Kyland (Sign of Love #7)

by Mia Sheridan

  I sat staring blindly out at the town below from the hill Tenleigh and I had sledded on months before . . . the day I'd started something with her, there was no turning back from.

  From here, the town far below looked like it could offer a life to Tenleigh and me. From here, you couldn't see the garbage and the poverty, the misery, and the unspeakable things that went on behind closed doors in the dark of the night. I put my head in my hands and raked my fingers through my hair. I was crumbling.

  You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope.

  Oh yes.

  I had read those words in Persuasion and I'd almost repeated them to her as I gazed at her tender face, her lips swollen and red with my kisses, her eyes full of something I knew was love. I'd stopped myself. It wouldn't be fair. I'd let her in, in ways I'd never let anyone in. But I hadn't made love to her. And I hadn't told her I loved her or let her say it to me. I vowed to let that be the barrier between us that would allow me to walk out of here with at least a part of my heart intact, still in possession of at least one part of me she didn't own. That'd be the part that would spur my feet forward, away.

  I had tried so hard to resist her, but I was too weak and too selfish. And now we were both going to pay the price when I left.

  Maybe we could be together . . . someday. Someday when I'd seen the world, when I'd found out what type of life I could have away from here. There had to be places filled with happiness, with hope. Although, if I was completely honest with myself, Tenleigh had given me just a little bit of that back. For so very, very long I'd pushed the memories of my parents and Silas away. They were too painful, filled with too much grief. And with the bad, I'd had to push away the good. I couldn't separate them in my mind. But then she'd come along, and she'd helped me do that . . . somehow without even meaning to. And now these hills felt different for the first time in four years. A few weeks ago when I'd been walking home from school, I'd caught sight of a bunny scurrying under a bush, and a memory hit me all at once, so suddenly that I halted and stood there staring off into the woods as if I'd been hit over the head. One year when I was about ten and Silas was fifteen, we had seen an injured baby bunny hopping across the road. We'd caught it and brought it home, keeping it in the old shed behind our house. We fed it milk from an eye dropper and eventually, soft vegetables. We named him "Bugs," and once he got strong enough we let him out of the shed, dropping him off on the side of the road near where we'd found him. Silas had said that he'd have a better chance of finding his bunny family that way. I'd cried and Silas had called me a big ol’ baby, but he'd put his arm around my shoulders as we'd walked back home.

  A few years later, though, Silas and I had been sitting outside one night, my mama and dad inside fighting. Silas had just turned eighteen and was about to graduate, and he was planning on going to work in the mine. My dad did okay, we had what we needed. But we hadn't been able to afford college for Silas. "Just a few months, Ky," he'd whispered. "Just until I've got enough money to get us out of here and then we'll leave. We won't look back. Where do you want to go?"

  "New York City," I'd answered, just like I always did.

  He'd nodded as if it was the first time he'd heard me say it. "Then that's where we'll go. I just need a couple months of my wages and we'll hit the road, baby bro. You'll never work in those mines. You'll do something big, something great, something that really matters. And who knows—maybe I will, too."

  I'd nodded and suddenly, off to our right we saw movement and when we swiveled our heads, there was a rabbit. He sat right at the edge of our yard, watching us for a minute and then he limped off. And in my heart, I'd known it was Bugs. And seeing him there was like a sign that everything was going to be okay. Life could injure you, but you could get up again if you were strong enough, and especially if you had the right person to help you out. Silas had put his hand on my shoulder and we'd sat that way until the house was quiet again and it was safe to go back inside.

  I owed it not only to myself, but also to my brother, to make a life somewhere else. I'd live the life he'd been denied—I'd live the life he'd dreamed about living. And maybe if Tenleigh had to stay here, someday I'd come back for her. Or maybe she'd fade away into a sweet memory. Maybe she'd meet some decent guy in Evansly who worked the mines and they'd make a couple babies. And sure, they'd struggle and have to scrape together rent money sometimes, and she'd buy her kids clothes from the bargain rack at Wal-Mart, but they'd be happy enough and—

  Fuck no!

