Enemies & Lovers

by Christine Zolendz

  “Come on, Claire,” his voice calls out.

  If I ignore him, maybe he’ll just disappear.

  Perfect idea.

  I keep my eyes focused on the heavy white layer of snow that covers my windshield and count to twenty.

  It doesn’t work. He’s still there.

  I want to scream.

  “Claire, it’s freezing out here. Open the door, now!” he shouts.

  My body tenses and white-hot fire flushes through my body. What makes him think he can talk to me like that? “Leave me alone!” I explode. I slam my hand against the window over and over. My palm stings, but I don’t care. “You and your selfish father—your whole stupid family—you think you’re all so much better. Righteous. Superior. Fuck you, Vaughn. You can’t tell me what to do and you can’t talk to me like that either. Go away!”

  Something clanks hard against the window, startling me. I don’t want to look, but it’s bright and illuminated and steals my attention instantly. It’s my cell phone. He’s holding the phone to the glass, and even though the view is dotted with snow and frost, I can make out the awful image of me. Naked. Doing something extremely pornographic.

  An instant pounding drums in my ears.

  He went through my phone? He invaded my privacy and went through my phone!

  My vision blurs.

  Vaughn saw that? He saw all those pictures. My skin suddenly feels like it’s covered with a thick layer of dirt and slime. I can hardly breathe. There’s a hard lump in my throat that I can’t swallow down.

  I can’t believe he did this to me. How could he go through my phone?

  I’m going to kill him!

  His face pushes up against the window. The phone with the disgusting picture of me slides toward the front of the car, and his face is level with mine. “Claire?” he shouts through the glass. “What kind of trouble are you in? Come on, open the door and talk to me.”

  Instead of doing what he asks, I roll the window three-quarters of the way down. Fat wet flakes come barreling in, melting wherever they land. I keep my gaze locked straight ahead, on the ridges of the steering wheel, and speak through clenched teeth. “I’m not in any trouble and I am very capable of taking care of myself if I was in any.” I shake my head and shove my hand out the window, palm up. “My phone, please.”

  Vaughn plops the phone in my hand. It’s slippery and wet.

  “Come back in the house with me,” he says in a steady voice. “You’re not driving in this storm.”

  Rather than respond to the idiot, I try to start the car again. And again. And. Again.

  My face burns hotter each time the engine clicks back at me.

  Click. Click. Click. Click.

  “You’re not going to start it, just stop! This car is so old you can manually roll down the windows, Claire. And even if you do get it started, you’re not making it down this mountain today, possibly not for a couple of days.”

  I jerk my head in his direction and narrow my eyes at him. I refuse to be stuck in his father’s mountain-den of fornication with him. I study his face under that god-awful hat he’s wearing and I want to grab it off his head to warm myself up with. With the window open my seat is now soaking wet with slush and snow and I shiver more. “I’ll just have to stay in my car the entire time, then. Not an issue.”

  “Claire, you’re going to freeze to death if you stay out here. You don’t even have your coat on!”

  “Well, thanks for not bringing it with you, arrogant phone-snooping-peeping-tom asshat!” I’m so angry I could smack him. “Thanks for coming all the way out here after me, without my coat, just to show me that you went through my private belongings and found a dirty picture. Perv.”

  “Come on. Come back inside,” Vaugh shifts restlessly. I look down, the snowdrift he’s standing in is higher than his calves now, almost to his knees. “Claire, please.”

  I don’t like his tone. It’s even and quiet. It’s disconcerting. Why is he out here trying to get me to come back inside? I hate him and he hates me. Our families loathe each other, and he should be happy there’s a possibility of imminent death waiting for me in this car if I choose to stay in it through the storm.

  Snow peppers my hands and arms, and a strong wind shakes the car. If it weren’t so packed under with snow, I think the gusts of wind might be strong enough to topple it over.

  I blink up at him. “I don’t want to go anywhere with you.”

  Thunder rumbles in the distance. Both of us look up, toward the sound. I never heard of thunder in a blizzard. Can this day get any more bizarre?

