Of course, I try to play the vixen and the femme fatale and the smug not-quite-fake girlfriend, and so, of course I walk in boobs out on Landon’s mother.
Wicked sense of humor doesn't describe what this universe has in store.
That squeak must've tipped her off, because she glances over her shoulder, brows lifting mildly. Her eyes are as blue as Landon’s, but where his are all electric charge hers are more a still calm sea. She blinks at me, then smiles, warm and pleasant.
“McKenna?”
She’s always used my full name. She comes toward me with her hands outstretched, moving fluidly despite the curious cats twining around her ankles like she’s soaked her stockings in catnip.
Still blushing, I let her pull me into a hug, exchanging wide-eyed, half-amused, and half-horrified looks with Landon over her shoulder.
“Great to see you again, Mrs. Strauss,” I murmur, giving her a squeeze and then stepping back, edging to the side.
I feel like I’m in the way of a weird family reunion, but her entire attention stays on me.
“All I get is a hello and one awkward hug, young lady? I haven’t seen you since you were still all knees and elbows, and I left the old neighborhood. You’ve grown up so lovely.” She laughs, turning her gaze on Landon, one slim hand laying on his arm with a mother’s gentle possessiveness. “Why didn’t you tell me McKenna moved in for the summer, dear?”
Landon makes an embarrassed noise and shrugs. He’s trying to look casual, but he just looks flustered, and I bite my lip on a smile. Adorable.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” he says, every bit the little boy in front of his mother.
“Oh, is that what you think?” Mrs. Strauss gives me a knowing look, her eyes glittering. “Some men wouldn’t know what a big deal was if it landed right in their lap.”
My blush turns volcanic. Are we so obvious?
Does she think we’re a serious couple?
I glance at Landon, but he’s gone kind of glassy with an easy, careful smile that says I’ll get nothing out of him.
Of course not.
Because I’m still his pretend-girlfriend, and we’re just playing house.
I don’t even know what the expiration date on this is. When he doesn’t need someone to watch the house anymore? When I’m done with my novel?
What are we even doing, other than screwing around and avoiding actually looking at ourselves head-on?
I don’t get a chance to dwell on it any longer, though.
If Landon is a hurricane, then Mrs. Strauss is a gentle breeze, but she still moves things when she blows through.
And she manages to get us moving, fussing and fluttering around us the entire time with her graceful airs, to make breakfast. It's almost like old times.
Almost.
*
I wondered if Landon’s mother would stay a few days, but no – she apparently has a habit now of surprising him for breakfast because he never calls home, too busy with Enguard.
Today was just another in a series of typically Shirley Strauss surprises.
She wheeled in for breakfast, charmed us entirely over omelets, and then wheeled out to get back to her life organizing charity work. I’ve never met anyone more gracious than Mrs. Strauss, and even with the awkwardness between me and Landon, there’s still a kind of ease left in Mrs. Strauss’s wake even after her departure.
But I can’t get one thing off my mind.
I was loading the dishes in the dishwasher while Mrs. Strauss and Landon picked up out on the patio, and I’d caught wind of a conversation I probably shouldn’t have heard. Turns out all these open spaces and white marble carry sound way too well.
“Now, Landon,” Mrs. Strauss had said. “I’ve always known you needed a decent woman, but Kenna's a darling. Listen, son. It’s easy to see how you’ve blossomed with her around. I’ve been so worried for you, with everything you’ve been through. But do be a dear and don’t make a mess of this, hm?”
Landon mumbled something that sounded like he was back in little-boy mode, being chastised, which just set Shirley off laughing.
It left me flustered, nearly dropping the dishes, and brooding for long hours after.
Including now, as Landon and I linger on the upstairs deck, looking out across the water and drinking wine. It’s too hot for anything else. Heavier liquor would just feel sickly in this sweltering heat, though I almost wish I was drunk enough for the courage to ask the things I really want to know.
We’re leaning together on the deck swing, quiet and comfortable and taking in the silence.
I don’t want to break it, but so many things are boiling up inside me.
If I won’t ask him the serious questions, I can at least satisfy my curiosity. “Hey, Landon?”
He glances up from a distant contemplation of the waves, his gaze pensive, but clearing as he looks at me. “Yeah?”
“This morning...” I trail off, looking down, tracing my finger around the rim of my wine glass. “Your dad didn’t come up. At all. I mean, not even the smallest mention. Do you not talk about him with your mom?”
He lets out a fierce grunt, and for a moment, I’m afraid he’s about to lock up on me again.
Then he sighs. “She doesn’t know,” he rumbles. “Ma doesn't know a damn thing. I never told her about what Dad was up to. I couldn’t. She’d already lost her husband. I couldn’t let her lose her faith in him, too. But I don’t like talking about him, either. I'm not polishing a dead man's corpse. Not when it’s a lie. Even if I'll throw her a word or two about missing him once in a blue moon.”
“Oh.” I bite my lip, leaning harder into him. My heart sinks, hurting for him. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean –”
“Don’t be.” He shifts, draping his arm across my shoulders, gathering me against his side. “It’s complicated, babe. Took me years to put together what my old man did. Sifted through a billion cold leads. Wherever drugs were mentioned in the media, close to where Crown ran security for warehouses and trade shows. Sniffed out his accomplices, too. His old partner, Reg, was in on all of it. And that’s Reg’s son running Crown Security, Dallas fucking Reese.” He grinds his teeth.
I suppress a shiver. There’s hatred in his voice, but it trails into resignation.
“Fuck, Kenna. It was easier to just bury everything. For myself, and for Mom. I wanted to just live my life, be a better man than he was. I was still struggling with that, the day you read my journal, after I'd vomited those thoughts down on paper.”
But you think you’re a monster with the strength to kill someone for vengeance, I think. Even if I know that’s not all you are.
I settle into him, tucking my legs up and making myself small against his side. My hand curls against his chest. “I know what burying the hard stuff is like.”
He smiles faintly, eyes softening. God, does he know I’m talking about the crush that never died?
Of course he knows.
It’s like he’s inside my head all the time.
Inside my heart.
Inside every beating chamber. And he captures my hand, then, lifts it from his chest to kiss my knuckles, before letting go to cup my cheek.
“No more,” he says. “Life’s too fucking short for hide and seek. Or for digging holes.”
“No more,” I repeat, nodding.
But I’m a liar.
Because I’m hiding right now, and refusing to face the enormity of this ten thousand ton feeling crouched over me like a demon waiting to strike.
14
He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother (Landon)
Being with Kenna shouldn’t be this comfortable.
It’s like there’s a time bubble that exists around us. Long as I’m with her, I’m back in the days before I knew how terrible the world could be.
Before I knew what a piece of shit my father was. Before I knew how horrifying war was. Before I had to pull the trigger on ending lives with my own two hands in Iraq, killing for my country, my men, and sometimes just raw fucking survival.
Before I knew what I’m capable of, when so much blood is already steeped in my skin.
Being with Kenna lets me avoid facing that. It brings an eerie calm, this peace that says maybe, deep down, I could still be the man she thinks I am.