by Belle Malory
“Don’t give him all the credit. I’ve worked my ass off fixing Mae up.”
Kennedy to stiffened at the name of his car.
“You named it Mae?” Reagan asked, stifling a giggle. “Mae, as in Kenn’s middle name, Mae?”
Oh God, kill me now, Kennedy pleaded. Seriously, go ahead and take me out of my misery because if I spend the whole day with these two, I’m going to kill myself at the end of it anyway.
“Yep,” Hunter replied, shameless. He pressed a button on the dash. “Mae, take us downtown.”
A bouncy female voice sprang from the speakers. “Right away, Hunter. Now en route to Amelia Island’s Historic District. My travel forecast predicts clear roads. The drive should take approximately seven minutes.”
“Awesome. Thanks, baby.” Hunter grinned at Kennedy, and gave her a look that said isn’t she great?
Reagan continued to choke on her laughter in the back seat.
“Ask Mae to play some music, Hunt,” Kennedy said in a strained voice. She tapped her palm against one of the front speakers. “Something with lots of bass. Let’s see how loud these bad boys get, okay?”
Hunter grinned. “Coming right up.”
Within a few seconds, music blared from the stereo. Despite how loud it was, the music finally provided Kennedy the chance to relax. She settled into her seat, staring out the window.
Driving into the historic district always made her feel like she was stepping back in time. Victorian houses festooned in gingerbread trim lined the quaint streets, each one more extravagant than the next. Ancient oaks draped in moss shaded the sidewalks, contrasting against bright green palms. They even passed a horse drawn carriage pulling a man and woman for a romantic ride through the town.
Charming, she thought, in an old-fashioned sort of way. Different from Olympus, that was for sure. Two places couldn’t be more opposite, but both of them were justifiably home to her.
They looked for a parking spot seven minutes later, just as Mae predicted. She was still reeling over that one. Guys didn’t name their cars after girls they knew unless it was serious. That was as bad as getting a tattoo. Granted, Mae was only her middle name, but still…
Kennedy stayed quiet through the first couple boutiques they went into, letting Reagan do the small talk in her place while she curiously combed over the racks. When the subject of college came up, something Reagan said threw her for a loop. She wasn’t sure if she had heard her correctly. “Did you say you applied to a community college?”
Reagan pivoted around, then nodded.
“What for?” Kennedy asked, cocking a brow. “You got into Dartmouth. Isn’t that like a done deal?”
Reagan shrugged, her eyes roaming over a shelf of ceramic figurines. She picked one up, inspecting it. “I wanted to have more than one option.” She set the figurine back down and moved along towards the next shelf. “You know, in case I change my mind.”
“Change your mind?” Kennedy repeated, still in shock. “In case of what? Terrorists bombing Dartmouth?”
She rolled her eyes. “No,” she said stiffly. “In case I decide to stay at home. There’s a really good marine biology program in Jacksonville, and where else but Florida provides a better setting to study marine life?”
Kennedy felt her lips part of their own accord. She couldn’t believe what her sister was saying. “Does Mom know about this?”
“Why would she care?”
“Um, I don’t know, Rea. Maybe because it’s batshit crazy, and you’ve got to be out of your freaking mind to choose a community college over Dartmouth.”
Reagan’s face tightened. “It’s my decision, Kenn, and to be honest, I’ve pretty much made up my mind. I’m staying here.”
Silence thickened the space between them. Those words,—I’m staying here—echoed in the air like a closed door. End of discussion. No room for debate.
Hunter cleared his throat. “I don’t see what’s so bad about it.” His friendly tone sounded painfully induced. Lightening the mood wasn’t happening, no matter how hard he tried. “Lots of kids choose schools close to home. It’s more convenient, allows them to be with family—”
“People don’t turn down Ivy League schools, Hunt.” Kennedy sliced into him with her gaze, daring him to say one more word. He was totally taking Reagan’s side, and it was pissing her off.
Hunter shifted his stance uncomfortably. Something piqued his interest on an imaginary rack a few feet away, and he headed towards it.
