Still Not Over You: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  That squeak must've tipped her off, because she glances over her shoulder, brows lifting mildly. Her eyes are as blue as Landon’s, but where his are all electric charge hers are more a still calm sea. She blinks at me, then smiles, warm and pleasant.

  “McKenna?”

  She’s always used my full name. She comes toward me with her hands outstretched, moving fluidly despite the curious cats twining around her ankles like she’s soaked her stockings in catnip.

  Still blushing, I let her pull me into a hug, exchanging wide-eyed, half-amused, and half-horrified looks with Landon over her shoulder.

  “Great to see you again, Mrs. Strauss,” I murmur, giving her a squeeze and then stepping back, edging to the side.

  I feel like I’m in the way of a weird family reunion, but her entire attention stays on me.

  “All I get is a hello and one awkward hug, young lady? I haven’t seen you since you were still all knees and elbows, and I left the old neighborhood. You’ve grown up so lovely.” She laughs, turning her gaze on Landon, one slim hand laying on his arm with a mother’s gentle possessiveness. “Why didn’t you tell me McKenna moved in for the summer, dear?”

  Landon makes an embarrassed noise and shrugs. He’s trying to look casual, but he just looks flustered, and I bite my lip on a smile. Adorable.

  “It wasn’t a big deal,” he says, every bit the little boy in front of his mother.

  “Oh, is that what you think?” Mrs. Strauss gives me a knowing look, her eyes glittering. “Some men wouldn’t know what a big deal was if it landed right in their lap.”

  My blush turns volcanic. Are we so obvious?

  Does she think we’re a serious couple?

  I glance at Landon, but he’s gone kind of glassy with an easy, careful smile that says I’ll get nothing out of him.

  Of course not.

  Because I’m still his pretend-girlfriend, and we’re just playing house.

  I don’t even know what the expiration date on this is. When he doesn’t need someone to watch the house anymore? When I’m done with my novel?

  What are we even doing, other than screwing around and avoiding actually looking at ourselves head-on?

  I don’t get a chance to dwell on it any longer, though.

  If Landon is a hurricane, then Mrs. Strauss is a gentle breeze, but she still moves things when she blows through.

  And she manages to get us moving, fussing and fluttering around us the entire time with her graceful airs, to make breakfast. It's almost like old times.

  Almost.

  * * *

  I wondered if Landon’s mother would stay a few days, but no – she apparently has a habit now of surprising him for breakfast because he never calls home, too busy with Enguard.

  Today was just another in a series of typically Shirley Strauss surprises.

  She wheeled in for breakfast, charmed us entirely over omelets, and then wheeled out to get back to her life organizing charity work. I’ve never met anyone more gracious than Mrs. Strauss, and even with the awkwardness between me and Landon, there’s still a kind of ease left in Mrs. Strauss’s wake even after her departure.

  But I can’t get one thing off my mind.

  I was loading the dishes in the dishwasher while Mrs. Strauss and Landon picked up out on the patio, and I’d caught wind of a conversation I probably shouldn’t have heard. Turns out all these open spaces and white marble carry sound way too well.

  “Now, Landon,” Mrs. Strauss had said. “I’ve always known you needed a decent woman, but Kenna's a darling. Listen, son. It’s easy to see how you’ve blossomed with her around. I’ve been so worried for you, with everything you’ve been through. But do be a dear and don’t make a mess of this, hm?”

  Landon mumbled something that sounded like he was back in little-boy mode, being chastised, which just set Shirley off laughing.

  It left me flustered, nearly dropping the dishes, and brooding for long hours after.

  Including now, as Landon and I linger on the upstairs deck, looking out across the water and drinking wine. It’s too hot for anything else. Heavier liquor would just feel sickly in this sweltering heat, though I almost wish I was drunk enough for the courage to ask the things I really want to know.

  We’re leaning together on the deck swing, quiet and comfortable and taking in the silence.

  I don’t want to break it, but so many things are boiling up inside me.

  If I won’t ask him the serious questions, I can at least satisfy my curiosity. “Hey, Landon?”

