Kiss the Stars

by Jackson, A. L.

  No fucking coffee.

  Now that was just cruel and unjust.

  I blew out a heavy sigh, grabbing a tee that I’d tossed to the couch and pulling it over my head before I stepped out into the coolness of the breaking day.

  For a minute, the humidity was held. A moment’s sanctuary from the Savannah summer heat.

  Barefoot, I tiptoed through the stilled hush of the morning, birds chirping through the light rustle of the trees that billowed from above.

  If you listened closely enough, you could almost believe in peace.

  I made it to the glass wood-framed doors at the back entrance of the main house, and I tapped in the code. The lock gave, and I quietly pushed open the door a fraction so I could slip into the sleeping house without being noticed.

  I eased it shut behind me. Eyes on my feet, I roughed a hand through my still damp hair as I headed for the kitchen.

  Two steps in, I froze when I realized I wasn’t alone. “Penny. You scared me.”

  Somehow, I managed to keep the curse from ripping off my tongue.

  The young girl stilled in surprise where she was turning on a burner on the stovetop.

  Yeah, she was clear on the opposite side of the kitchen as me, a huge island in the middle of us, but there was no missing the flicker of fear in her eyes when she saw me.

  It came right along with a million questions.

  “I think it was the other way around.” She searched me.

  Wary.

  Inquisitive.

  Like she was asking me point-blank if she should be afraid.

  I heaved out a strained sigh, and I shuffled over to the island, careful to keep a continent between us. I pulled out a stool and tucked myself into it so I was facing her. Figured if I was sitting, I wouldn’t appear so much of a threat.

  Knew I didn’t exactly come across as a nice guy.

  “You’re up early.” That made for good, casual conversation, right?

  I mean, seriously, why did this kid make me shake? My knee was bouncing a million miles a minute under the island, heart still jackhammering in my chest, and I was having a hell of a time maintaining my faked grin.

  “You’re up early, too,” she said in her soft voice, studying me as she went to the refrigerator and pulled out butter and a dozen eggs and took them back to the stovetop.

  She was . . . cooking.

  “Couldn’t sleep,” I told her, honestly.

  Curiosity filled her dark eyes, and she glanced back at me as she took a knife to the butter and put a large dollop into the pan. “Me, neither,” she whispered to the nothingness, away from me, but I could still hear.

  Like I could taste her fear.

  “So you decided to make breakfast?” I tried to keep it light.

  “Don’t you know breakfast is the most important meal of the day?” She kept her back to me, working away, her hair in a ponytail swishing down her back.

  “Did your mom tell you that?”

  “Didn’t yours?” She peered at me for a beat before she turned back to the stove.

  I blew out a sigh. “Well, I guess we could say my mom wasn’t quite as cool as yours.”

  I could almost feel her blush, the way she was chewing at her bottom lip, barely turning enough that she could steal a peek at me. “She wasn’t nice?”

  A turbulence rose up from the depths.

  Old, old wounds. Hardened and cracked.

  A rubbed my fingers over my lips.

  How the fuck was I supposed to handle this?

  “She wasn’t exactly nice, no.”

  A slash of sadness crumpled her face, her brows drawing tight in sympathy. “Did she hurt you?” she whispered, her expression a flood of worry.

  I fought the cynical laughter scraping my throat, and I roughed my hand through my hair over and over again. “Not physically.”

  Not me, anyway.

  Those dark eyes softened and deepened and saw too many things. Just like her mother. “I’m sorry. Moms are supposed to be our favorite people and it’s stupid and wrong when they’re not.”

  Something tugged at that ugly spot that throbbed from within. Still I was chewing at my bottom lip and giving her a tight nod. “Yeah, it sucks. But I think what matters here is that you have one of the good ones.”

  I thought it was fear I saw blast across her face before she quickly turned away and cracked three eggs into the skillet. They splattered and sizzled in the hot, melted butter. Scent of it rising into the air, binding with the sudden tension that rippled and shook.

  “I don’t want her to die, too.” She muttered it so quietly that I could barely be sure that she’d actually said it.

  But I felt it.

  A slash across my soul.

  “I won’t let that happen.” The promise was out before I could stop it.

  Fuck.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  What was I doing? Assigning myself responsibility? But I couldn’t seem to make myself stop. Not when this kid clearly needed reassurance.

  “She pretends like everything is okay, but sometimes I hear her crying at night,” Penny continued. “I hate it when she cries, Mr. Godwin. I hate it, and I want to make it go away. That’s why I couldn’t sleep.”

  The last was barely a breath, her head tipped to the floor. The pieces getting loose from her ponytail created a veil across her face.

  Like she was ashamed to admit it.

  Torment clutched me, hers and mine, her confession wrapping me in leather binds.

  I pressed my hands to the stone of the island to keep myself from going to her. The surface cold against the fire that was raging in my veins. “You shouldn’t worry, Penny. That’s why you’re here. So you’re all safe. Your uncle and I are going to see to that.”

  I had no idea what I was even promising her, and I thought it was high-time I asked a few fucking questions.

  Her chin trembled when she stared back at me. “Are you sure?”

