“Kal, he’s plotting revenge on her, and she’s clearly up to no good. This mess could get so much worse if he isn’t aware of the full facts. You can’t keep him in the dark.”
“Shit.” He turns a sickly shade of green. “You might be right.” He stops, grasping my arm. “But I need to think it through. Please promise me you won’t say anything to him. Not yet. Until I try and figure it out.”
“I won’t, but you have to promise me that you will tell him.”
He nods, and we start walking again. “One other thing, is something going on with you and Lana?”
“Where’d you get that harebrained idea?” He looks perplexed.
“Call it intuition.”
“Well, your intuition needs some fine tuning. There is absolutely nothing going on with Lana and me.” His stride picks up, and I have to walk-jog to keep up with him, effectively ending further conversation.
Argumentative voices are waiting to greet us, and we both exchange guarded expressions. Alex is sitting stiffly on a leather recliner in the living room. Kent is staring moodily out the window, and Keaton’s foot taps nervously off the ground from his position on the couch. All three heads swivel in our direction. “What are they arguing over this time?” Kalvin asks, his gaze fixed on his mother.
She massages her temples. “Your guess is as good as mine. I don’t think they even need a reason anymore.” She brings a glass of wine to her lips.
Kalvin looks concerned. “Mom, I don’t think—”
She cuts him off dead. “I do not want or need a lecture from you, of all people, on the evils of drinking. It’s either do this”—she lifts her glass, swirling it in the air—“or go out there and bash their heads together.”
Kalvin’s jaw flexes. “Fine, bury your head in the sand. I’m going to find out what’s going on.”
I race after him. “Don’t get involved. Trust me.”
He whirls to face me. “You know what it is?”
“I …” I clam up.
Snarling, he strides with renewed purpose toward the lobby. I catch up with him as Kyler comes bounding down the mezzanine stairs with a face like thunder. Grabbing his jacket, he storms outside without looking at either one of us. The door slams violently in his wake. The telltale roar of an engine can be heard screeching down the driveway a minute later.
Kalvin starts climbing the stairs, two at a time, with a look of fierce determination on his face. Kaden blocks his path at the top. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“The hell it doesn’t!” Kalvin yells. “I’m part of this family too.”
“Son,” James says, appearing at Kaden’s back. “It’s only a silly argument.” He tugs at his ear in an obvious tell. “There’s no need to make a bigger deal of it. Let it go.”
I hover at the end of the stairs, and Kaden’s enraged eyes meet mine. Subtly, he shakes his head in warning. Kalvin looks between his dad and his brother before huffing and stalking back down the stairs. He shoves past, elbowing me in the shoulder.
“Um, ow!” I massage my sore shoulder.
“Sorry.” Kalvin huffs out an insincere apology before stalking toward his bedroom.
Kaden looks his dad up and down with transparent disgust. “You make me sick.” Then he bounds down the stairs and straight out the door. I rush down the corridor to my room before James can even make eye contact with me.
A half hour later, Alex comes knocking on my door. She sits at my dresser, facing me. “I’m sorry about all that earlier, Faye. Hormones and tempers flare up from time to time. I tend to steer well clear.” She gives me an apologetic smile, but there’s lingering sadness behind her eyes. I wonder if it’s because she knows more than she’s letting on or she knows she’s avoiding reality.
She folds her hands neatly in her lap. “I’ll be in Milan this week, but I wanted to talk to you before I left. You know I don’t approve of your choice regarding Wellesley Memorial, but it’s your decision and I respect that. Good luck tomorrow.” She gives me a small smile. “I was also wondering if you’d made any decision in relation to the Kennedy Charitable Trust?”
I uncross my legs, planting them on the ground in front of my bed. “Thank you, and yes.” I fist clumps of the duvet in my hand. “Is it possible to split my donation between two charities?”
Her eyes blink rapidly as she mulls it over. “I don’t see that being an issue. What did you have in mind?”
“I wanted to donate half to the Middleborough Track and half to the local Alcoholics Anonymous center.”
She looks surprised. “Kyler’s track?”
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
“No, not at all.” She splays her fingers over her knees. “I didn’t realize you were familiar with it.”
“Ky took me yesterday, and I was really impressed with the place, although it’s in obvious need of funding. I know they are on the verge of closing down, and it’d be a shame for the children to lose access to the facility.”
Worry lines crinkle her eyes. “I didn’t know they were in financial trouble. Kyler should’ve come to me.”
Jayzus, was Ky right? Did James stay quiet about this as a twisted form of punishment?
“That seems like a worthwhile cause, and I’m sure Kyler will be delighted,” she continues. I nod, even though I’m not doing it for him. Her face softens. “And the donation to the AA is because of your parents?”
I nod again, staring at my feet, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. “If the truck driver who killed my parents had had the support of a group like AA, then maybe he wouldn’t have been drunk behind the wheel that night.” A single tear leaks out of my eye as I lift my chin to face her. “I’d like to help support their work in the hope that it might save someone else from going through what I went through.”
