by Cara McKenna
I eyed his fingers, trying to imagine what it’d be like if Kelly were my boyfriend, and I could just reach out and hold his hand. What if that wedding band, the one that unintentionally told women, back off, he’s taken . . . What if he were taken, and that ring’s inaccurate message was on my side?
Suddenly Kelly reached between us, tapping my wrist with his finger. “Did I freak you out or something?”
“Pardon? When?”
“I dunno. You’re all glazed over.”
“It must be the beer. Or the sex,” I added quietly, eager to steer us back to an arena we knew how to grapple in.
“You got defensive, after I was teasing you about couples shit.”
I shivered, suddenly naked again. And in public. “Since when do you waste your time trying to interpret emotional-chick nonsense?”
“See? It’s making you all squirrely. But I’m just saying, if that freaked you out, don’t worry. I’m not looking to threaten to your precious feminist autonomy.”
Wait, what? “You’re thinking too hard about this, Kel.”
“Fine. Just didn’t want to wreck what we got, if that kind of talk weirds you out. I like this arrangement we’ve got going. I don’t want to scare it away, either. Forget I even uttered the c-word.”
Oh lovely. At least that settled the uncertainty of whether or not that discussion was imminent. I knew where we stood, now—absolutely no place special, but as a consolation, the sex was off the wall.
I squinted at Kelly. Sometimes I felt I knew him. Other times, like now, it hit home that we’d only met a few weeks ago.
“What?”
“I know like, nothing about you.”
“Sure you do. You know way more than most people.”
I cocked my head.
“You’ve seen me naked,” he pointed out. “Been inside my house. Heard a little about my upbringing, and you know where I’m from. You know I wish I had a dog.”
“Yeah, I guess.” And in truth, I knew something very personal about him, something rough and heinous and intense, but I hadn’t heard it from Kelly, so it shouldn’t count. “But other stuff. Silly stuff.”
“Like?”
Like stuff girls know about their boyfriends. “I dunno. Your middle name?”
“Paul.”
“Are you a Republican?”
He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Independent.”
“Do you . . . Can you dance?”
“I can waltz.”
I goggled at him and he shrugged. “I went to a Polish Catholic middle school.”
“Oh my God—can you polka?”
“If a wedding demands it and I’ve had enough vodka, sure.”
“Huh.” I propped my chin on my hand. My angst disappeared, so engrossed was I in trying to picture Kelly dancing.
Our food arrived and we chatted as we ate, and I let myself get caught up in the more superficial details of Kelly Robak. His birthday was July twentieth. He hated sushi. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d finished a book, but we’d both read and liked everything by Oliver Sacks, unsurprisingly. If he’d gone to college, he imagined he would’ve studied history.
“What part of history?” I asked, wadding my napkin.
Kelly drained his glass. “American, I guess. The Civil War seems pretty interesting, plus all the industrial stuff. Railroads and shipbuilding. Subway construction.”
If this were my boyfriend, I’d have allowed my wheels to start turning with ideas for birthday presents.
“Better get back,” he said, standing. “It’s a school night, after all.”
I tucked my debit card inside the check presenter and went to use the ladies’ room, but when I got back, I discovered without much surprise that Kelly had paid in cash. He handed me my card.
“Not fair. I wanted to pay. You fixed my car.”
“Tough shit.”
I shook my head, following him to the exit.
As we climbed into his truck he asked, “You heading home tonight, or in the morning?”
I bit my lip, buckling my seatbelt. “I dunno. What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to stay the night so we can have sex again.”
“You don’t play games, Kelly. I’ll give you that.”
“You’ll give me all kinds of things,” he said, turning onto the street. “Just you wait and I’ll tell you what they are.”
I rolled my eyes, but inside I smiled.
By the time we pulled up to his house, I’d succumbed to a long series of yawns. The beer or the heap of pasta or the twelve-hour shift had done me in.
As Kelly locked the door behind us I said, “Don’t be offended if I fall asleep in the middle of the sex.”
“I’ll wake you up when it’s your turn to come,” Kelly said, but then he yawned, too. “Or we can give it a miss, just this once.”
Which meant what? If there was no sex imminent, did that mean I should head home, or were going to like . . . cuddle?
“You need something to sleep in?” he asked, answering my unspoken question and filling me to the brim with a weird, giddy energy, like I was suddenly made of kittens.
“Just a tee shirt is fine.” Oh crap, I was sleeping over and we weren’t banging, and I’d be wearing his shirt. That sounded suspiciously boyfriend-girfriendish. And I liked it.
“Want a nightcap?” he asked, rounding the counter.
“No, thanks. Do you have any tea?”
Kelly poked around a cupboard. “I’ve got something for colds. Lemon eucalyptus,” he read off a box.
“As long as it’s not caffeinated, I’ll have that.”
He filled his kettle and I took a seat on a stool, watching as he poured himself a generous shot of bourbon.
Kelly put a tea bag in a mug and leaned his elbows the other side of the counter. “Any updates about your sister and her situation?”
“No, not really. She’s annoyed with me, so that probably means they’re united for the moment. But I’m not worried for her safety or anything.”
“That’s what I was getting at.”
