Enemy Dearest

by Winter Renshaw

  Sheridan rises on her toes as she kisses me back, slipping her arms over my shoulders.

  I don’t make habits out of wishing for things I can’t have, but what I wouldn’t give to live in this moment, with her, forever.

  An endless loop.

  Until she came into my life, I never thought twice about the future. Never worried about the kind of man I wanted to be someday. Certainly never cared about giving back or making a difference in anyone else’s life besides my own. But Sheridan makes me think about the future, where I’m headed and where I want to go. She’s given me something to look forward to when before I had nothing—and no one. This woman is pure love and hope and radiance—outshining the darkness that has haunted me my entire life.

  I can’t go back to that.

  I’ll fucking die.

  I’ll waste away on a pathetic vine of hundred dollar bills and sports cars and meaningless sex with strangers and for the first time in my life, that sounds like some kind of fresh hell.

  I want meaning and substance. I want her.

  “Where do you want to go now?” I unlock the car and get the door for her.

  She checks her watch and winces. “I actually need to get home. Mom’s having a friend over later and Dad’s doing yard work … I thought I’d corner him outside and confront him about those texts.”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t by now.”

  We’ve talked about it here and there, and every time she either changes the subject or vomits out a lame excuse as to why she can’t or why it wasn’t the perfect time. I’m sure she’s just scared.

  Reality is fucking terrifying—especially when the truth has life-altering consequences.

  “Me too.” She sighs. “I just …what if I’m wrong?”

  “Right or wrong, you deserve an explanation for those texts.”

  “True.”

  She climbs in, and I close the door behind her.

  A minute later we’re heading home, back to our respective realities. She hums along to a Led Zeppelin song on the radio, something about a girl with love in her eyes and flowers in her hair. I silently memorize the lyrics so I can look up the song later and listen to it whenever I want to re-live this moment.

  Reaching across the console, I take her hand and lift it to my lips. “I’m here for you, Rose girl. Anything you need.”

  It’s not quite “I love you” but it’s the closest thing I’ve ever said to it.

  She rests her head on my shoulder as we drive, and, selfishly, I take the long way home just to have an extra four minutes with Sheridan by my side.

  The clock is ticking, the days are fleeting faster than they should, and if there’s anything I’ve learned in my life so far, it’s that all good things eventually come to an end. And in my experience, the best things tend to go down in flames.

  Chapter Thirty

  Sheridan

  * * *

  “Hey, kiddo. Please tell me you came out here to shell some peas.” Dad sits in a lawn chair by the little raised garden by the garage, two bowls in his lap. “There’s a million of these little suckers.”

  My father and his wholesome hobbies—a stark contrast to his alter ego …

  Mom and her childhood best friend are in the kitchen, catching up over oolong tea and store bought coffee cake. If there were ever a time to confront my dad about those texts, it’s now, while she’s occupied and distracted.

  “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.” I slide my hands into my back pockets and plant my bare feet in the grass. Heat creeps up my neck, likely painting it in little pink blotches, but I clear my throat and swallow my doubts. August reminded me that I deserve to know the truth about those texts. And he’s right.

  Dad stops shelling the peas and adjusts his sunglasses. “Sure. What’s up?”

  “I saw some text messages on your phone … from someone named KT,” I say.

  He’s silent, stone faced.

  “And I saw you with Kara Tindall,” I add. “I’ve actually seen the two of you together several times.”

  Dad places the bowls on the wooden ledge of the raised garden, sits back in his chair, and crosses his legs. “Let me be very clear with you, Sheridan. You have it all wrong. I would be very careful not to jump to conclusions if I were you.”

  “Why’d you act so strange when I brought up inviting her to dinner the other night?” I ask.

  He sniffs. “Because it was completely out of the blue. I didn’t even think you remembered her name. It’d been so long.”

  “And the texts, I saw … something about ending Mama’s suffering?” I fold my arms. “What are you planning? Just tell me.”

  “This is an extremely personal and deeply complicated matter,” he says, hand splayed out like he’s going into defense mode.

  “Oh, my god.” I clamp my hand over my mouth. “So you are having an affair.”

  My father flies out of his chair. “God, no. I would never do that to your mother.”

  “Then tell me what’s going on.” My jaw is clenched, and my shoulders burn, taut with fiery tension.

  “I’d advise you to keep your voice down.” The calmness in his tone digs under my skin, intensifying the maelstrom already happening inside.

  I hadn’t realized I was yelling …

  I glance back toward the house to make sure Mama and Laurie are still inside. God forbid they hear any of this commotion and come out to investigate.

  “Why?” I ask. “Because you don’t want people to know you’re a murderer?”

  With vanquished confidence, he removes his sunglasses, revealing a rare, tear-filled gaze. The number of times I’ve seen my father cry, I can count on one hand.

  “Please stop asking questions.” A quaver resides in his quieted voice. “And don’t you ever call me that word again.”

  Just as I expected, he’s not going to answer my questions.

  “So that’s it?”

  “Yes, Sheridan. That’s it.”

  “You’re not going to answer anything?”