“Oh, honey.” She crosses to me, enveloping me in her arms. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
I spend the rest of the day hanging out with Keaton. After he beats my ass playing COD on Xbox—successive times no less—we watch back-to-back repeats of Gossip Girl on Netflix in the cinema room. It makes the antics in Chez Kennedy look like child’s play in comparison.
I rub my hands over my swollen belly as I groan. “No more.” I push the bowl at Keaton. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so much popcorn in my life. I feel sick.”
He laughs. “Told ya not to overdo it.”
“I know. Eyes bigger than my belly.”
“Hhm,” Keaton says, puckering his lips as he fastens his gaze on my stomach. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
I grab him into a headlock. “You’ll pay for that one, buddy.”
He very quickly overpowers me, tickling me until I break into a fit of girlish giggles. I raise my hands in surrender. “Waving the white flag! Stop before I pee my pants.”
“Gross visual.” Keaton wrinkles his nose as he snickers. My heart swells as I think of how much he’s done for me. Without any conscious effort, he helped me settle in here. Made the transition that little bit easier. Of all my cousins, our relationship is the most natural, the most normal. The most cherished.
“Can we be serious for a minute?” His brows flick up curiously. I gulp over the football-sized emotional wedge in my throat. “Thank you so much for being you.”
I’m surprised when his eyes turn glassy. “I’m so glad you came to live with us, Faye. Honestly, you’ve no idea how much. I already feel like you’re my best friend.” His voice shakes a little, and I’m glad I’m not the only one getting mushy and sentimental.
I pull him into a quick hug. “Me too. I’ve always wanted cousins, and now I know why.”
A choked sob escapes his lips and I hug him tighter. “I love how I can be myself around you without any fear.”
I ease back a little, holding him at arm’s length. “Why would you be afraid?”
He extracts himself from my embrace, rubbing at his eyes with the corner of his sleeves. “The others all think I’m a joke. They don’t see me like you see me.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. If anything they’re probably jealous.”
He barks out an incredulous laugh. “Hardly!”
“You are the most levelheaded, and you seem happiest in yourself. Plus, you seem to have a good relationship with your parents, something the rest of them struggle with. You’re a great guy, Keaton. Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise.”
“Promise you’ll always feel like that?” His pleading eyes fail to mask his abject terror and I wonder what’s bothering him.
“Hey.” I hold his hand. “You will always be my favorite cousin. Nothing or no one will ever change that.”
After lunch, Keaton tries several times to get Kalvin to join us, but he continues to sulk in the privacy of his own room. Keanu is out somewhere with that model, Selena, and Kent is MIA as usual. I still haven’t figured him out, and I can count on one hand the amount of times he’s spoken to me in the last few weeks. Ky doesn’t show up either, and I don’t even want to think about what he’s getting up to, or who he’s getting up to it with.
Switching off the lights in my room later that night, I am just pulling the curtains closed when I spot Kalvin creeping across the lawn again. The clock shows it’s past eleven, and with school starting tomorrow, I’m surprised he’s sneaking out tonight. Not for the first time, I wonder what he’s up to.
A hideous thought crosses my mind—is he sneaking out to hook up with Addison? Was he giving it to me straight earlier? Or is there more to this than he’s admitted? Briefly, I consider following him. But my recent eavesdropping forays have proven how inept my skills are in that regard. Besides, I don’t think I can stomach watching another one of my cousins slobbering all over that bitch.
No. I’ll leave it for now.
But tomorrow, Kalvin will be facing my own personal version of the Spanish Inquisition.
I get up early for a swim the next morning before school. After I’ve showered and changed, I head straight for the kitchen. My stomach growls its approval. The boys have already left, and Alex is away on business, so I’ve no choice but to eat breakfast with James.
He tries to make small talk with me but I’m closed off and finding it difficult to look him in the eye. “Don’t be too nervous.” He sends me a sympathetic look. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. And you can always switch to Old Colonial if you don’t like it.”
I’m happy to let him think my unease is due to school and not the fact that I know he’s cheating on his wife. I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do with that knowledge yet, and I’d rather avoid confrontation right now. Just as I believed I was starting to get to know my uncle, I realize he’s a complete stranger to me. I wonder if this kind of behavior is normal for him—if this character trait had anything to do with my mum distancing herself from him.
I insist that Max drops me around the corner from the school, hell-bent on walking the last half a mile. There’s no way I’m rocking up in a chauffeur-driven car on my first day, or any other day for that matter. I make a mental note to ask Lana how she gets to school. Perhaps we can travel together.
I’m approaching the school, when my cell pings with a message from Ky. Thinking of you. Good luck today.
This sweet side of him has me tied up in knots. All this hot and cold behavior is playing havoc with my hormones. Shaking my head, I pocket my phone and join the crowd piling into the building.
I collected my locker combination and schedule last week so I walk straight through the main entrance door, pretending I don’t notice the curious looks being leveled my way. After a couple of wrong turns, I eventually find my locker.
Throngs of boys and girls swarm the wide corridor. Various groups are clustered around lockers, chatting and laughing. Taunts and insults are shouted at the less popular kids as they scurry down the hallway, heads hanging low, trying to look inconspicuous.
