Power Play: A Romance Collection

by Lauren Landish

  Even with my eyes closed, I can tell from the scratchy sheets and musty smell.

  It’s far from the worst place I’ve slept, considering that one hostel I stayed in during a stay in Portugal, but far from the best too.

  I learned long ago to wake slowly, keep my eyes closed and breathing steady as my awareness scans the room, another lesson learned after staying in hostels and shared rooms. Usually in hostels, it’s to protect me from roommates rubbing one off in their bunks, although one time, I woke up to find out just exactly what a ‘devil’s triangle’ looked like.

  But even as a kid, it let me avoid my parents and their stressful bullshit for a few more precious moments. Growing up, those moments were like gems to be hoarded and treasured, never to be given up lightly.

  Seems my luck runs out as I hear a deep voice chuckle from a few feet away. “I know you’re awake, Carly. Your breathing changed.”

  Shit.

  Kyle. Just thinking his name brings the last twenty-four hours rushing back to me.

  Robert pulling me into the hallway, saying cruel and filthy things that turned my stomach and made my heart race in terror. I remember fighting him, but it was useless. He was so close to raping me, and I couldn’t stop him.

  And then Kyle saved me, like some hero from a mythical story, rushing in and breaking Robert into pieces as he hauled me out.

  And the kiss.

  That kiss was everything, burning up my entire being with one unspoken promise of his lips to mine. But the promises were shaken almost from the moment our lips parted, judging by the harsh look in his eyes as soon as we’d left that hallway and the moment had shattered.

  After that, he’d shoved me in a cab back to this no-tell motel. I’d thought it was going to be another breakthrough, but instead of taking me in his arms, kissing me, and showing me what lovemaking is supposed to be like, he’d gruffly told me to go to sleep.

  He’d given me the bed and slept upright in the chair by the door.

  I’d hoped we’d talk the next morning, but he’d been a growling, angry menace of tense muscles all day. He was cold and distant, virtually ignoring me beyond shoving food in front of me twice as he drove us around in a rental car, running some list of errands only he was privy to.

  Yeah, another breakthrough and another backslide.

  I tried, of course. A near-constant stream of chatter from my mouth, about nothing and everything, punctuated nearly every moment we were together. I tried everything to draw him out of his shell.

  But he’d barely grunt in response, more annoyed, it seemed, than anything else by my attempts at conversation.

  Last night had been another silent one, me in the bed and him in the chair, takeout burgers between us. At least they were good burgers, but I barely tasted them. I was so hungry for Kyle, not fried potatoes.

  I’ve been afraid of pushing him when he is so desperately trying to retreat from what had happened.

  The kiss, I mean. Not beating up Robert. I won’t swear on it in court, but I’m pretty sure Kyle got some twisted pleasure out of that.

  If not, I know I did.

  I don’t normally condone violence, but some people just deserve to have their teeth knocked out.

  By the time I went to sleep last night, though, I’d almost wished I’d gone to Emma’s play instead of telling her I couldn’t if the silent treatment was all Kyle was going to give me.

  But today’s a new morning, and when I open my eyes, something has changed. I can see it, feel it, almost taste it in the air between us.

  He sits down on the bed beside me, his back to me as he holds his head in his hands. “I can’t keep doing this.”

  Usually, I’d take that was my cue to leave. Guys who say they can’t keep doing something are usually ready to say something I don’t want to hear. In Kyle’s case, that his backslide is heading into hermit territory and he wants to be alone.

  But when he looks at me, it doesn’t feel like he wants me to go.

  Deep in his eyes, I see pain. Pain that he’s finally not masking with anger, with icy asshole tendencies. Pain he’s not hiding from me, and I get the sense he’s never let anyone in even this much. And he hasn’t said a word.

  “Tell me about the guy,” he says.

  It takes me a minute to realize he’s talking about Robert.

  Strangely, it already seems ages ago, even though it’s only been a day and half. “Robert? I told you about him. Asshole ex who tried to tie me down, both literally and figuratively. In an arranged marriage, not in the fun way. Not that I would’ve ever let him do that. I didn’t trust him enough to be at his mercy that way.”