  His lips press flat, and he returns his sunglasses to their rightful position before taking a seat in his chair and reaching for the peas.

  The conversation is over.

  Heading inside, I grab my purse and keys and dash out the front door. Mama calls my name, but I keep going. I don’t want to cause a scene in front of a friend she only sees once a year nor do I want to have to answer if she asks what’s wrong.

  I’m half a block away when I call August.

  “I just confronted him about the texts,” I say when he answers.

  “What’d you find out?”

  “Nothing. He got all teary-eyed and told me it was complicated,” I say. “And he warned me to keep my voice down and not make any assumptions. Then just like that, the conversation was over.”

  August sighs into the receiver. “Sounds about right.”

  “I know I just saw you an hour ago, but can I come over?” I ask. The hope in my tone is obvious, the desperation raw. I don’t care.

  He doesn’t answer with an immediate yes, and my stomach turns. I crawl to a stop at the light ahead and hold my breath.

  “My dad and Cassandra are home right now,” he says. “But I’ll meet you somewhere. You can get in my car and we can just drive. We’ll go anywhere you want. And if we get tired … we’ll just get a room somewhere.”

  Tears blur my vision as the light turns green, and I nod despite the fact that he can’t see me. “Yeah, okay. Where do I meet you?”

  “How about the back parking lot of the library? Twenty minutes?” Rustling and shuffling fills his background, like he’s getting ready. Keys jangle, followed by footsteps.

  He’s dropping everything—for me.

  No questions asked.

  No hesitation.

  It’s as if I’m his first priority and nothing else matters—and in this moment, the feeling is mutual.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  August

  * * *r />
  “I’m so sorry to drag you into this,” she says when she climbs into my car.

  Her eyes are red and her cheeks are swollen … yet she’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my fucking life.

  I lean across the console and crush her pink lips with a kiss.

  “I’m here because I want to be,” I say. “No one drags me into anything.”

  For the next forty-five minutes we drive west, with no destination in mind. Hand in hand. Radio playing. Windows down and sunroof open.

  The sun is setting and we’re approaching the state line, but until she tells me to stop, I’ve no intentions of slowing down. I’ll go anywhere with her.

  “Should we stop?” She points to a billboard claiming the “world-famous” Luna Vista Overlook is three miles ahead. “Might be good to get some air.”

  “Of course.” I kiss her hand and take the next exit. Signs lead us through a treed valley, over a mile-long bridge, and down a winding road, where we end up at a sparsely populated parking lot. Another sign directs us to a set of rickety wooden stairs. By the time we make it to the actual overlook, the sky has darkened and the stars are coming out of hiding.

  In a way, it’s perfect timing.

  I wrap my arms around her from behind as the late summer heat of the day fades.

  “It’s beautiful up here,” she says. “I don’t ever want to leave.”

  To the left, a small town twinkles in the distance. But to the right—nothing. A dark void of dense trees, maybe. Not a hint of light to illuminate their shapes. It’s as if there are two paths, one of them crystal clear, the other vast and mysterious. Perhaps much of life is like that. We can go with the familiar and the recognizable, the sure bet … or we can jump into the unknown and hope it’s worth it in the end.

  “I wish I could’ve met you sooner,” I say.

  She hums. “I don’t think it would’ve mattered. Fate screwed us both before we were ever born.”

  “Run away with me.” The words leave my lips before I give them an ounce of consideration, and my chest tightens to the point of near suffocation, but the thought of living this bullshit life without this woman by my side is more painful than any emotional asphyxiation I can imagine.

  She peers up at me through a fringe of dark lashes, laughing through her nose. “Another one of your insane ideas.”

  “I’m serious. We could start fresh somewhere. Give ourselves new names. Be whoever we want to be … together.”

  “I couldn’t do that to Mama. I can’t break her heart like that.”

  “Then we’ll take her with us.”

  “She’d never leave Meredith Hills. Or my Dad. They’re her home. And if I ever made her get in a vehicle with you, she’d have a heart attack, and I’m being completely serious. She’s got a weak heart. The thing’s a ticking time bomb and seeing you would set it off, I know it.”

  I wouldn’t know the first thing about fragility or weakness, only enough to know her mom’s in a perpetual delicate state, and what affects Sheridan ultimately affects me.

  “Okay, so what’s your solution to all of this?”

  She inhales, turning toward the view again. “If we stay together, we’re going to hurt a lot of people in the process. And your dad … who knows what kind of repercussions there will be for you? I don’t know that there’s going to be a happy ending for us.”

  I spin her toward me and tip her chin until our mouths align, brushing my lips against hers.

  “You’ve changed my life from the second you walked into it, Rose girl,” I say. “This can’t be the end for us. Now that I’ve met you, I don’t want anyone else.”

  “You’re caught up, that’s all.” Her fading tone is less persuasive than her words, like maybe she’s trying to convince herself as well. “We’ve been having fun.”

  “I’ve had plenty of fun with other women … and none of them made me feel an ounce of how I feel when I’m with you.”

