe it up.
My phone buzzes again under the blanket. I don’t need to look to know it’s Reed again.
I don’t feel guilty about wishing I were somewhere else; somewhere warm, quiet, and safe, with a man who doesn’t make me fear my own heartbeat.
He notices the vibration, his eyes flicking toward the phone, and his smile falters.
“Who’s that?” he asks, his voice calm yet tense, a storm brewing beneath.
My pulse stutters. “Probably just Amelia,” I lie, forcing a small shrug. “She’s been talking about Leo.”
He hums. “At midnight?”
He starts pacing, running a hand through his hair as if trying to compose himself.
The gesture seems rehearsed. I remain perfectly still, my fingers clutching the blanket.
“Brian—”
“I said I’m sorry,” he interrupts. “I’m standing here trying to fix us, and you’re sitting there texting someone else?”
The sweetness in his voice fades. The fake-ass apology, the flowers, the coffee, all of it fades away.
My throat tightens. “You don’t understand—”
“Don’t lie to me, Layla!” he snaps, stepping closer.
His eyes flick to my phone again, the blue glow from the screen reflecting off the anger already building in his face.
He grabs the edge of the blanket and yanks it back before I can stop him.
My phone falls onto the mattress, lighting up once more with Reed’s name.
“Reed?” he says slowly, venom dripping from each syllable. “That freak bartender from your video?”
I scramble up, heart pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. “No, it’s n—”
He lets out a low, humorless laugh. “What is it then?” His gaze darkens, his mouth twisting into something cruel. “You think you can play me, huh?”
“Brian, please—”
He moves closer until I can smell the mix of whiskey and cologne on his breath. His hand shoots out, gripping my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You forget who I am sometimes,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a quiet, dangerous rasp. “Only I get to cheat on you.”
My stomach twists, nausea clawing its way up my throat.
“Brian, stop—”
He tilts his head, smiling. “Relax, baby. I’m just saying, don’t embarrass me. You know how much I love you. Don’t make me prove it again.”
His fingers press into my jaw again before he releases, stepping back with a sigh that feels almost satisfied. “See? You’re okay. We’re fine.”
He tosses the flowers onto the dresser, petals scattering like debris, and heads toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna shower,” he says lightly, as if nothing just happened.
The sound of running water fills the silence.
I sit frozen with my heart still racing, staring at the bouquet wilting on the dresser.