by Nicole Snow
Not going to lie, he makes me feel a lot safer than that freak in a hoodie.
“Are you all right?” he asks gently. “I take it you didn’t know that man.”
“N-no, no idea, I...” Breathe.
Breathe, McKenna. I press my face against my palms, inhale, exhale, try again.
“He was skulking around in the bushes outside the kitchen window.” I’m trying to get my scattered thoughts together, to think logically. “I should call the police.”
“You should sit down and catch your breath, first. Here.” He opens the kitchen door like he has some odd familiarity with this house. As if he’s been here before, often enough to seem casual and easy. “This way.”
I balk, eyeing him. “Who are you?”
“Dallas Reese, an old friend of Landon's. Miss...?”
The familiar name instantly shocks me from my wary tension. I stare. “Wait. You’re Dallas Reese?”
It's like a hammer hits me between the eyes.
Sweet Jesus. If there was anything Landon and I talked about more than the stars and my brother and high school, it was Dallas. The kid he grew up hating, before I probably took his place. All the dirty tricks the boys would play on each other when they were working with their fathers at the firm. Micah Strauss and Dallas' father, Reg, were business partners.
Dallas, in the flesh, blinks mildly. “You’ve heard of me?” There's a crinkle of amusement in his tone.
I'm not sure it's warranted just yet.
“I’m Kenna Burke,” I venture, wondering if he’s heard of me.
His expression clears. He smiles. It’s warm, reassuring. He has the air of a quiet, sincere man, and I can’t help thinking he and Dallas have both grown up in very different ways.
“Reb,” he says, and that’s how I know he’s legit. No one who didn’t know Landon would know that nickname. He laughs. “Landon would go on about you, yes.”
“Oh. He did?” For some reason, my heart keeps pounding.
“I dare say the boy was smitten.” He chuckles wryly. “Doubt he said such kind things about me.”
I rub the back of my neck, wincing. “Um. Let’s just say you weren’t his favorite person growing up. Hopefully it's better now.”
“Boyhood rivalries,” he says, his princely nose tilting up in the air with fond nostalgia. “With our fathers working together, we both wanted to be the crown prince of Crown Security. Pardon the pun. We were always striving to outdo each other for our fathers’ approval.” His amusement fades, regret coloring his eyes and darkening his brow. “Terrible shame, what happened to Micah.”
“Yeah.” I bite my lip, glancing at the door he’s holding for me, then step inside and turn to walk backwards so I can watch him as he steps inside. I hate to say it, but I feel safer having someone Landon knows here, someone who’s familiar at least by proxy, even if he’s a stranger to me.
“Listen, Dallas, Landon’s not back from Sonoma. Not yet. I'm just house-sitting for him.” And doing a crappy job of it, I add to myself, without saying it.
“It’s perfectly fine. No worries, Miss Burke.” Dallas closes and securely locks the kitchen door, then taps the alarm code on the panel next to it – Christ, Landon let him have the alarm code? “He’s expecting me, if you don’t mind me waiting. Rather important business.”
“Oh, um...no, of course that’s fine.” This isn’t my house, I shouldn’t be inviting people in...but right now, I don’t want to be alone. I step deeper into the kitchen, and pull open the fridge. “Make yourself at home, and I'll grab you a drink. Any favorites?”
* * *
Landon’s late, and I feel weird.
Maybe it was sharing a drink with Dallas like I have any right to play hostess here.
Maybe it was leaving him alone downstairs after he shooed me off and told me I didn’t have to treat him like a guest, acting like it’s okay for me to leave random people to fend for themselves in Landon’s home. But I didn’t know what to say to him, either, and he seemed totally happy snagging a book off the shelf and settling in.
Or, you know, maybe it’s the whole creeper in a hood incident.
Yeah. Definitely the creeper in a hood.
Even if I almost feel a little silly for how much I freaked out. He hadn’t tried to attack me, after all. Just stood there in broad daylight.