Glancing out the window, I spy a group of dodgy-looking kids congregating around a large tree out front. God only knows what they’re doing. It’s as if I’ve walked onto the set of Pretty Little Liars, and it couldn’t be more different from my last school back home. I never thought I’d ever miss Loreto or the nuns, but in this moment, I’d return to my old school in a heartbeat.
Squashing my oversentimental thoughts, I firmly remind myself that this is my new reality, and I need to get on with it. I doubt I’ll find any of this strange or shocking in a couple of days.
I’m sorting out my books when a dark shadow falls over me. Turning around, I confront a familiar face with a shocked gasp. “What are you doing here?”
A purplish-yellow bruise is clearly visible on his left cheek, and his right eye is swollen on one side. It’s obvious he got a thorough working over. Brad winks with his good eye, giving me an impish smile. “Sorry, didn’t get a chance to mention it. This is my school now.”
I pull a face. “Why aren’t you going to O.C.? And why didn’t you say anything the other night?”
“I was going to tell you, but then all that other crap happened.”
An image of me throwing myself at him jumps up and bites me. I wince. “Yeah, um, about that …”
The corners of his mouth lift. “It’s okay, you don’t need to explain.”
My brows shoot up. “I don’t?”
He leans against the side of my locker. “Nope. And any time you need me to make a point, work away, I’m at your disposal.” He grins and I can’t work out whether he’s on the level or plain making fun of me.
Someone slams into my back, and I’m thrown forward without warning. I crash into Brad, and he stumbles, losing his balance. He falls to the ground with me pinned to his front. He takes the brunt of the fall as I sprawl all over him, but I still feel a jarring movement shooting up my spine. He emits a loud moan as his head slaps off the tiled floor.
“Oh my God, are you okay?”
“I think I’ll live,” he jokes, tentatively prodding the back of his head.
A few titters ring out, amid a chorus of developing chatter. The click of multiple cell phones snaps me into action. I scramble to my feet with as much grace as I can muster. Extending my hand, I help Brad up.
“Your reputation precedes you, and now I know everything that’s been said is true,” a shrill, catty voice says from behind me.
I turn around to match the face to the voice.
A stick-thin blonde with dull hazel eyes scans me from head to toe. A sneer contorts her face as she eyes my jeans and blouse combo with a look of obvious distaste. “Don’t they teach you how to dress in Ireland?”
A group of girls forms a line at her back, sniggering at her attempt to belittle me.
“Don’t they teach you any manners in America?” I shoot back.
“I show respect where respect’s due. And that doesn’t extend to ho-bags like you.”
Her posse purses their lips, tosses their hair, and nods their heads in agreement.
“Funny you should mention ho-bags.” I take a slow perusal of her body, noting the short black mini and snug cropped top that clings to her ample chest, baring a wide expanse of flat, tan skin. “Because you look like the stereotypical definition of one. Tell me,” I say, planting my hands on my hips, “how many guys have you blown so far today?”
An unattractive sneer creeps over her mouth as she moves all up in my personal space. “You think you’re funny? You think you can waltz in here and own the place in a day?” She jabs a pointy finger in my face. “This is my turf. My school. And I call the shots around here.”
I thrust her finger back in her face and square up to her. Brad moves closer, placing a cautionary hand on my lower back. Perhaps the smart thing would be to back down, but then they’ll think I’m a walkover. And that’s whe
n the abuse will start.
I’m starting this as I mean to go on.
“I don’t care how you do things here. No one tells me what to do. Certainly not some delusional jumped-up slut with self-esteem issues.”
A sly smile spreads over her mouth as she tilts her head back. Then she smashes her forehead into mine with force. Black spots mar my vision as excruciating pain spreads across my skull.
I stagger back, swaying precariously on my feet. I cannot believe she did that! Wincing, I palm my sore forehead, hoping I don’t have a concussion.
I’m vaguely aware of a strong arm hauling me aside. Brad’s citrusy scent invades my nostrils as he pins me in close to his body. “Screw off, Peyton. You’ve picked the wrong girl to mess with.”
I tilt in Brad’s arms, struggling to focus my vision. A throbbing headache has taken up residence in my skull, and short jabbing pains stab me behind the eyes. It’s the equivalent of a hangover without the nausea and vomiting.
“What is the meaning of this?” an authoritative voice asks. I silently curse.
“Ask the newbie,” Peyton responds, sounding slightly dazed. “She started it.”
“Faye was minding her own business when you knocked her off her feet,” Brad corrects.
“The three of you, into my office. Now.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I’m having trouble focusing, and Brad props me up as we walk the length of the corridor. Mrs. Carter—the principal, no less—ushers us into her room. “I think Faye needs to see the nurse,” Brad supplies when we sit down.
I hold up a hand, blinking excessively as I try to bring my eyesight into focus. “I’m fine.” There’s no way I’m being carted off for medical treatment. I can’t imagine I’d ever live that one down.
Peyton clutches her head in both hands as she sits down. Even if it’s not much consolation, I feel some degree of satisfaction knowing she’s in pain, too.
Mrs. Carter gives all three of us a stern talking to and a caution that next time we won’t get off so lightly.
Finding Kyler (The Kennedy Boys #1) Page 22