Lucinda swings into action. The girl is taken into one of the rooms, and I’m brought to Brenda’s office. Lucinda removes the first aid kit from the wall while Brenda helps me into a chair, softly extracting my hands from my neck. She winces. “She needs to go to the ER.”
Lucinda crouches in front of me. “How badly does it hurt?”
“A lot.”
She applies some salve before removing her sweater and handing it to me. “Put this on. Brenda will bring you to the hospital. Do you want me to call anyone for you?”
Kal’s face swims before me. “Could you call my roommate for me?” I send Liv’s number to her phone and let Brenda escort me to hospital.
In the car, she asks me what happened, and I tell her everything that went down. She pats my hand but says nothing.
Liv arrives about an hour later. We’re still waiting to be seen. Brenda refuses to leave, so the three of us wait together. Eventually, I’m seen by a doctor who confirms I have superficial burns to my face and second-degree burns to my right side, neck, and chest area. Blisters are already forming in a little row of bubbles over my right breast. It’s just as well I’m finished breastfeeding. He dresses the wounds on my neck and chest and applies a cooling balm to the marks on my face. Giving me a script for pain medication, he sends me on my way.
Back in the dorm, I crawl into bed, lying carefully on my uninjured side. Liv hands me a bottle of water, and I pop a couple of pills. “Do you want me to call him?” she asks quietly.
“No. He doesn’t want to speak to me.”
She nods sadly. “Okay. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“I will. Thanks for coming tonight.”
“No problem. Try to get some sleep.”
Surprisingly, I actually manage to sleep quite well, but when I wake the next morning, I’m in excruciating pain. I’m afraid to look in the mirror for fear of what I’ll see. I have no choice but to stay at home, and I inwardly curse, hating to miss more classes.
After a couple of days, the pain isn’t as bad and the redness on my face has reduced enough that I can venture out in public.
Thursday is my first day back since the incident, and it turns out to be eventful for a number of reasons. “What the hell happened to you?” Maya asks, dropping into the seat beside me before our financial accounting class starts.
I startle, surprised to see her talking to me. She’s avoided me like the plague since my confession. “A girl threw coffee at me at the center Monday night.”
She looks horrified.
I shrug. “It’s not the first time I’ve been attacked.”
A shameful expression crosses her face. “That’s terrible, Lana. Are you in much pain?” She gestures toward my neck which is still bandaged. The marks on my face have faded so they’re only barely visible.
“Not much. I’m taking some pills, and I change the dressing every day. The blisters on my chest and side are the sorest, but they appear to be healing.” Thankfully. The doctor had suggested they might have to be drained otherwise, and I can only imagine how painful that would be.
She goes quiet. The professor steps into the room, setting up the session. “I owe you an apology.”
“No, you don’t. It’s fine.”
“I do.” She turns in her seat, facing me. “I was horribly judgmental when I should’ve been more understanding. You’re my friend, and I didn’t even let you properly explain.”
“Honestly, Maya. It’s fine. I’m used to it.”
“That doesn’t make it right. And no one has the right to hurt you. That’s just so wrong.”
“It is what it is. I’m beginning to think this is going to follow me my whole life.”
“I hope not, because that wouldn’t be fair.”
“Didn’t you get the memo?” I joke. “Life isn’t fair.”
Our convo is ended when the professor calls for quiet, but we go for coffee afterward and thrash everything out. I leave the coffee shop feeling happier than I have in days. I’m not watching where I’m going as I round the corner, and I collide with a hard wall of solid muscle. Pain spears me on my right-hand side, and I drop my bag, crying out as I sway on my feet. A meaty pair of arms holds me up.
“Shit!” a familiar voice says, and I look up. Brett has a concerned look on his face. “Are you all right?”
“I will be in a minute,” I rasp, gently holding my sore side.
“Let’s sit there,” he suggests, pointing at a bench over the way. He takes my bag and helps me hobble across the road.
“What happened to you?” His eyes fixate on the bandage on my neck.
“If I tell you, you can’t tell him.” When Kal contacts me, I want it to be for the right reasons.
He rubs the pronounced stubble on his chin, looking conflicted. “I know you guys have, uh, shit to work through, but he’d want to know you’re hurt.”
“Please.”
He leans back on the bench, resting one thick leg over his knee. “You’re killing me, Lana, but okay. If you won’t let him help you, let me.”
“I don’t need help. It’s not like that.” I fill him in on what went down Monday night.
“You shouldn’t have to deal with stuff like that.”
“I made my bed, Brett. Now I’m lying in it.”
“I’ll be honest, I was hugely skeptical when Kal first told me about you. I struggled to believe he could forgive you, but I get it now. I know we don’t know each other all that well, but I can tell you’re not a bad person. Anyone can see that within ten seconds of meeting you.”
“Thanks.” We are both quiet for a bit. “You don’t have to give me deets, but is he okay? How is he doing?”
He twists around in his seat. “He’s trying to get his head around it, but it’s a lot to take in.”
