ENEMIES

by Tijan

“You’re the son she never had.” Then, feeling bad about my shot at his mom, “Your mom cooked for us. I remember that one time she tried to teach us to make lasagna.”

  He cracked a grin, barking a laugh. “You sucked at that, too. I never knew lasagna noodles could come out hard like rocks until yours.”

  Fuck him, but I was grinning. I couldn’t help myself.

  Those were good times, good memories before the shit ones came. And they came soon after that lasagna disaster.

  He quieted. “It wasn’t the same. My mom versus yours. We had baking lessons at your house once a month, every first Sunday. My mom tried to teach us how to make Caesar salad, the only second cooking session she gave us, and that one we all got fine. It’s hard to screw up.”

  “Says you. You’re perfect at everything.”

  He didn’t reply.

  I didn’t expect him to. It was true. He knew it. I knew it. The entire nation knew it.

  Then from him, “Not at being a friend.”

  My stomach kicked.

  Hell no. No way. He wasn’t getting back in. No fucking way.

  “Oh. God.” I groaned, throwing a hand up to hit my forehead. “Can we not? Can we save the dramatics until I’m able to call a cab to take me back to my place? For real. Enough bonding or whatever it is we were just doing.”

  He growled, “You are such a goddamn bitch.”

  I retorted, “And you are such a goddamn prick. Drop me the fuck off!”

  “With fucking pleasure!”

  He gunned the engine, shooting forward in traffic, and weaving until we were nearing my exit. When he took it, I relaxed. The rest of the way was tense and silent, and I knew both of us couldn’t wait to be rid of the other. Then he pulled over to the curb. He didn’t make a move, his only action just unlocking the door.

  His head was turned halfway to me, his jaw clenching over and over again.

  Fine.

  I shoved forward, my head only swimming a little bit as I climbed out of his truck. Once I shut the door and turned around, he’d already hit the engine, tearing away from the curb.

  I only had the clothes on my back, on the side of the street, but I’d never been so fucking grateful to be away from him.

  Now, turning to the house I wasn’t sure I was still invited to live in, I saw that all the lights were off. Lovely. It was then I remembered the day—Saturday. Game day. They’d be gone the entire day, but I had two things working in my favor. It was hella hot out, so I wouldn’t freeze in only my shirt, jeans, and flip flops. Stone had all my things at his house. I had nothing with me. And it was a home game, so they wouldn’t be staying overnight somewhere.

  Slinking to the backyard, I climbed over the fence and took a seat on the picnic table. I’d wait it out here, maybe even nap stretched out on top if need be. Either way, I was just fine on my own.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Dusty?”

  I saw black when I opened my eyes. No. Stars. I was seeing stars.

  It took a bit, then turning my head—I reared upright, scrambling backwards. I was on the edge of the picnic table. My head was woozy, and I was seeing two of someone.

  No. Wait.

  It was Savannah and Mia? Both were staring at me, eyebrows raised, and looks of confusion on their faces. Both were decked out in Texas C&B gear, the white and blue colors displayed loud and proud, seventeen and thirty-seven on their cheeks in sparkly blue paint. That’s right. Their boyfriends were on the team. I’d forgotten.

  And what was I doing here?

  Oh, yeah.

  Stone. Me being a bitch. Him charging off from the curb, and a part of me couldn’t blame him. I’d be frustrated with me, too, if I were him.

  “What are you doing?”

  Mia was staring at my feet.

  I looked, too. The flip flops had fallen off.

  “Sorry. I was sleeping and…” I sat up, but whoa. The blood didn’t go with me. It rushed downwards instead, making me lightheaded and I was teetering on the edge of the table.

  Savannah rushed forward, grabbing my arm.

  Mia’s top lip just lifted even more in a sneer.

  “No. Like, what are you doing here?”

  “Am I not living here anymore?” I put a hand to my forehead. I was fairly certain the pounding I was feeling up there wasn’t a good sign. Neither was sleeping in the sun all afternoon long because Stone picked me up from the hospital at three. It was dark out. Looking over my shoulder, the lights were on in the house. I frowned. No one had seen me out here? “What time is it?”