  Nothing will happen to you. Not ever. I promise you.

  The pathetic oath roared through my mind. Decayed and rotten. Black venom oozed from the pits of this living hell that toiled inside.

  I gulped around it.

  “I promise. I won’t let anything happen to her.”

  Won’t let anything happen to you.

  My spirit fired, and I swore, I caught a glimpse of Karma kicking her feet up on the ottoman in the den while sipping a cup of coffee, grinning maniacally behind the mug.

  Someone needed to stab that bitch.

  “Okay,” Penny whispered.

  She turned back to the eggs she was scrambling, and four slices of toast popped up from the toaster. She busied herself, putting butter and jam on the toast and plating some eggs.

  Shyness had taken her whole when she turned around with the plate clutched in two hands, her shoulders to her ears as she crossed the floor. Carefully, she slid the plate over to me. “That’s for you. Because your mom didn’t do a good job of taking care of you.”

  Emotion clutched me. Heart and soul. I looked down at the food. “You don’t have to feed me, Penny.” The words grated free.

  “But what if I want to?”

  Warily, I gave her a rigid nod. “Thank you.”

  A tiny smile pulled at her mouth. “You’re welcome.” She turned away and headed back for the counter. “Coffee?” she asked from over her shoulder.

  Disbelief left me on a shot of low laughter.

  “Tell me you don’t drink coffee.”

  Her head shook as her body swayed. Her demeanor a thousand pounds lighter. “Of course not, silly, I made it for my mom. Because she takes such good care of me.”

  I got it, what she was saying. But in the end, I couldn’t blame my mother for who I had become. For what she’d gotten involved in that had been passed on to me.

  It was all on me.

  A second later, Penny was back with a steaming cup of coffee, sliding it over beside my plate. She grabbed a container of creamer and some sugar and
did the same.

  God, this kid.

  Mia threaded in her.

  Goodness and purity.

  “You’re the best, Penny. This is exactly what I came in here looking for this morning.”

  Redness flushed her face. “Really?”

  “Yep. And you should probably call me Leif. The only person who calls me Mr. Godwin is . . . well . . . no one.”

  A timid smile flitted over her face. “Okay, Leif.”

  I gave her a nod and took a sip of the coffee. Warning spreading wide. Knowing I was digging myself deeper. Losing sight. Burying myself in something that wasn’t mine to keep.

  But I had to think maybe . . . maybe . . . this was another debt that I owed.

  Another loss. Another penalty.

  But if it gave this child a second’s relief?

  Then I would gladly pay the price.

  Eighteen

  Leif

  Bursts of laughter and shouts of voices seeped through the walls. Sunlight crawled in through the edges of the windows and made its way through the cracks.

  I was sitting on the floor, hunkered down like I was in some kind of war zone, hoping beyond hope that would be enough to keep me camouflaged, my back leaned against the couch with my acoustic guitar balanced across my lap.

  Chicken-scratch notebook open on the floor beside me.

  There were nothing but a disorder of words on the page.

  Pencil slashed and sliced like knife marks in the thick journal paper.

  Nothing quite making sense because there was no sense to be made for the mayhem going down in the depths of me.

  Suppressing a scream, I dropped my pencil onto the notebook and roughed both hands through my hair, blowing out a sigh toward the ceiling.

  Swore, the family gathering happening right outside was more like pandemonium.

  A storm gathering strength in the distance.

  I was doing my best to remove myself from the situation and put some distance between me and the disorder.

  I stared at the scratches of words.

  Incoherent.

  Senseless.

  And basically the only thing I could hear for the last two weeks.

  You came out of nowhere.

  A trainwreck.

  Paradise.

  Moved.

  Desolate.

  Would give it all up.

  If it would keep you from falling apart.

  Another shriek of laughter echoed from outside right before there was a huge splash of water as someone cannonballed into the pool, voice shouting, “Watch this!”

  Penny.

  That one was Penny.

  I knew it. Felt the tenor of her voice reverberating through the floors. Could almost see her timid smile splitting her face as the pool swallowed her up, sent her floating, flooded her with joy.

  Everyone was out there. The whole family spending their Saturday afternoon out at the pool, loving and living together, the exact way Mia had explained them to be five days ago.

  Which was precisely the reason I was hiding out in the guest house this afternoon.

  Quietly strumming at my guitar while not so quietly counting down the days until I could get the hell out of here. This sentence had become more than I could bear. More than I could handle.

  The awareness I had every time I got in their space.

  Swore I could feel hot blades being dragged across my flesh every time Mia sent one of her earth-shattering smiles my way. Every time she tried to act casual and like there wasn’t this burning thing between us.

  A fireball.

  A lightning storm.

  Flashes of light. So bright, they were blinding.

  I curled my left hand around the neck of the guitar, tucking it close to me, and I strummed a few chords, lightly humming under my breath. I kept both low enough that no one could hear me.

  Lyrics began to flow with the melody I was weaving. Words I couldn’t seem to evict from my mind.

  Moved.

  Desolate.

  Would give it all up.

  If it would keep you from coming apart.

  Are you falling?

  Are you flying?