  I wanted to roar with the anger and frustration those thoughts brought me, making me feel more desperate than I'd ever felt in my miserable life. Tenleigh Falyn. Beautiful, hopeful, smart, fiery, tenderhearted Tenleigh Falyn deserved a life better than the scraping and struggling she'd always done. I put my head back in my hands. This was an impossible situation. Picturing her enduring a lifetime of hardship made me feel violent. I picked up a pinecone on the ground next to me and threw it as hard as I could off the hill to the trees below. Distantly, I heard it hit something, but it was a soft, unsatisfying sound.

  After a few minutes I stood up and headed home, my hands stuffed in my pockets. A warm breeze blew, and the ground was scattered with the wildflowers Tenleigh loved so much. Spring had officially arrived.

  Finals were right around the corner and I had a lot of studying to do. But honestly, I wasn't worried. I knew all the material so well I could recite it in my sleep. I'd be shocked if I wasn't chosen to win that scholarship. My academic record was nothing less than perfect. I'd made sure of that, despite the fact that I was living in a constant rotating state of euphoria/agony, and despite the fact that most of the time my mind was focused on the constant ache between my legs—an ache that was only going to be satisfied if I plunged into Tenleigh's tight body. I shook my head at myself and pursed my lips. "No," I spoke out loud. "Just no." You think things are bad for you now, Kyland, possess her that way and then try to leave her here. I made a choking sound in my throat as I felt acid rising from my stomach.

  Somehow I'd resisted that so far, and I wouldn't back down now. I took a deep cleansing breath of mountain air just as my house came into view. I passed by Tenleigh's trailer and resisted going to her door and knocking. I picked up my pace so my traitorous body wouldn't make the choice for me. She'd probably wondered where I was after school today. I'd been ducking out the back door and taking the long way home—alone—so I could avoid her. She hadn't said anything, but I was sure she was probably hurt. I needed to start hurting her in small ways, though. She needed to understand what was happening and start pulling away from me like I was pulling away from her. That way, at least it would be easier than ripping the Band-Aid off in a couple months. A couple months and I'd never see her again. Desperation raced through my veins.

  I heard feminine laughter drifting out of the trailer and something inside me rejoiced as much as it squeezed in pain and longing. Tenleigh.

  Half agony, half hope.

  Half pain, half ecstasy.

  Half grief, half joy.

  Half my downfall, half my savior.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Tenleigh

  "Why are you avoiding me?"

  He whipped his head around, a look of surprise on his face. "Tenleigh, Jesus, you scared me." I thought of those first few times he did the same to me, and my heart squeezed. I felt like I was losing him, and he hadn't even gone yet. We'd both been busy lately—and I'd been working at least three times a week, which was good, but as the weeks passed, it had become clear that us not seeing each other as much was purposeful on his part. I looked at him expectantly until he pursed his lips and let out a breath. "I just have so much to do . . . finals coming up, figuring out what to do with my house, all the stuff . . ." he trailed off.

  "You're avoiding me."

  Something that looked like pain washed over his face for a brief second before he schooled his expression. "Tenleigh," he whispered, "don't you think it'll be easier if we—"

  "
If we what?" I demanded. We were standing on the trail that led to the main road near the top of the hill, the back way he'd been taking home from school for almost a month now. I looked down at my feet when he didn't answer. "I miss you. We have so little time together. And things are so unclear . . ." I shook my head. "Neither one of us knows what's going to happen, and maybe—"

  "I'm leaving. That's what's going to happen. Did you think this thing between you and me, that it would change my mind somehow?"

  Hurt speared me and I couldn't help wincing. "No. That's not what I thought. But I never expected . . . I never—"

  His eyes flared as he seemed to recognize where I was going with my words. He advanced on me, his body moving into my space until he stood directly in front of me. "Don't," he said, almost pleadingly. "Don't. Please don't."

  I lifted my gaze, gathering all my courage, refusing to back down. "I never expected to fall in love with you. And I thought maybe . . ."

  . . . you could love me back. Even if you leave. You could leave loving me.

  His body was utterly still. Somewhere overhead a hawk called out and the breeze ruffled the trees surrounding us. And still his eyes held mine.

