RIVAL: An Enemies to Lovers Why Choose Country Romance

Prologue

Bang.

Cringing, I wrench my eyes from the television to glare at the kitchen. What in the fuck is she doin’ in there? There are a few minutes of silence and my shoulders start to relax before I hear a soft scrape and a clang ring out like she’s just dropped a handful of silverware into the sink.

My pulse pounds when the faucet turns on immediately after, and I grind my jaw. Counting down from ten, I inhale slowly while I hope she turns it off soon. She fucking doesn’t. I don’t think it’s too much to ask for some goddamn peace and quiet after I’ve been hauling metal all fucking day to feed that little bitch.

Now, she’s draining my well by not shutting off the fucking water. Wearing out my pump, which will probably need replacing here in the next year or so. Fuck! I can’t afford that kind of repair right now.

Slamming down the foot of my recliner, I mute the TV and cradle my beer in my hand between my knees. All I can do is focus on the door to the kitchen, willing the incessant noise to just stop!

The rushing of water is muffled through the walls, but with the volume off, it’s all I can fucking hear. I’m about to snap when my phone rings.

Huffing in annoyance, I keep my eyes locked on her location in the other room while I swipe to answer. “Yeah?” It’s not much of a greeting, but most people who call know I’m not one to have friendly chit chat.

“Gonna come over. I had to work late and those teens next door are havin’ a party or somethin’. Got beer?”

My eyes wander around the living room. Seems picked up enough, I suppose. Not that Griffin or his brother Corbin ever care much. “Corb comin’ with?”

“Nah. Wrenched his back cleanin’ out gutters for the wife. She’s got him laid out on the couch with his feet propped up. Doesn’t help that the kids are extra squirrelly tonight. As much as I love ‘em, I need some quiet. Your place is always quiet.”

My eyes dart to the kitchen again. Pressing my bottle to my lips, I guzzle down the rest of my beer and open the extra one next to me. “You can come. Don’t got much beer, so why don’t you grab some on the way?” Another scrape of her foot on the floor and I change my mind. “Or a bottle of somethin’. Don’t gotta work tomorrow.”

With a small laugh, he agrees. “Alright. You don’t mind me comin’ without Corb?”

“Nope. Don’t expect me to entertain ya, but you’re welcome to put your feet up here for the night.” When I hear the door to the refrigerator open, I’m on my feet. No way in hell is she going to start cooking at eight o’clock at night. “Door’s open. Just come in when you get here.”

I hang up before he responds, and down the whole bottle of beer I just opened. It hangs between my fingers as I stride to the kitchen, slowly pushing the door open. She’s bent over, head in the fridge and rifling through my food I just bought.

“The hell you doin’?”

Her head hits the top of the opening, and she spins around, eyes wide. “I-I… I thought I could make something to eat. Maybe a grilled cheese?”

Gripping the neck of my empty bottle harder, I narrow my eyes. “It takes you slammin’ cupboards and draggin’ chairs through the kitchen to make a fuckin’ cheese sandwich?”

When she looks around the space like it’ll give her an answer, I get even more annoyed. Edith opens and closes her mouth like a fish, only serving to piss me off more.

“Answer me, girl!”

“S-Sorry. I didn’t mean to be noisy.” I roll my eyes when she starts twisting her fingers together. My daughter is always acting like I’m some fucking asshole for asking questions. Not sure where she got her nerves from; certainly not from that whore who birthed her. That woman was as outspoken as they come. “Do you want one?”

“No, I don’t want a fuckin’ cheese sandwich, and it’s too late for you to be cookin’. I got company comin’ over, so pick this shit up.” I wave at the half loaf of bread on the counter along with a frying pan she set on the stove.

Her eyes follow along with my hand, wincing when it flies past her face. “Can I make something real quick? I promise it won’t take long.”

“No! You should have had somethin’ at dinner!” My irritation skyrockets when she winces again and turns her face away from me. “Stop actin’ like I’m about to hit ya,” I sneer, taking a step closer. “I ain’t gonna hit ya if you pick up this goddamn mess and stop makin’ all this ruckus.”