  “It’s ten-thirty. Everybody’s coming here from the Quail.” That was Mia’s flat response, like I’d irritated her that she even had to respond to a question.

  The Quail.

  Oh no.

  “I had a job interview there. Oh no.”

  “Helllooooo. What are you doing here?” Savannah waved her hand in front of my face to get my attention. There was a bit more edge to her voice, and I couldn’t blame her either. I’d be frustrated with myself.

  Wait.

  I was repeating my thoughts.

  That really wasn’t good.

  “I don’t have my phone or my keys, or anything. I couldn’t get in the house.” And they hadn’t answered my question. “Did you guys kick me out?”

  They shared a look, a dumbfounded expression, and I could just tell. Their mouths were hanging open. Their eyes were saying, ‘wtf?’ And their eyebrows were all the way up into their foreheads.

  I was a keen observer of the human body.

  That and I heard Mia whisper, “W-T-F?”

  “You’re…” Savannah had to stop, shake her head, clear her thoughts. “You were in an accident.”

  “Yes.”

  Noted. I knew that.

  They shared another look.

  I tried again. “So, the room? Is it still mine?”

  And Savannah was trying to get me to understand again, too. “You totaled your car. A truck took you out.”

  “Girl,” Mia snapped. “You were in a coma all week.”

  Yes. And yes.

  But why were they not answering my question?

  “So… I don’t still have the room? Or do I?”

  “OH MY GOD!” Mia burst out. “No! All your shit was picked up by Stone Fucking Reeves. You KNOW STONE FUCKING REEVES! Why are you HERE and not with HIM?!”

  I flinched, frowning. “You don’t need to yell at me. I have a splitting headache.”

  Savannah’s face flashed to horror. “You do? You should be in the hospital. You shouldn’t be here. What are you doing here? Sleeping outside?”

  I was really trying to focus here. I was, but the headache was increasing by the minute, and Mia’s shouting only made it worse. I literally had nothing to my name right now except the clothes on my back and I just needed to know where to go.

  “Will you please just tell me?” My voice was dipping low, hoarse, and to an alarming sound that I knew was concerning, but I was losing normal thought function as to why I should be alarmed about how I was sounding. “Doahhafdaroomstll?”

  “You’re slurring your words.” Savannah pointed out.

  “She’s slurring her words.” Mia was always the smartest.

  A disgusted sigh from her again, “Fucking hell.”

  “What are you doing?” That was Savannah again.

  My eyes had closed.

  I was getting so sleepy again.

  I just had a long nap. I shouldn’t be so tired so soon after, right? Right?

  Mia snapped in a huff, “I’m calling 911 again. This bitch’s death is not going to be on our hands.”

  “Oh dear.”

  I just thought this picnic table was so comfortable. Why’d I ever use a bed? That was my last, somewhat coherent thought until splendid peace.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The doctor was much more stern the next time.

  The ambulance came again.

  I was taken to the ER again.

  I
was treated for the same concussion as before. Again. This time I was told to make sure I stayed hydrated, and if I fell asleep, to do it indoors and out of the sun.

  And Stone was called, once again.

  But this time, I was being released that same night, and as he stalked into the room, murder in his eyes, he refused to say a word. The doc was doing it all for him.

  “You are only being released into the care of Mr. Reeves.”

  I was the petulant child, and my doctor was the aggravated second-grade teacher. He was close to his wit’s end, but not quite there. I knew the type well. And Stone, he was the pissed-off older brother who hated his little sister, but the parents were dead so…

  God.

  I swallowed hard. I’d just thought that, hadn’t I?

  Stone would never look at me like we had a brother/sister relationship. One of us would’ve murdered the other long ago.

  And yep, I was content with keeping the snarky jokes to myself. I didn’t think anyone else would appreciate my sense of comedy, though I was rolling in it myself.

