Still Not Over You(45)
That just earns me a snort, a light slug on my arm, and a blush before she ducks her head and runs inside quickly.
I feel like a teenager again with us creeping through the back door, peeking around, listening for Steve, before scurrying through the empty halls to the guest room. She stuffs her things in her bag quickly and skitters for the door, then jumps with a half-yelp, half-giggle, when I slap a hand against her tempting little ass as she passes.
“Don’t,” she hisses, pushing my arm. “What if he’s still in the house?”
He’s not still in the house.
He’s five steps ahead of us and just getting into his car as we come tumbling out the front door and head for my car.
Steve freezes. His wife freezes. I freeze.
Kenna might as well be a block of petrified wood.
We just stand there in icy, confused silence, staring at each other. Then Steve suddenly breaks into the widest, happiest grin.
“Landon!” He’s already coming for me, and I know already I’m about to get hit with a hug. Steve is the huggiest damned man I’ve ever seen.
It’s like being smothered by the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man half the time, when he wraps around me in this big bear hug and thumps at me like he’s trying to crack my ribs. “Holy shit, how's it going? I haven’t seen you in way too long.”
“Because you don’t answer my phone calls,” I growl, but I can’t help hugging him back, giving his back a brotherly slap.
Steve, too, is part of that feeling. Everything I'm not supposed to have. Home.
And maybe if he’s busy hugging me, he won’t think too hard. Won't remember to ask why Kenna’s blushing up to her ears.
Steve pulls back from me, though, giving me a puzzled look. I know I'm fucked.
“Say, what're you doing down here, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be working a gig?”
“Last-minute trip.” I glance at Kenna, then take Steve’s arm and pull him aside. Kenna did me a solid by covering for me, so I guess now it’s my turn to do that for her.
I lean in close, muttering. “Look, man, Kenna hit a major slump. I had to do something to help her clear her head. She was talking about walking away from her book, and left before I could talk to her.”
Steve frowns, glancing past me at Kenna. “Jesus. It’s going that poorly? She sounded happier on the phone the other day...”
“I don’t know. She said something about not having the inspiration. The muse, or whatever. I thought, maybe if I could talk her into coming back and giving it time, she wouldn’t give it up.”
“Huh.” Steve folds his arms over his chest. He looks at me, questions brimming in his big eyes.
Shit. It’s not hard to tell something’s not sitting right about my story, but if I’m fucking honest, I’m not an amazing liar – especially not on the spot like this.
We both know Kenna’s wanted to be an author since she was barely tall enough to walk, and the idea of her just flouncing on her whole career like that is totally out of character. But it was the best I could do at the time, and after a moment Steve seems to accept it, if only to keep from making a fuss with an impatient Kenna only a few feet away.
“Well, hell, I’m glad you got it sorted. Thanks for looking out for her, Landon. I owe you one.” He pitches his voice toward Kenna. “So, you’re heading back up to Landon’s place?”
Kenna smiles weakly, shakily, and hefts her bag. “Already packed! Mind if I leave my car here for a few days?”
“No problem. I was going to invite you out to brunch with us, but maybe next time. We're taking Gam-Gam out for her belated birthday waffles – she loved the card I picked out for us both!”
Kenna gives a strained smile. “Ugh. I really need to see her soon. I'm sorry again, Steve, for being so AWOL lately.”
“Sis, don't apologize. Just finish your book.” He steps up, tugs her close, and kisses her forehead. “Be good, baby sister. You'll tell our grandma all about it when you hit the NY Times' list again.”
She leans into him, then hugs Melanie, before giving me a secret, pleading look. “Let’s go. I’d rather not be on the road all day.”
So bossy.
It’s cute.
We say our last goodbyes, retrieve the rest of her stuff from the back of her car, and then climb into mine. As she fastens her seatbelt and I start the engine, she gives me a dry look.
“Really? The book? You told him I had a complete emo flail and gave up on my writing career? You’re bad at whispering and lying, by the way.”
I don't say anything. Just give her a quirk of my lips and back the Impala down the drive. “Look, I needed something. He caught me off guard.”
“You know he didn’t believe you.”
“I know.” I sigh. “That's what worries me. But at least I bought us some time.”
For what, though?
That question lingers on my mind as I push the Impala into Drive and head off down the road, toward the highway.
“It's just as well,” she whispers. “I'm kind of a screw-up lately. Can't even stay in one place long enough to give my grandma a real birthday present.”
“You'll get her back sooner or later. And if this is screwing up, you'll fix it. Don't lose sleep over it.” That's all I say, going no further with my own problems.