The Enemy (Clear View Country Club #1)

Chapter 1

ONE

LOURDES

Seventeen years old

My mamá’s beautiful smile stared back at me. The photo was taken on the day of my quinceanera. She looked lovely and radiant, and I still struggled with the fact that she was already sick then…she was already dying, and I never knew it.

My lower lip quivered as I remembered the day my parents sat me down and explained what was happening.

Anger.

Sadness.

Betrayal.

Incompetence.

I felt a myriad of emotions during her last few months with us. I felt selfish for being angry with her when she had so little time left, so I had to put it in the back seat.

Blinking away the tears that threatened to spill, I picked up the frame and looked at the photograph. We were both in emerald gowns. Hers was an off-the-shoulder velvet gown with a demure slit on one side, and mine was an obnoxiously puffy gown with accents of lace gold and a sweetheart corset.

I looked like a princess.

It was the first time I thought I looked beautiful and grown-up. Unlike my other friends, I wasn’t allowed to wear makeup or whatever I wanted. My mother was strict on what clothing I could wear.

Todo a su tienpo, mi amor.

All in good time.

She loved that phrase. I guess I was lucky she was a bit more modern than her mother because she said she wasn’t allowed to do her eyebrows until she turned fifteen. She had mine done before anyone could bully me about them. Thanks to her, I had thick, dark, perfectly arched brows.

She always told me to enjoy my childhood because there would come a day when I would regret wanting to grow up fast.

Today was one of those days.

I set the photograph back with a sigh.

My father’s new girlfriend was coming over for dinner today.

How could he move on when I still had a hole in my heart?

It had been over a year since we buried my mom. Maybe part of my disconnect with her death was the fact that her resting place was so far away. Although I knew we carried the people we loved in our hearts, I didn’t have a place I could go sit and talk to her. We held her memorial here, and then father, myself, and my mom's best friend flew out to Mexico so we could bury her in the same place where her parents rested.

Picking up my phone, I looked at the time and ignored the pang I felt as I looked at my screensaver. Some days, I was okay and accepting that she was gone. Other days, grief hit me like a freight train.

As much as I wanted to be a bitch and rebel against my father, I could picture my mami’s disappointed face. She firmly believed in respecting our elders—even if I disagreed with that notion because some people didn’t deserve respect.

For her sake, I got dressed. I put on an olive skirt with a tan blouse. Then, I put on the jewelry that held a special place in my heart. My hair was tamed, and the curls were a bit wilder than yesterday since I didn’t feel like adding more product today.

The house—the warmth that made it a home—died with my mother. Now, it was empty rooms with long halls that my father and I wandered around.

My father was already in the foyer, ready to meet his new lover. I just prayed she wasn’t around my age, or else I would probably throw up and then have a massive tantrum. The verdict was still up in the air for that tantrum, but I had to try my best.

“Lou, sweetheart,” my father said.

“Father.” I nodded toward him, and even though it was brief, I saw how his eyes flashed.

He went from Papá and Papi to Father in the blink of an eye, and if he knew the reason why he never commented on it.

“Are you serious about her?” I choked out because curiosity was getting the best of me, and the silence this house brought was killing me.

“Lou…” he began to say, but the doorbell rang.

I stayed back as my father rushed to greet his guest. My gaze was anywhere but the front door, and it wasn’t until I heard heels tapping that I turned.

My jaw clenched when I saw Pricilla Caldwell in our foyer. My eyebrows went up, and I was sure my thoughts were on display. How long ago did her husband die? Were she and my father trying to form a widows’ club or something?

She stopped walking when my father did. She looked up at him adoringly, and then her eyes came toward me. I felt her gaze sweep over me. She dismissed me before I could do the same toward her.

Then, next to her, another figure appeared, and I held on to the railing a bit tighter as if that would stop me from showing emotion.

Neo Caldwell was here.

It would have been obvious if my mind had a chance to catch up with the mental railing it was currently getting. I wouldn’t be in this mindfuck if I had womaned up and asked my father who he was dating, but instead, I ignored anything to do with him replacing my mami.

“Sweetheart, I’d like you to meet Pricilla and her son Nathani?—”

He chose that moment to speak and cut off my father.

“It’s Neo, sir.”

His mother’s smile faltered for just a second.

