The glare between them could start a fire with its intensity.
“Back. Away,” Landon growls.
“What the hell does she see in you?” Dean fires back at him with hostility.
“More of a man than she saw in you,obviously,” Landon replies with so much sarcasm, and to make it worse, he smiles at him and slides the door shut.
I don’t hear what Landon says next, but whatever it is has Dean raising his fist and drawing his arm back.
“No!” I scream from inside the taxi, making the poor driver jump in his seat.
“Shit, lady,” he says, looking up from his phone and turning to see what’s going on outside.
Russ, Whits, and Adams react quick enough and pull Dean back so he can’t reach Landon. Still swinging his arm in the air and mouthing off, the crew keep dragging Dean back toward the truck. And the smirk on Landon’s face as he opens the front door tells me he thinks he won that pissing competition without laying a finger on Dean.
He looks to Rosco as he slides into the front seat. “I told you to keep him away from her, otherwise I would deal with him. You didn’t listen,” he tells Rosco, then slamming his door closed, he turns to the driver and says, “Drive.”
I can’t even speak.
It’s too much right now, and I think Landon feels the same. He looks straight forward as we start moving, and we remain in silence until the taxi reaches my house.
As Landon helps me out of the taxi, he says to me, “Let’s just get through taking you to Boston. We can talk about all that back there once we’re home.”
“Probably a good idea.” I’m already exhausted, and we still have a long day in front of us.
Landon stands me up, making sure I’m stable on my crutches. Then he leans down to my eye level and looks at me intently. “Just tell me, are you okay now?”
“Surprisingly, yes. Besides being tired, I’m okay,” I answer him truthfully. Within five minutes of leaving the hospital, that overwhelming anxiety and the cloud of fear that I felt hovering over me has gone. For now.
“Good.” He kisses me on the forehead again. Seriously, a little lip action wouldn’t go astray here. But the moment is gone. “Let’s get you packed up and on the plane, and then you can sleep,” he says while signaling me to start moving toward the front door.
Landon unlocks the door with my keys and holds it open for me. I negotiate my way through the gap, thankful my home is single-level.
Once we’re inside, he drops the bags on the hardwood floor carelessly.Bang!Before kicking them to the side so they’re out of the way.
“Hey, watch my polished floors. I don’t want them scratched, thanks.” I’m a bit house proud, which I can’t help. It comes from being raised by my mom, who was always worried whether the house was perfectly clean, thinking that if it wasn’t then the adoption agency might come and take me back. So, I was brought up with a broom in one hand and feather duster in the other. The first time I watched her baking with Nash and Kade, Ialmost choked at how relaxed she was with the mess around her. But no sooner had they left to go home, she started her cleaning routine, and in no time, it was perfect again.
“If that worries you, you’d never be able to live with my boys. The day before I came here, I caught Kade riding his scooter inside, up the hallway. When I asked him why he was inside with it, his answer was gold. He thought if he rides it inside, he won’t have to wear his helmet, because the floor is softer than the concrete, so he won’t get hurt. I mean, it’s got merit, but I didn’t tell him that.” And once again, Landon’s face lights up talking about Kade.
“I love that kid.” I chuckle as I start my way down the corridor to my bedroom.
“That’s because you don’t live with him twenty-four seven.” Landon sighs, following slowly behind me.
“He’s going to do great things in this world. I just know it. And then you’ll be looking back and thinking of all the annoying things he did which turned out to be worth it. They were life lessons that built his character.” I can’t help thinking about what career would suit his energy and creative thoughts.
“Promise?” He laughs as he steps into my bedroom behind me.
I stop in the middle of the room and look at the set of drawers next to my bed, now realizing that this packing plan has a big flaw to it.
“Umm, if you can just get my suitcases down from the top of my closet, then you can leave me to it. You can watch some TV in the living room.” I rush the words out.
He walks into my closet and returns with a big green suitcase, unzipping it to pull out the smaller one inside it. He lays them both out on one side of the bed.
“No way. It’ll be quicker and safer if you sit on the bed and just tell me what you want and where to grab it from,” he replies so matter-of-factly, oblivious to my internal panic.
When I haven’t moved, he looks at me, tilting his head a little, trying to work out what’s wrong. I know he’s right, but there is one slight problem.
“Fine,” I huff, taking a couple steps on my crutches and dropping my butt down onto my bed. Oh, I forgot how soft my bed is compared to what I’ve been sleeping on for the last few days. “But you’re not touching my underwear. I’m packing those, and that’s non-negotiable,” I demand, but I can feel my cheeks heating up.