  He cursed under his breath and then his lips were on mine, his tongue hot and demanding as it parted my lips and plunged into my mouth. It wasn't exactly the answer I was hoping for, but it was something. Not nearly enough, but something.

  Kyland broke away, breathing hard and gripping my head in his large hands. He pressed his forehead to mine and we just breathed together for a minute.

  "I'm going camping tonight."

  I blinked. "Camping?" I repeated. That hadn't been the response I was expecting.

  He pulled away and looked down at me, his face still tense. "Yeah." He ran his hand through his hair, taming it. "My family, we . . . it was something we used to do on my birthday every year. I used to like it—we'd go up to this field filled with lavender and," he ran his hand through his hair again, "anyway, I've kept doing it every year."

  I nodded. "I know where you're talking about. It's where I collect the lavender I use to make that tea . . . and those sachets . . ." I trailed off. This felt so awkward and I wanted to cry. Oh, Kyland, I already miss you desperately and you're not even gone yet. I stared down at my feet.

  I'd told him I loved him and he hadn't said it back.

  When I looked back up at him, he was squinting up at the sky. After a moment, he lowered his eyes to mine. There was something wild and raw in his expression, but he just stood there looking at me for a second before he grabbed my hand and started walking toward home. It felt like it'd been so long since he'd touched me. His hand felt warm and solid in mine.

  We walked in silence, my heart hurting and Kyland seeming to grow more intense by the moment. He didn't let go of my hand when we passed my trailer and so I continued on with him until we got to his house.

  I didn't know whether I wanted to cry or throw something, but the sorrow I'd been feeling for weeks now was suddenly heating inside of me to a bubbling anger.

  Kyland let go of my hand and opened the door to his house. I walked inside with him, not even understanding why I was there.

  When I got inside, I gasped, the anger flowing out of me to be replaced with shocked pain. There were boxes piled everywhere and the wood stove that had sat in the middle of the living room was gone. "What?" I asked.

  Kyland followed my eyes. "I sold it for two hundred fifty dollars to some guy in Evansly. He drove up here and bought it, along with my mama's kitchen table set."

  I gaped, misery moving through my body. I nodded, a tear finally escaping my eye. I swiped at it, embarrassed.

  This was happening. He was leaving.

  "Tenleigh," Kyland said, his voice gravelly. "Please don't cry." He stepped toward me. "Anything but that. Please." He sounded desperate. "This is what I've been trying to avoid. This. I don't want either of us to feel this way."

  He'd been pulling away from me to make it easier. And yet pulling away only made it hurt more.

  "Well, I do! And you don't get to take that from me. I love you, and you don't get to say anything about it. The love I feel for you is mine. And I'll feel it if I want to."

  "Tenleigh," he repeated, his voice cracking. "Don't love me. Please don't love me. I can't stay here. Don't love me."

  "It's too late." I shook my head back and forth in defiance. "It's too late. I'm not asking you to stay, but it's too late for me not to love you."

  The look that passed over his features was tortured. "It can't be," he said, shaking his head.

  "It is."

  His eyes met mine and he walked slowly to me, the look of intensity in his eyes increasing. He stepped right up to my body and his eyes lingered on my mouth for several moments before he pressed his warm lips to my own. The gentleness of the kiss was in direct contrast to the expression on his face and the energy moving between us. I didn't know what to make of it.

  "I love you, Kyland," I whispered when our lips had parted. I put my hand up on his cheek. "And I'll love you whether you're here in Dennville, or whether you're in New York City, or London, or on Jupiter. I love you."

  He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a loud whoosh of air. He pushed his fingers into my hair and grabbed hold of it gently. "This is a mistake."

  I shook my head back and forth slowly, his hands in my hair causing it to pull against my scalp as I gazed into his troubled eyes. "How can love be a mistake?"

  I wrapped my arms around his back, sliding my palms up his shirt to feel his smooth, warm skin. He stepped closer into my embrace.

  "I love you, too, Ten," he finally said softly. "That's why this is so hard." He seemed almost defeated, as if the words themselves had stolen something from him.

