Enemy Dearest

by Winter Renshaw

  “No fucking way.”

  “And she’s gorgeous, Adri. From what I can tell, at least. I never get that close. I’m always in my car. But she drives this silver Mercedes coupe and wears these expensive shoes, and she’s got this long, shiny hair that bounces when she walks. She’s always in dark sunglasses. Always greets him with a hug and leans in for a kiss, though I can never tell if it’s his mouth or his cheek. Then they disappear inside wherever they’re meeting. Sometimes they’re in there for twenty minutes, sometimes it’s over an hour. They always come out smiling and he walks her to her car. I think that’s her. I think that’s KT.”

  “That’s … man … I don’t know …”

  She seems as speechless as I’ve been the last few days.

  “None of it makes sense,” I say. “And what do I do now? I can’t tell my mom any of this. And even if I did, she won’t believe me. My father is the love of her life. The man we know isn’t capable of this.”

  “Then you should go straight to the source.”

  I exhale with an exhausted chuff. “You don’t know my father. He’s an expert at shutting down conversations that make him uncomfortable. And if I’m right about all of this, he’ll never admit it in a million years. He works hard to be the perfect husband and father we’ve always known him to be.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I wish I knew.” My head throbs with tension, my jaw clenching tight. I need a break from thinking about all of this, from piecing together this strange puzzle. Just one night to relax, to clear my head and examine my options, and then I’ll go from there. “You want to hang out this weekend or something?”

  My father works weekends—it’s the only reason I feel comfortable leaving my mom alone at this point. Which is ironic, because before it had always been the other way around. And it was why he worked nights—so he could be there with her during the day while I was at work or school.

  “Actually, it’s funny you should ask because my parents are going out of town, and I’m having some people over Friday night. You in?” Adriana gives me a pleading smile. “We’re just hanging out and listening to music and chilling. My sister’s getting us a pony keg. You can stay the night and drive home in the morning. It’ll be fun—”

  “—sure,” I interrupt. I don’t need the sales pitch this time. “I’m in.”

  Adriana binds me in a hug so tight it forces the air from my lungs. “You have no idea how happy this makes me. You’re going to have the time of your life. I promise.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  August

  * * *

  I find her on the back of Adriana’s patio Friday night, sitting next to some dipshit in a crew cut and starched button down. Corporate baby blue. My least favorite color. If I’m not her type, I hope to God he isn’t either. I’m not easily insulted, but this would do it.

  It’d be like preferring a rusted Honda over a rare French sports car.

  Surely she knows she can do better than this.

  “Have you ever tried to, like, count the stars? Just to see how high you can count?” he asks, slurring as he bumps his shoulder against hers.

  Is he trying to impress her?

  Trying to sound deep or metaphorical?

  Going to have to try harder than that, idiot …

  I lean back, taking a sip of my beer and watching the shit show unfold as I wait for the perfect time to crash this little love nest.

  “No,” she says, staring up at the sky. “That sounds … honestly … pretty boring.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  She takes a sip, and he makes no effort to conceal the fact that he’s checking her out with some shameless side eye. It’s like a scene from a movie, where the guy is fidgety and nervous and the girl is oblivious and has no idea he’s counting down the seconds until he tries to kiss her.

  Not on my watch.

  Honda guy leans in—just as she take another sip.

  And they bump heads.

  She laughs. He laughs.

  “You all right?” Sheridan reaches for the side of his head, running her fingers through his short pricks of shit brown hair.

  “Yeah.” He cups his hand over hers and doesn’t once ask if her fucking head is okay. “That was my fault.”

  “Damn right it was,” I interject because I can’t take this any longer.

  They whip around in tandem and Sheridan gasps, hand over her chest.

  “August, what the hell are you doing here?” She rises from the step she was occupying. Generic Honda guy follows suit, his watchful gaze darting between hers and mine. I know his type. I went to school with millions of crew cut ass wipes like him. If I wanted to, I could shoot him one look that’d make him shit his pants.

  “Didn’t Adriana tell you? She invited me.” I hide a satisfied smirk behind a swig of beer. “Supposedly there’s a friend she wants to hook me up with. Apparently I’m just her type.”

  Sheridan squints. Either she doesn’t believe me or all of this is news to her.

  But honestly, this worked out. Dad is spending a rare weekend at home, which means I wouldn’t have been able to entertain the Rose girl at my place. And I would have. If Adriana wasn’t throwing this little get together, I’d have organized another beer bash at my place solely as an excuse to get Sheridan on my territory again.

  If I tried to sneak her in tonight, though, my father would lose his shit. And the last thing I need is him interfering in any of this and making it about him.

  “So maybe you should go look for her friend?” Sheridan folds her arms, though it’s an uncoordinated effort. Hard to know how many cheap beers she’s downed, but I’d venture to guess it’s enough for a solid buzz.

  Honda guy is silent, and he might as well be invisible—which says a lot. But judging by the way he dresses, I’m sure he’s used to it.

  He’s a nothing and a no one; a background guy.

  I’m the main-fucking-character.

  “Pretty sure I found her,” I say. “In fact, I’m looking at her right now.”

