by M. Never
My mouth has gotten me in a lot of trouble in the past, but this may be the absolute worst of it.
I dive into the pool, pants and all, and swim as fast as I can to the bottom. She’s just floating there, like a lifeless water lily stem.
As soon as I grab her arm, she flails, startled that I’m there. I tug at her, but she fights me.
Hell, no, sweetheart, there’s no way I am leaving you at the bottom of this pool. I’m here to protect you, not put an end to you.
I yank harder, overpowering her, pushing off the floor of the pool to propel us to the surface. As soon as we come up for air, Kira coughs and chokes.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Ky?” She kicks me in the ribs and swims to the ledge.
“Saving your fucking life.” I swim after her.
“What?” She coughs again, sucking in oxygen.
“I didn’t actually mean drown yourself, Kira.”
She looks at me like I have ten dragon heads.
“I wasn’t trying to kill myself.” She hoists herself out of the water. “I’m a free diver, you fucking idiot,” she yells at me before she storms off.
“A what?” I pull myself out of the water and follow her.
“A free diver. I dive under the water and hold my breath for long periods of time.” She dumbs it down for me with no uncertainty. “I started doing it in middle school to escape my father. It’s what helped me cope with his crazy.” Kira stomps into the house, leaving a trail of wet footprints. She heads straight for the laundry room where a stack of plushy white towels are lined up on a shelf. “And what the fuck do you care anyway? You clearly don’t want to be here. You clearly want nothing to do with this family. So why don’t you just fucking leave, Ky? Why are you wasting your time?”
“Because you’re scared and in trouble.”
“Oh, now you suddenly care that I’m in trouble?” She pushes past me and stomps off into the kitchen area.
“I’m here, aren’t I? I’ve been here for the last fucking three weeks.”
“At what fucking cost? You have done nothing but disrespect me and this house. If I drowned, I would have done you a favor.”
“Don’t say that, Kira.” I stalk toward her, and she steps back until she hits the wall, but her mouth keeps running.
“You hate us. You hate me, and my mother, and your father, and I have no idea why.”
“Kira, stop,” I warn, but she continues without any regard.
“What did we do to you? Gerard has done nothing but love us and take care of us. And you spit on him like he’s dirt. Besides my grandfather, he’s the first man to ever treat my mom and me right.”
I try to push back the fury, but the more she talks about my father, the more pissed off I get.
“He’s a good man, and I love him. He’s an amazing husband and father.” Her sweet voice raises. “What did he do to make you hate him so much?”
“He chose you over me!” I finally explode, punching the picture hanging next to her head. The glass shatters, and Kira screams.
He’s an amazing father. Yes, I fucking know that. He raised me.
“Get out, Ky,” Kira orders, sliding away from me, her back never leaving the wall.
I pull myself together and focus my fuzzy vision on her. “No.” I follow her, and she moves faster, darting back into the laundry room and locking the door.
“Ky, get the fuck out,” she screams through the thick barrier between us.
“I’m not leaving, Kira,” I stand firm, beating down the door.
“Please just leave.” I hear her tears, and they rip me apart. I did this. I did all this.
“Kira, just open the door.” I pull at the handle.
“No,” she sobs, and the sound just makes me want to tear into that room even more.
“Kira, please,” I begin to break down.
“Just go away and leave me alone.”
“That’s not what you really want.”
“Yes, it is. I want you gone. I want you out of my house and out of my life. I’ll deal with my problems on my own.” Her voice is brittle yet somehow still strong. That describes Kira to a T — soft as a petal and sharp as a pin.
“I’m not going anywhere.” I slide down to sit on the floor. That’s when I notice the blood. It’s seeping from my knuckles onto the pure white marble. Look at that. I wasn’t even trying to make a mess this time. I press my finger into one of the larger dots and draw a heart between my legs. Then I add squiggles down the center to make it broken, just like me.
After a few quiet minutes, I try again, “Kira, please come out.”
“No,” she sniffs. At least she isn’t sobbing anymore.
“C’mon,” I try to coax her.
“Nope.” She’s stubborn as an ox. It actually makes me smile.
“Remember when I said I was good at making a bad situation worse? See? It’s true.” I bang the back of my head lightly on the door. I’m slowly going mad without her.
Nearly an hour passes before I decide to change tactics. Begging and pleading is clearly not working.
I stand up, my hand still bloody and now slightly swollen.
“Kira, please come out?” I ask with the tamest, most tender tone I can muster. “I want to take you somewhere.”
“Where the fuck could you possibly want to take me?” She’s harsh.
I exhale a deep, pleading breath. “On a date.”
A nerve-racking minute later, the lock clicks. Kira cracks open the door and gawks at me like I have gone completely insane. Maybe I have, but my gamble paid off. We’re making eye contact now.
“You’re bleeding.” Kira notices my knuckles.
“It’s just a scratch,” I brush it off.
She looks down at my feet. “There is blood art on the floor.” Along with the broken heart, I added a skull and crossbones and a star to my masterpiece.
“I’ll wipe it up. I needed something to do while I groveled.”
“You did not grovel,” Kira begs to differ.
