When I Was Yours, When You Were Mine

by Evie Sinclair

  I’m loading it in the trunk when Kingston comes out with his bag, the only possession he’s been traveling with, plus his guitar.

  “You sure you’re okay?” He stands, hands on his hips, looking at me.

  I lean against the trunk, pinching my brow. “Fine. I’m fine. Just need coffee and something to eat.”

  We decide to pick up coffee and breakfast burritos on the way out of the city.

  I can feel Kingston’s gaze on me as I begin driving.

  He clears his throat. “About last night…”

  “There’s nothing to discuss.” I cut him off. “Honestly, King. You know me. I’ve always taken things too seriously. I’m hungry is all.” Talking is the last thing I feel like doing right now.

  Between him and my conversation with Dale, I need time to sort through the cluster-fuck in my head.

  After we pick up coffee and breakfast, we stop for gas. I go inside to buy snacks and can’t help but take a look at the magazines sitting by the chocolates. I pick up a few and flick through them. Nothing.

  ◆◆◆

  The next few days of driving are long. Kingston has a gig in Kansas City which is out of the way, especially considering we’re driving up through Canada afterwards.

  We drive 10 hours to Rapid City and stay overnight at a hotel that Kingston organizes. We’re in separate rooms which is nice because the drive was quiet and full of silence, or small, polite conversation.

  From Rapid City we drive straight to Kansas City, to a beautiful house in Lenexa.

  I choose the main bedroom downstairs and Kingston stays upstairs. The first night we get in, I’m asleep within minutes.

  The next morning I’m sitting on the couch drinking coffee and contemplating the easel that sits by the window.

  I’m getting up to inspect it when Kingston strolls downstairs in his matching gray lounge shorts and t-shirt.

  “Morning.” he mumbles, firing up the coffee machine.

  “Morning.” I repeat.

  He’s messing around with the buttons on the machine and I watch, wondering if he has any idea what he’s doing.

  “You have to set it to double and flip that nozzle.” I try to sound more uninterested than I am.

  He rubs a hand over his face. “The other one.” I offer.

  He glances back at me, a small grin on his face. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  “I’ll make you one. Sit down.”

  “Yes Ma'am,” he retorts.

  “You excited about tonight?” I query, trying to make more small talk.

  “I guess.” He pauses. “Thank you for driving all this way for me,” he continues on.

  “It’s no problem. And it’s not all for you. A road trip is exactly what I need right now.”

  “Well, then I’m glad to be of assistance.”

  “Okay, calm down, Kansas City wasn’t exactly on my route, but I do love it here.”

  “Me too. We lived here for a while when I was a kid,” he says.

  I pour the hot milk into the freshly extracted coffee. “No way? You really did travel around.”

  “Thank you.” He takes the coffee from me.

  “I hope it’s okay.”

  His eyes crease into a smile. “It’s great.” And I can tell he’s got more to say. “Listen, I …”

  “If it’s about Missoula …”

  “No, no, it’s not.”

  “Okay.”

  “There’s photos of us online …” he begins.

  I appreciate his sensitivity with the matter.

  “Yeah, I know.” I admit.

  “You know?”

  “Yeah. Dale told me.”

  “Dale told you?”

  “You enjoy repeating what I say, King?”

  “What do you mean Dale told you?” he asks.

  “He called a few times. I answered. He wanted to know why I was at a motel with you.”

  “Why’d you pick up his call?”

  “I was feeling crappy. Didn’t think I could feel crappier, so I picked up.” There’s silence. “I felt crappier …” I finish.

  “And he called you about the photos?”

  I nod at his question. I can see him assessing the situation.

  “He also wanted to apologize. Said we were too suited, too right for each other,” I confess.

  He furrows his brow. “He what?” Kingston’s expression is somewhere between furious and stunned.

  I nod and take another sip of my coffee.

  “What’d you say?” He asks.

  “I told him that I agree and we’re getting back together.” I shrug.

  Kingston chokes on his coffee and gives me a pointed stare.