“There was no reason to bite his head off,” Reagan said in a low voice.
She was probably right, but Kennedy chose to ignore that. “You haven’t told Mom, have you? Tell the truth.”
Reagan let out a small sigh. “No.”
She knew it.
Every time Ashley called, she went on and on about how proud of Reagan she was. It was always Dartmouth this and Dartmouth that. If she found out Reagan was even considering a community college, she was gonna freak.
And it would break her heart.
Normalcy within their family was becoming rarer and rarer these days. Reagan was the daughter that provided a modicum of that normal they were lacking. She did the things families should be proud of, the things mothers wanted for their daughters. Not that Kennedy’s status quo as a protector of earth was something to be ashamed of. It definitely wasn’t. But no matter how many times Ashley told her how proud she was, college would never be a possibility. She couldn’t give her mom that. But Reagan could, and she could do it big. The way other kids only dreamed about. Getting into an Ivy League school, that was really something. Hell, she couldn’t have gotten accepted to one if she’d tried.
“Let’s drop this for now, okay?” Reagan pleaded quietly. “I did that for you about the other thing, remember?”
That was true, minus the digs in Hunter’s car. Kennedy let out a sigh of her own, knowing her sister had a point.
“Besides,” Reagan said. “Today was supposed to be about having fun. I’m not really feeling the fun.”
“Feeling the fun?” She cracked a smile, unable to help herself.
Reagan’s eyes brightened as she nodded. “I want to feel the fun. I want to feel it in every cell of my body. I want to feel it all the way down to my bones.” She took Kennedy’s arm steering her towards the store exit. “Come on, Hunter,” she called over her shoulder. “We’re getting ice cream so our stomachs can feel the fun, too.”
Kennedy shook her head. “Little wonder you made it to genius-level with that astounding vocabulary.”
Reagan punched her in the arm. “Shut up. I don’t care if you did come home all lean and mean. You’re still the younger, bratty sibling, and I can take you.”
Ha! Kennedy thought. In her dreams. Months of karate-induced pains and aches would prove her wrong in a heartbeat. “No, trust me, you couldn’t.”
“Don’t argue with me.” Bells jangled as Reagan held the door open for them. “Or I’ll force you to give me my turquoise dress back earlier than I planned to. Yeah,” she said, catching Kennedy’s incredulous expression. “I know about that.”
How…
Dang. She really liked that dress, had stolen it from her sister because she liked it so much. Giving it back had never been part of the plan.
Hunter caught up with them quickly, relieved to see the tension was gone. “Did someone say ice cream?” he asked cheerfully.
~ ~
Before Kennedy knew what hit her, she found herself having fun with Hunter and Reagan. They found an ice cream parlor a few streets down and nestled into the back booth while arguing over which flavor was the best and laughed at Hunter for dripping hot fudge all over his white shirt.
All former awkwardness disappeared, and the conversation became amazingly easy. It was surprising how easy it was. She hadn’t felt like this in a long time, and it was just…nice. Really, really nice. Like coming out of the water for air kind of nice.
“I never knew you were lactose intolerant, Kenn.” Hunte
r eyed her vanilla frozen yogurt with distaste. “That must suck.”
She shrugged. “I treat the term ‘lactose intolerant’ loosely. Like a guideline.”
“Loosely?” He pointed his spoon at her. “I’ve seen you devour cheese like nobody’s business.”
A laugh bubbled up inside her. “Oh stop. I do not.” He let out a low snort, and she laughed again. “I like my cheese, okay?”
“She gets lots of stomach aches,” Reagan added, swallowing a spoonful of strawberry ice cream. “Speaking of which, Hunter, I’d be surprised if you didn’t get one from the chocolate fiasco you got going on there.”
He looked at her sharply. “Don’t knock the chocolate, Reagan.”
“I have nothing against chocolate,” she insisted. “But your bowl of ice cream belongs to a menstruating woman crying over a breakup—on the day before she starts her diet.”
Amen to that. Kennedy had been thinking the same thing. He literally piled hot fudge, brownie bites, chocolate sprinkles, and chocolate chips on two scoops of chocolate ice cream.
