Still Not Over You

“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.

Suddenly, that innate sibling understanding we've always had is a curse rather than a blessing. It’s so easy for us to read all the simmering emotions between us – easy enough to know neither of us wants to touch them and possibly kick off an explosion.

But finally, I exhale into my tea, blowing a cloud of steam, and mutter, “You first.”

He cracks a smile. “I was gonna wait you out.”

“I don’t like meaningful silences, or soggy middles.”

“Sis, I'm never going to completely get your weird literary references.” He groans, propping his elbows on the kitchen island, looking at me frankly. “So. Landon.”

I shrug tightly. “No Landon anymore.”

A wince wrinkles his brow. “That bad?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You sure?” Steve shakes his head. “Look, I don’t think you should be here if he’s hurting you, Kenna.”

“He’s not –” I break off. I can’t get the lie out.

Because Landon did hurt me, but it wasn’t hard to see that under his vicious counterattack, he was hurting, too. Lashing out.

Damn it, why am I defending him when he broke my heart again?

I divert, pressing my lips together. “Is that what you came here to tell me? That I should leave?”

“Something like that.”

“I don’t understand. Landon’s your best friend.”

“And I’ve been around him a lot more than you have over the past few years. I’ve seen things you haven’t, Kenna.” Steve reaches across the island, offering his hand. “Just hear me out, sis. You owe me that much.”

I wince.

I owe him an apology for lying, but I’m not ready to get it out past my pride just yet when part of me still blames him for bursting the idyllic bubble Landon and I were living in. It’s not wholly Steve’s fault, of course. Something would've stepped between us sooner or later, and brought out just how wrong we were.

Wrong for each other.

I have to tell myself that until I believe it, or I’ll never tape the pieces of my heart back together.

But Steve is still waiting with that outstretched hand, and after a moment, I sag and slip my fingers into his. Even if I’m this tangle of anger and guilt inside, I can never quite turn him down when he’s offering the comfort of a large, warm, steady hand wrapped around mine.

“Okay,” I say. “I’m listening. Go.”

He hesitates, then starts, “Don’t get me wrong. I love Landon like a brother. Never thought that'd be so close to almost literal, but it's true.” He squeezes my hand, stroking his thumb reassuringly over my knuckles, but it’s hard to take comfort when he continues, “There’s something different in him now. Something dangerous. It’s like this dark seed was planted when his old man died, and it’s been growing and spreading its roots through him for years ever since. I thought he'd come back. Kept hoping he'd find his way free from it...but it feels like it’s the only thing holding him together now. And while I want to believe that the man I love like my brother is in there, that darkness will always come first. You have to know that, sis. And I'll be damned if I want to see you get hurt while Landon’s busy destroying himself.”

I swallow thickly, my throat tight. There's too much truth in his words. So much I try to deny, to deflect. “That’s a cruel thing to say about someone you care about.”

“But I care about you, too. I can care about both of you enough to see you'll only destroy each other. For Landon, you’re too tangled up in that darkness riding him.” He sighs. “I just don’t want to see you hurt. Him, either. And I don’t want you to get dragged down with him.”

I yank my hand back. I don’t know why this is upsetting me. Maybe because he’s right, but I don’t want to believe it. I can’t.

“I know him,” I say. “I do. Maybe better than you, if all you can see is this ‘dark seed’ and not who he really is. He's more than his demons, Steve.” I wrap my arms around myself, squeezing tight. “I know he’s dealing with things poorly. You're right. But I know why, too. And I think if we give him a chance, he’ll fight his way through. I have faith in him, even if you don’t.”

The look Steve gives me is almost pitying. “Enough faith to stay? Even when he doesn’t want you to?”

I feel like a balloon that’s been punctured, sagging. I press my trembling lips together. “We had a fight. We’ll talk it out when he gets back. If I run...”

If I run, then what?

I’ll be proving Steve right.

Even worse, I’ll be proving Landon right.

That he’s beyond redemption. Not worth someone willing to wait for him, fight with him, fight for him, believe in him.

No, I can’t save Landon from himself.

But I can be loyal enough to be there for him while he finds his way to the light.

I can remind him who he really is, and what he isn't. That he's not a man who would murder someone in cold blood.

But I can’t tell Steve that. I can’t tell him what I read in Landon’s journal that day, or what Landon confessed to me.