“Only if it’s something good,” he says.
I give him a pathetic half smile and then drop my eyes to our hands. “You’re the first guy I’ve ever thought there was potential with in the first place,” I admit. Such a statement feels like a huge achievement. I don’t do . . . this. I don’t sit outside in the snow with a guy, holding his hand while we discuss us. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time.
Kai’s eyes light up, that fear disappearing, replaced with pure hope. “Then it’s settled. Captain Washington is going to be the one who makes you believe in giving things a shot.”
*
Kai and I leave the party. We catch up with Chyna first to make sure she’ll be alright without me, but she’s still bubbling with laughter with Malik, so she reassures me that she’ll be fine. Isaiah will pick her up later, so I know she’ll get home safely. I make a point of finding Maddie too, letting her know that Kai and I have decided to head home early, and she thanks us all over again for the amazing performance we gave earlier. Neither of us bothers telling her that it wasn’t a performance at all.
There’s nothing worth staying at the party for. I’m not in the mood for drinking and dancing on tables and all I want is to be with Kai, so we make our getaway just before 10pm.
We walk hand in hand and our pace quickens as we battle the elements. I can’t tear my eyes away from him. I stare at the sharp lines of his jaw, the softness of his full lips, the shine of his glistening eyes. I even stare at that slit in his eyebrow and wonder when I decided that it was actually kinda hot.
“So how screwed do you think we’ll be at school on Monday?” Kai jokes. His other hand is stuffed into the front pocket of his black jeans, and I can see that he’s shivering a little. We’re not too far from my house now, though.
“Whatever happens, I’m not going to fight back anymore,” I say with a shrug. I’m so over this now – none of it is worth it. The five minutes of satisfaction I get from messing with Harrison isn’t justified. It only ever makes everything worse. I’m going to be the bigger person from now on.
“Neither am I,” says Kai. He pulls me through the snow, kicking it out of the way where it’s been shoveled into piles at the end of driveways. “I think we’ve done everything we needed to. We caused an all-out war, but I’m game for a peace treaty at this point. I think I broke a knuckle.” He lets go of my hand so that he can hold up his. He flexes his fingers and shows me his bruised, swollen knuckles. I stop walking and step in front of him, blocking his path. I take his hand and press my lips to those knuckles, the same way I kissed his injuries last night.
“Thank you,” I say.
Kai looks down at me with a soft gaze. “I thought you didn’t need rescuing.”
“I didn’t,” I huff, pushing his hand away.
We laugh and sneak a kiss, then keep on walking, quickening our steps as the cold really begins to set in. We are absolutely insane to be walking home in this weather, but I guess none of our decisions this week have been good ones. We’re a little bit too impulsive, and definitely reckless. But perhaps that’s what has drawn us to one another.
When we finally make it to my house, I let out a sigh of relief and run for the porch. I’ve never been so happy to see my own front door before. I throw it open and pull Kai in, and – thank God – Dad has the heat on high. For once, my home feels warm and inviting. I kick off my ruined sneakers, and a huge shiver surges down my spine.
“Who’s there?” Dad calls as he rounds the corner from the kitchen, poised with a frying pan and a dishcloth. He immediately relaxes and lowers the pan when he sees that it’s only me. That’s the difference between Harrison’s family and mine – Mr. Boyd points guns at intruders; my dad wields a frying pan. “Oh. What are you doing back home so early? I thought you were spending the night at Chyna’s. You usually do.”
He has noticed that I spend most weekends at Chyna’s place? All this time, I was convinced he just didn’t care about my whereabouts, but maybe his lack of concern makes more sense now if he always thought I was safe over at the Tate house.
“I changed my mind,” I say with a shy smile. I’ve never left a party early before. “We walked home.”
“In this weather?” Dad looks flabbergasted at the thought of me walking home in such minimal clothing when it’s thirty degrees outside. “Hot chocolate coming straight up!” He spins around with the frying pan and disappears back into the kitchen.
“What the hell?” I ask the air. Has my father been possessed? I have no idea who this man in my house is.