“I know.” I pick at a loose thread on the hem of my jacket. “I’m trying to be patient, but it’s hard. I miss him so much.” I look up at the sky, my eyes following the slow motion of the fluffy clouds overhead. “I always seem to be missing him. You’d think I’d be used to it by now,” I add in a jokey tone, trying to lighten the mood.
“He misses you too, but you lied to him again, Lana, and he’s pissed.”
My heart bleeds at the confirmation. “He has a right to be.”
I stand up. God, I’m sick of myself at this stage. If it wasn’t for Hewson, I don’t know that I’d have the energy to face the world every day.
“Do you have a picture?” he asks.
“What?” My brow puckers.
“Of Hewson.” He grins. “Rad name.”
“It is, isn’t it?” I grin as I extract my phone from my bag. I pull up a cute photo and hand it over.
His grin softens into a more affectionate one. “Wow. That asshole’s got good genes, got to give him that.”
I clear my throat. “Ahem.”
He barks out a laugh. “I’m just yanking your chain.” He pats the seat beside him, and I sit back down. “Lana, he’s beautiful. You two have created a beautiful little dude.”
I beam with pride. “I didn’t think it was possible to feel so much love. I’ve always loved Kal with an intensity that is borderline unhealthy, but this is different. I look at my son, and my heart floods with happiness, with a joy that’s so pure and untainted and innocent, and it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I want Kal to experience that too.”
Brett hands me back the phone. “He’ll get there, Lana. I know he will. He’s good people.”
“I think so too. That’s the only reason I haven’t been pounding on his door. I’m trying to respect his need to think this through. To give him space to figure things out. All I ask is that he includes Hewson in his life. I want him to grow up with a father. I want him to grow up with Kal.”
“He’ll be a great dad.”
&n
bsp; “I know.”
He stands up. “But don’t tell him I said that. I’m planning on getting plenty of mileage out of this one.” He chuckles, and I shake my head, getting up alongside him.
“Thanks for being a friend to him. I’m glad he has someone to talk to.”
“He’s spoken to Ky and Faye too.”
“I thought he might.” And I’m guessing Faye is under strict instructions not to call me, which is why I haven’t heard from her. I’m not brave enough to call her myself. Besides, it’s not fair to put her in an awkward position, and I promised I wouldn’t do that again. I touch Brett’s arm. “I’ve to get ready for my shift at the center, but thanks for everything.”
“No problem. Anytime, Lana.” I move to walk away, but he holds onto my elbow. “Give me your phone again.” I hand my cell over without question. “If you need anything, anything at all, call me.” He inputs his number before handing the phone back to me.
“I will, thanks, Brett.”
The center manager calls me into her office before I’ve even taken my jacket off. A weight of dread sinks to the bottom of my stomach like a lead balloon. I think I’m about to get my marching orders.
She spends a couple of minutes fussing over me, asking how my injuries are, and if I need anything. Once that’s out of the way, she jumps straight to the heart of the matter. They don’t want me volunteering here anymore. Now the word is out about who I am, it’s no longer appropriate. Client comfort is of paramount importance, and she’s worried victims will stop coming forward. The work they do is too important to take any risks.
I agree completely, and I won’t stand in the way of victims receiving the support they need; however, it doesn’t stop the anguish from chiseling a hole in my heart as I trudge home.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Kalvin
“I just saw Lana,” Brett exclaims, stepping into the room and shutting the door with his foot.
I’m lying spread-eagled on my bed, wearing a pair of sweats and indulging my new favorite pastime—staring at the ceiling. I’ve spent so much time staring at this ceiling the last week and a half I can tell you where every little bump and every little stain is located. I know that at the end of my bed is a black smeared mark that is the squished remains of some insect. My money says someone deployed Lana’s old trick. Grab the thickest book you can find, jump on the bed, and throw it at the poor unsuspecting creature. At least it’s a quick death.
“Did you hear me?” Brett asks, dumping his gear bag on the ground.
“Yep,” I say, popping the P.
Just trying to pretend I didn’t.
My thoughts are consumed with Lana and the baby, and it feels like my skull is going to explode.
Last week marked the first anniversary of the trial, and I’ve been in a pretty shitty mood since. When I returned to the dorm that night, I found a package waiting for me with Lana’s handwriting all over it. She sent me her manuscript. The Story of Us. I still haven’t plucked up the courage to read it. Now, it sits on top of my bedside table taunting me. Hurling imaginary abusive comments at me. Words like coward, chicken, deadbeat dad, and other unmentionables.
Brett drops onto the edge of my bed. “Come on, man. I know you’re hurting, but you can’t hide in here forever.”
“I’m not hiding. I go to classes and the track.”
“And you’re a hermit the rest of the time.” He leans forward on his hands. “I can’t fucking imagine how you’re feeling, but you have to face up to things eventually. The longer you leave it, the more damage you’re doing.”
I pull myself into a sitting position. “Don’t fucking pin this on me! If anyone’s responsible, it’s her!” I’ve undergone the whole gamut of emotions since I fled Lana’s house that Sunday, but I can’t seem to get beyond the anger and disappointment.
“I know you miss her.”