  She wrestles a smile from her lips but it makes its way to her glimmering irises. “You knew I was going to be here, didn’t you? She told you. I know she did. I’m going to kill her …”

  “Actually, I had no idea if you were coming.”

  I’d merely hoped.

  I drove back and forth past the house tonight until I saw her car outside and then I waited to make my arrival. It’s a stalker move, but it worked. Because here she is. And here I am. And everything is turning up fucking roses—literally.

  I take a step toward her. Honda begins to say something, but I silence him with a murderous look. When the imbecile tries to speak again, I interrupt him before he can get the first word out.

  “Do yourself a favor and get the hell out of here,” I say. “Have some pride, man. Your game is weak.”

  “August.” Sheridan swats at me, though she’s still too far away to touch. “Don’t be mean. Garrett, I’m so sorry …”

  The guy heads inside without a word. I’m not sure how much time we have alone out here. That house is hardly big enough to hold a family of five and there are probably a couple of dozen people inside already and the night is young.

  Before coming outside, I slipped a guy in a backwards trucker hat a fifty and told him to make sure no one sets foot on the patio of the night … but the jackass seems to have left his post. I should’ve known better than to trust a drunk dressed like Ashton Kutcher circa 2008.

  “On my life, I didn’t know you were coming.” I step toward her again, until her sweet perfume fills my lungs. And then I cross an X over my heart. “Swear.”

  She rolls her eyes. For whatever reason, she doesn’t believe me. But that’s okay. I’m not here to convince her of anything. I’m only here because she has the one thing I want—a piece of her.

  “Heard you had a bad week.” I change the subject. “Sorry about your mom. She good now?”

 
Sheridan takes a sip, staring at me—yet through me, like her mind is somewhere else. “She’s at home now.”

  That doesn’t answer my question …

  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you. Anything to make things easier.”

  Without missing a beat, her eyes come back to life. “You can hire a home health aide for her. Someone to be there when I’m not. If you want to help out, do that.”

  “Done.”

  She shakes her head, laughing through her nose before she takes a sip from her Solo cup. “I wasn’t serious.”

  “I am.”

  Our gazes intersect. “I would never expect you—or anyone—to do that.”

  “If it would make your life easier, I’m happy to do it.”

  Head tilted, her expression narrows. “That’s an extremely generous offer, especially since you’d get nothing out of it. What’s your angle?”

  “Angle? There’s no angle.”

  “Don’t lie to me.” Her fist clenches for a second. “Nothing worse in this whole world than a liar.”

  I’m not sure what a home health aide costs, but I’m pretty sure a day’s worth of interest from my trust fund account could cover an entire month of care.

  It’s literally pocket change.

  And if it means getting into her good graces—and getting what I want—it’s more than worth it.

  “What do you want?” she asks. “What’s in this for you?”

  “You. You are in this for me. Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Me?” She presses a finger against her chest, her full lower lip falling. “I don’t understand. You can literally have anyone you want. You don’t even know me.”

  “For starters, I don’t want anyone else. And you’re right, I don’t know you. I only know that my entire life, my father has told me not to go within a damned mile of you.”

  “So this is a rebellious thing? An act of defiance?”

  “Not at all.” I’ve never been a rebel for rebel’s sake.

  “Then what is it?”

  “Does it matter what this is? You told me not to lie and I just told you what I want out of this.”

  She crosses her arms and her beer sloshes over the side of her cup—she doesn’t notice. “I’m just trying to understand what you’re offering and why. So if I sleep with you, you’ll pay for a home health aide for my mother? Because … reasons?”

  “Don’t worry about my reasons. And don’t think of it as a transaction. I’m not buying your services. I just want you to look at me and not see a monster. And if you decide to fuck me … well, then it’s a win-win for all, isn’t it?”

  She hesitates. “Can I think about this?”

  “My offer expires at midnight.” I check my watch. If there’s anything I’ve learned from being the spawn of a ruthless businessman, it’s that the man who sets the deadlines always gets what he wants. I have the upper hand here. And I’ve made her an offer she’d be stupid to refuse. “You have two hours.”

  A warm breeze tousles her wavy blonde hair across her face.

  “I feel like I should tell you … I’m not exactly … I’ve never been with …,” she says. “I mean, I’ve done everything but …”

  Jesus H. Christ.

  She’s a virgin.

  Even better.

  I don’t allow myself to react. I tamp down my excitement at the prospect of deflowering the Roses’ only daughter. I’m a sick bastard, but this penance is long overdue.

  “Good for you, Rose girl.” My cock strains inside my jeans, pulsing, but it’s too dark to notice.

  “I need a refill.” She waves her near-empty cup and cuts past me to head inside. She slides the door open with one hard push, leaking music and conversation outside before closing it and disappearing into the crowded house.

  So much for Adriana’s “small gathering.”

  I could have told her this was going to happen …

  Amateur.

  I take a seat on a rickety metal patio chair and check the time. It’s been three minutes, almost four. It takes two more for her to return, and this time she’s carrying two cups.

  “Double fisting?” I ask.