  I’m intentionally keeping it light, mostly for my sake. I can hear that he wants the full story, the deep, dark, and ugly. And there’s definitely enough of all three of those to make a full-grown man shiver, or you know, beat the hell out of Robert.

  Considering Kyle did just that, it’s understandable that he’d want to know exactly how warranted it was, or maybe if a little more is called for.

  I’m willing to give him all the gory details, more than I’ve told anyone, even Emma. There’s probably something to that, but I feel like Kyle can handle it in a way Emma wouldn’t have.

  But after so long of squashing it down, I need to warm up to it, and Kyle’s not the guy you just jump into the deep, black waters with. He’ll shut down even if it’s what he’s demanding. He’s like a lobster in a pot. You have to turn the heat up slowly, get him used to the intensity gradually so he doesn’t abandon ship.

  Kyle looks over at me, one concentrated look telling me to spill my guts. Now.

  I sigh, like it’s a big hassle, but inside, I’m bee-bopping that he wants to know anything at all about me. Yeah, it’s the dark, festering, diseased side of my past, but he still wants to know. That’s a good sign, right?

  “Okay, like I said, he’s my ex,” I say, trying to keep my voice level. It’s harder that I thought it’d be, elation, terror, and disgust threatening to jerk my voice in five different directions at once. “After high school, I went to college like a good little girl, and my parents—my dad, mostly—set up some business exchange where I was the primary export product of the Edwards family. He sold me to the highest bidder, not literally but damn close, and I was suddenly dating Robert Gunze the Second. All capitals. For real, that’s how he says it.”

  I roll my eyes at the memory of how Robert always tossed his name around like it came with special privileges. ‘Do you know who I am?’ was an actual thing he said, unironically.

  “I know it sounds stupid, but it didn’t seem weird. In our circle, that’s just kind of how things went. You see the same families at every event, summer together in the same vacation areas, travel in the same social circles. It’s only natural to pair off within the group, you know.”

  “So you dated,” Kyle says, cutting through the bullshit. “Then what?”

  I lean back, letting my eyes unfocus as I try to recall everything accurately. “I was about two years into college, and there was a party at our house. The whole gang was there, everyone mingling around the pool, sipping drinks, and eating hors d'oeuvres with pinkies out.”

  I mime holding a snack, nibbling the air in front of my hand with my pinkie high. “And my dad cleared his throat and tapped on his glass, saying he had a happy announcement to make. Then he called me up to stand beside him and Robert walked up. I found out later that he already knew. But I had no idea—”

  I break off, blinking several times as the scene plays out in my mind, so vivid and real I can see Mom’s sappy smile, smell Robert’s too-strong cologne, and taste Dad’s careless betrayal. There was Robert on Dad’s left, and me standing on Dad’s right in a red sundress that I’d had a big blow-up with my mom about wearing. ‘Only harlots wear red, Carly,’ she’d said, so of course, I’d worn it.

  “He announced my engagement to Robert. Not that Robert or anyone else had asked my opinion on whether I wanted to get married, or God forbid, my
permission or agreement on the matter. So there I am, gobsmacked while Robert’s shaking his fist in the air like he won a prize pig at the county fair. People were congratulating him and asking if I was planning a fall or spring wedding.”

  I shake my head, clasping my hands together. “It was ridiculous. And when I argued about it, first with Robert and then with my parents, they all assured me it’d be fine. Basically told me to sit down and mind my place.”

  Kyle smiles a little, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees. “I can’t imagine that went well for them.”

  I blush and shrug. “Unfortunately, back then, I was still a little . . . softer? I rebelled, but it was always in small ways. A red dress instead of tan, karate instead of ballet, stuff like that. I was still growing into the Queen Badass I am now. So, next thing I knew, I was planning a wedding. Robert didn’t care about it at all. He couldn’t be bothered. The one time I brought it up to him, he told me just to make it worthy of the paper’s society pages and washed his hands of the whole thing, leaving it to me.”

  “Fuck that guy,” Kyle growls, and a sad laugh escapes my lips, finally happy that someone gets how weird and crazy it all was. “But . . .”