“Of course, I fucking miss her!” I yell. “But that means jack shit. She lied to me for months. Lied to my face for weeks. I can’t forgive her for that.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “What about your son, Kal? What are you going to do about him?”
I flop back down on the bed, the usual wave of terror flooring me. “I … I don’t know.”
Brett sighs. He’s been earning his best bud accolade these past few days. He let me stew for the first week, but, slowly, he’s been trying to coax me into talking. The tricky thing is I can’t figure out the maelstrom in my head. I go around and around in circles, never reaching a solution. I’ve never felt so many conflicting emotions. Been so unsure of my own mind. Not even when I was a prisoner in my home awaiting trial for a crime I hadn’t committed.
The fear I felt then pales in comparison with the fear I feel now. I’ve barely eaten all week, and nothing messes with my appetite.
My entire system is in flux.
And I don’t know what to do about it.
How to pull myself back.
I sit up again, flattening my back against the wall. “I want to be there for him, Brett, honestly I do, but what the fuck do I know about being a dad? I’m not even eighteen yet, for fuck’s sake, and I can barely manage to take care of myself!”
Visions of Hewson’s tiny face invade my dreams at night. If I draw a breath in now, I can smell his smell. I may have only been in his company for a short while, but that kid sure made an impression.
“Dude, no one knows how to be a parent,” Brett says, sounding suspiciously like he’s quoting something he read in a parenting book. “It’s a ‘learning on the job’ situation.”
“What if I’m no good at it?” I vocalize another one of my fears.
“You won’t know until you try.”
“I can’t treat my son like he’s a guinea pig! He’s not a test subject.” A renewed surge of inadequacy swims to the surface.
“Dude, think of your own parents. Are you telling me they’ve never made mistakes, because I know mine did.”
I snort, thinking of all the ways my parents have fucked up. “Dude, my parents practically wrote the ‘how not to parent’ book.”
“And do you think any less of them? Love them any less? Hate them for anything they did?”
Well, shit. “No to all the above,” I begrudgingly admit.
Brett’s expression is smug.
I stick my finger up at him. “No one likes a know-it-all.”
“You’re just pissed because you know I’m talking sense.”
“I guess there’s a first time for everything.”
“Ha, fuckin’ ha. I can be serious when I need to be. And this isn’t about me. We’re talking about you, so stop trying to go off topic.”
“It’s a lot of responsibility. My life will completely change.” My brutal honesty demonstrates my selfishness in all its ugliness, but it’s one of the thoughts that has cropped up a few times since I found out. Babies are a crap ton of work and responsibility. I’m not sure I’m ready for that.
He glares at me, and I’m pretty sure he wants to throat punch me right about now.
“You want to hit me, don’t ya?”
“So fucking badly, you’ve no idea.”
“I know how it sounds. I’m just being honest.”
“Thing is, Kal, the deed is done. That kid is your flesh and blood. That automatically makes him your responsibility. You don’t get to pick and choose the timing.” He pulls his knees up. “How do you think Lana felt? She had no choice in the matter, and all the responsibility has fallen on her shoulders, and, from the sounds of it, she’s getting on with things because she has to. That little boy is depending on her.”
Greta’s words come back to haunt me.
“She’s had over a year to come around to the idea. I’ve had twelve days. Twelve!” I climb off the bed, pacing the floor. “And she had a choice. She didn’t have to carry the burden al
one, she made that decision.” Or allowed it to be made for her.
“Let me tell you a story,” he says, patting the space beside him.
“Story time with Brett, yay,” I deadpan. “Please, Unkel Brett, can you read me Pinocchio. That’s my favorite stwory,” I lisp, putting on a babyish voice.
He slaps me across the head, pulling me down beside him. “Dipshit. I’m trying to have a grownup conversation here, and that’s difficult enough for me as it is. Stop being an ass. Just shut up and listen.”
I put my serious face on and turn to face him.
“My brother Asher found out he was going to be a dad a week before his nineteenth birthday,” he starts explaining. “Unlike your story, the girl was just a random hook-up. A girl he had gone to school with. He went on a bender for two weeks after he found out, trying to drink himself into oblivion. I should know. I was still in high school and the only one living at home. I was there for it all.”
Brett comes from a large family like mine. He has four older brothers and one older sister. How he tells it, he was an accident, arriving unexpectedly when Asher was five. His mom gave birth to him when she was forty-four, and both his parents are in their sixties now.
“Man, it was the worst shit show. Genesis—the girl he knocked up—”
I hold up a hand. “Wait a second. Genesis, dude? Who the hell calls their kid Genesis?”
“It happens, bro. Get over it.” He sends me a “shut the fuck up look” and I clam up. “Anyway, Genesis came from a bad neighborhood. Her dad skipped town when she was a kid, and her mother was a known alcoholic. She tossed her out on her ass when she got pregnant so she came to live with us. Asher had no choice but to grow a pair. Living with Genesis was … interesting. At first, man, it was gross. All she did the first four months was puke. Don’t know why they call that shit morning sickness, ’cause she puked nonstop, all day long. Then she seemed to perk up, if you catch my drift.” He wiggles his brows.
Loving Kalvin (The Kennedy Boys Book 4) Page 23