  “Claire, we don’t have to talk about anything. We could stay in opposite sides of the place, for all I care. Just come back inside with me where it’s safe.” Even though his head is almost through the window, his voice is barely audible in the wind.

  Logically, I know he’s got the right idea, but I’m too irrational right now, too angry with everything spiraling down around me. Why won’t my car just start? I turn the key again.

  Click. Click. Click. Click.

  Vaughn pushes his hand through the opening in the window, grabs up the lock on the inside of the door, and yanks it open. It gets stuck in the snow halfway.

  “I hate you,” I shout over another low rumble of thunder.

  Vaughn looks away. Fast. His eyes fall somewhere off in the distance, his lips dipping low into a frown. What the hell is wrong with him? Why did he come out here? To humiliate me? I can’t believe he went through my phone. What a pervert! What an invasion of privacy! Ugh. And now he’s trying to be all heroic and save me from a little snow? I don’t need him saving me from anything. I don’t want him near me.

  My heart drums hard, hammering and skipping into an unsettling rhythm. I want to escape to the backseat, but I think he’d just come in after me. Then we’d both be crammed in a small space together. I don’t want to chance smelling his stupid cologne again.

  He shoves his body into the narrow opening of the door and bends down low. Keeping his hands on the hood, he levels his face with mine. “I’m well aware of how much hate there is between us. But it’s too dangerous for you to drive in this or stay in this car overnight. You’ll freeze to death.”

  I don’t reply right away. I have nothing to say, no words to conjure more than another I hate you. I don’t want to do anything he asks of me. I don’t want to make it easy for him. It’s petty and stupid, but I’m way too angry and overwhelmed to think straight. I don’t want his cologne, or his gray eyes and deep rumbly voice, or any of his perfect Montgomery charms to affect me. I’m not my mother, and no kind of Golden Montgomery Dick is going to have me falling for his advances. And I’m well aware that while I have this entire crazy conversation in my head, he is probably thinking I’m insane.

  We stare at each other.

  His cheeks are bright red and his lips are starting to look a little bruised.

  His eyes run over my face, inch after inch. What is he thinking exactly?

  “Claire, come on.”

  The wind picks up, it whips a gust so strong it slams against the roof of the car and I could almost swear it moves us. I grab onto the steering wheel and he stumbles closer to me.

  Something hard batters down on the car. There’s a swift intake of breath from the both of us as hail, the size of baseballs, smash into my windshield, cracking through the glass. How the hell am I going to pay for that? I hate him even more now—for showing up here when all I needed to do was collect some of my mother’s things and find some stupid useless bank account. Why couldn’t he have left me alone?

  “I’ll be fine out here. Alone. Go back inside your father’s love shack and leave me be.” Even to my own ears, my voice sounds weak, whiny, and childish.

  “You either come back inside with me or I’m coming in there with you.” He barks out a loud laugh, “Just think about the gossip that will go wild about our families then, when they find both our dead bodies frozen in your shitbox of a car a few feet away from a warm cabi
n.” Then his hands are on me, strong and rough, grabbing me and pulling me out into the storm.

  “Get away from me!” I scream and fight against him, slapping at his chest and arms. His body is solid, it’s like I’m hitting an ice sculpture.

  We tumble and flail into the cold wet snow, and I swear a handful of boob is grabbed. “Don’t even think you could lay your hands on me, Vaughn. And you can’t caveman me back into that brothel of your father’s.”

  “My father’s brothel?” His lips twitch like he holding back laughing at me, which fills me with even more wild rage.

  “You think you could come out here and save me and I’ll jump all over your stupid Montgomery bones. The only way you’re getting laid tonight is if you crawl up a chicken’s ass and wait!”

  “Well, look at you, all high and mighty yourself. Do you really think your hatred for me will keep you warm in there?” He points back to the car, which is now nothing but a lump of snow with a half-open door. “Do you really think your anger and hate will fuel the fire and make you live through this blizzard in a car all night? You’re a tough girl, aren’t you, don’t need help from anyone, right? So badass.”