  I nod. “That was stressful enough, but then Robert got stressed at work or something. He started coming home late, going out with the guys more.”

  “You lived together?”

  I plaster my hand to my chest in horror, gasping in the perfect imitation of a horrified debutante. “Of course not, that would be inappropriate.” But I smile, dropping back to my normal voice, “But yes, it’s not really announced like other things, but we stayed over at each other’s houses under the guise of wedding planning. We were always chaperoned,” I say with air-quotes, “because we both lived with our parents. Had to keep up the appearance of being a virtuous, pure woman even if he was galivanting around with who knows who.”

  Kyle snorts. “My first time was the real American way . . . back seat of a car, a lot of awkward fumbling, and lasting about five minutes tops.”

  “Oh, how I wish,” I complain, wishing it could have been Kyle instead of . . . well . . . “Robert had always been entitled, that kind of bratty douche canoe type that’s stereotyped in that tax bracket. But decent enough. He started changing, would make snide comments about my hair or my weight, and then about my schoolwork.”

  I disappear into the past, the words coming out in a mish-mash as I think about all the sneaky ways Robert had made me doubt myself, question everything I thought.

  “I later learned it’s called gaslighting, but I didn’t have a label for it then. I just felt like something was wrong with me. No, I felt like everything was wrong with me.”

  “And then it got physical. It started harmless enough. He’d smack my ass when I walked by, but not in a ‘hey, sexy’ way, though that’s how he tried to frame it. He was testing me, I think, to see how far I’d let him go, ramping it up slowly the same way he had with the insults. That progressed to pinches and slaps like he did at the party.”

  Kyle growls, his hands clenching. “I saw him backhand you, Carly. That wasn’t a slap.”

  I shrug, the distinction not mattering to me any longer. “And he always wanted rough sex, which I don’t mind, but this was different. This was him shoving my face into a pillow so he wouldn’t have to look at me and using me as a gloryhole.”

  Kyle whispers under his breath, his knuckles popping as he holds back his anger. “He did want to . . . fuck.”

  I can feel tears burning hot trails down my cheeks, but I continue, needing to get it all out. “And then he punched me. As bad as everything else had gotten, that was a boundary I couldn’t excuse, couldn’t minimize. I had a black eye and it swelled really badly. I went to see my parents, telling them I couldn’t marry Robert, wouldn’t live like this.”

  “What’d they do?” I can hear the purposeful steadiness in Kyle’s voice, and I look over to find him rolling his wrists, like I do when I’m about to hit something and need to relieve a little tension.

  “Not what you’re thinking about doing, for damn sure,” I reply, taking my own hand and twisting it the way I was taught before karate. “My dad told me I must’ve done something to warrant it and that I’d best prepare to be a better wife. My mom went into damage control mode and told everyone I’d had a bad Botox injection. And I went to my room, packed a suitcase, and just left. Ran away to Europe, ignored everyone’s calls for a while, and told them to fuck off when I did finally answer. And then I literally ran into you, and you’ve heard the key parts of my backpacking adventure.”

  I smile at the memory of being on my ass on the floor, Kyle’s big frame looming over me, his look dark. “Why are you smiling? I scared the piss out of you that night.”

  I nod but look up at him honestly. “Sure, but my first thoughts were that you were huge and hot. And then I was just embarrassed about the whole tampons thing, which is stupid because half the Earth’s population bleeds once a month so it shouldn’t be a thing at all. But you were just so . . . hot, like midnight chocolate.”

  He chuckles, the sound contrasting with all the darkness I’ve been spewing about my past. “Midnight chocolate?” His hands spread wide as he looks at himself. I look too, at the messy blonde hair he’s been running his thick tan fingers through, his eyes open and light for once, the bulge of his biceps straining against the sleeves of his black T-shirt, and the long line of his jeans-clad legs. He’s barefoot, which strikes me as super sexy for some reason, like most folks probably don’t get to see him this chill, but I’m the lucky ducky who gets to right now.