  I stare right back at him, the smallest smile on my lips. “I told him to get fucked.”

  At this, his face loses all tension. “Thank god. I’m proud of you!”

  “Thanks.”

  We’re looking at each other, again. This time, we’re sitting in the kitchen of a beautiful home, drinking coffee, in our pajamas, with a gorgeous backyard where families will have lived, with parents who loved each other and shared their lives together.

  I look away and scrunch up my face. “I’m going to shower.”

  The barstool squeaks against the floorboards as I leave.

  I feel defeated by this conversation.

  Talking about Dale does nothing but make me feel bad.

  And looking at Kingston does nothing but confuse me.

  I’m putting my hair up when I hear Kingston talking to someone. I pad downstairs to see him taking boxes from a man.

  “What are those?” I ask, as he closes the door.

  “It was meant to be a surprise. Come outside with me.”

  I follow him out, frowning at the situation. He ushers me to sit down and begins opening the boxes - tubes of paint.

  “Kingston …”

  “I thought - it’s such a nice day, you were saying you want to start painting again, and there’s an easel here.”

  “I have paint in my car …”

  “Yeah, but it’s all packed away, this was easier.”

  “Thank you.” And I mean it. I’m touched by how thoughtful this is.

  He pulls out a bunch of different canvases. “I didn’t know exactly what to get, so I told the task guy to get them all.” He laughs, looking at the abundance of paints and brushes.

  “Kingston, you’re insane! You should have just asked!”

  “But then it wouldn’t have been a surprise and you would have told me not to and then you’d have probably tried to prove a point and you would have unpacked your boxes in your car and made a mess, and then you probably would have been angry at me …”

  “I’m not always angry.”

  “ No. You’re not. I didn’t mean that,” he says.

  “I get it.” I make my way over to where he’s setting everything up. “How about I paint you …” I offer before I can stop myself, because I suddenly realize it means I’ll be staring at him for an extended period of time, which is precisely what I’m trying not to do.

  “Me?” he asks, looking quite pleased.

  “Ahh … yeah, why … not …” I stammer.

  “Sure! I’m up for it! What kind of pose should I pull?”

  I can’t help but laugh. “You don’t need a pose, plus, I know your face pretty well, maybe I’ll only need you for a short time,” I say. “So, take that chair and go sit in the middle.” I motion to the garden. The greenery is immense, trees and wall vines surrounding us.

  He sits himself down, still dressed in his sweats, one foot propped on the crossover of the chair and the other one on the grass.

  I squeeze out paint and make color decisions as Kingston chats to me. “Left or right side? Which is my better angle?” he jokes.

  “Either one, they’re both pretty bad.” I peer up at him, a slight grin on my lips.

  He jolts out a laugh, narrowing his eyes at me. “Thanks, Walker.”

  I’m lost in pa
inting when Kingston begins to get fidgety.

  “Stop moving,” I mumble.

  “Can we make this exciting? This silence is deafening.”

  “Listen to the birds.”

  “I’ve been listening to them for hours. I practically know bird-talk.”

  “It’s not been hours.”

  Although I will agree on the deafening silence.

  “Why don’t we play 21 Questions.”

  “Mmm, I don't know.” I nibble on the end of the paint brush, he catches my eyes, dips his gaze to my lips, and quickly glances away. “Okay. Whatever. You first,” I say.

  His boyish grin appears and I hope I don’t regret this.

  “Hmmm. Aside from painting and curating, what would you want to do with your life?”

  I contemplate the question for a moment. “Maybe a teacher or something to do with travel,” I offer him my boring answer.

  “What about you?” I ask.

  “Nuh-uh-uh. You can’t re-ask my question straight after.”

  “I don’t know if that’s an actual rule …” I point out. He cocks his head to the side. “Fine. Ummm. You’re a Sagittarius - do you think that matches your personality?”

  “You’re the strangest human I’ve ever met.” He chuckles to himself.

  “Yeah, sure. I’m fiery and strong-willed, but a little impatient.” He offers up.