  Tell me baby,

  Is it worth dying,

  For everything you’ve been living for?

  My heart raced harder as the chorus came to life, pulse running wild as the key lifted and rose and dove toward the ground.

  Hope and grief.

  Belief and despair.

  My spirit shuddered.

  I had to wonder if you couldn’t have one without the other.

  A fierce pounding started up at the door.

  Huffing out a breath, I flipped the notebook closed, set my guitar on the couch, and climbed onto my feet.

  I scraped the hair back that had fallen in my face, my mind still running somewhere a million miles away, somewhere in the heavens, riding with the stars, and still right there with that girl who was outside.

  Exactly where I wasn’t supposed to be.

  Warily, I turned the lock and pulled the door open an inch. Just enough to peer into the spray of the late afternoon sunlight that tried to flood into the guest house.

  Brendon was there, smirking his little smirk, black eyes patting me down through the tiny crack in the door. Like the barrier between us might as well not be there.

  He lifted his chin. “’sup?”

  Kid was nothing but preteen swagger, wearing swim trunks low on his hips, outright confidence in his body, all while being about as scrawny and gangly as a stick figure.

  I held the chuckle rolling around in my chest. “Not much, man. Just hanging out. Relaxing. What’s up with you?”

  “Swimming.”

  “I see that.”

  He was drenched, hair dripping, kid making a 10-foot deep puddle in front of my door.

  Maybe if I was lucky enough, I could drown in it.

  “So?” he prodded.

  “So what?” I asked, leaning against the doorjamb and peering out.

  “Are you comin’ or what?”

  “And where is it I’m supposed to be going?”

  Huffing, he rolled his eyes like I was dense. “Um . . . outside . . . with the rest of us? Or are you going to be the loser who stays inside all day, afraid of a little sun?”

  Wow.

  “Loser, huh? Are you actually trying to offend me or is this some kind of messed up guilt trip?”

  He lifted his hands out to the sides. “Guilt trip, obviously.” His gaze narrowed. “Is it working?”

  “Barely.”

  “So what’s it going to take?” he asked. “We’re about to have a dive off. Figured you’d want to be in for the title. Winner gets five bucks.”

  Rough laughter rumbled out. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not much of a swimmer, Brendon. Besides, it’s hot as balls out there.”

  “My balls are just fine. You scared, Leif?” He narrowed his eyes. Challenge thrown.

  Scared?

  Absolutely.

  But he definitely didn’t need to know that.

  “Nope. Just . . . not my thing.”

  “Food your thing? Because Momma Blue is bringing out her famous lasagna in about five minutes. Missing out on that? Now that right there is just a bad judgment call. Ignorance. Stupidity. Whatever you want to call it. One thing for sure, you don’t want to be lumped into that category, do you? That would just be embarrassing.”

  Good God, this kid was a blood hound.

  Apparently, he wasn’t going to stop until mine was spilled out onto the floor. No doubt, he’d sniffed out the fact my stomach was currently prowling up and down my spine.

  He cracked a grin. “No one can resist Momma Blue’s lasagna. Besides, saying you don’t want any would be rude. Even I know that.”

  “Your worse than your dad with the guilt trips, you know.”

  He lifted both hands with a smile. “Hey, I already told you that’s what this was.”

  “And who sent you on this little mi
ssion?”

  This was where he hesitated, warring, like he owed a loyalty and didn’t want to give anything away. He took a long look over his shoulder at Penny who was sitting on the pool steps with her feet in the water, peeking over at us with all that quiet timidness.

  Too knowing.

  Too wise.

  Emotion clamored and clawed, trying to get free.

  I attempted to shove it down.

  Brendon looked back at me. “Penny is super shy, but she doesn’t like it that you’re in here by yourself. And it doesn’t make much sense to me, either, for you to be in here when you could be out here with all of us. I mean, seriously, we are pretty much the most awesome people you are ever gonna meet. Life doesn’t get better than this. Like . . . single best day of your life,” he drew out. “Do you really wanna miss out on that? Get your butt out here, drummer dude.”

  I glanced around him at the slip of land that I could make out. Kallie was standing about ten feet behind Brendon and off to the left side, carefully peering my way, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Like she’d been sent on the mission, too, but had thought better of the danger of it and was hovering on the periphery.

  Just out of reach of the lion’s den.

  “Come on, Leif. Suck it up. I could hear you playing in there, and whatever it was, it kinda sucked.” The razzing played all over Brendon’s mouth. “Might as well give it up for the day.”

  He quirked a brow.

  Little punk.

  I laughed in disbelief.

  Was I really being handled by a twelve-year-old?

  He crossed his arms over his chest.

  Clearly.

  “Fine. Let me put on some shoes.”

  Turning on my heel, I started back for the bedroom.

  “How about some swim trunks while you’re at it?” he hollered from behind me.

  I threw up a hand of dismissal. Kid was lucky I didn’t give him the finger.

  He might be a bulldog. But he was five-foot nothing and sure as shit not badgering me into that.

  Nineteen

  Mia

  I was leaned over loading the dishwasher when I froze. Every nerve ending in my body alight.

  Hypersensitive.