I just want to stop, but the more I fight it, the more of a blubbering mess I become. I can't even flee. The house is in the middle of a gated community. There would be nowhere to go.
At long last, the tears dry up. I crumble against Rogan's protective embrace. He rubs my back and whispers to me.
I can barely breathe, but at least I'm safe in the arms of this guy I barely know. He's an up-and-coming rock star and I'm a hot mess. Somehow, he doesn't seem to care.
"Do you want to talk?"
My face burns with humiliation. How will I ever look into his beautiful eyes again? I certainly can't tell him what I've been through. I'll look weak. Pitiful. What kind of a wimp lets her own family treat her so horribly?
I should've run away. Done anything I could to get away from those people. From a father who refused to protect me. From a stepmother who resented my very existence. From a stepbrother who…
Hot, disgusting bile jumps from my throat to my mouth. I swallow it back down, burning my throat and gagging.
"Kenna?"
I bury my face more, away from his voice. My nose is practically in his pit. At least his antiperspirant smells good.
Could I be any more pathetic? Not even if I tried.
Rogan continues rubbing my back. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. Talk or don't talk, it doesn't matter. I'm sorry for what happened to you. I'm thoroughly pissed on your behalf. If you ever tell me who did it to you, I'll make sure he's physically incapable of doing that ever again."
Oh, dear God. He knows what happened to me. I should've known he was smart enough to figure it out. Especially since I crumbled at a scene like that.
I will never, ever again be able to get lost looking at those green and gray flecks dancing around that deep shade of brown.
Nobody has ever seen me so weak. I haven't shed a tear in front of another living soul since… I don't know when. Probably before my mom abandoned me to be alone with my dad.
No! They're not my mom and dad. Just people I'm related to. They're Merle and Caroline. That's it. Nothing more.
Rogan's whispering again.
I bury my face deeper between his arm and side. After this embarrassing display, I'm going to have to walk—no, run—away from him as fast and far as I can. Then I can never look back. That's the only thing I can do.
"Do you want to go back to my place? The others will be coming inside soon. I can hear them out there."
I bolt upright, realizing there's one thing worse than facing Rogan after melting down, and that's facing the rest of his band and their girlfriends.
"Yes, let's go." I fling off the one remaining blanket and jump off his lap.
Where did my shoes go? I pick up blankets from the floor until I find both high heels.
The back door bangs open and boisterous conversation drifts our way.
Rogan takes my hand. "This way."
I follow him down a different hallway, and we somehow end up at the front door. He opens it and we race outside.
"Won't they wonder where we went?"
"Nah. They probably think we left earlier, before the movie." Rogan opens the passenger door for me.
He rolls down his window and waves to the security guard who opens the gate for us to leave. "Bye, Rogan."
I rest my head against the window and watch Rogan from the corner of my eye. He grips the steering wheel tighter than before and his nostrils flare every so often.
If I had any more energy, I'd be curious to know what he's thinking. Hopefully he won't change his mind about letting me stay at his place. Where would I go?
I do need to come up with a plan. Staying at Rogan's house can't become a permanent situation. But what can I do? What options are there for a penniless barista?
Rogan
Once again, Kenna is locked away in the guest room, sleeping like it's an Olympic sport. I've already checked on her twice—she left the door unlocked this time. She didn't wake or attack me either time.
It's now almost dinnertime, and I'm pacing outside the bedrooms. I've already spent hours on my guitar, strumming and writing new songs. I haven't gotten out all the ones bouncing around in my mind, but I can't focus anymore.
The only thing on my mind is making sure Kenna's okay. It's obvious she's been through hell and back. My stomach twists in tight knots every time I think about what she went through.
I need to know who hurt her. Whatever coward did that to her deserves to pay, and I'd gladly be the one to put the waste of air in his place. A boyfriend? Or a stranger? Worse yet, a family member? Someone she should be able to trust?
My fists are clenched and I just want to punch the wall. It wouldn't be the first time. No, I don't want to destroy my house. I want to take down the person who made Kenna break down like that. I've never seen anyone that upset before.
It tore me apart. Beyond just anger, her sobs evoked tears of my own. I never imagined someone could hold onto such pain, yet she was carrying some horrific wounds.
A door squeaks open behind me.
I spin around. Has she finally woken up?
Mom stands before me, wearing her typical work attire—slacks and a light-colored top. She throws me a funny look. "What are you doing?"
"Pacing. What does it look like?"
She tilts her head. "Does it have anything to do with the girl Alice said has been staying here?"
My stomach drops. I gesture toward her door, and we go in Mom's room. I close the door behind me. "I don't want her overhearing us talking about her."
"Okay." Mom pulls off an earring and sets it on her dresser. "So, tell me about her. Her name is Kendra?"
"Kenna. She just needs someplace to stay, and she's in a guest room."
"Are you two involved?" Mom turns her head to the right, her neck cracks. She twists it to the left, and it pops.
"Not that it's any of your business, but no. We're just friends."
"You sure? And yes, it is my business when she's staying at my house."
I sigh.
"I'd also like to meet this girl."
"Why? Are you afraid she's going to steal something?"