If I’d run at him, he’d probably have taken off. Just some asshole playing a prank, I'm sure, after Landon no doubt chased so many people off his property. I smile, my mind flashing back to our reunion, the pent up, turbo-sexy flash of fists and violent ink I saw on my doorstep that morning we met like strangers.
Except no stranger ever showed up to greet me with his haunting blue eyes, his muscles, his scowl, and that unwavering, mad thing between us we still don't say out loud.
Still. Back to tonight. I panicked and cut off my only avenue of safety, didn't I?
I let a freaking stranger into the house.
That could’ve been serious. Even if he's someone Landon knows.
He'll find out about Reese, sure, but maybe I won’t tell Landon about Mr. Hoodie. Not unless Reese blabs first.
After calming myself down, washing off, changing, and settling my nerves, I’m upstairs on the deck, Velvet and Mews nestled against my hip on the long patio swing, when I hear the grumbling roar of Landon’s car coming down the lane.
I won’t lie. I’m relieved.
Even with Dallas downstairs, entertaining himself in the living room, I don’t quite feel safe until I know Landon’s familiar presence will be here.
I can’t believe he still has the old Impala. He used to be such a Jensen Ackles fanboy, even if you’ll never get him to admit it out loud.
For a moment I can’t help smiling with a fond pang of memory. The growl of the Impala suits the beast he is now, but it’s the fact that he’s kept it all this time that makes me think he’s still got something of the old Landon in him.
The old Landon who used to talk to me about the stars, a long time ago.
While he hung out with Steve, I’d be sprawled out on the back porch writing fan fiction.
He’d always come out once he and Steve were done, tease me a little about my obsession with doing slasher fic based on a very popular boy wizard series, and then settle in one of the patio chairs.
He'd lean back with his sweet tiger body, and look up at the sky with this kind of quiet dreamy look that always fascinated me. Way more than figuring out how to get grown-up wizard boy to kiss his trusty sidekick, if I'm being honest.
He’d point out constellations. He had a gift. Just tracing stars from one to the next, and knowing them by name, showing me the patterns and pictures and dreams people have known for ages in the sky.
Once, he told me that no matter where he went in the world, he’d always try to find the stars that made him remember home.
I wonder if he still looks at the stars, now.
And I wonder why – seriously, why? – my heart leaps, at the sound of him coming home. Wonder if it’s more than just sheer relief that he’s back to keep the place safe because I’m apparently not that great at it.
It’s not home, I remind myself, watching the Impala ease around the last turn and pull up to the house, my stomach sinking. Not your home, anyway.
I don’t really know how to tell him about the prowler. Before that it had been an uneventful day, save for the occasional glimpse of Riker letting me know he was around – unfortunately out of reach at just the wrong time.
Besides that, it was just me, my notebook, and the first good writing day I’ve had in a long, long while. Maybe once I report in that I didn’t destroy Landon’s mini-McMansion, he’ll be a little less hostile.
He looks haggard and harried, as he steps out of the Impala with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and slams the car door shut, barely sparing a glance at the third car in the drive. I push myself up with one last scratch behind the cats’ ears and head over to the edge of the balcony, folding my arm
s on the railing and leaning over.
“How’d it go?” I call down.
He stiffens like I've just slapped him, jerking and looking up. A peevish glare pins me in place.
There’s something about it that just doesn’t have the power to hurt this time. Not now. He looks more like a tired man at the end of his rope than that asshole who hates my guts. I almost want to laugh, but I don’t think he’d give me a chance to explain that it’s affection, not mockery.
He doesn’t give me a chance for anything, really, when all he does is grunt, stalk up the front steps, and then inside, the door slamming in his wake.
I glance at the cats, who tense restlessly, ears perked, and grin. “Come on, boys. Let’s go welcome Daddy home.”
Yeah, I know. I know.
Don’t leave me home alone for a day with a vivid imagination, two on-page sex scenes to write, and an old crush simmering in my veins.
