Sworn Enemy: An MM Enemies-To-Lovers Book (Wild Heart Ranch 1)
Sworn Enemy: Chapter 10

As I pull up to the Broken Oak to pick up my to-go order, I notice Sam and Desi leaving Jennings Ranch Supply. Those two and ranch supplies don’t exactly match, and I’m not a huge fan of the meaningful glances they’re sending my way. Before I can ask, they get into Desi’s fancy car, waving at me as they take off.

Probably to cause trouble.

Glaring up at the brightly colored sign, I remember Jason is out of town and quickly put two and two together. I’d bet my lunch Justin is working the counter at the store.

The three of them are as unlikely a group of friends as I’ve ever seen.

Am I impressed? Or jealous?

Shut it, monkey mind.

Though…I wonder if the funny looks Desi and Sam sent my way mean he told them what happened between us.

Fuck.

Eyeballing the Broken Oak, I wince, knowing my French dip is getting colder by the second. But I probably owe Justin a little more of an apology than the one I tossed out the window last week.

I grunt, my lip curling at the thought of having to apologize to Justin Jennings of all people, but here we are.

I’ve had EXFIL operations go so pear-shaped that I required hospitalization, therapy, and penicillin, and I would trade one of those operations in a heartbeat over having to enter this goddamn ranch supply store.

Being an adult sucks.

Taking a deep breath, I sack up and walk over. Opening the door, I note it’s a pretty cool little store, with well-ordered rows of doodads and whatnots and signs for breeding supplies in the back. There’s even a mini-nursery sprucing up the joint and a whole section of locally-sourced jams, jellies, and handmade gifts.

I start down one of the aisles, and Justin pops up from behind the register in the back, his long, corded arms laden with dozens of smaller boxes. It startles me, and I shuffle to a stop, drawing his attention.

He freezes in place, eyes perfectly round. A couple of boxes escape his grasp and crash to the ground, sending nuts and bolts pinging along the pristine floor.

I hold up my hands. “I owe you an apology.”

He dumps the remaining boxes on the counter, then grabs a pole with a weirdly shaped thing bolted to it. Pretty quickly, I figure out it’s a magnet. He keeps his eyes on the ground as he uses it to chase down the fallen pieces.

After an awkward silence, he straightens and begins pulling the metal fastenings from the magnet as he shakes his head. “No. I’m pretty sure I handled that completely wrong. Definitely should have let you go instead of making it about me.”

God, I hate that he won’t look at me. I should be reveling in the fact that I make him nervous and insecure, but I remember that pit in the bottom of my stomach far too well to be the reason anyone feels the same.

Even if it is Justin Jennings.

“I can agree with you on that point, but it’s no excuse for putting my hands on you. I have never once in my entire life tried to coerce someone to do anything.”

To be fair, I’m not counting the assholes who were trafficking little girls out the back of a cargo van. Those guys I coerced right off the face of the earth.

Justin’s eyes finally meet mine, filled with genuine confusion. “You didn’t coerce me. I mean, I wasn’t a fan of being treated like I carried a flesh-eating bacteria, but I was on board with everything else that happened.”

“I’m sorry for saying it like that, Justin. That was cruel, and I never want anyone to…”

“Feel the way I made you feel back in high school?”

I don’t acknowledge his answer because…ugh. I can’t.

Instead, I refocus on the thing that’s really bothering me. “I kissed you without permission.”

He snorts, laughing as he arranges the boxes on the counter. “Uh, you also hate-fucked me. And, newsflash, I liked it.”

I use my house key to scratch my eyebrow, not entirely ready for his honesty. “You did?”

I’m honestly relieved. And that doesn’t feel right either.

“You look confused,” he observes.

“I—I am.”

“That makes two of us. I mean…you fucked me, and I liked it. It’s not like you told me to go kill myself.”

His dark humor surprises a snort out of me, and I glare at him for daring to be funny about such a serious subject.

I mean…getting snarky about any element of suicide just isn’t done. Sure, I do it all the time, but still. That’s mostly internal.

Ignoring my inner conflict, he continues, “So your guilt is wildly out of proportion.”

My eyebrows scrunch together. “I don’t know that I would categorize it as guilt.”

“And here I thought we were being honest with one another.”

What is it with this shy smile of his? Justin never used to smile at me, so shyness is…not the worst thing in the world. This combination of quiet-but-bold vulnerability makes me feel oddly protective of him.

I let out a frustrated breath. “I’m just saying I take responsibility for my actions.”