  He glances up from a distant contemplation of the waves, his gaze pensive, but clearing as he looks at me. “Yeah?”

  “This morning...” I trail off, looking down, tracing my finger around the rim of my wine glass. “Your dad didn’t come up. At all. I mean, not even the smallest mention. Do you not talk about him with your mom?”

  He lets out a fierce grunt, and for a moment, I’m afraid he’s about to lock up on me again.

  Then he sighs. “She doesn’t know,” he rumbles. “Ma doesn't know a damn thing. I never told her about what Dad was up to. I couldn’t. She’d already lost her husband. I couldn’t let her lose her faith in him, too. But I don’t like talking about him, either. I'm not polishing a dead man's corpse. Not when it’s a lie. Even if I'll throw her a word or two about missing him once in a blue moon.”

  “Oh.” I bite my lip, leaning harder into him. My heart sinks, hurting for him. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean –”

  “Don’t be.” He shifts, draping his arm across my shoulders, gathering me against his side. “It’s complicated, babe. Took me years to put together what my old man did. Sifted through a billion cold leads. Wherever drugs were mentioned in the media, close to where Crown ran security for warehouses and trade shows. Sniffed out his accomplices, too. His old partner, Reg, was in on all of it. And that’s Reg’s son running Crown Security, Dallas fucking Reese.” He grinds his teeth.

  I suppress a shiver. There’s hatred in his voice, but it trails into resignation.

  “Fuck, Kenna. It was easier to just bury everything. For myself, and for Mom. I wanted to just live my life, be a better man than he was. I was still struggling with that, the day you read my journal, after I'd vomited those thoughts down on paper.”

  But you think you’re a monster with the strength to kill someone for vengeance, I think. Even if I know that’s not all you are.

  I settle into him, tucking my legs up and making myself small against his side. My hand curls against his chest. “I know what burying the hard stuff is like.”

  He smiles faintly, eyes softening. God, does he know I’m talking about the crush that never died?

  Of course he knows.

  It’s like he’s inside my head all the time.

  Inside my heart.

  Inside every beating chamber. And he captures my hand, then, lifts it from his chest to kiss my knuckles, before letting go to cup my cheek.

  “No more,” he says. “Life’s too fucking short for hide and seek. Or for digging holes.”

  “No more,” I repeat, nodding.

  But I’m a liar.

  Because I’m hiding right now, and refusing to face the enormity of this ten thousand ton feeling crouched over me like a demon waiting to strike.

  14

  He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother (Landon)

  Being with Kenna shouldn’t be this comfortable.

  It’s like there’s a time bubble that exists around us. Long as I’m with her, I’m back in the days before I knew how terrible the world could be.

  Before I knew what a piece of shit my father was. Before I knew how horrifying war was. Before I had to pull the trigger on ending lives with my own two hands in Iraq, killing for my country, my men, and sometimes just raw fucking survival.

  Before I knew what I’m capable of, when so much blood is already steeped in my skin.

  Being with Kenna lets me avoid facing that. It brings an eerie calm, this peace that says maybe, deep down,
I could still be the man she thinks I am.

  Maybe Old Landon isn't dead.

  Maybe I could be someone who won’t disappoint her, won’t blow her heart to smithereens all over again.

  But I know that’s a lie.

  I know what I am.

  I know what I have to do.

  These stolen moments are just a brief reprieve from the harshness of reality.

  Nothing more.

  I’m languishing in one such stolen moment, now. I only have a day left before I’m heading down to the Bay Area again to deal with Milah. I’m soaking up as much sun and as much Kenna as I can.

  We’d dozed off on the patio last night, sprawled out under the clear bright sky on the outdoor lounger, and now I’m half-asleep, drowsing and lingering on how insanely good she feels in my arms.

  I don’t really want to wake up. I don't want to leave this woman. I don't want to push her away because all the bad shit puts me on my knees.

  But the feeling of someone watching us puts me on high alert.

  I hold completely still. Trained combat reflexes, everything I learned by fire not to let a potential enemy combatant know I’m awake and aware of their presence.

