Still Not Over You(26)

“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.





*



Six Years Ago