  She sits one in front of me. “Figured I’d grab you a refill while I was up.”

  This beer is weak. Piss water. But the gesture is sweet … and definitely a promising indication.

  “You didn’t have to do that. But thank you.” I dump my warm, half-empty beer over the edge of the deck and stack the new cup inside the old.

  “Don’t go reading anything into it just yet. I still haven’t decided.”

  “Of course.”

  She takes the chair beside me, the warm glow of the house lights bathing her in soft shadows.

  “Did that hurt?” She points to my eyebrow. “The double piercing?”

  “Like hell. But only for a few seconds. Then it was over.” I can think of a million things that hurt worse than two barbells in the eyebrow.

  “What about those?” She traces her fingertips down my sleeve of tattoos. It’s been a work-in-process for the last year and a half, and I’m almost entirely filled now on that arm—much to my father’s dismay. It’s why he makes me wear long-sleeved shirts to my “internship,” even when it’s a hundred degrees out.

  “Tolerable,” I say. I don’t tell her I’m one of those rare freaks who enjoys the pain. The relentless microscopic pokes. The sting. The burn. “The pain makes me feel alive, reminds me that I’m stronger than it. What about you? Anything hiding under those cute little sundresses?”

  I’d eat my fucking fist if she said she had nipple piercings.

  She laughs, shrugging. “Nothing. I’m pretty boring. Just singles on my ears.”

  “Maybe we should do something about that.” I take a drink.

  “I’ll pass. I’m going to nursing school this fall and they’re pretty strict about things like that. Fresh piercings and whatnot. They don’t even want us to wear nail polish. It’s a hygienic thing. And school policy.”

  “Where are you going for school?”

  “Briardale Community College,” she says. “A couple hours from here.”

  “I know where that is. I go to Bexler … about an hour south of there. Old man’s making me study business. He’s convinced I’ll never amount to anything without a practical degree.”

  Little does he know, a significant portion of the monthly allowance he deposits into my account goes straight to the overachieving brainiacs who take most of my classes for me online. I can get a ten-page research paper for three hundred bucks with a forty-eight hour notice. It’s amazing, really. And I don’t feel bad for any of it. The idiots with the fancy degrees designed a flawed system. I’m doing what anyone with two brain cells and a fat bank account would do if they were forced to go some overpriced college in the middle of fucking nowhere.

  “That’s that old school mentality,” Sheridan says. “They think a college degree is everything, but anyone can be successful without one. A lot of people sell our generation short, but we’re still young. We still have time to prove them wrong.”

  “Says the girl taking the tried-and-true track to a career in nursing,” I say.

  “What’s wrong with nursing?”

  “Nothing. Nurses are fucking angels. I just mean, you’re not exactly stepping outside the box here, so I find your advice … interesting.”

  “You’re right. But I want to save lives and make people feel better, and that’s the way to do it. It doesn’t disqualify me from having an opinion about our generation’s career options.”

  I study her in the moonlight. She watches me in return, soaking me in as if she’s studying every angle on my face.

  “So what are you going to do when you’re done with school?” she asks.

  It’s not a question I’m ever asked. At least not personally.

  If you ask my father, he’d say I’m going to cut my hair, yank out my piercings, and come work for him. That’s the expectation anyway. To be one of h
is loyal Monreaux soldiers. The Vice President to Gannon’s President one of these days.

  Years ago, Uncle Rod was Dad’s right hand man. Then shit got ugly between them and Dad decided to replace him with Gannon, who was fresh out of college. Moldable and pliable and desperate for our father’s approval. Still had that new-graduate smell.

  Uncle Rod still isn’t over the betrayal. Can’t say that I blame him. Knowing how my father operates, I’m sure Rod’s been fucked seven ways from Sunday more times than he can count.

  I’d rather stab myself in the balls with a rusty butter knife than work a single day under Gannon.

  “Still trying to figure that out,” I tell her.

  “I assumed your dad would have a job waiting for you the day you graduate.”

  I exhale. Take a swig of beer. “He does.”

  “But you don’t want it?”

  Before I have a chance to answer, her phone chimes.

  “I’m sorry—it’s my mom. Two seconds.” Focused on her screen, she taps out a handful of quick messages before sinking back in her seat. “Okay, she’s situated now. She forgot if she’d already taken her four o’clock meds.”

  “Must be hard for you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Having to be the parent.” I point to her phone. “Always being on alert. It must get exhausting. Adriana told me about your mom being hospitalized last weekend. I didn’t realize she was sick.”

  She chews the inside of her lip, attention holding on her blackened phone screen.

  “I’m serious about the hired help,” I add.

  Truly, I don’t give to charities. My father said most of the time, ninety-two cents of every dollar you give goes straight into the untaxed pockets of those who run those operations. It’s rare to find a legit organization.

  At least in this case, I’d know where my money’s going.

  And I’m getting something better than a tax write-off in return …

  If my father knew I was offering to save the life of a Rose, he’d blow a gasket. He’d disown me, kick me out of his mansion, and revoke my trust fund so fast every head in a fifty mile radius would spin.