  She buries her cheek against my chest, wraps her arms around me, and closes her eyes. That warm fullness floods my veins again, but the thought of taking her home, of saying goodbye to her next week, turns it into an unbearable tightness.

  “It’s strange, feeling like I’ve known you my entire life.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “And I’ve only just met you.”

  “I don’t pretend to understand it.”

  Gazing up at me, she bites her lip, eyes searching mine. “I don’t know what happened back then, between our families. I mean, I know what the newspapers say and what my parents have told me. But neither of us knows what really happened. August, if my father was responsible for what happened to your mom … I’ll never forgive him. And I know that doesn’t change anything. It can’t bring her back, but I mean it. And I’m so sorry for your loss. It makes my heart hurt just thinking about what that must have been like for you, growing up without her.”

  A million people have spouted off their condolences over the years, but not once has it ever felt like more than a greeting card line.

  Someday I’ll tell her about my childhood.

  About my verbally abusive father, psychotic brother, absentee other brother, and the string of coke-addicted nannies who raised me. I’ll tell her how we rarely had a Christmas tree. How my father always took vacations without us because he couldn’t enjoy anything if we were around. None of us ever got along. Holes were punched in hundred-year-old walls more times than I can remember.

  But I don’t want to stain this moment.

  “Let’s get that hotel,” she says. “Screw it. I’ll tell my Mom I’m staying with Adri tonight. She saw me run out upset earlier. She knows I got into a fight with my dad, and I’m sure he gave her some vague excuse. It’ll be fine. Let’s do it.”

  “Yeah?”

  She nods. “Yeah.”

  We drive toward the lights in the distant town and stop at the first hotel we see—some three-star chain with a sign that boasts about a recent remodel, not that it matters. I’d spend the night in a junkyard Airstream if it meant having more time with her. She texts her mom while I get us a corner room on the top floor for privacy.

  The skeletal, middle-aged clerk slides us a single room key, and I pretend not to notice when he gives us a once over. It’s obvious we don’t have luggage and we’re here for a good time. As soon as he takes a call, we all but sprint toward the elevator, and the second the doors close behind us, I pin her to the wall and taste her lips. Her mouth curls against mine as she runs her fingers through my hair. A moment later we’re deposited on our floor.

  “Race you,” she teases.

  “You don’t even know our room number,” I scoop her into my arms, grabbing a handful of her perfect ass in the process.

  I don’t know what town we’re in. I hardly remember the name of this hotel. But I’ll remember this moment for the rest of my life.

  We reach our room and let the door slam behind us. And despite the fact that the AC is blasting at sixty-five degrees, we waste no time stripping down. Tonight, we’re fucking like the world is ending—because in a way, it is.

  Sheridan perches on the edge of an oak writing desk. I shove the rolling swivel chair aside and fall to my knees, spreading her thighs and stroking her wetness with the tip of my tongue. Grabbing a fistful of my hair, she releases a soft moan—just as her phone begins to ring.

  “Ignore it,” I tell her, my breath warm against her slit.

  She bites her lip, nodding, hips rocking in sync with my prodding tongue.

  A minute later, the phone rings again.

  “Keep going.” She tightens her grip on me. “I’m so close …”

  But it’s the third time in a row that steals the moment from us.

  She groans, sliding off the table, leaving her taste to linger on my lips.

  “I’m sorry. Let me just see who’s blowing up my phone …” Sheridan locates her bag in the dark, then her phone. The screen glows bright against her face, illuminating a concerned expression that wasn
’t there before. “It’s Mama. Hold on. She left a voicemail.”

  She presses play and holds the phone to her ear, and while it’s not on speaker, her mother is so frantic and loud, I can hear every single word.

  “Sheridan, you need to come home immediately,” she says. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she almost sounds tearful. “I don’t know where you are, but I know you’re not at Adriana’s because I just called her. Come home. Now. It’s an emergency.”

  Her wide, shiny eyes lock with mine from across the room. She doesn’t have to say anything. We throw our clothes on and skip the check-out desk on our way out—room’s already paid for.

  I get us back to Meredith Hills in a fraction of the time it took to leave, and I drop her off at the library parking lot, next to her car. She hasn’t said a word since we left the hotel, and I can only assume she’s thinking the worst.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I tell her, but I don’t know that. No one ever does.

  Leaning over the console, she presses her cheek against mine, her lashes fluttering. “I love you, August. The words have been on the tip of my tongue all day, and I never found the right time to tell you that. But in case I don’t see you again after this … I wanted you to know that.”

  Her words breathe me to life—and shatter me at the same time.

  “I love you too,” I tell her. “And you’ll see me again.”

  It’s yet another thing I don’t know to be true. Not because I wouldn’t move heaven and earth to see her again, but because her mother is her entire world, and Sheridan would sacrifice her own happiness if it meant keeping her mom safe.

  She climbs out of my car and into hers.

  Within seconds, she becomes nothing but a pair of red taillights fading into the dark. I hold my breath, letting it burn. Paralyzed by the heaviness of this moment, I sit in my idling car for what feels like a lifetime, replaying our day together a hundred times before I have the energy to drive away.