  “I had a job interview at the Quail.”

  The awkward silence that filled the room told me something had happened. I’d done something. Then the doctor closed his mouth and I clued in. I’d completely interrupted him and that was a no-no.

  Stone moved to rest his shoulder against the doorframe, his arms still folded over his chest. “That bar on your campus?”

  “Yes.” Eureka. He knew what I was talking about.

  The doctor and nurse shared a look over my head. I didn’t want to look. I was pretty sure it wasn’t favorable to my recovery.

  “They hired me. I think.” I frowned. How would I know if I’d been hired or not? My phone. I focused on Stone. “Do you have my phone?”

  He nodded, resigned to whatever was going to happen. It wasn’t a happy look of resignation, but you know, the actual definition of resignation. A reluctant acceptance of what shit show was to come. I was the shit show, and he knew it.

  He added, “I have all your shit at my place.”

  “My keys?”

  He nodded.

  “My phone?”

  “You already asked that.”

  The doctor moved forward, bending to peer in my eyes again. “How many fingers do you see?” He was holding up three.

  I said, “Four.”

  I was lying.

  Instant concern filled his gaze.

  A deep, aggravated sigh left Stone again. “She’s fucking with you. She used to do the same thing when she skinned her knee as a kid. Her mom played along and it drove her dad nuts.”

  My dad.

  I felt punched at the mention.

  Stone shoved off from the doorway and strode forward, getting in front of the doctor and bent down to peer at me, face to face. “Stop fucking around. Stop hiding. Stop lying to yourself. All your shit’s at my place. I know you. We have ties. Come to my house. I will help you through this. I promise.” He wasn’t being gentle as he was saying all this. It was being delivered in a matter-of-fact way, but then he faltered, and he lightened his tone. “I never went to your mom’s funeral and I’ve always regretted it. She’d want me to help you, and I can right now. Stop fighting me.”

  He didn’t get it.

  I was already crumbling, though.

  I felt it happening.

  But I still whispered out, “I fight you, I fight them.”

  He got it immediately. Understanding dawned, and he nodded. His eyes clouding a second, then he straightened, but his hand came out to touch my face. Fingertips tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and his words undid me.

  “Let’s go to my house. You can yell at me all you want there.”

  I was falling. Slipping. Tumbling.

  The tears were coming, but my God, no. I didn’t cry in public.

  He saw them, and he chided softly, almost mocking me, “Pull yourself together, Phillips.”

  It worked.

  I sucked them in but nodded to the doctor. “I’ll go home with Stone.”

  This time it was late, after midnight when he rolled me out in the wheelchair. His truck was there, and I didn’t fight. Standing, climbing into the front seat of his truck this time. Before he could, I did my own seatbelt saying quietly, “I got it.”

  He nodded, stepping back.

  A few guys were outside, waiting, because I was realizing this was Stone’s life. He put the wheelchair away, then paused to sign autographs. A few pictures were taken. He waved them goodbye before climbing behind the wheel.

  “The pharmacy?” There was a list of meds they wanted me on.

  “I already filled them.” He was pulling out onto the interstate soon after. “You hungry?”

  “I can eat?”

  “Unless something’s wrong with your stomach, and in that case, I’m turning right back to the ER, but yeah. They didn’t say you couldn’t.”

  I pondered it. I felt my stomach growling, but I shook my head. “I’m not hungry.”

  “You sure? You haven’t eaten since they pulled the feeding tube out of you yesterday.”

  Yesterday. Was it wrong to wish I could go back to that coma? No? Well, then. I might keep that one to myself.

  “No,” I said faintly, watching the city lights flashing by me. “I’m not hungry.”

  Then I remembered something about Stone. “Shouldn’t you be in bed? When do you have to be at the stadium tomorrow?”

  “I have time.”

  Oh, yeah. That was right.

  I settled back, beginning to feel my eyelids growing heavy, but I didn’t fight it. At this point, I was hungry for any amount of sleep I could get. It was my only escape from this new reality.