“Sorry for—”

“Just stop apologizin’ and do what you’re supposed to do. Stop makin’ so much goddamn noise. Stop inhalin’ all the food I get just ‘cuz you’re bored. Just stop bein’ here and give me a little fuckin’ space! I don’t think that’s too much to ask when I’m the one workin’ my ass off to keep food on this table and a roof over your head. Fuckin’ ungrateful lil’ shit!”

My chest is heaving by the time I’m done, all of my pent-up irritation pouring out of me. That whore of a mother dropped her off when she was only a few months old, leaving me and my parents to raise her without help. Wasn’t so bad in the beginning, but my parents went off and fucking died. One right after the other without telling me how to do this shit.

Edith’s been a goddamn nuisance ever since. I did my best with her, but she was always wanting to play and get into things she shouldn’t be touching. Especially outside where I keep all the scrap metal. She was forever trying to mess with repairs I was making and breaking hoses or clamps that made the old equipment useless unless I dropped cash on new parts.

I’m standing over her, a good foot taller, clenching my fists tight enough that I feel a pinch in my nerves to ground myself.

Her shoulders hunch, and she curls over herself. Finally, she realizes I’m not playing around. I shouldn’t have to get this pissed off just to get my point across. I’m hanging on by a thin wire. If she’d just keep her mouth shut and do as she’s told, it would make this whole evening more bearable. Of course, she doesn’t.

Edith Sophia Hughes, named after her mother’s grandmother, can’t let bygones be bygones. She always has to have the last word.

“You didn’t tell me you were havin’ dinner. I’d have come down—”

My arm shoots out, the back of my hand connecting with her cheek. A sense of peace washes over me as her head jerks to the side, her loose hair covering her face. I know I probably shouldn’t smack her around, but I’ve tried everything else I could to get her to obey me.

I don’t expect much. Be where you’re supposed to be when you’re told. Eat meals when they’re served. Keep quiet and clean up after yourself. Give me some time to myself in the evenings so I can unwind. Don’t embarrass me in front of my friends. Nothing outrageous, but she’s constantly testing her limits.

With a sigh, I plant my hands on my hips and stare down at her. “Just… go to your room. I don’t think it’s too much to ask for some silence every once in a while. You owe me that much.”

Edith shuffles sideways until she’s past me, keeping her eyes lowered as she quickly puts away the pan and bread. I keep my arms crossed as I watch, not wanting anything left out before Griffin arrives.

I hear the soft click of the front door, then Griffin calls out, “Where you at, Clay?”

My head turns toward the door leading to the living room, but when Edith looks that way as well, I grip the ponytail she’s got her hair tied in, and drag her toward the stairs. When she cries out, I smack her again and hiss, “Shut your fuckin’ mouth and get outta sight. We don’t need a fuckin’ bitch watchin’ our every move tonight.”

I wouldn’t hit her if it didn’t work. The moment my hand connects with her face, she always presses her lips together and quiets right down. Shoving her toward the stairs, I release her and whisper, “Don’t you fuckin’ come down. Nobody wants to see ya, and nobody wants a little girl hangin’ around. Mind your business and stay up there ‘til mornin’. You hear me, girl?”

“Clay?” Griffin shouts again, so I take a step toward my daughter until her hands fly up in a placating manner.

“G-Got it. I won’t come down.”

I wait a moment as she scrambles up the stairs, then blow out a gust of air in relief as her bedroom door shuts softly. Edith has been weird around my friends since she was a little girl, and I honestly don’t want to deal with the questions that normally follow if she’s around.

Hollering over my shoulder to keep Griffin in the living room, I shout, “I’m here! I’ll be there in a second.” I grab a few beers and walk back into the living room.

My best friend’s younger brother is standing in the middle of the room with a bottle of what looks like vodka in his hand. Raising a brow, I lift my chin in question.

“Don’t give me shit. I didn’t feel much like stoppin’ at the store and this is all Corb had at the house. Can I get one of those?” He jerks toward the bottles in my hand.

“Couldn’t even pull somethin’ brown?” I ask, handing over a beer.

With a shrug, he falls onto the couch and puts his booted feet up on the coffee table. “They didn’t have much. This’ll do, though. Want me to throw it in the freezer?”

“I’ll take it.” Edith didn’t pick up everything in the kitchen and I don’t want him seeing the mess she left behind. “Want anything to eat while I’m in there?”

