“I destroyed my own reputation by protecting his. I let people think he was a good person, so the only conclusion to the idea of me giving him a black eye just had to be that I was some out of control punk. And you know what? My mom still protected him. Still took his side. And now he’s dead and she’s acting like she’s going to miss him? Fuck that. Fuck all of it. I’m not going to his funeral, or his wake, or his fucking grave. And that’s the last of it.”
His voice had risen the longer he talked, and his chest heaved with anger. It hummed beneath his skin, crackling with an energy that begged to be let loose. In this moment, I knew what Annie had seen when she said he was looking for a fight.
“Alright. Alright,” I said. “You’re not going. Let’s just forget about it, okay?” I leaned against him, resting my head against this chest. Moments ticked past, his breathing slowing as he reeled his emotions back in. I wasn’t sure what I wanted—for him to behave like everything was fine, or for him to yell and scream until he let out all of the truths bottled up inside.
He ran his fingers absent-mindedly through my hair, twisting it around his fingers and then letting it slide across my back. I closed my eyes, relishing the feeling. “For what it’s worth,” I said, as I settled against him. “I never saw you like that. Like a punk kid who started shit with his dad. I know you’re the victim, not the instigator.”
“I’m not a victim,” he said, vehemently. “I stopped being that by the time I turned twelve.”
“I know,” I said.
And I did. Landon Hill possessed too much power and strength to ever be a victim.
I just had to convince him that the battle was over.
Chapter 3
I awoke to the sound of running water, and the light streaming across his giant bedroom. We’d never bothered to close the curtains, so I sat and watched the grey clouds march across the sky. I laid back against the pillows, pulling the sheet up to my shoulders and listening to the sounds of him in the other room.
I didn’t know what to expect when he walked back in here. How I’d convince him he should go to the wake, if only to support his mother.
After a few moments of studying the clouds, the water shut off and Landon walked back into his bedroom, a pair of boxer briefs snug on his hips.
“You’re up,” he said. He sounded normal, like this was just any other morning and not the morning of his father’s wake.
“I am.” My gaze raked over his body, searching for any tension. Any… emotion.
“I changed my mind,” he said, turning to his dresser.
“Oh?”
“I’m going to the wake.”
“Oh.” I repeated, my voice betraying my surprise.
He glanced at me over his shoulder, taking in my expression. He crossed the room, leaning down to kiss me before returning to his dresser. His back was to me before he spoke again. “I want you to go with me.”
I couldn’t ignore the jolt of surprise. The hope that this, somehow, meant something. He wanted me there to support him. “Okay. I mean… of course I will.”
“Good,” he said, yanking on his pants. “Meet me here at three.”
“Where are you going?”
“I have some things to deal with at the office before I can focus on the wake. I have a board meeting later and I’m not prepared.” He flipped his wallet out, grabbing a few one-hundred dollar bills and setting them on the dresser. “This is for a black dress.”
“I have something I can—“
He turned to me, his expression making the words die on my lips. “Take my money, Taryn. Because whatever you wear, I don’t want to see it ever again. Burn it or donate it or throw it in the river, I don’t care. What you wear will remind me of him, and I refuse to think of him when I look at you. Ever.”
I swallowed. “Okay. Sure. I’ll run to the mall.”
“Good.” He yanked on a pair of dark grey slacks, then pulled on a deep blue button-down. “I’ll be at the office for a few hours at least. Be here dressed and ready to go at three.”
And then he disappeared out the door, leaving me alone in his bed, staring at three hundred dollars and wondering where I should go to find the perfect black dress.
Sitting beside Landon as he barreled across town, the tension radiating from him, felt surreal. I was in a simple black sheath dress, one that hugged my curves without being inappropriate.
Landon gripped the wheel way too tightly, his jaw clenched as he stared forward.
The morning clouds had turned dark, and rain sprinkled across the windshield. Landon didn’t bother turning on the wipers. He looked more like a statue, chiseled in marble, than the warm flesh and blood I’d fallen asleep against last night. I wanted to break the silence, but I didn’t know what to say, and then we were pulling up at the funeral home, parking in a stall near the front door. The engine died off but he didn’t move to get out.
“Thank you,” he finally said.
“For?”
“Dealing with me when I’m like this. Coming here. Being who you are.” He stared straight ahead, his expression dark and troubled. “I don’t deserve you in my life.”
“Hey,” I said, waiting for him to meet my eyes. But he didn’t move, just stared at some place across the lot. “Hey,” I repeated, nudging his arm.