“He’s never laid a hand on her,” I added, then realized it was a lie—he’d shaken her, if not hit her. I decided not to open that can of worms with Kelly, lest he head over there this minute to demand reparations. I didn’t want reparations. I wanted to fall asleep next to Kelly and forget all that. “Not that I’m defending him.”
“Hasn’t laid a hand on her yet.”
“No. Not yet.” Another lie. Plus I hated saying that, admitting to myself it could one day happen. Again. He’d shoved me, after all—completely sober, as far as I could tell. I’d provoked him, but that was no excuse. And no one provoked like Amber. It was practically her craft. He could do the same to her. Or Jack.
Kelly filled my mug when the water boiled and slid it across the countertop, taking a seat on the stool at the end, so we sat kitty-corner.
“It sucks that you had to grow up with that,” I added quietly. “All that stuff with your stepdad.”
He shrugged. “Not like it’s an exclusive club.”
“No, I guess not.” I bobbed my tea bag.
“What about you?” Kelly asked. “Your mom ever get physical with you? Or any boyfriends of hers or anybody?”
Lee Paleckas’s face popped into my head. Poor kid, getting terrorized in – and outside his own brain. I’d gotten off easier than him, and a lot of girls who’d grown up in that kind of disarray couldn’t say the same.
I shook my head. “My mom hated confrontation. If anything she needed to be pushier with us. With Amber, anyhow. And she hardly ever brought men around. She didn’t like for guys to see her as a mom. Made her feel old, I think.”
“Maybe it was for the best. Doesn’t
do kids much good to meet every boyfriend or girlfriend their single parent takes up with.”
“No, probably not.” I blew on my tea, thinking. “Were you ever mad at your mom, after you found out about your biological dad? I’m assuming she never told you about him.”
Kelly spun his glass around on the counter. “No, she didn’t. For some reason, on my birthdays, I’d think, maybe this is when she’ll sit me down and tell me. When I turned fifteen, sixteen, eighteen—maybe this’ll be the birthday that makes her think I’m old enough to hear it. But she never did. Looking back now, she must’ve figured I didn’t need another reason to reject my stepdad. Like if I’d found out he wasn’t my real father, things would get even nastier between us. And when he died, when I was in my early thirties, I wondered if maybe she’d finally tell me then, but nope. Never did.”
“Huh.”
“Maybe she’s saving it up for some deathbed confession. Better pretend to be surprised so I don’t wreck her moment.” He shot me a dry smile, warm despite the sarcasm, then stared down into his whiskey.
“Maybe . . .” I held in the thought, not wanting to seem too nosy. But these heart-to-hearts with Kelly were rare, and I wanted to go deeper. Know him better, for as long he kept that window cracked. “I’m not sure how loyal she could expect you to feel about some guy who’d never even met you. And . . . you know. Did whatever he did. To get sent away.” My voice had gone odd, way too casual—condemningly so. Might as well spill it. “I know,” I added quietly.
“Know?”
“What he did. That he beat your mom up bad enough to get sent to prison.”
Kelly’s head jerked up and those eyes bore into mine, sharp and cold. “How the fuck d’you know that?”
His tone knocked me off balance, the change as sudden and ringing as a slap. My heart thud-thud-thudded so hard I imagined it must be echoing ripples through my tea.
“I looked it up. Online.” Christ, it sounded even lamer than it had felt when I’d been snooping.
His back straightened with the jolt of a cocked rifle, and even seated he looked eight feet tall. “If I wanted you to know I’d have fucking told you.”
“I . . . I’m sorry. I just wanted to understand. I was curious, after we talked.”
“Well, congratulations. Hope you enjoyed that little bedtime story.” He wasn’t just annoyed—he was pissed. And a pissed-off Kelly Robak was a terrifying creature to stare in the face.
I didn’t know what to say, but I suspected if I cried he’d probably get even more annoyed, so I bit my tongue and focused on the pain until the emotional surge subsided.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, at a loss for anything better.
“I’m sure you are.” He took a deep breath, nostrils flaring, but he seemed to calm.
We were quiet a long moment. I fiddled with the tea bag’s string. “It must have made it hard. When you were working at the prison.”
His eyes narrowed. “I cried myself to sleep every night.”
Threatened by the cruelty in his tone, I felt my hackles rise. “Wow. Glib, much?”
“What do you want me to say? Want me to lay down on a couch and weep about what shit luck I had in the daddy lottery?”
“No. I just . . . I dunno. I just know now, and I wanted you to know I knew. In case you wanted to talk about it or anything.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“Maybe I want to talk about it.”
“I’m even less qualified to wear a white coat than you are, sweetheart. Got no interest in being your therapist. ’Specially if this session’s gonna be about me getting my shit beat out in utero.”
I sighed, stymied by how callous he was being, how thoroughly he was rejecting my attempts to empathize. He could hoist that wall up quick as any resident I’d met on the ward.
“At least it wasn’t on purpose,” I offered. “I mean, at least he didn’t know.” Beating up your girlfriend was heinous, but even the sort of asshole who’d do that would’ve suffered, to find out he could’ve made her miscarry his baby. “It’s a pretty dismal silver lining, but—”
“He fucking knew,” Kelly said.