“Got some chips?” He cracks his bottle open and sighs loudly, closing his eyes as he gets comfortable, readjusting his feet, the soles of his boots squeaking on the tabletop.

My cheek ticks, hating that his feet are on it, but I decide not to say anything. “Yeah. I’ll grab it and a few more beers.”

I don’t mind Griffin Graham so much, but it was his brother I had been friends with since high school. Griffin was always one of those boys who tagged along with the older crowd, never finding his own group. I can count on one hand the number of times he’s been over without his brother, but I’ll deal with it. It’s better than drinking alone on a Friday night.

Shoving the bottle of vodka into the freezer, I snag the chips from the counter and the rest of the bottles in my fridge. When I’m back in the living room and dropping the bag into his lap, I cock my head as he looks around the room.

Snapping at him, I grit out, “What?”

“Don’t you have a kid? She already go to bed or somethin’?”

Narrowing my eyes, I cross my arms across my chest, ignoring the cold of the beer against my side. “Yeah. Why?”

Griffin opens the bag of chips, not picking up on my annoyance over his questions. “No reason. Just figured a little kid would be runnin’ around tonight. It’s barely eight.”

“She’s a fuckin’ teenager. Not a little kid anymore.”

My buddy’s brother pauses and glances up at me. “Didn’t mean anythin’ by it. Figured since it’s Friday, she’d be hangin’ around. That’s all.”

“She’s in her room where she belongs,” I huff out, then stomp over to my chair and drop my body into it. “Wanna watch the game?”

The bag of chips crinkles in his lap as he digs out a few of them. I cringe when he chomps on them. “Sure,” he says through a mouthful.

Picking up the remote, I unmute the TV and lean back into my chair. My eyes slide up to the ceiling when I hear a thump, then over to Griffin to see if he heard it, too. He must not have noticed because he keeps digging his hand into the bag and sipping his beer as the players fly around the screen.

The two of us don’t chat while we watch the game. Every little sound that echoes from upstairs catches my attention, and each time, I flick my eyes over to Griffin. This guy is oblivious. How can he not hear all that racket?

I never wanted a kid. Not when I was a teen, and especially not as an adult. But her fucking mother ruined all of that for me. She was some drugged up bitch who showed up at a high school party. Said she was eighteen, but you never can tell when someone has been using for a bit. Figured she was a bit older than what she said. I was drunk as hell and fucked her up against my truck before I went home.

When she turned up again with a baby in tow, I figured there was no way the kid was mine. My parents were pissed as hell at me as well. Before we’d allow her to leave the baby, my dad insisted on a paternity test. Turns out, you can get results in under a week if they aren’t backed up. Took four days to find out the kid was mine. Never saw the whore again after that.

Bump… scrape…

“I’ll be right back,” I mutter, setting my now seventh beer on the side table.

Griffin drags his eyes from the TV when I stand. “Wanna do a shot or somethin’ quick?”

“Yeah, I’ll take one.” Maybe it’ll help quell this annoyance that’s eating away at me. Her incessant moving around is the reason I moved my bedroom to the opposite side of the house. Always fucking moving around.

Griffin pops off the couch and follows me into the kitchen where I pull out the chilled vodka. “Only got one shot glass. You care?” I ask him, rummaging around my cupboard for a glass.

“I don’t want to do more than one since I have to drive home. Been nursing that last beer. Not plannin’ on getting totally drunk, just needed the quiet for a bit.” Nodding in understanding, I fill the single shot glass and push it toward him across the counter. Then, filling what I’m sure is a few shots into my glass, I raise it in salute. We both toss back the cheap liquor.

My eyes fly to the stairs when I hear a soft creak. “Go on back to the living room. I’ll be in there in a minute,” I tell him without looking away from the base of the stairs.

I wait until the door thumps shut behind him, then climb the creaking steps slowly. It makes no sense how I can walk silently, but this little girl who weighs maybe a hundred pounds can sound like a fucking elephant stampeding through the house.

Laying my ear against her door, I make out her rustling around before something falls to the floor. Gritting my teeth, I turn the knob and push her door; the hinges groaning as it swings open. Taking a step into her room, I keep my voice low so my guest won’t overhear.

“I told you… I fuckin’ told you to stay fuckin’ quiet!”