  “You know about star signs?”

  “Yeah, Lily used to read them to me. Were you trying to set me up to fail, Walker?”

  “No.”

  “I also know you’re an Aries. Which fits you perfectly. Fiery - even more than me - passionate and brave.”

  I have no words. He’s got his arms crossed in an - I fucking nailed your question - way.

  “I’m not brave.” Is what comes out when I finally speak.

  He blinks at me and unfolds his arms. “Yes you are.”

  I shake my head, arranging my thoughts. “You remember my birthday and know my star sign suits me?”

  “You remembered my star sign.” He points out.

  “Yeah - but - that’s - that’s …” I want to say it makes sense that I remember his sign, because I practically worshipped the ground he walked on as a teenager. “That’s - okay yeah we both do. Okay.” I fumble my words. I look up at the sun, trying to find a way to end this conversation.

  “What’s the time? I should get ready.”

  Kingston looks at his watch. “Ahh, yeah probably.”

  “One second,” I pick up the canvas.

  “What?” he asks, watching me.

  “It’s not finished yet - you can see it when it’s finished.”

  He has a soft crease between his brows. “Okay.” He accepts.

  “You get started and I’ll clean up here.” I suggest.

  “You sure?”

  “Sure, sure.”

  He gives me a small smile and ambles inside.

  CHAPTER six

  I sit at the bar of the unique venue Kingston is playing at tonight. I recall before we left - I dressed in jeans and a loose knitted tank top, with my lace bralette. When I met Kingston outside by the car, he mumbled something incoherent again as I walked toward him. I asked him what he said and he told me he liked my boots.

  The crowd is the largest I’ve seen, and if he invites me up tonight I think I’ll puke right where I sit.

  “Hey! Kingston offered for you to stand with me if you want.” Lisa, the soundie, squeezes in beside me.

  “If I want?” I laugh.

  She grins. “Yeah, he seemed pretty keen on you standing with me.”

  I nod. “Show me the way.”

  Lisa’s area is blocked off and even though it’s small, there’s a lot more personal space than the rest of the venue.

  After Kingston’s set finishes, Lisa yells in my ear above the applause. “I would say I’m sorry about his shoulder, but someone up there had bigger plans for him.” She motions above her.

  “He’s pretty damn good.” I agree.

  “Dude, I’d love it if he looked at me the way he looks at you.” She winks.

  “At me?” I ask incredulously.

  “Oh girl!” Is all she exclaims, dramatically hitting her palm on her forehead.

  I laugh along, because I know he watches me during his songs, but I’m so lost when it comes to Kingston and it’d be too hard to explain that to her.

  When the crowd disperses and everything is packed up, Kingston and I move to a dimly lit jazz bar down the street.

  We sit in a velvet lined booth at the back, and order whisky.

  “I like it here.” I look around at the red interior, chandeliers lining the room.

  He doesn’t respond. I turn to look at him, catching his attention focused on me.

  It may be the alcohol, but it’s the look again. The look he’s never given me before this trip. I find myself making sure my scar is hidden, last time he saw it his mood changed so rapidly.

  “Same,” he finally says, not taking his eyes off mine.

  The waiter places our drinks in front of us and interrupts whatever is going on.

  “We didn’t finish those questions.” Kingston makes a point of mentioning.

  “It was your turn, I think,” I say nonchalantly.

  “Who was your first kiss?”

  “Ooooh, we’re stepping the game up?” I grin at him over my drink. “Okay. Logan doesn’t even know this and it was a long time ago so chill when I tell you - ”

  “ - I’m always chill.” He takes a sip of whisky.

  “You remember David Moss?” I ask. Kingston watches me carefully, he doesn’t say a word. “He was friends with you and Logan. He played defense, I think. Wasn’t very - ”

  “ - I remember him, Mae.” Kingston cuts me off, he puts his drink down.

  “David-Fucking-Moss kissed you? He was your first kiss? Did you kiss him back? So, he kissed you?”