  My heart soared as much as it lay bleeding from hearing the distress in his voice and standing among the proof of his imminent departure. I held him tighter. "Whatever you need, Ky. Whatever that is, I'll give it to you."

  He let out a long, shuddery breath, but remained silent.

  The problem was I didn't know if us loving each other changed anything. In fact, after everything Kyland had shared with me over the past months, I understood more than anyone why he needed to leave. He deserved to live a life out of this house of loneliness and loss. He had to picture his torment every day—hear his brother's cries in the very walls, hear his father's voice in every room, feel his mother's absence, her abandonment. I wanted him out of here as much as he did, and yet it still hurt so much. I bit my lip. But maybe . . . maybe if he won that scholarship, he wouldn't leave me behind. Maybe sometime, somehow, we could even make a life together away from here. Maybe he'd allow that—maybe not everything from Dennville, Kentucky had to hurt. And maybe he'd be willing to take the one thing that didn't—me—with him, in his heart at first, and later . . . later, into his home, his life. Maybe first he needed some time to live without his demons, to begin to believe that love didn't always have to hurt, that sometimes love was enough. I'd wait. I'd wait as long as he needed me to.

  We lay down on the couch together and stayed that way for a long time, Kyland lost in his own mind, and me lost in mine. After a while, he asked if I wanted to stay and study a little bit with him—finals were on Monday. We didn't discuss our feelings anymore.

  Was love supposed to hurt like this?

  We ate vegetable soup at his coffee table for dinner and then I kissed him goodbye. Marlo would be leaving for work soon and I needed to get home and make sure my mama was okay.

  "I won't see you this weekend," I said sadly. "Be safe, okay?"

  Kyland nodded, some kind of sad longing in his eyes. But he was the one going away. That was his choice. And maybe he needed it. Maybe he needed that time in that place where he had a few happy memories of his family. Maybe that was exactly what he needed. Maybe that was exactly what I needed. Maybe I simply had to let him go.

  I loved him. I'd give him whatever he needed.

  "It's your birthday tomor
row, too," he said, softly. "What are your plans?"

  I shrugged. "Oh, Marlo will probably bake me a cake as hard as a brick and I'll do some reading." I smiled and he smiled back, brushing a piece of hair off my forehead.

  "Happy birthday, Tenleigh."

  "Happy birthday, Kyland."

  We kissed slowly and deeply for several minutes on his couch and I sensed his desire for me. But when I pulled back, he let me. I kissed him one last time on his mouth and then I walked back to my trailer. My heart felt as though it was breaking into so many pieces, and for the life of me, I couldn't figure out how to keep them all together. And I wasn't sure I even wanted to.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Kyland

  The place where I had camped with my family for years was always a little more peaceful than I remembered it—which was good because I needed a good dose of peace. Tenleigh had told me she loved me, and I'd said it back. It filled me with joy and fearful desperation. I had nothing to offer her, and now, how would I leave her behind?

  I'd almost gone to her trailer and asked her to come with me before I'd left, but I'd resisted. The problem was, I'd been resisting her for over three weeks and I thought it would have gotten easier. Instead, my longing for her had only increased. I craved her. It was a hunger deep inside my gut—a burning that only grew fiercer, more demanding without being fed. And I knew I'd loved her for a long time—perhaps even far longer than she'd loved me. When had it happened? When had I let my guard down enough to let her sweetness slip around my heart in a way I'd never untangle myself from? And at this point, what did it even matter?

  I looked around. There was a huge, ancient oak that provided the cover we'd always used for our "campground." We hadn't been able to afford camping gear and so we'd used the same blankets and quilts we always slept in, just with a plastic tarp underneath. My dad would make burgoo, a stew that was made from possums and squirrels and any other wild game you could catch in a small trap—venison if you had a gun. It was supposed to be a delicacy, but like so many other "delicacies," it was probably born from starvation and the likelihood that calling something a delicacy made it more palatable. As gross as it sounded, it was good. And I made a batch of it every year for this trip, which just happened to be my birthday. I thought my dad would probably like that.