It was no secret that Neo was named after his father—rather ambitious of Pricilla to ignore that Nathaniel already had his firstborn son named after him. As if giving Neo the same name would give him more rights.

According to rumors, the nickname was given to him by his father to avoid teasing between him and his siblings, ergo, to stop or minimize the bullying. He started calling him Neo since it began with the letter N, and its prefix definition stood for a new and different form of something that existed in the past.

Judging by how he was correcting my father, he was owning it—or maybe at this stage in the game, it was too late to go by his given name. Whatever the reason was, I thought the nickname was a thoughtful gesture on Mr. Caldwell’s part. It meant that they might share the same name, but Neo was still his own person and free to do his own thing.

“It’s a pleasure,” I lied with a polite smile.

My school was small and privileged, so everyone tended to run in the same crowds. My mother used to urge me to see the world after high school. She wanted me to diversify myself and not get shackled by the walls around me.

That being said, I should have expected my father to see someone from our circle. The fact that Pricilla was someone my mother used to be friendly with didn’t sit right with me. Was there no loyalty in this world?

Pricilla took a step forward, and I watched with wide eyes as she reached out and pinched my cheek.

“Aren’t you just a cute, plump little thing?” her voice was sweet, but her words were pure venom.

I’m sorry, Mami, I tried.

“So, Pricilla, how does it feel to be done with elderly care?” I asked just as sweetly.

“Lourdes,” my father warned.

The smile on the bitch’s face had slipped off. Okay, that was uncalled for mentioning her dead husband.

My gaze slid past her because her face was quickly becoming a trigger for me. What were the ramifications of a child attacking a grown woman? I was on the cusp of eighteen, so would I still be tried as a child?

“How about we move this to the dining room?” my father suggested, putting one hand behind my back and guiding me.

I let my anger simmer and allowed him to lead us. My father sat at one end of the table while I sat on the other in the smaller dining room. This left Priscilla to his right while Neo sat next to me.

This was only the second time we had been this close to each other. The first time had been a fluke—wrong time kind of thing.

He smelled good. I don’t know if it was his shampoo or his cologne, but it was something fresh, like pine trees with a hint of mint.

Once we were all settled, Father called our house lady to serve us the food. Pricilla chatted with my father, giving him small touches every chance she got and occasionally engaging Neo in conversation.

“Neo, did you ever run into Lou at school?” my dad asked, bringing me into the fold.

I stopped moving the food around with my fork and waited for his answer. I didn’t turn to look at him but waited to see what he had to say. He shifted in his seat, and I saw him straightening in his chair in my peripheral vision.

“Not really,” he lied. “There was no reason to hang out with freshmen.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” my father added.

The tense atmosphere was broken by the sound of my chair being pushed back ungracefully.

“If you’ll excuse me. I’m not very hungry.”

My father looked disappointed, but so was I, so he could suck it up the same way I would.

“Lou…” my father began to say. “You didn’t even touch your food.”

“It’s okay, honey. One skipped meal won’t hurt her.” Pricilla reached to touch my dad’s forearm and squeezed it.

My narrowed eyes cut to Pricilla as my cheeks heated from her sly comment. At least it stopped me from looking at the person next to me. Anger simmered, but I had more grace than her and didn’t bother with another verbal sparring.

I think everyone felt like an outcast in their community when they weren’t like the others. I didn’t notice the difference between me and my peers until third grade. Kids aren’t malicious at that age, and you still feel included. Then sixth grade came, and things began getting more tense.

That’s when cliques started forming. Much to my grandparents' disappointment, I was never, and would never be, one of the popular girls. Looks and perception mattered a great deal to them, and I had been a disappointment on that front. They couldn’t understand why I wasn’t closer to their friends’ grandkids.

My mother said that when I got older, I would make new friends—better friends.

Right after sixth grade, I got my period, and well, my body didn’t develop the same as the other girls.

I already had a thicker build, and it didn’t help that my grandmother kept putting her two cents in and telling my mother to get me on a diet before it was too late, despite my pediatrician never commenting on my weight. Once I started to develop into my teen body, things didn’t improve. My mother bought me clothes that weren’t formfitting. She said I was still a child, and some of the clothing my peers would wear weren’t appropriate—at least not for me.