  Carefully, I crack one eye open.

  And then release an explosive, pent up sigh, opening both my eyes fully for the hell that's in front of me.

  Steve. Sitting there on one of the patio chairs, watching us with a hangdog look.

  “Jesus, Steve,” I mutter.

  Oh fuck. It's sinking in.

  Steve. Here. Watching. Us.

  And I'm here with Kenna in my arms.

  I start scrambling up, but there’s no use denying it now.

  Shit! I sink back down in the lounger, while Kenna stirs sleepily, burrowing into me in that kittenish way she has. I bump her with my elbow.

  “Wake up, Reb.”

  “Nah...no...five more minutes...”

  This is not the time for her to be this cute. “…you really want to wake up. We’ve got company. And he doesn’t look too happy.”

  “Understatement of the year,” Steve growls, his voice tight.

  I haven't seen him look this pissed since we lost our last game of football Senior year.

  His voice doesn't match. Mostly, it sounds dejected. Worse than pissed off.

  At the sound of his voice, Kenna stiffens. Her eyes go wide, and she turns a slow, dread-filled look over her shoulder – only to scramble upright, prying away from me, skittering to the other side of the lounger.

  That shouldn’t sting, but it does. The truth is out.

  It's too late.

  Rejecting me now won’t really help.

  She stares, frozen, between me and Steve, then stammers, “I-it’s not what you think...”

  “Don’t. Please, Kenna,” Steve interjects quietly. “You already lied to me once. Can’t stand it again.”

  That stark, heavy look in his eyes – fuck. I’d expected anger.

  I hadn’t expected the open, naked betrayal on his face, or how deep it cuts me as he continues, “Melanie found the condom. You should’ve been more careful.” His jaw clenches. “Or, hey, maybe you both could’ve just told me the fucking truth instead of sneaking around behind my back, screwing around on my property..”

  I close my eyes, dragging a heavy palm over my face.

  Getting caught before breaking the news to my best friend was always a risk. I hadn’t expected to feel this fucking guilty.

  I don’t want to feel this guilty, and it makes me snarly, though I try to rein it in. “I thought you’d be angry, and you should be,” I mutter. “Don’t be mad at Kenna. I lied to you, Steve. She just went along with it. We haven’t talked about it since.”

  “Yeah. Communication isn’t your strong point,” Steve whispers flatly. “So, you're telling me you'd rather I never trusted you again than deal with me being annoyed?”

  “I didn’t know it'd stop at annoyed!”

  “Of course you didn’t,” Steve bites off. “Because apparently you don’t know me, and I don’t know you anymore, Landon. I love you like a brother. I love Kenna. Why the fuck would I be upset with you for being together? Why couldn’t you trust me?” That hurt in his eyes hardens. He’s hitting me like bullets, peeling me open in the way only screwing over my oldest friend can. “That's not why I'm up in your face,” he growls, coming closer.

  I never thought this man had an intimidating bone in his body, but here he is: up close, eyes wide, drilling my betrayal into me. He pauses, shaking his head. “I'm not pissed off because you're with my sister. I'm livid because you couldn't come clean with me, when I'm practically the only real friend you've got.”

  Fucking ouch. It stings because it isn't wrong. At Enguard, I have co-workers. Associates. Employees. Steve's the only one who's stayed with me through thick and thin. Only one local, too. I keep in touch with a few of my hardass military buddies like Gabe, but they just knew me under the stress of battle. Steve knows who I was, and what I've become.

  He's talking again. “Because you can’t trust anyone, right? Not since Micah died. So you just treat everyone like they’re the enemy.”

  “That’s not fair,” Kenna cuts in. “You don’t know what Landon’s been going through –”

  “You’re right,” Steve answers. “I don’t. Because Landon never trusted me enough to tell me. I’ve put my faith in him all these years only to find out he can’t even trust me enough to tell me how he feels about my sister.” His fists clench and unclench. “How do you feel about my sister? Do you at least trust her, or are you just using her, too?”

  Too much.