  “You are not being chill …” I joke. “This was a really, really long time ago.”

  “Logan would have killed him. I would have killed him.”

  “Exactly why we did it in secret.”

  “More than once?”

  I nod.

  “That sneaky fuck …”

  “I guess I’m a sneaky fuck also …” I tease

  “Mae …”

  “Yes, King? Would you like me to be the innocent teenager you thought you knew so long ago?” I keep my face neutral.

  “Not what I meant,” he states.

  “Then what did your cautionary Mae mean?” I interrogate. “Because from my memory of things - I wasn’t allowed to put a foot wrong when it came to the two of you.”

  “It was never about you,” he defends.

  “Which kind of makes it worse don’t you think?” I sit up straight, gaining confidence. “I couldn’t follow you around, but you wanted to know where I was and who I was with every second of the day.”

  His face softens as I speak. I’m not necessarily trying to hurt him, I’m sick of the bodyguard bullshit.

  “It’s not how we meant for it to be.” He runs his pointer finger along the edge of his whisky glass.

  I can sense his sincerity. “It was tough, King, I won’t lie. I felt like neither of you wanted me around, but you felt in charge of my safety. Sometimes it messed with my head. David saw it. To be honest, I think he’d kiss me to make me feel better.”

  “I highly doubt his actions were that noble, Mae.”

  “And why not?” I lean in with defiance.

  “Because you’ve always been insanely beautiful, that’s why. You’d sit in those damn bleachers watching us train and every single eye would be half on the ball. You ever wonder why Coach Gale made all training sessions closed sessions no matter what?”

  I fold my arms. “Don’t mess with me.”

  “I’m not.” He copies my body language. “Logan dodged comments about you constantly. It drove him crazy.”

  “Crazy is about right!” I counter.

/>   “Look. I know we weren’t always fair, but we were scared, if anything. If anything had happened to you …”

  I digest what he’s telling me. It wasn’t like I didn’t have a life back then. I went to parties and felt rebellious, but I always had a safe place to come home to, and the arms of people I knew had my back.

  I look up, and make eye contact with Kingston as he speaks. “I’m sorry if it ever felt too much. With your Dad being so distracted and always away, it made Logan grow up quicker than he expected.”

  “I agree with that. Losing Mum hurt more than I could imagine. Dad wasn’t the same. He was always distant and closed off, but after Mum - it got worse.”

  “He lives in Alabama?” Kingston asks.

  “Yeah, with his new wife and their daughter.” I offer King a small smile.

  “How do you feel about that?” he probes.

  “Nuh-uh-uh.” Not something I want to discuss. “My question now, Mr James.” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He breaks eye contact, so I quickly move on. “Who is your celebrity crush?”

  “Your questions sure are cute.” He grins at me, a sparkle of sarcasm.

  I stare him down. “Okay. How old were you when you lost your virginity and to who?”

  He cocks his head to one side and raises his eyebrows. “Sixteen, Terri Sheridon.”

  I gape at him. “Terri Sheridan? She was older than you?”

  “She was seventeen,” he confirms.

  “I thought she was so damn cool,” I admit, laughing at myself.

  “Yeah?” he asks.

  “Yeah. I wanted to be like her. Damn, I wanted her life. And plus, she was kind. She didn’t act like she thought she was better than everyone else.” He smiles at me. “I didn’t even know you two knew each other.” I confess. “I would have begged you to introduce me.”

  Kingston laughs. “Not many people knew about us. We were young, we had fun.”

  I contemplate Kingston and Terri. They would have made a great couple. I could imagine that even though I thought she was cool back then, I would have been beside myself with jealousy if I had known about them.

  “What happened between you two?” I ask.

  “No double-up questions. You just told me that.” I jut out my bottom lip and take a drink. Kingston shakes his head, chuckling. “Like I said, we were young. We had lives to live.” I nod at his answer. “Okay. My go. And I know I can’t ask the same question you just did - but I swear - if it was David Moss …” Kingston begins.