She turns and meets my gaze. "I just want to meet her, honey. I'm sure if you trust her, she's fine. You wouldn't bring someone dangerous to stay here with your sister and me."
"Of course not."
"Where is she? Taking a nap?"
"Yeah. She needs some rest. That's all." I hate feeling so defensive against Mom, but I can't help it. Kenna evokes all kinds of emotions from me.
"How long do you think she'll be staying?"
I shrug. "Does it matter?"
"If I need to have Alice pick up extra food, it does."
"I don't really know. She's going through a rough time and needs friends."
Mom comes over and kisses my cheek. "You're a good kid, you know that?"
"I'm not a kid anymore, Mom."
She tousles my hair. "Your great-grandma still calls my dad kid. He's a grandpa. Don't expect me to stop anytime soon."
I don't say anything.
"Where'd you meet this Kenna girl?"
"In the woods."
She arches a brow. "You turn down groupies but make friends with a girl you find in the woods?"
"Maybe I prefer someone who can beat me at target practice."
Mom laughs. "That does sound like you. Does she fix cars too?"
"No idea. Why? You want me to look at yours or something?"
"If you have time. It's making a pinging noise, and I don't have time to take it in."
"I can take a look, but I can't promise anything. They make the new cars so that it all has to be fixed with computers."
"Yet you've fixed my car the last two times I had issues."
I head for the door. "Why don't you get a new one? Something that still has a warranty."
Mom doesn't answer. She doesn't need to. We both know the answer—Dad picked it out for her when they were together.
"I'll check your car out."
"Thanks, hon."
I go to my room and dig out some old clothes.
"Knock, knock." Sutton's standing in my doorway.
"What's up?"
"Is Mom letting Kenna stay?"
I nod.
Sutton claps. "Yay! It's like having a sister."
"You have a sibling, you know."
"Meh. Brothers are no fun." She sticks her tongue out and laughs. "I've always wanted a sister, even though you're pretty okay for a brother."
"Well, I'm glad you're excited. I think she needs a friend. Maybe she'll talk to you."
"What do you mean?" Sutton passes me and plops herself on my bed. She flips her hair and throws me a curious look.
"It's not really my place to say anything more."
"So, she doesn't have any place to stay or something?"
"I don't think so. She doesn't really want to talk about it. You're a girl, maybe it'd be easier to open up to you. It might help her."
Sutton plays with a curl, appearing deep in thought. "Yeah, I can try. I mean, if nothing else I can just be a friend."
"That would be great. I just think…" I struggle to find the right wording. It's hard without saying anything about the tracks or her breaking down in my arms. "She just needs people on her side."
"You look shaken. She's really getting to you, huh?"
I don't deny it. "Thanks, Sutton. She'll probably wake up soon, and I have to get to the garage and check on Mom's car."
"Ugh. She won't just get a new one? It's not like she can't afford it, you know?"
"Tell me about it." We both know why Mom hangs onto it. And the house and so many other things. But none of it will bring back Dad. Not to us. His new family can do no wrong, but that's all any of us can do in his eyes. His loss.
Sutton jumps up from the bed. "Well, I'll keep an ear out for Kenna. I need a break from all this studying, anyway. These exams are going to kill me."
I cringe at her choice of words. "Just don't say that to her."
Sutton lifts an eyebrow. "Why not?"
"Just don't."
"Okay, I won't say anything about my exams." She looks at me like I'm crazy.
Maybe I am, but I'll do anything to be the opposite of Dad and the guys who hurt Kenna. I'll do what I can to protect her just like I do what I can to help out Mom. "Thanks."
"Sure, whatever." She bounds out of my room.
I glance around to make sure none of my tools are in here, then I head down to the garage. It's so hot and stuffy in there, I immediately break out into a sweat. Why don't people put AC in garages?
I open the garage door and pull the car into the driveway where the air is at least breathable and trees offer shade. Then I drag my enormous toolbox out there too—I really need to get some wheels for that thing.
Once the hood's open, I look around for anything obvious. Nothing. Then I tinker around, still not seeing anything. Sweat drips into my eyes and beads up on my back. I pull off my shirt and wipe my face with it.
After checking all the fluids and some bolts, I decide to check under the car. I spend about twenty or thirty minutes underneath before I hear footsteps approaching.
I groan. It's probably Emily down the street. As soon as she sees me working on a car, she races over to flirt. Every. Single. Time. It's like that girl has a radar.
I just keep working, pretending not to notice her. Maybe she'll go away. I'm really in no mood today.
She doesn't go anywhere. I can see her yellow shoes and white ankle socks. Unfortunately, there's nothing left for me to check under the car. Mom's going to have to take it in, or better yet, buy something else.
I slide out and stand, stretching. I try to wipe some oil off my chest, but only manage to smear it across myself.
It's not Emily standing in the driveway. It's Kenna. She's wearing white shorts and a form-fitting yellow top. Her hair cascades over her shoulders.
My breath hitches and my voice flees. I just stare at her like an idiot.
Kenna
I can't take my eyes off Rogan. He's standing there shirtless, glistening in the sun from sweat with streaks of grease across his arms and chest.
