Still Not Over You(38)

“I wrote that the same day you read it. And my emotions were a fucking wreck, and you got the brunt of it. But it wasn’t your fault, Reb. Nothing was your fault, really, from then till now.”

I swallow the knot in my throat. This hurts to hear, but I need it. I need it so much. “Then why...? Why did it take you so long to say...?”

“You know why,” he responds grimly. “My father was murdered. Killed. And you’re the only person who knows what I intend to do about it. What was I supposed to say to you after that? You always followed me around with stars in your eyes. Didn’t want to see them go out when you saw me for the monster I am.”

I suck in a breath, focused on one heavy word among many.

Intend, Landon said. Not intended.

So, he hasn’t done it. Not yet. He hasn’t murdered anyone.

But he might.

I shake my head quickly. “You're not a monster,” I manage to choke out.

God, why is this breaking my heart? Why do I want to cry, pull him close, kiss him until he sees that he’s still the same Landon, and I still see that boy with bright blue brilliant stars he gave me reflected in my eyes?

“I ran today because you wanted me to go, Landon. Not because I didn’t want to stay.”

He looks at me with such a desperate, dark-eyed stare that it seems he might say something else – something I painfully need to hear – but instead he continues flatly, “You don’t think I’m a monster? What if I told you the only reason I’m still on this job with Milah is for a chance to sniff out what’s going on at Crown Security and with Dallas? That I don’t give a damn for her and I just want to destroy that fucked up company from the inside-out? Because it ruined my father...”

He’s incandescent, hushed and rough-edged words, leaning in closer to me. Nearly overwhelming me with his presence. “What if I told you, when I find the man who killed my father, I’m going to snap his neck with my own two hands?”

I’m trembling.

Trembling, again, but I lift my chin. Desperately trying to make my shaking, rioting body calm when every last part of me rebels. There’s a small, frightened, animal part of me that’s screaming to run before the predator eviscerates me – but there’s a dark needy twisted part of me wanting to be eviscerated.

One thing you learn writing romance is that part of the appeal in dangerous men is the thrill of flirting with that sharp edge. Knowing he wants you, needs you, loves you too much to ever cut you, but the danger’s there nonetheless.

There’s a reason attraction is terrifying, and fear can be arousing.

The very same reason I made Landon into Logan, and put way too much of myself into those passion stained pages.

It's like a chemistry experiment. Landon ticking every box. Right here. Right now.

I’m scared of him in delicious ways, but hurting for him, too. Aching like I didn't know I could.

“I’m still not afraid of you,” I whisper, and manage a wry smile. “Sorry. Still a starry-eyed idiot, I guess. I don’t see a monster. I see a man faced with complex choices and a lot of pain, and I don’t think you have murder in you.”

“And if I do?” he demands. His eyes crackle, cold and demanding, mysteries and intent and just enough fierceness to steal the breath from my lungs for the hundredth time today.

“Then you do,” I answer, wondering what it means. That if he killed the man who killed his father...I’d see it as a righteous act of vengeance, distasteful as it might be. Not sheer monstrosity.

And I'd see the dark potential consequences, too. Landon winding up in prison, or worse. Ruining his life, or losing it in the process.

My smile strengthens, and I shake my head. “Sorry. You’re gonna have to try harder than that to scare me.”

“I don’t want to,” he spits. “That’s just the thing. I don’t want to scare you away anymore.” He makes a frustrated sound. “I want you to come back, Reb. With me.”

That’s when it hits me.

He didn’t just come here to clear the air so we didn’t part with bad blood.

What is he here for then? When it hits, I'm gone.

No apology can clear years of self-doubt. I can’t let myself hope or assume too much.

Can’t let myself do anything.

Because even if I understand him better now it doesn’t change the stone cold fact that the two of us together are a volatile mess. More pain than pleasure, guaranteed.

“Landon, I can’t,” I say. “God. I’ve wanted to hear you say you forgive me for years, but I...we don’t work. We’re a fucking mess, all claws and teeth and misunderstandings. It took five years to talk out one conflict. What happens when I leave the milk out on the counter and it goes sour? We don’t talk for five more years while we build up more tension? More hate?”

“Wouldn’t happen,” he says firmly.

I want so bad to believe it.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because Velvet and Mews would chew the carton open and drink the milk way before it went sour.”

It knocks me for a loop so fast I can’t help the sharp burst of laughter, easing some of the tension between us, even if that tight prickling is still behind my eyes.

“You know what I mean, jerk.”