The blood drained from my head and fingers, leaving me cold. My hands fled the counter of their own accord, hiding in my lap.
“You really thought that was some accident? Fucking kicked in the stomach?”
“That article—”
“That wasn’t your plain old everyday beating,” Kelly said, wearing an ugly, joyless smirk. “How fucking naive are you? That was just a DIY abortion that didn’t take.”
My numb face flushed hot, stinging like frostbite. “Jesus, Kel.”
I mustered the balls to touch his arm, but he yanked it back. He wanted no part of this bonding session, and I felt hollow and scared, wishing to God I hadn’t brought it up.
“Don’t you pet me like some stray.” The stool squeaked as he shoved to standing, wobbled twice and settled.
I’d frozen, unsure how to be around this version of Kelly. I’d never seen him upset before. I hadn’t known him capable of this kind of emotion, or known he nursed any wound raw enough to trigger so harsh a recoil. It struck me with a rattling blow that I didn’t know what he was capable of, full stop. I didn’t want to find out. I wanted to go home, and he wanted the same.
“I’ll get your keys.” Cold as ice.
I nodded stiffly and he disappeared down the hallway. He returned in seconds, tossing my keys on the counter where they slid to a stop beside my untouched tea. I gathered them and hopped to the floor, grabbed my bag. He followed me to the front door, leaning in the frame, backlit by the kitchen lights. I stalled on the top step, feeling like there ought to be some kind of farewell. Something official to punctuate the end of this experiment in delusion.
At least we were even. He’d meddled in my life, threatening Marco. I’d meddled in his, snooping into the most personal shadows of his past, places I should’ve waited to be invited into. We were done, for sure, but at least I could tell myself we were parting as equals. We’d fucked up equally bad.
The only difference was, I’d forgiven him.
“Guess this is over, then.” His voice sounded stark in the night air.
“We were never a thing, Kelly.”
His brows drew together, more annoyed than hurt. “I always figured we must have been something, if we fucked all those times. But I get it. Loud and clear.”
I felt myself receding, pulling away out of shame. Of course he was right. But I hadn’t let myself count whatever we’d been, because I’d never had the security of knowing he was mine, alone, for keeps. Worse than that, I’d denigrated the sex for the same reason. Written off the most formative intimate experiences I’d ever had as some sordid fling just because it wasn’t going to lead to boyfriend-girlfriendhood or some stupid nonsense?
Or because deep down, I wouldn’t admit I could care for someone like Kelly, because of who he was . . . or who I’d thought he was, at first. My sister’s type. My mother’s type. Not mine, not levelheaded, practical me, the one who made the good decisions.
What good decisions? I had to wonder. Baiting Marco? Violating Kelly’s privacy? Continually thinking my sister’s issues were mine to fix?
God, I could be such a deluded bitch.
I took a deep breath and ordered my shoulders to unbunch. “Okay, yes. We were something. And it was fun.”
“A day at the water park is fun,” Kelly said, still visibly pissed.
“It was really nice, okay? It was great, and it was the best sex I’ve ever had.” And in brief moments, it had been the closest I’d felt to a man, and the most safe, the most . . . cherished, in a way, despite the fact that he’d ostensibly been degrading me, at least to start.
But brief moments of true intimacy weren’t bricks enough to bui
ld any kind of lasting foundation. Not one strong enough to weather this current shitstorm.
“I didn’t think you’d care this much,” I told him. “I thought it was all a game to you.”
“You’re good at making assumptions about people,” Kelly said. “You might want to quit that if you decide to become a shrink.” And with that, he shut the door on me.
I stared at the brass number.
“Bye, Kelly.”
When I reached my car, I glanced back at his house. There he was, silhouetted in the living room window, watching. Well, he could just keep on watching, maybe regretting how he’d handled that conversation as my taillights turned the corner, never to brighten this block again.
But I was wrong. The second my engine started, he disappeared. He’d only been waiting to make sure I wasn’t carjacked or something, a taste of that hyper-protectiveness that drove me to simultaneous sighs of exasperation and swoon. I shook my head, disgusted that I’d jumped to the most self-flattering and unlikely diagnosis.
So, no. I probably wouldn’t make that great a shrink.
Chapter Fifteen
The worst thing about my non-breakup with Kelly was working with him the next day.
And not because he glared at me or ignored me or undermined my duties. It was because he treated me exactly how he always did.
Cool and professional. No sign I’d hurt him. No sign he cared what had happened. No sign that we’d ever been anything to each other besides colleagues, and that transformed my dread and embarrassment to pure regret. It was a splinter in my heart, a sharp, ragged pain that pierced me anew with every beat.
These past couple of weeks, I’d scaled Kelly’s massive wall and peeked at what lay beyond. But I’d made myself too comfortable, and he’d tossed me back out, stacked his defenses thicker and taller and coiled it with a halo of concertina wire. Offering nothing but a cold gray shadow, long as a Starling shift.
At lunch I sat with Lee Paleckas, and my mood wasn’t lost on him. I’d been short with everyone all morning—not testy, but curt and monosyllabic.
“What’s up your ass?”