I open my mouth to say something, but words fail me. What can I possibly say? Nothing that wouldn't humiliate me.
Rogan needs to put a shirt on. I can't think like this. My feet won't cooperate. His shirt is strewn across his toolbox, but I can't get to it to hand it to him.
He's made of all muscle, and I can't stop staring. It's like someone chiseled him to show off human perfection at its finest.
Rogan wipes his forehead and clears his throat. "Just trying to fix my mom's car."
I need to think of something brilliant to say. Nothing comes to mind. Literally nothing. Okay, I just need something to say that doesn't sound stupid. Nothing. I nod.
Smooth.
"So, did you get enough sleep?"
I hold back a laugh and my face burns. "You probably think I'm the laziest person alive." And probably the craziest after sobbing like a lunatic.
He shakes his head and grabs his shirt. Only he doesn't put it on, he just throws it around his shoulders.
What is he trying to do to me? I'm beginning to understand that being 'weak in the knees' isn't just a cute saying. I can't see myself walking away from where I stand.
Great, and now he's speaking. I haven't caught a single word of it. I try to focus. But I can't. Not when that shirt is resting around his shoulders rather than where it's supposed to be.
Why didn't I stay inside after Sutton told me he was working on the car? I should've taken her up on her offer to grab a bite to eat. But my stomach has been in knots since I ugly-cried all over Rogan's shirt the night before.
"Kenna?" A mind-melting grin slowly appears on Rogan's face.
And I've yet to speak a word since stepping foot onto the driveway. I find my voice, but only gibberish comes out. Literal gibberish.
I cover my face. I've never been more humiliated in my entire life—well, okay that's not true. But this is a totally different kind of embarrassment than I've ever experienced.
Rogan steps over to me and puts his arms around me. He pulls me to his perfectly sculpted bare chest.
I'm seriously going to die right now. Humiliation is going to kill me, then after that, the feel of his firm sweaty chest against my face will do me in a second time.
His heart thumps in my ear. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours his embrace offers me comfort, when in the past, a man's hold only ever brought fear, rage, and terror.
I close my eyes and try to accept the comfort he offers. My breathing returns to normal.
Rogan steps back and cups my chin.
I open my eyes and stare into his. They're beautiful and so quickly becoming familiar.
"Are you okay?"
"I think so." If I focus on his eyes, my brain functions normally. "You must think I'm crazy."
He shakes his head. "Never."
"I don't understand you."
"And I want to understand you."
My mouth dries. Now I know without a doubt I've died and gone to Heaven. There's really no other way to explain any of the events that have taken place in the last couple days.
Rogan takes my hand and leads me to a shady part of the yard. We sit in front of a huckleberry bush. He picks a handful and dumps them into my palm before picking some more for himself.
I eat the slightly sour berries and try not to think about him being shirtless.
He's so different from Theo physically, and I kind of hate myself for comparing the two. They're polar opposites in pretty much every way, other than both being guys.
Maybe it's the fact that he's so different from Theo that I'm so drawn to him. Everything from his longish dark hair to his tanned skin and muscular frame to his kindness and generosity. Rogan simply couldn't be any different from my stepbrother. Even their embraces are worlds apart.
"You want more?" Rogan glances back to the hu
ckleberry bush.
"No, thanks."
"Yeah, they're not quite ripe yet."
I smile. "I wasn't going to say anything about that."
"Will you do me a favor?"
My heart picks up speed. What could I possibly offer him? "Okay."
"Will you tell me something about the mystery that is Kenna?"
"What do you mean?"
He takes my hand in his. "Is this okay?"
My poor heart races more. I nod.
Rogan traces the lines on my palm with his fingertip, making my skin tingle. "I know almost nothing about you, except that you're possibly the most kind-hearted person I've ever met."
Me, kind-hearted? I swallow. "What do you want to know?"
He continues tracing my palm. "How about your last name? I don't even know that."
"I don't know yours, either."
One corner of his mouth smiles. "Scott."
"Rogan Scott." I like the way it rolls off my tongue. It fits him—completely and utterly perfect.
"That's my name. What's yours?"
"Kenna Mitchell." I hold back a cringe, hoping he doesn't associate my last name with my notorious dad and stepbrother. Merle and Theo have both been in trouble with the law and are fairly well-known in town because of it.
Rogan presses his palm on mine with a thoughtful expression. "We both have first names for last names."
Relief washes through me that he doesn't make the connection. "I guess we do."
At least we had something in common, even if it was something as lame as that.
"Kenna Mitchell."
I love the way my name rolls off his tongue even more than his off mine.
He threads his fingers through mine and scoots a little closer. "Have you lived around here your whole life?"
"We moved here when I was three, so everything I remember is here. Does that count?"
"Sure." He squeezes my hand. "Where'd you live before that?"
I hesitate. "I'm not really sure."
His brows knit together. "You don't know?"
My pulse races. "We don't really talk about it."
"Why not?"
I frown. "You'd have to know my dad—I mean, Merle—to understand that. He doesn't want to talk about it, so we don't. And I don't ask questions."
When Tomorrow Starts Without me Page 6