Still Not Over You(55)

Yep. I’m gonna be a stereotype.

The writer with ten cats, no boyfriend, but one hell of an active fantasy sex life in my books.

If I’m honest, the cats are the only reason I’m still here – and not just because of that nasty parting shot Landon made.

I can’t leave Velvet and Mews to fend for themselves, even if it aches to haunt this house where we spent two solid weeks making fire, making rain, making storms of the elements until we were thunder and earthquakes, wind and trembling flames, and the heartbeat of everything wild.

I’ve exiled myself back to the guest bedroom, and tend to either stay there or out here on the patio.

They’re the only two places we hadn’t fucked yet. The only places where I can’t remember the taste of him and feel his rough hands on my body. He made me feel special, for a little while. Made me feel loved.

And then he thrust me out into the cold again, cutting me off and destroying everything between us once more.

At least the bastard is consistent.

Even if this time, he’s the one who ran away.

I think I’m going to be gone, the day he’s scheduled to come back. Make sure the boys are fed and taken care of, then make myself scarce. I can’t stand to see Landon again. I feel numb, right now.

Numb I can handle.

I can’t handle the stab of pain that’s going to hit me when he walks in this house and looks right through me like he doesn’t even know my name.

My eyes well sharply, flinching at the vision. Fuck.

So much for numbness. I can’t do this. I've already messed up the new pages I'm writing, blurring ink with big wet splotches soaking through the paper.

“You don’t look so good,” a voice interrupts, jolting my heart into a startled little leap.

I scream.

The cats bolt.

Mr. Hoodie flashes in my head before I even look up.

Velvet catches the back of my thigh with a hind paw as he launches off the sofa, raking a burning scratch down my skin. I yelp, clutching at my thigh, sit up sharply, and crash my forehead right into my brother’s.

Pain hits me like I’m a ringing bell, my brain rattling inside my skull. I drop back down to the sofa, crashing against the cushions.

Steve had been leaning over the back of the sofa, but now he reels backward, swearing, clutching at his reddened forehead. I’m not much better, hissing under my breath and rubbing at my brow.

“Jesus, Kenna,” he mutters, squinting one eye open. “I know you’re mad, but that’s no reason for assault and battery.”

“You startled me!” Wincing, I push myself up on one arm. “Why'd you sneak up on me like that?”

He looks sheepish. “Guess I thought if you saw me coming, you’d lock yourself in the house and refuse to talk to me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You don’t remember how we fought after I broke your Etch-A-Sketch?” He tries a smile, though it’s tired and strained. “Mom made me apologize, but when I tried, you ran away. Locked yourself in your room and wouldn’t talk to me.”

I scowl. “I was eight.”

“I’m just saying, people have patterns. Sometimes set in stone.”

“You’re not cute.” With a grimace, I shift to sit upright. My head is throbbing and my thigh burns, and I twist to peer at the underside, where Velvet left a deep, bleeding scratch from the back of my knee to the hem of my shorts from being startled. “Actually, every time you show up, I get hurt.”

Steve’s silence says that stung hard, and drove deep. Low blow, maybe.

I close my eyes, cursing at myself. I must be taking lessons from Landon: how to hurt the people you love in twelve easy words.

Except I’m pretty sure Landon never loved me, and never will.

I’m not hanging my star on him anymore. Or hoping for the impossible.

Opening my eyes, I make myself look at Steve’s hurt, kicked-puppy face, sighing. “I didn’t mean that,” I say, pushing my feet into my sandals before standing and tossing my head toward the house. “Let me get some alcohol on this so it won’t get infected, and get us both some Advil. Then we’ll talk.”

Right now, it feels weird for me to be the one leading the situation, with Steve.

All our lives, he’s always been the first out of the gate with everything. Not exactly a natural leader type, more like he’s just so effusive he goes charging in with total enthusiasm and tends to take the lead in situations without even meaning to. Having him trailing in my wake, subdued and quiet, while I dig some alcohol out of the bathroom cabinet and wipe myself down before passing a bottle of Advil between us?

It's weird, and makes me feel like I really did kick a puppy, and it’s afraid I’ll do it all over again.

I know that’s the guilt talking.

The sour realization I lied to my brother, that I made him feel so shut out and betrayed because I was so wrapped up in Landon. I wasn’t thinking about anything but us, and what I wanted.

I think the term, when a heroine ignores everyone she cares about for a man, is dickmatized.

God, writing my books is so much more fun than living them.





*



After I’m done patching us up, I settle us in the kitchen with tea.

It’s tense, quiet. I’m upset with him. He’s upset with me.