With the cats trying to trip me every step of the way, I head inside and down the stairs. I catch him just as he’s dumping his duffel bag on one of the kitchen barstools.
We always seem to meet in the kitchen, which feels weird. I think of kitchens as places where families come together, but it’s not hard to tell he doesn’t see me as family anymore.
I put on a smile anyway. While he was gone, I decided that no matter how much of an asshole he’s being, I’m going to be as nice as I can.
Kill ‘em with kindness.
That’s what my mom always says, speaking from years of experience overseas, dealing with different people. Then again, my mom’s feisty enough to kill ‘em with a frying pan upside the head, too, but let’s hope I don’t have to resort to measures that drastic to get Landon to actually talk to me.
“So,” I ask, lacing my hands together behind my back. “Rough time? You don’t look happy.”
He shoots me a dark look. His brows are thunderheads. “Why should I be?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Big job, great paycheck, and it couldn’t have been a disaster or I’d have seen it on TMZ.”
“So you watch trash,” he grunts sardonically. “Good to know.”
Laconic asshole.
I grit my teeth, just knowing his parents didn’t teach him manners this bad. I don't know where it comes from until I remember, oh, wait, actually, I do.
Okay. Whatever. So the Polly Pocket happy princess act isn’t working on him. Guess I’ll just have to level with him straight.
“Landon.”
He doesn’t answer me, pointedly looking down as he digs in his duffel bag. I sigh, hands on my hips.
“Landon.” This time, it comes out sharper.
His shoulders twitch. His jaw works, and then he grudgingly looks up at me. I stare at him, but staring him down is like trying to win a stare-off with a cat. Those flinty blue eyes give away nothing. I frown.
“How long are we going to do this?” I ask.
“Do what?”
“This. Freezing me out. Why can’t we at least try to be friends? We’re two adults. We’re past age old childhood grudges. Don’t we have it in us to start over? Aren't we better than this?”
I don't know the answer. Part of me wants to yell at him. Part of me wants to plead. Part of me wants to be blunt and say I didn’t tell. I didn’t tell anyone about the journal, no matter what you wrote – but I’m afraid if I do, he’ll confirm it. He’ll confirm murder. The blood on his hands, and I’m not sure I can stand to know without vomiting.
I sigh, long and slow. “Don’t you remember the nights we used to stare at the sky together? Remember telling me about the stars?”
“I remember being a kid. And I’m not anymore. Some of us grew up.” He glowers at me, cold and stern and authoritarian. Just a stupid, dangerously handsome dick. “Maybe you should try it, instead of still being that little girl who never should’ve gotten so attached.”
To me, he means. That part, he leaves off, but it softens nothing.
I can’t say anything. Every time I think he can’t reach a new low, he proves me wrong.
Every time I think he can’t still hate me, he proves that he does.
And every time I think I might get him to crack, he turns around and walks away from me – just like he’s doing now.
Damn it all. I should probably warn him.
“Landon...”
He stops, back stiff, and stands there, ignoring the mewling cats around his ankles, his fists clenched. He’s not going to say anything, I realize. Just dandy.
“Dallas is in the living room,” I say, blurting it out.
“What?” He whirls on me, eyes blazing. “Fuck. Why wasn’t that the first thing you told me?”
“Well you sure didn’t seem that interested in having a conversation,” I shoot back.
“The hell is he doing here?”
I don’t know why I’m so surprised by the volcanic reaction. I guess everyone’s the enemy now, even polite, pleasant men who come running to the rescue.
I fold my arms over my chest. “He said you were expecting him for a meeting. And he chased off someone who’d been skulking around the house. He did us a favor.”
“Favor? That man?” His eyelids flutter, the eyeballs behind them suddenly on fire. If it’s possible for Landon to grow even more intense, he does. “Who? When?”