The clothes I was allowed to wear weren’t flattering, making me appear bigger than I was. By freshman year, I had so many things working against me that, at that point, I just found it easier to keep my head down and stick it out. I focused on my fifteenth birthday as if that day would be miraculous and solve a few of my problems.

It wasn’t all bad, though. In high school, I found a group of friends I liked. Evangeline, Clove, and Martin. It wasn’t lost on me that my closest friends were considered new money and not old money like my father’s family—except for Martin, but he was finding out his sexuality and his beliefs didn’t align with those of his family. Just like me, he felt outcasted from his community.

I know it wasn’t much, but a good group of friends could get you through anything. When my mother passed away, they were there for me, but sometimes, I just wanted to be alone.

Please be empty.

Please be empty.

Please be empty.

I chanted as I made my way to the stairwell by the gym. People usually avoided it since they wanted to pass by the main hall and chat with their friends.

I pushed open the door and was relieved to find the stairwell empty. The door slammed shut behind me as I slid down the wall.

Everything was closing in on me, and I suddenly felt like I couldn’t breathe. It was nothing—really, I shouldn’t have been as easily triggered, but everything inside of me hurt.

Someone had said something nasty to Martin, and he responded in kind. Then they said something that might not have triggered me a couple of weeks ago, but now it did. “Your mother must be proud.”

The sneer cut through Martin and through me, too. I held it together for him, but those words kept repeating in my mind. Would my mother live long enough to be proud of me? Was she already proud? What would I do when I graduated high school and she wasn’t there? As soon as Martin calmed down, I needed to escape because I was about to lose it.

I hadn’t told anyone about the sit-down I had with my parents that weekend. A part of me was in denial, and I had convinced myself that if I didn’t speak about it aloud it might not come true.

I had begun to mourn someone who was still alive.

My mother was dying, and there was nothing I could do about it.

The weight I carried on my shoulders all weekend intensified and moved right over to my beating heart. I gasped for air, but none came. I closed my eyes as if that would make it any easier. Breathing, something that came naturally for all of us, was something I suddenly forgot how to do.

My shoulder stung, but I ignored it. Instead, I tried not to think, at least not of my mother. The more I wanted to get it together, the more our memories flooded through me. For all the things we had done, there would be a thousand things we would never get to do.

That thought alone fucking killed me.

It wasn’t fair…but then again, when had my life ever been fair?

“Are you okay?”

The words were muffled, almost as if they were said underwater. Before I could dismiss them, that pressure on my shoulder returned, and as I focused on it, I noticed someone shaking it.

“Just focus on my voice. Breathe.”

It took a few minutes, but I did as the voice said. Little by little, the void I had found myself in left me. The first thing I noticed was the light. It was still daytime, and it surprised me how quickly everything had turned dark.

“You with me?”

The voice wasn’t one I recognized. Before I answered him, I took a moment to get myself together. I was still pressed against the wall, and at some point, I had pulled my knees up to my chest. Which wasn’t a great idea, because I wore my skirt uniform today.

Hopefully, he couldn’t see my chonies .

No seas descarada.

I could practically hear my mother telling me not to be vulgar. A lady didn’t show her underwear.

The thought made me want to smile and throw up simultaneously. Would she always be in my head, only for her to haunt me because she wouldn’t be here anymore?

Instead of pondering on this, I lifted my head and instantly blushed.

Deep brown eyes stared back at me. Dark, long lashes framed them. The next thing I noticed was gorgeous curls.

Neo Caldwell was talking to me.

“Are you feeling better?”

He cocked his head as his eyebrows scrunched together with concern.

I don’t know why I blurted out my problem. Maybe part of it was that I was tired of keeping it inside, the other part was he made me nervous, and I didn’t know how to act. But the damage was done.

“My mom is dying.”

His eyes widened in shock at my admission.

Instead of saying sorry or telling me everything would be okay, he shared his own confession.

“My dad doesn’t have much life left in him either.”

It was one moment that we shared. We stayed in that empty stairwell for thirteen minutes, staring at one another. He didn’t try to comfort me with pretty words, nor did I do the same for him.

It felt nice—I felt seen.

Then, as soon as the bell rang, he never looked at me again.

Now, the only boy I had ever felt anything for was in my home, ready to play house.

Life really wanted to keep me on my toes.