“What’s wrong?” Kai asks. He carefully takes his snowy Jordans off and sets them down by the door, then joins me by my side again.
“My dad . . . Never mind,” I say, shaking my head. Kai wouldn’t understand why it’s blowing my mind that my dad is offering to make us hot drinks. Something so normal . . . yet so strange in this house.
I grab some blankets from the living room and keep one for myself, then give the other to Kai. We wrap ourselves up in them, like two giant marshmallows, and then pad through to the kitchen to join Dad.
“I don’t have any whipped cream. Sorry,” Dad apologizes as he sets down two mugs of hot chocolate on the dining table. His glasses have steamed up a little, so he removes them and gives them a wipe with the hem of his T-shirt. “Sorry, but I was a little caught up in my own world the other night. Vanessa, do you mind introducing me to your friend again?” he says, studying Kai as he slips his glasses back on.
“Oh, yeah, right,” I mumble as I slide down into one of the kitchen chairs. I wrap my hands around the mug of hot chocolate to hopefully bring back some feeling in them, because at this point, my hands are entirely numb from the cold. “So, this is Kai Washington. We’re . . . partners.” I exchange a look with Kai and he tries to hide his smirk.
“On the school assignment?” he finishes, and I’m surprised to find he actually heard me the other night. Maybe he does listen.
“Yep,” Kai says. “Nice to meet you, Sir.”
“Oh, please,” Dad says, holding up a hand. “Just call me James. And let me know if you guys need anything.” He takes his own mug of hot chocolate from the countertop and leaves us in peace alone in the kitchen as he crosses over to the living room. He sinks down into his favorite armchair and pulls out his laptop. It’s not hard to guess what he’s looking at – probably more scenic non-negotiable sights in Ireland.
Kai sits down at the opposite side of the table from me and reaches for his own mug. We’re both still wrapped in the blankets, pulling them tight around our shoulders, and we’re silent for a few minutes as we let the warmth of the house, the blankets, and the hot chocolate melt the ice from our bones. We take long sips from our drinks while mirroring each other’s smiles over the rims of our mugs. It’s such a nice moment, the two of us perfectly content in the silence.
“I can finally feel my toes again,” Kai says after a while. He gulps down the remainder of his hot chocolate, pushes the mug away, then pulls the blanket tighter around him. It makes him look so adorable, and the sight of this boy with the slit in his eyebrow and the bruised eye and the swollen knuckles wrapped up in Kennedy’s favorite fluffy white blanket makes me giggle.
“And I can finally feel my face,” I say. I reach up and touch my eyes just to double check that no icicles have formed on my eyelashes. I never would have imagined that I’d be sitting in my kitchen late on a Saturday night drinking hot chocolate – made by Dad, of all people – with Kai Washington, the enigmatic stranger who I spilled my vodka soda on.
I stand and collect our empty mugs, then dump them in the sink and leave them there because I don’t have the energy to wash them. I walk over to Kai and lean down into him from behind, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, pretty much covering him up with my own blanket. My chin nestles perfectly into the crook of his neck, and I inhale the scent of his musky cologne.
“I’m sorry for being angry at you,” I murmur. I didn’t need to
go off on him the way I did. He’s right – I was convincing myself of things he wasn’t guilty of, so my anger definitely wasn’t justified.
“And I’m sorry for being a complete idiot last night,” he says, reaching up to take my hands in his own. We stay like that for a few moments, my body pressed into his as I hug him, my head resting on his shoulder, my eyes closed.
Is this what I’ve been missing all this time? All these special little moments that happen when you least expect them to? Is this what being with someone you really like entails? Are moments like this what makes the inevitable pain at the end of a relationship worth it?
“Let’s go upstairs,” I say, straightening up behind Kai. I’m reluctant to let go of him, but I finally unwrap my arms from around his shoulders and allow him to rise to his feet.
We head for the stairs, two giant marshmallows bobbing through the house, but I catch Dad’s eye before I even step one foot on the staircase. He’s watching us from his armchair, and he makes a dramatic point of checking his watch. He frowns, then shuts his laptop.