  I know I’ve been a prick these past few years and Steve doesn’t really have any reason to believe in my character, but I can’t sit here while he cuts holes into me with the reminders of all the ways I’ve fucked up – until even the people I love the most can’t trust a single word I say, because I’m too damaged and broken to ever trust them.

  I thrust to my feet, fists clenched tight enough that my nails dig into my palms. “Fuck this. Ask her, why don't you. Rather than talking about her like she’s not here. I’m out.”

  Steve never moves. Kenna stands, pushing herself between us. Her hand rests on my arm, a reminder of that soft warmth that's been broken, dashed to pieces at my feet.

  “Landon, don’t go,” she pleads, then turns to her brother, stepping toward Steve. “Please, just...just...I’m sorry. I know we should've told you the truth, but it happened on impulse. We were caught off guard. We meant to tell you everything, we just didn't have enough –”

  “Time?” Steve cuts in. “Two weeks isn’t impulse, Kenna. You had plenty of time to tell me.”

  Steve looks like we’ve broken something in him.

  Fuck, this is so wrong.

  This is all my fault. I didn’t mean to fix the rift between me and Kenna only to create one between her and her brother.

  If I have to lose Steve, I’ll deal with the consequences, but I can’t be the reason for a break between brother and sister.

  But before I can say anything, Kenna says, “We did. But we were...we were...” She shakes her head, losing the words. “I can’t say what we were, really. But it was selfish. Just give us a chance to explain. Please.”

  “Not now,” Steve says, his voice cracking. “I can’t even look at you. It’s bad enough you lied to me, Kenna. But you.” His gaze transfers to me. “I kept giving you chance after chance, Landon. All these years of you thrusting me away. Of you lashing out. And I kept saying you just needed time. You’d be okay. You'd sort your crap out. You just needed us to be here for you.” He swallows hard. “And you just shat all over that because you couldn’t tell me the truth.” He shakes his head, stepping back. “I can’t be here right now. I just can’t.”

  And then he’s walking away. Kenna makes a forlorn sound and starts after him, then stops.

  She stares helplessly between us. I should go to her, comfort her, but right now I feel like if I do I’ll jus
t poison this more. Poison her because I'm fucking toxic.

  And if Steve can’t be here right now, then neither can I.

  I turn and walk away. I need to prep for the job, need to pack my car, need to do anything but keep standing here, wallowing in the guilt that’s eating me inside like black fire.

  The fuck do I have to feel guilty for? It’s my fucking private life. Not Steve’s. It’s not his business who I’m sleeping with, or who Kenna is either.

  But I know I'm making excuses. No matter how hard I stomp, how rough I try to shove it out of my head, I can't get that look of his out of my brain.

  I storm into the garage, practically seeing red. There’s a twinge inside me telling me I’m just using anger to hide, but fuck it, it’s worked for me before.

  I start throwing my gear together, stuffing it into cases and duffel bags. A few moments later, soft footsteps trail after me. Kenna stands in the door of the garage, a dark shape backlit by outdoor sunlight, her eyes nearly glowing in shadow, shining wet.

  “Landon?”

  I say nothing. Just rip the trunk of the car open and shove one of my kits inside. If I talk to her right now I don’t know what'll come out of me, but it won't be good.

  Everything’s all fucked up.

  I’m fucked up, if I ever thought anything like this could be for me.

  I'm a bastard. An exile. Alienated from everyone who ever tried to care.

  A monster who can’t trust, and who can’t be trusted.

  Reb, she's better off without me.

  And I have no time left to fix this fucking mess, not with this goddamned job breathing down my neck.

  “Landon, please talk to me!”

  No. I’ve got the words stitched up inside me to keep their ugliness from spilling all over her. I shake my head tightly, throw another bag in the trunk, and slam it shut.

  I have to go.

  Have to take myself away before I do something explosive, something that could hurt her the way I hurt her years ago.

  She makes a frustrated sound, as I move around the garage gathering the last of my shit. Then she snaps, “So, what? This is it? You’re just gonna shut me out and run again?”