“This afternoon. I didn’t get a chance to see who. They were just slinking around in the bushes. Some weirdo. When Dallas pulled up and got out of his car, they ran. All I saw was a hoodie. I thought I should talk to you before filing a police report.”
“Fuck!” He drags a hand over his face, then points at me firmly. “Stay here, Kenna.”
“Excuse you? I’m not one of the frigging cats, you know.”
“Yeah?” he bites off. “My mistake. Because they don’t listen, either.”
Then he turns and stalks off.
Not even an are you okay? Or a were you scared? Or a thank God Almighty you're fine.
Just his stiff, tense back, rippling with wild muscle, disappearing into the living room.
Leaving me alone, wondering if maybe I never really did grow up.
And if Landon Strauss has grown completely out of my reach.
* * *
Confession time: I'm eavesdropping.
Quiet and tucked against the kitchen wall, I listen to Landon and Dallas murmuring to each other in low, resigned voices as they face off in the living room. I risk stealing one quick glance, and it’s like watching the sun face off against the moon.
A creature of darkness against a creature of light. Dallas is all gold and polish and smoothness and refinement, while Landon’s black and bronze and surly. Radiating darkness from every rough edge.
Someone as kind and polite as Dallas should be every girl’s dream.
So why am I longing for the nightmare of a man?
For all that Landon seems irritated about Dallas' presence, there’s a familiarity between them that hints this is an old conversation, repeated many times. I can’t quite make it out. Not completely. But I catch a few mentions of his father’s name – Micah Strauss. Something about the police.
That’s when I realize this isn’t something I should be listening to at all.
Not if it has to do with that. Landon would lose it if he knew I was eavesdropping, and probably boot me out for good. Silent as a mouse, I creep away, gathering my notebook to find somewhere safer to be.
Somewhere that isn’t haunted by secrets, desires, and dire promises I never should have known.
* * *
I exile myself back on the upstairs deck. Going to my room after basically being called a child – and then acting like one, tiptoeing around and playing spy girl – is a bit too much, and I need a little fresh air.
Fresh air, it turns out, is about all I need to fall asleep on the deck swing over a book. Thank goodness it’s large, I’m small, and the seat is well-padded, or I’d be waking up in a lot of pain the next morning.
* * *
Si
x Years Ago
I'm outside on my parents' porch, trying to figure out how the hell I'm gonna get an elf princess out of a dragon's belly while she's naked with a human Prince, when I hear the tapping on the wood banister behind me.
I smell his ocean breeze cologne, the stuff he's started wearing the last year or two, before I even see him.
“Landon?” I whirl around, leaving my clumsy try at Tolkien fan fic with some really naughty parts behind.
“Nice night for a story, Reb. Clear one, too.” He sits down on the step next to me, folding his hands neatly.
“Crap! I didn't realize you'd be home. Steve said you'd be gone for another week.”
I don't want to stare too much, to let him know how hard it is to keep my eyes off him.
Of course, I can't control it.
He's only been gone in basic training for a few months. Maybe it's just having him back here. Or maybe it's because he already looks bigger, harder, a more chiseled, bestial strength sprawling over his old quarterback looks, but I like what I see.
I like it so much my blood turns strangely hot, and I'm clutching my notebook over my thighs too intently, hiding the burn intensifying between them, watching my knuckles turn white when I finally look away.
“Yeah, well, training wrapped up early and the flights were good. I haven't even told your bro I'm back and my folks are out. Still owe Steve like two hundred bucks for those fireworks last summer.”
I laugh, grateful it sputters out to hide my blush, shaking my head. “He was so worried about that part of the fence you guys blew up before you left. Had to scramble all weekend to get it patched up before mom and dad got back from Japan.”
“Great. So more like three hundred for labor and materials, then.” Landon coughs into his hand and I giggle again.
“Mum's the word,” I say, pressing a finger against my curling lips. “I won't let him know until you're ready to announce your grand entrance.”
“Probably tomorrow,” he says, nodding his thanks.