  We glare at each other, and the air between us fills with electricity and something fierce and alive. I want to tell him I do hate him that much. I want to tell him that I don’t need anyone, that I am tough, that I’m the biggest badass he’ll ever get to see. I want to shout that I’ve kept every stick and stone his family and their gossipers have ever thrown at me and built a fortress with them, and they will never get inside to hurt me again. Ever.

  But I don’t get a chance to say any of those things.

  Because a low rumbling, like an accelerating freight train, echoes out around us. Rumbling and trembling from under the ground.

  A shiver unlike no other crawls over my scalp and tingles the icy hairs at the back of my neck. “What’s that noise?”

  And then a loud sharp crack rips over the mountainside. It reverberates in my bones and shakes the ground violently.

  We both scramble back to our feet, climbing up each other.

  “That was probably just a tree coming down with the wind,” he says.

  “Vaughn, I think you’re really, really wrong.”

  Chapter 9

  Vaughn

  I know I’m wrong, but there’s no chance in hell I’m going to admit it. I’ve heard the quick snap of a falling tree before. I’ve lived on an estate surrounded by woods my entire life. I’ve spent dozens of winters in ski lodges and vacationed in snow-heavy, mountain terrain. This rumbling sound—it’s not a good one. It’s a very, very bad one.

  There’s too much stress on the mountain. Too much snow and wind.

  I grab Claire’s upper arm and pull her closer to me. The sleeve of her shirt is drenched with melted snow and sticks to her cold skin. She looks up at me, her bright blue eyes wide with fear narrow and fill with anger. “Get your hands off me,” she says raggedly.

  “Claire—” I warn.

  “No,” she snaps, slapping away my hands. “I don’t care if this is the apocalypse, you do not get to touch me. Keep those Montgomery grabby-hands to yourself.” She lets loose a string of curses and shoves her hands toward me trying to make me move away. She’s crazy. How is it possible this is the same girl I once obsessed over? She’s total batshit. She has no idea what’s going on right now. She’s got no clue how much danger we’re in standing here.

  Above us the mountain groans and bellows a deep terrifying sound. I can’t help but look up in the direction it’s coming from. An icy mixture of hail and snow bite into my face, but it’s nothing compared to what’s coming.

  I fling my arms around her, hauling her back against me.

  “Vaughn Montgom—”

  “Avalanche!” I shout, cutting her words dead.

  The ground vibrates under us. Claire’s body stiffens in my arms. Her furious expression crumples into alarm. “Av-avalanche?” she asks, her breath catching on the word.

  Overhead, a white wall of mountain rushes down, gathering speed, churning and rolling, spitting and screaming.

  “Move! Move!” I shout, pulling her back with me. We need to get out of its path or we’ll be buried alive. No one knows I’m here, there would be no rescue. There would just be our bodies found long after, when the snow finally thaws in the spring.

  We struggle through the drift, moving as fast as we can.

  “Hold on to me! Don’t let go,” I shout. Shockingly, she listens, wrapping her arms around my waist, pressing her face against my chest. I hug her close to me as we push forward, climbing and scurrying over the thick wet snow.

  But it’s too late. I can feel the wind and ice at my back right before it lands. The mountain crashes over us, slamming right through our bodies. We’re airborne for a moment, then we hit down hard and tumble and roll. Ice scrapes through my skin, slicing and cutting. Burning and stinging. I can’t control the trajectory of either of us. It lasts only a handful of seconds, then my head explodes with pain.

  When everything comes to a stop our bodies are tangled. I think we’re in the ice and snow for what seems like ages, not saying anything, just holding on to one another, while the wind and snow keeps blowing and whipping around us, freezing our skin and weighing down our clothes, and for a moment, it seems like we were holding onto each other because that was the only way to stop us from being swept up into the storm. But that’s not true. Our limbs are knotted and raveled together because I think we’re packed under a mountain. I feel snow in my ears, it fills my mouth and nose. It gets heavier and heavier.

  I think I hear her voice. It sounds distant and afraid. I try to move but the wind dulls and the snow presses down and everything fades from pure white to nothing at all. The scent of her skin washes over me in the darkness, a sweet sugary mixture of rose and vanilla.