“I can see that about you,” he says, his eyes skating down my body. “But mine were the last words you heard before you went home and slit your veins—not your wrists—your veins. Anyone who has dealt with suicidal ideation knows exactly how much you wanted it. Seriously, how much did it piss you off when you woke up?”

I snort—again, goddammit—and remember that moment with perfect clarity.

Is this heaven? Why is it so bright? Somebody needs to tell God to put that shit on a dimmer.

Or no. Maybe it’s hell. I can’t remember what my family’s nondenominational faith believes about taking one’s own life. Maybe I really did fuck myself over.

I blink to clear my eyes and…goddammit. This isn’t hell. It’s a hospital room.

Same difference.

I start cursing, but the words never form. Horrified, I sense the tube in my mouth and down my throat.

I’m on a ventilator.

I grab for the tube, only to replace both arms restrained to the sides of the bed. I look down to replace my arms wrapped in bandages, like a fucking mummy.

Motherfucker.

How the fuck did I survive?

Pissed, I thrash around, yanking on the restraints, fucking up the bandages, and popping stitches until my mother’s face comes into view. Her expression crumples, and she lets out a broken wail that sounds like a wounded animal. My father, just as broken, joins her. They both look sad and horrified.

I’m shocked. I thought they’d be relieved.

“I was so fucking mad,” I admit.

He bobs his head, knowing. “Can’t exactly tell your loved ones about the relief that comes right before you do the thing.”

“Like the way the pain feels like a release, right?” I confess, weirdly happy that he actually gets it.

Still, I hold my ground in the middle of the aisle, needing the distance from his position behind the counter.

He nods effusively. “It was the one time I could remember losing the anxiety, the weight of guilt and stress. Like I could finally take a full breath of air.”

We both go quiet. It’s not awkward. Er, it should definitely be more awkward than it is. You know, considering that we were each other’s reasons for wanting to end it.

“Anyway,” I say, straightening a bag of goat feed on the shelf next to me. “I wanted to apologize for real. Not when I was pissed off.”

“Apology accepted,” he says without hesitation. “And I apologize for trying to kill myself on your suicide attempt day. In retrospect, that was way, way fucked up. At least according to Desi and Sam.”

I stifle a grin, letting the air out through my nose. “Fuck. Those two…”

“They’re great,” he says, smiling fondly. “But don’t think for a second they’re gonna let you get out of another Sunday dinner. Be prepared for awkwardness. Also, they’re probably going to make us sit together.”

I snicker in total agreement. “Okay, fine. I’ll show up and sit next to you if it’ll make them happy.”

He nods, looking a little nostalgic. “Did you know I hate-crimed Sam the first time I met him? Now, for some fucked-up reason, he’s decided he’s my friend. Desi too. Not sure how I’m supposed to take that.”

“Well, shit.” I laugh out, shaking my head. “If those two can like you after all that, I guess I’d be a real asshole to keep despising you.”

Justin’s eyes light up, and it sets off something in my chest. His shy smile is like a flickering light, nervy and buzzy until it goes full wattage. And then…wow.

He’s really something to look at, like if Paul Rudd and Anthony Bourdain had a kid. All that handsome, slightly gangly earnestness is far too endearing for any one man. It’s the kind of look that has me thinking, protect this man at all costs.

It makes me wonder if, like so many of the people I encounter, he’s never been truly protected. I mean, his brother definitely has his back, but I’m beginning to doubt his parents ever did.

After a few seconds, I realize I’m staring at his mouth, so I step back and dip my head.

“Anyway, thank you for accepting my apology. Have a good evening.” The words are stilted but satisfying as they replace their way out of my mouth.

His smile dims but remains sincere. “Okay, Charlie. You too.”

I make my way out of the store and then stop on the sidewalk, scalp prickling under the intense afternoon heat. Dammit. I really wanted to hate this guy.

Thing is, it’s not like he’s trying to run some kind of sales campaign on me. He’s not trying to win me over or whatever. He’s just being honest. The hard-won candor of a person who’s had to lie about who they are their entire life. The honesty of someone who knows what a privilege it is to be able to live freely.

Weirder still, I really wanted to hug him at the end there. Put my arms around him, take all those insecurities and guilt, and…magic it out of his body. Worst of all, Erik, the jackass, was right. I kind of want a do-over.

God, I bet Justin would come alive under my hands.

I wipe my hand over my face, bringing myself back to reality.

I’m not actually starting to like the guy, am I?