“For me, that was groveling.”
She rolls her pretty, slightly puffy eyes.
“Go put something comfortable on. We’re gonna go for a ride.” I wipe away a tiny teardrop caught on the corner of her bottom lash.
“I don’t know, Ky.”
“C’mon, Kira. One ride. I’ll be on my best behavior. Scouts honor.” I grin.
“You are no Boy Scout.”
“That’s no secret, Snow,” I hum provocatively in her ear.
She glares at me without an ounce of faith or trust. I guess I deserve that look, but I’ll fix what’s broken.
I always do.
11
Kira
KY WANTS to take me on a date five minutes after he basically told me to go kill myself.
I must have finally lost my mind, ’cause I agreed, have changed, and am now walking down the stairs to meet the man who is more confusing than an evil Sudoku puzzle.
Ky is waiting in the kitchen, also dressed in a fresh set of clothes. His blond hair is styled wildly; his fingers are adorned with thick silver rings, and a wallet chain is hanging from his jeans. But it’s the surprised look on his face when he sees me that I take notice of most of all.
“Nice outfit, Snow.” He smiles, and it actually seems genuine.
“Glad you like it. It’s the same thing my mom wore on her and Gerard’s first date.” I’ll never forget that day. Finding my mom dressed in a black sheer shirt, leather leggings, and a pair of my moto boots. I nearly fell over. It was a new look for the business woman, but it fit her perfectly. Gerard brought out a whole new side of her from the very beginning. “I thought I’d replicate it.”
“I can get down with that.” He nods approvingly. “I like you in leather.”
I could have bet money the mention of Gerard would have sent Ky off the deep end again. Maybe he really is on his best behavior?
I guess time will tell.
After arming and disarming
the alarm a nauseating amount of times for a sanity check, I climb onto the back of Ky’s bike and hope to God this decision doesn’t blow up in my face. One Ky Parish explosion is enough for one day. Maybe even for one lifetime.
As soon as I wrap my arms around his waist, he rests his hand on mine. It’s such a sweet, surprising gesture my stomach actually flutters.
Then we take off for parts unknown.
We head south down the coast. I’m still not privy to where we’re going, so I take each moment as it comes and just enjoy the ride.
If there is one thing Ky attracts, it’s attention.
I couldn’t keep track of all the stares we collect on the road. Adults, teenagers, even kids take notice of us. I’ve never been one for the spotlight, but this kind of attention is sort of enlivening. It makes a little tiny piece of me feel badass.
I mean, who wouldn’t feel that? Look at the man driving. He epitomizes the meaning.
Just like his father.
When my butt finally starts to hurt from sitting on the firm-ass pillion pad, Ky pulls off the highway and continues onto the main drag of Manhattan Beach.
What in the hell are we doing here?
We head down Highland Avenue, past posh shops, crowded restaurants, and busy sidewalks, drawing attention with every rev of the engine.
When we stop at a light, Ky checks on me. “Hangin’ in there, Snow?”
“Sittin’ pretty,” I assure him.
“You sure as hell are.” He rests one of his hands possessively on my calf. “Everyone is staring at you.”
“Um, I think everyone is staring at you and your loud-ass bike.”
“Nah, no one cares about a loud-ass bike, only the chick riding on it.”
I shake my head. “We can agree to disagree.”
“Have it your way.” Ky’s mood is light, which is refreshing and oddly terrifying. Although I can’t say I hate the attitude adjustment.
After a few more blocks, Ky pulls into a parking lot right near the beach where a burnt-orange food truck is dishing out dinner to a line of people not far from the pier. The writing on the side reads The Shrimp Shack, and a cartoon shrimp with black sunglasses proudly projects the thumbs-up to us.
I’m baffled, but I’m going with it. Ky parks, and we hang our helmets on the handlebars before we get in line.
“This was your master plan? A food truck in Manhattan Beach?” I don’t mean to sound underwhelmed.
“Not just any food truck.”
“Does it sell golden shrimp?”
“Somedays.” Ky grins down at me like he knows something I don’t.
The line moves fairly quickly, and when the guy taking orders sees us — ahem, let me rephrase that — sees Ky, his face lights up.
“Slash.” He runs out of the truck to clasp hands with him. He’s super skinny with a backwards baseball cap, a sleeve of tattoos, white apron, and ring in his nose. He kinda-sorta looks like a guy Ky runs with. Maybe? Possibly? I don’t know. “What do I owe this visit for?”
“Just doin’ a pick up and wanted to grab some dinner with this little beauty here.” Ky nods at me.
“Beauty, she is.” He puts his hand out to shake. “I’m Cutter. Welcome.”
“Nice to meet you.” I smile.
Cutter whistles. “You got yourself a knockout, Slash.”
I want to inform Cutter that Slash doesn’t have a damn thing, but mamma always taught me if you don’t have anything nice to say . . . so I just bite my tongue. “What’ll you have?” Cutter hops back into the truck. All our socializing has made the line longer.
“Mind if I order for us? I know what’s good,” Slash asks politely. I try the nickname out. It doesn't really work when I use it.
“Be my guest. Dazzle me,” I reply dryly.