Hunter swallowed a giant bite of the concoction, licking his lips. “It’s my favorite.”
Reagan chuckled for a moment, but it faded out when something behind their booth caught her attention.
Kennedy noticed the direction of her gaze and glanced behind her. There was nothing there but a few empty tables and a magazine rack. She turned back around. “Is something the matter?”
“What?” Reagan shook her head, then refocused on gobbling down her ice cream. “Oh—no. I spaced out for a second.”
That was a lie if she ever heard one. Reagan had never been very good at it; her voice held a singsong lilt whenever she tried. Gave her away every time. Kennedy didn’t press the issue though. Whatever it was, she obviously wanted to keep it to herself.
They lingered in the ice cream parlor for a while longer before heading out. Kennedy was in the middle of throwing her trash away when she got a look at what must have caught Reagan’s attention earlier.
It was a magazine with Phoenix’s name on it.
She slowly walked towards it and picked the square piece of plastic off the shelf. As soon as she did, it animated and the voice of a gossip columnist sounded. “Rumor has it, Phoenix Jorgensen is back with one of his old flames, supermodel Hephsa Hannigan. Sources say they have been spotted all over Neon City together.”
Kennedy felt the pit of her stomach sink as an image popped up of Phoenix holding hands with a stunning blonde outside some swanky restaurant. She shook her head. This couldn’t be true. They had to be wrong.
“A close friend of the on-again, off-again couple says Phoenix seems happier than ever, and that this time it’s the real deal. What do you think, fans? Do you think wedding bells are next for Phoenix and Hephsa?”
She didn’t know about wedding bells, but a few loud warning bells went off in her head as she put back the magazine. She didn’t want to see anymore.
Believing that junk was stupid anyway, and she refused to give it credence. Gossip magazines got their information wrong all the time. This time was no different.
A hand rested on her arm, and she looked up to see Reagan’s concerned expression. “You okay?” she mouthed.
Kennedy nodded, not wanting to talk about it in front of Hunter. “It’s not true,” she whispered back.
Reagan nodded and offered a comforting smile. “I didn’t think so either.”
Unsteady legs guided her out the door behind Hunter and Reagan. She felt shaky all over, as if she wanted to separate herself from this feeling, to escape from it somehow.
She never knew Phoenix had dated Hephsa Hannigan. He never mentioned her before. Perhaps that wasn’t a bad thing, since she sorta wished she never found out. Hard not to be a little self-conscious after seeing that picture. Hephsa was absolutely beautiful, exactly the type of girl one would expect to be in Phoenix’s league. Not only that, but her family was well known for creating a cancer research organization, so she had the whole humanitarian thing going on for her as well.
And then there was that nagging scene playing out in her head from the night in the glass room, and how she brought up the subject of exclusivity. Or tried to, at least. Phoenix didn’t want to put a label on their relationship. No matter how sweetly he dressed it up, it all boiled down to that. It was the worst kind of rejection, eating at her insides like acid. If he and Hephsa were good enough for a label, did that mean he was ashamed of her?
She brushed the thought away, determined not to take the insecure route again. I am a keeper of this planet, dammit. How can I expect anyone else to respect me if I can’t even respect myself?
She steeled her shoulders and held her head a little higher. He didn’t want a label? Fine—she didn’t want one either.
“There she is!”
Kennedy whipped around to see a slew of reporters rounding the corner of the ice cream parlor. Rapid clicks of cameras went off in succession. They surrounded her from all sides, impeding her path. Questions were fired off in a distorted jumble of voices, and she didn’t know where to look or who to listen to.
Hunter draped an arm over her shoulder, shielding her from the crowd. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll get you out of here.”
The reporters went crazy seeing Hunter there; everyone assumed she was dating him after that kiss he planted on her the day she left for Olympus. Pictures of that moment had been all over the news for weeks. Kennedy cringed every time she saw it, not because Hunter had kissed her, but because she looked shell-shocked and intimidated by the onslaught of people. She didn’t want to be known as a weakling.
