Free Keep Me Still by Caisey Quinn Page A

Now ,” Kate announces. She reaches for Layla and I have no idea what happens next. Everything goes bright white and blinding pain collides with my face.
    It takes me a second to get my bearings. Motherfucker. He sucker-punched me when I looked away.
    When I can see again, I see her. Tears filling her eyes as her aunt pulls her towards the door away.
    “I’m sorry,” is all I can say, but the ringing in my ears keeps me from hearing my own words.

H e hit him. His own father hit him so hard his head turned to the side.
    I reach a hand up to my own face because I can feel his pain as if it were my own. This is why he doesn’t talk about him. Why he tenses up about at any mention of his dad, of football, or anything related to either. It makes so much sense I feel like a self-centered moron for not catching on sooner. I was so consumed by protecting my own secrets I never bothered trying to figure out his.
    Aunt Kate drags me out of the kitchen, but when we get to the front door, I can’t leave. I can’t just walk out on the boy who kept me still, who whispered in my ear that I was safe, who calmed me when no one else could or cared to.
    “Give me a few minutes? Please?” I beg as she walks out the front door, pulling her keys from her purse. “At least let me say goodbye and make sure he’s okay.”
    She huffs out a breath. “Five minutes.”
    I can’t believe he’s been living like this. I need to see him, need to hold him and tell him it’s okay. Even though it obviously isn’t. I need to do…something.
    “Ten. Please? You saw…”
    She closes her eyes. And then she looks up for a second before answering. “Tell him he can come stay at the house if he needs to. At least until his dad sobers up.”
    I nod, grateful she’s not making a fuss. “Okay. I will. Thank you.”
    I shut the door quietly behind her before turning to head back into the room of doom even though my every instinct is shouting at me not to.
    It’s as if the house has become attuned to the tension. That or Landen and his dad carry it between them like an invisible aura that permeates everything it touches. Each step I take towards the kitchen pulls me into to thicker, heavier airspace. My heart pounds forcefully against my chest as I turn the corner back into the violent atmosphere I just escaped. Or was dragged from.
    Landen’s mom is at the refrigerator, eyes closed as she wrings a green plaid dishtowel in her hands. Her lips move in a silent prayer and I want to scream at her to do something.
    The boy I’ve only seen this worked up after soccer games stands with his bright green eyes blazing and his chest expanding noticeably with each breath. Glancing down I can see that his fists are clenched.
    The Colonel is leaning almost lazily on the counter for support but as I come around to the side I can see the sneer on his face. They’re in some type of standoff. Waiting for the other one to make a move so all hell can break loose. Each daring the other to start something that will end in bloodshed. I want to scream and cry all at once. Mostly I want to bash Landen’s asshole of a dad over the head with the heaviest object I can find.
    No one has so much as glanced in my direction. I can practically taste the adrenaline and testosterone surging through the room. Around me, into me.
    “Hit me again,” Landen says so low I almost don’t hear over the blood rushing in my head. “Like you mean it this time. Hit me while I’m looking instead of when my head is turned.” His voice is lethal, laced with pure hatred but something else too. A sadness maybe. Confusion. Or hurt.
    His own father . My mind is struggling to comprehend the very idea that any man wouldn’t be bursting with pride at having a son like Landen.
    “Landen,” I whisper. My voice barely carries itself to him. His head turns and his eyes widen at the sight of me standing there. If his dad uses this opportunity to catch him off guard again, so help me, I don’t know