“Challenge accepted. Two Top Secret Shrimp plates and two sodas.”
“Comin’ up,” Cutter responds buoyantly. It’s clear he enjoys his job, or at least enjoys when Ky comes to visit.
We wait for our food off to the side of the truck. Now that it’s just us, the silence is a little awkward. I keep asking myself if this is really a date, or is Ky just playing some twisted game? She didn’t drown herself in the pool, so maybe I can get rid of her by abandoning her on Manhattan Beach? That seems a little farfetched, and so far, he’s been nothing but nice. My paranoia is resurging with a vengeance all while making leaps and bounds.
“Slash,” Cutter calls from the front door of the truck. Only his head is poking out.
Ky puts a hand up to me. “Hang out for a second, Snow.” So I do. But I also watch. I watch Cutter hand Ky a thick white envelope. It’s shady as all hell. Ky seems pleased as he shoves it into his back pocket and covers it with his shirt. They clasp hands again, and Cutter passes Ky two soda cans.
“Hey, Snow, catch.” Ky tosses me one and then the other. I catch both with no problem. Then Cutter hands Ky two plates of food.
“It was nice meetin’ ya, Snow. Come back for water ice before you leave,” Cutter calls before he disappears back into the truck.
My name isn’t Snow. I want to yell back, but what’s the point? That’s who I am tonight. Ky’s Snow.
“Ready?” Ky walks off toward the beach, and I follow. “Pop a squat.” He chins to a parking chock that just meets the sand.
We are getting fancy tonight.
I make myself as comfortable as possible as Ky hands me my dinner.
“Golden shrimp,” he voices proudly.
“We’ll see.” I push around the hearty shrimp smothered in a golden yellow sauce. It smells delicious, I’ll give it that.
“Cheers.” Ky holds a shrimp up on his plastic fork.
“Cheers.” I tap my shrimp to his, then we both take a bite. “Holy shit.” I cover my mouth, ’cause one, I’m shocked by the incredible taste, and two, I don't want to display my half-chewed up food.
“Told ya.” Ky is cocky. What else is new?
“What is in this sauce?”
“Not a fucking clue.” Ky holds another piece of shrimp up and inspects it. “I just know it gets the same reaction every time someone new tries it.”
“Are you selling drugs out of that truck?” I don’t beat around the bush. I saw the money exchange. I’m not an idiot.
Ky chokes a bit. He wasn’t expecting that question. I sprung it on him on purpose.
“No.” He starts to laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“You would peg me for a drug dealer.”
“Are you not?”
Ky stays silent.
“I have my answer.”
“I’m not tonight. Some shady stuff does happen around me, but this” — he nods back to the truck — “this is all kosher. Cash money.”
“You get a cut of what he earns?”
“He’s my employee. I own the truck.”
“You do?” I can’t hide my surprise.
“Don’t take me for an entrepreneur?” Ky bites into another piece of shrimp.
“No,” I snicker. “Not the mobile food kind.”
“I have three others, and I want to buy a fourth. Put them in the right spot, they’re little gold mines.”
“Such the education I’m getting.”
“Sometimes I’m good for something.” Ky stabs at his coleslaw and stares out into the ocean. The sun isn’t quite setting, but it isn’t directly above us anymore either.
I let that statement linger before I respond. “You’re good for a lot of things when you want to be.”
“Not lately,” he disagrees, disenchanted.
“Why do you hate me so much?”
Ky regards me with so much remorse. “I don’t hate you, Kira. I’m just . . .” He searches for the right word.
“Angry?” I try to help him out.
He nods. “Angry and resentful and confused and hurt and so many other fucked-up things. They’re all just raging inside me twenty-four hours a day.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
; “It is.”
“I know a little something about emotional turmoil,” I confess.
“Your dad?” Ky guesses right. “Funny thing is, the thought of anyone hurting you drives me mad,” Ky admits.
“Except you.” Yes, I throw a dig. He deserves it.
“I am sorry, Kira. I’m sorry for what I said, and how I acted, and if I scared you.”
“I’m still deciding if I want to forgive you.”
“That’s fair.”
“What did you mean when you said Gerard picked me over you?” I think this is the burning hot question that has kept a stake wedged between us since we met.
Ky puts down his half-eaten dinner and runs his hands over his face. “When my dad met your mom, he became a different person. Almost instantly. It wasn't noticeable to most, but I’m his son. He raised me. I know him. He started pulling away, and sneaking around, and being secretive. And when I confronted him about it, he shut me down. We told each other everything. He was my rock. He got me through some of the toughest times in my life, and then, just like that” — he snaps — “he turned his back on me, and his club, and people we considered family.”
“That doesn’t sound like the Gerard I know.” I shake my head.
“I don’t know the Gerard you know. I couldn't pinpoint that man if I wanted to. For all I know, he hates my guts.”
I shake my head vehemently now. “He doesn't hate you. He’s never said a bad thing about you. Every time he talked about you, it was with such pride. He spoke so highly about you that I felt like I already knew you. That I already trusted you. It’s why I came to you. Because of him.”
Ky frowns.