This time she tried to keep her wits about her, smiling politely, and waving for the camera diplomatically. Aggressive reporters egged Hunter on, shouting things like, “Come on, dude! Kiss her again!”
The whole thing would’ve been ridiculously funny under normal circumstances. But then the reporters started chanting “Kiss her, kiss her!” in unison, and she could tell by the way Hunter grinned at their antics that it was pumping up his ego. He even looked at her for a moment, questioning whether or not he should. She didn’t give him the permission his eyes sought out, but like an idiot, she didn’t give him a resounding no either. She should have. Because he didn’t waste the opportunity.
He used the arm he had wrapped around her to steer her body towards his. She didn’t have time to think or react before his lips claimed hers. And by then, it was too late.
For a brief moment, she contemplated shoving him away. But then the furious clicking of cameras grew louder in her ears, reminding her that they had an audience. She couldn’t humiliate Hunter like that.
So she let him kiss her.
Even kissed him back.
It wasn’t bad, the feeling of him pressed up against her, the taste of his lips—she’d be lying if she said there wasn’t anything nice about it. At the same time, it wasn’t like the last kiss. She didn’t feel the same thrill. Perhaps more importantly, she didn’t feel like she was on fire…like the way she did with Phoenix.
Phoenix.
Hunter pulled away and grinned as the teeming reporters vied to get their attention. The familiar sinking feeling came back, reminding her why there was no excitement this time.
That first kiss on her porch came before she knew Phoenix, before he’d stolen her heart. And now it belonged wholly, and utterly, to him.
She was going straight to hell, no questions about it.
Hunter shoved his way through the crowd, shouting for people to get back. He reached for her hand, and she let him take it. Reagan followed closely behind, but Kennedy didn’t dare look back to face her sister. She could only imagine what was waiting for her there.
Six
“Tell me I’m a horrible person.”
Reagan knitted her brows together. “Okay. You’re a horrible person.”
Kennedy fell onto the living room sofa and groaned. “That didn’t help.”
An amused noise came
from the back of Reagan’s throat. “Was it supposed to make you feel better?”
“Yes—no. I don’t know.” She groaned again. “Oh God, Rea. What’s wrong with me?”
Reagan plopped into the seat beside Kennedy. “You probably belong to the dark side.”
She craned her neck and got an upside down view of her sister smirking at her. Although the comment was clearly intended to be teasing, Kennedy considered the possibility of there being an actual dark side and debated whether or not she fit the bill.
“Stop with the face,” Reagan said, chuckling. “You’re human, Kenn. Humans make mistakes.”
Kennedy tapped her fingers against her lips, staring at the ceiling. As far as mistakes went, this was a big one.
“Not gonna lie,” Reagan said. “What you did was really wrong—”
“Possibly the worst thing I’ve ever done.”
“Maybe.”
She craned her neck again, cocking a brow at Reagan. “You suck at consoling people, you know that?”
Reagan shrugged a shoulder. “I’m being honest. You need to get over yourself, and tell Hunter the truth. What you’re doing isn’t fair to him.”
Kennedy let out a miserable sigh. Since she’d been home, she tried to put some distance between them, and she tried to come off as uninterested. But she wasn’t going to make excuses, because no matter how good her intentions had been, in the end they were just excuses. She should’ve told Hunter about Phoenix. Period.
“You’re right,” she finally said. “I do know that, and I’m going to fix it.”
She felt Reagan’s fingers thread through her hair, then pat the top of her head. “I wish you lots of luck for when that time comes.”
“Do you think he’ll hate me?” She chewed at her bottom lip, waiting for Reagan’s answer. Her sister was truthful to the point of bluntness, and her answer would be an honest one.
“No,” she said after a long moment. “I don’t think he’ll hate you. He might be hurt for a while though.”
“I can’t hurt him.”
“I don’t think you can avoid it, Kenn. That boy is in love with you. And when the person you love doesn’t reciprocate the same feelings, there is going to be pain no matter how much you dull the knife.”