“It’s getting late, Vanessa,” he tells me with a subtle edge to his voice. “I think your friend should head home.”
“Oh, yeah, of course,” Kai says, his words babbling out of his mouth before he can stop them. For a guy who’s usually so smooth and charming, he sure is awkward when it comes to meeting my father.
I raise an eyebrow at Dad. Kai was literally in my room four nights ago and Dad didn’t even so much as bat an eyelid, yet now he’s asking Kai to leave? What is even going on? I don’t want Kai to go, but I also love that Dad isn’t just sitting by and letting me take a guy up to my room. This . . . this is what I have been waiting for all this time.
An actual parent, doing actual parental things, like reminding me to wear a jacket and making me hot chocolate and not-so-subtly kicking a guy friend out of the house when it gets late.
It’s too glorious. Dad has really taken my feelings on board, and although his effort may be forced, I appreciate that he is already trying to be better within twenty-four hours of me exploding on him. Maybe all this time he wasn’t non-existent because he didn’t care, but rather he was absent because he does care. He said so himself – he thought giving Kennedy and me our own space and freedom was the right thing to do.
“Is it okay if I hang here for five minutes?” Kai asks. “Just until my mom picks me up?”
I laugh. As if Dad is going to say no and force Kai back outside into the blistering cold. Even Dad chuckles, tells Kai it’s no problem, then opens up his laptop again and returns to his browsing.
Kai and I sit down on the bottom of the stairs together. He texts his mom my address and she pings back immediately that she’s on her way. Kai can’t bike when the snow is as deep as it is tonight, and I doubt his vital organs could handle another walk out in that weather.
“So, can I see you tomorrow?” he asks, putting his phone away. His eyes dance with amusement and the same hopefulness that was in his expression back at the party, like he’s waiting for me to panic and say no.
But the radiant smile I give him is nothing but reassuring. “Nessie would love to see you tomorrow, Captain Washington.”
24
I open my eyes the next morning to Dad’s hand on my shoulder, gently shaking me awake. Seeing him hovering over me first thing on a Sunday is enough to scare the absolute living daylights out of me, and I stare at him in terror for a few moments until the grogginess wears off a little. I prop myself up on my elbows and rub at my eyes, squinting at him. It feels too early for this. Plus, Dad never goes out of his way to wake me.
“I need you downstairs,” Dad says, his expression solemn. An uneasy feeling instantly settles in the pit of my stomach. I don’t like the serious tone of his voice, or the concern in his eyes, or the frown on his face. He has also shaved for the first time in months, so I barely recognize him without a straggly beard covering his jawline.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, sitting bolt upright.
“We need to talk,” he says, then leaves my room, expecting me to follow. His vagueness does little to appease the tightness in my chest.
I push back my comforter and climb out of bed. I’m only wearing gym shorts and a tank top, so I grab a hoodie from my closet and pull it on to keep me warm. I check my phone for the time – 9:16. Definitely too early for serious talks with Dad. I stick my head into Kennedy’s room as I head downstairs and find that she’s still fast asleep, snoring perfectly in time with Theo who opens one feline eye at me. It’s not a family discussion. Dad only wants to talk to me.
My steps are quick as I make my way down the stairs and search for Dad. He’s over in the kitchen, pouring two cups of instant coffee. If he’d paid attention to me over the years, he would know that I don’t even drink coffee.
“Sit down,” he tells me over his shoulder, having heard my footsteps approach. He turns around and slides a cup across the table, and I put my hand out to catch it.
“Can you please tell me what’s going on?” I ask, anxiously chewing the inside of my cheek as I stiffly sit down on the edge of one of the dining chairs. Just last night, I was sat at this table with Kai drinking hot chocolate. Now I’m here with Dad drinking gross coffee.
Dad rests one hand on the back of a chair, but doesn’t sit down. He studies me across the table, narrowing his eyes. “Harrison Boyd.”
My throat tightens. “What?”
“Kennedy told me the name of the boy who posted that . . .” He takes a deep breath, like he can’t even say it. He pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “That video,” he finally finishes, but he can’t look me in the eye. “Was it Harrison Boyd?”