  This is my last thought before I die.

  Wrong.

  I don’t die.

  I just wish I do, instead I lose consciousness and I’m fifteen years old again, desperately infatuated with Claire Radcliffe.

  “It’s officially summer va-cay, Claire’s here!” Chloe’s voice rings through my head. She’s skipping through the hallway, yelling, all the way to the front foyer. I hear the thwap, thwap of her flats on the floor. “Vaughn! Claire’s here!”

  I don’t remember our house ever being so cold.

  I stumble away from my buddies, awkwardly. She’s here. Claire’s here. A rush of heat flushes over my body. I have to get these losers to leave—once they get a look at Claire—my Claire—they’ll never want to go. She’d be the shiny new toy for them to play with, and I can’t have that, I want her all to myself this summer. It’s bad enough I have to share her with Chloe and Matteo. I wish we could just lock ourselves in my room, alone, and stay there until September. My stomach flutters wildly just thinking about it. I wish her family could move here.

  Donovan, Chase—and the rest of the guys, they don’t leave until it’s dark, and when they finally do, we light a fire, just the four of us—me, Chloe, Matteo, and her—Claire Radcliffe.

  Shadows dance around her face, she’s so pretty I can’t stop staring at her.

  Then we’re inside, alone. I’m not sure how we get here so fast, but it doesn’t matter, nothing matters but us.

  She’s standing out on the balcony leaning on the railing, her hair blowing in the warm breeze. She says nothing, but simply stares into the star-streaked sky, until I bring her by the hand into the library. I bought her a gift, a book, something small—just to let her know I missed her, how much I think of her when she’s not here. A token, unspoken, though, that no other girl has my heart, my soul…my body like she does even in the long cold months she’s not here.

  Each summer she happens to me all over again. Come autumn and winter by body craves her, in the spring my mind is out of control missing her, then summer rolls around again and she’s here.

  In the library, she leans on the edge of the
reading table and I feel nothing but the soft, warmth of her lips on mine. The way her breath exhales unsteadily, mixing with mine. I could kiss these lips forever. I will. We kiss, and kiss, slow and wet. So long and hot I could feel my sanity melt from my body and become this pulsing, throbbing ache. Sparks, like little blasts of fireworks ignite over my skin, and still we kiss and kiss until every muscle I’m made of is coiled tight and rigid and I teeter on the verge of eruption. I can’t touch enough of her skin at once. I want to slide my fingers everywhere. The hem of her dress is up around her waist. I’m not sure if it was me or her who pushed it there, but the smooth silky path up her legs makes my mouth water.

  I lean back an inch, just to see her. Her lips are parted, her eyes are a sleepy haze of heat. She’s so damn beautiful. I slow my movements and touch a single fingertip to her underwear. There’s a swift intake of breath and I raise my eyes back up to hers. She’s breathing heavy, her chest rising and falling, and her cheeks are stained bright red. She wants this as much as I do. I give the tiniest bit of pressure and trail my finger down the center of the material. I hook my finger underneath the damp fabric and pull it to one side. My chest constricts, almost painfully. God, she’s so perfect. I want to sink to my knees and trace her pussy with my tongue.

  “Vaughn,” she whispers. Her hands grip my arms, her fingers dig in.

  My eyes meet hers again, and I slip my fingers inside her. She’s so warm and wet. I push in deep.

  Her soft cry comes out a whimper, her fingernails leave marks in my skin.

  Then her hands are at the back of my neck, hard and fast, pulling me back to her mouth. Her kiss is frantic now, my fingers slipping in and out, deeper and deeper. Closer she takes me, until there’s no space between us, until my body is pressed hard against hers, and my fingers are so deep inside her I can barely move.

  Her body shifts and grinds on my hand, and I’m so hard I really don’t think I can take much more; I need more than just my fingers inside her. There’s a soft whimpering, a low pleading building up in my throat, and then she releases her hold on me and drops her hands to my waistband and rips at my pants.