  Stone’s house was huge. I wasn’t surprised.

  He hit a button and the gate opened, then he drove into an underground garage for his own house. He parked next to a Hummer and between a G Wagon on the other side. The rest of his garage was spacious and clean. He noticed my looks concerning both vehicles and grinned. “I indulged. My signing advance.” Then he was walking, opening the door to a back room. This was where he helped me take off a sweater a nurse gave me because I got chilled. He tossed it on a clothes washer and turned the lights on in the next room, proceeding into the house.

  We went into the largest kitchen I’ve ever seen. A full island was in the middle.

  There was another counter off of the side of the kitchen with eight barstools lined up along it. A huge, curved wooden table that I instantly loved, but our journey wasn’t finished. The grand tour continued. He gestured toward a darkened room on the left as we passed by. “That’s the more formal sitting area if guests come over.” But we were going up a set of half stairs.

  He turned, going down a hallway.

  He was leading me farther into the house, almost to a whole other section until he paused, and hit the lights in a room. “Guest quarters.” He pushed the door open farther and went in. He narrated as he pointed to each section, going in a circle. “Kitchen.” That was obvious by the setup with a fridge and everything. It was the size of the kitchen we had growing up. He kept going in a circle. “You got your own gym there.”

  Really? A gym?

  He didn’t wait, still going in the circle. “Your own living room area.” And still going. “Bedroom one.” A hallway was next. “Bedrooms two and three are farther down.”

  He went to a door, opening it, and repeating the motion of hitting the lights. “And if you’re feeling motivated, you can do your own laundry.”

  He flashed me a grin, then paused.

  I was back to crumbling. He saw it and grunted, “A little bit longer, Phillips. Keep it together.”

  On it. I could do that.

  I shoved all the shit down, way down, and pulled up the numbness once again. The silly/fighting mood had gone. It wasn’t helping me hold back what I knew was going to hit me like a tsunami. It’d be relentless.

  He turned the light off, closed the door, and gently touc
hed my shoulders, turning me back to the stairs.

  “I got a bit more to show you. Hold on.”

  It was like he went on warp speed after that, rushing through the rest of the house.

  He showed me a television room. A theater room. As he explained, they were different.

  He had another gym in the basement, and it was attached to the garage. He showed me the door connecting them, then we were back and heading up into the house.

  He ended by a different set of stairs and just pointed up. “I’m up there.”

  “The tour is done?”

  “Tour’s done.”

  Got it. I dipped my head in a nod. “Can you show me how to get to my section again?”

  Chuckling, he said, “You’re still not hungry?” He tapped my arm lightly. “I know how to make a mean Caesar salad, or you know, I might have some lasagna to heat up.”

  He was teasing. He was being kind. And it was the worst thing he could’ve done.

  I couldn’t hold them off anymore. They were slipping, so I turned so he couldn’t see my face and I made my voice like steel, “Forget it. I’ll find it.”

  “Hey. Hey.” His hands touched my shoulder.

  I pulled away from him, hurrying off. I’d find the fucking stairs myself.

  Fuck him.

  Fuck this house.

  Fuck everything he had gained and I had lost.

  Fuck it all.

  He still had his shitty parents, and mine—a sob ripped from me. I felt it rising, burning on the way, and I tried to quiet it, but I couldn’t. Stopping right at the stairs going to my section, I couldn’t hold them back anymore, and I couldn’t go any farther myself.

  I bent over, right there, at the bottom stairs. My forehead went to my knees. I wrapped my arms around my legs, and I sobbed.

  Deep. Guttural. Straight from the soul sobs.

  He must’ve let me cry for a few minutes until I felt his hands on my back. “Fucking Christ, Phillips.” But he didn’t sound frustrated, and his hands were gentle. He knelt, his arms moving under me, and he picked me up.

  He carried me to my room, going to turn the light on.

  “No! Please.”

  I couldn’t bear it. It was bad enough he was here, he was hearing me. If he saw evidence of my destruction, too?