So now I can’t even rely on my own sister to keep my secrets. I’m going to kill her later for even discussing the matter with our dad. I shove my hands into the pocket of my hoodie so that Dad can’t see the way I’m nervously twiddling my thumbs. I don’t want to talk about this with my father. That video is humiliating enough as it is. “Yeah . . . Why does it matter? The video is already out there.”
Now Dad sits down. “Because we are going to press charges against that boy,” he says.
This was definitely not the kind of conversation I expected to wake up to. I have no idea where this has come from and now my head pounds as I try to absorb this new information. I stare at Dad, stunned and unable to reply.
“What he’s done to you is a criminal offence,” he continues, lifting his cup to his lips. He takes a slow sip, his sharp eyes still watching me over the rim. I realize then that this anger within him isn’t aimed at me, but rather it’s aimed at Harrison Boyd. This is Dad’s ex-cop persona talking now. “He’s been distributing explicit content of a minor, most especially without your consent. We’ll see that Boyd boy in court. That Richard Boyd has a name for himself around here, so I can’t say I’m surprised his son is a piece of work too.”
I imagine it now – Harrison and me standing in a court room while I fight for justice, only for my whole case to be turned against me by mention of the vandalism of Harrison’s truck, the theft of his property, the break-in to their house, the harassment . . . Not to mention the distribution of explicit images that I carried out too. Harrison has done wrong, but so have I.
“Dad . . .” I mumble, my words sticking in my throat. “We can’t press charges.”
“Why? Because you’re scared Harrison will react?”
“No . . . because . . .” I’m so ashamed I have to pull the hood of my hoodie up over my head to hide behind it. “Because then they could press charges against me.”
Confusion fills Dad’s features and he stares at me in a silent, contemplative manner for a minute, trying to make sense of my statement, most likely wondering how on earth the Boyds could possibly press charges. “What are you talking about, Vanessa?”
I can’t deny it now. I need to own up to what I’ve done before Dad persists on dragging the Boyds to court. I take a deep breath, clear my h
ead, then slowly exhale. I push my hood back down and rest my elbows on the table, holding my head in my hands. “When that video got out on Monday, I was so angry . . . I started to retaliate.”
“How, exactly?”
“I slashed the tires of Harrison’s truck. I stole his phone and hacked into it. And then I sent random strangers to meet him at Bob Evans. And I . . . I broke into his house,” I rattle off as the shame and the guilt only intensifies. I can’t even bring myself to mention the photograph I taped to Harrison’s locker, because that was such a lowlife move, even for me.
Dad’s eyes bulge. If he thought he didn’t really know his daughter before, then he definitely doesn’t know her now. “Goddamn, Vanessa . . . What were you thinking?”
“Just please don’t try and press charges against them, because I’ll get in serious trouble too.”
And so will Kai . . . But I keep his name out of my confessions. I don’t want to drag him down with me. I’ll take all the blame if I need to.
Dad presses a closed fist to his mouth as he stares at the refrigerator, thinking hard. I keep quiet, because I think I’ve said enough. “Have you and Harrison resolved this? Or are you still fighting with one another?”
“Still fighting,” I say.
“Then get dressed.”
*
Dad and I are in the Green McRusty, parked outside the Boyds’ house at ten on a Sunday morning. Dad’s wearing dress pants and a nice shirt, even wearing cologne, and he has tamed his unruly hair with gel for once. He looks . . . younger. It’s as though my father has come back to life. He’s still too skinny and his clothes still hang loose from his body, but already he looks more like the man he used to be back when Mom was still alive. He’s making an effort, which is something he hasn’t done in two years.
I don’t quite look like myself today either. I’m wearing the clothes I used to wear to church a couple years ago when Dad first tried to drag Kennedy and me to weekly services in an effort to find peace with God after everything we’d been through. We all stopped going after a month, and this black pencil skirt and neat grey blouse have been lying in the back of my closet ever since. We need to look respectful in order to be taken seriously, Dad thinks. The more of an air of superiority we bring, the more likely the Boyds are to feel intimidated.
The Wrong Side of Kai Page 23