  “You know, like—” I pull a face, mimicking his brooding expression with my arms crossed over my chest and my shoulders wide. I snap my teeth together toward him in an air-bite, grinning. “Maybe big and darkly brooding is my type. I wanted to take a bite right out of you.”

  “And then the chocolate bit back in the alley,” he says, continuing the metaphor as he makes chomping moves with fingers. Who knew the man had jokes?

  “Look, I’m not a tit-for-tat kind of girl. I’ve got baggage, you’ve got baggage, we’ve all got baggage. But just to be clear, what I just told you? No one knows that shit, not even my best friend. So when you’re ready to share what that was about in the alley that night, I’m here to listen without judgement. And when you’re ready to talk about Anna, I’m here for that too.”

  I see him flinch when I say her name. And I wonder again, who was she to him?

  He sighs heavily and runs his fingers through his hair again, pulling on them as he grunts. After a moment of introspection, he springs up, pacing in the small room. “I don’t know if I can. I haven’t talked . . . not since . . .”

  “It’s okay. Kyle, you have to understand. I know you’ve got something deep and dark. But I’m not going to run away from it, and I’m not going to force you to say anything. But if you want to, you can.”

  I sit in place on the bed, not moving, not wanting to crowd him because he looks like he’s about to crawl out of his skin, fists clenching and releasing, jaw tight. Finally, he turns to me, his eyes swimming with pain and raw vulnerability.

  “Anna Russo. She was—” He pauses at the past tense and I can see that it’s a stab to his heart. He swallows and continues. “She was my fiancé. She was killed. Her . . . and our baby.” His words are stilted, choking as they break free.

  As they fill the space between us, all the air is sucked out of the room. I gasp on the nothingness, hands over my mouth. “Oh, my God, Kyle! Your . . . that’s awful. I’m so sorry.”

  He sinks to the bed, head dropped low again. “I wasn’t there to save her. I was a military contractor, gone on assignment. You see, I came from rough beginnings, to the point I got kicked out of the Marines for punching out a drill sergeant. So private military contractors were the way to go, a place where the rules were laxer and my method of coping was tolerated. Hell, sometimes encouraged. But Anna calmed me, taught me how to be a real man. We a
lways talked every day when I was working. We were so excited about the baby, planning the nursery and trying to pick a name. I love her.”

  He said ‘love’ not ‘loved’. I don’t think you ever really stop loving someone who passes, but that he’s so lost in her is bittersweet, answering so many questions but creating so many more.

  “Will you tell me about her?” I ask softly, tilting my head. “What did she look like, what was her favorite color, what do you love about her?”

  He seems surprised by the questions and looks at me suspiciously. “Why?”

  I scoot over beside him, laying an arm over his shoulders. “I feel some kind of connection with you, Kyle. And if she means this much to you, I’d like to know her too.”

  He nods like that makes sense, and slowly, he tells me about Anna, her life, and their life together. As Kyle talks, he transforms. The weight on his shoulders lifts in degrees, his lips tilt up slowly, and the light blooms in his eyes.

  I feel like she’s here with us, a ghost in the room that only Kyle can see. And bit by bit, I get to know Anna, but more importantly, I get to know Kyle.

  Kyle

  I haven’t said her name to another soul in over a year, and even then it was only to explain why I needed help investigating. But once I got started, talking about Anna with Carly feels natural, like I’m sharing her with someone she would’ve liked.

  I think Carly and Anna would’ve gotten along in a weird way. Neither of them lets me get away with shit, so at least they’d have that in common. They’ve got nothing in common other than that, coming from two different worlds, but still, I like the idea that they would have been friends.

  But Anna loved me when I was lighter, happier, still gruff and rough around the edges, but more Captain America good guy even though I thought I’d been damaged goods. Carly seems drawn by my darkness, like the jagged pieces of my splinters soothe rather than slice her. She likes me, even though I know what true destruction of a soul is now, not the pansy-ass crybaby shit I used to deal with.

  I don’t know how I feel about Carly’s acceptance of me with all my baggage, as she called it. Part of me says I’m betraying Anna, but another side of me says that she would somehow approve of Carly. Of how she pulls me into crazy shit like this.