Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
“Hello, Harris,” Kenny greeted, when they arrived back at her place to find the man waiting on the porch for them. “I assume you’re here to help chuck out the old and haul in the new?”
Harris, who was sitting on the porch steps, nodded wordlessly.
“And you always just do whatever Smith asks of you?” Kenny questioned, as she limped up the steps toward the tall man, who was pushing himself upright and unfolding his arms lazily.
Harris surprised her by grinning, the first hint of warmth he’d shown Kenny since her arrival in town.
“Pretty much,” he drawled. “I’ve been his little bitch since primary school.”
“You’ve known each other that long?” She was ashamed that she hadn’t known that before now. Was it any wonder Smith was getting rid of her? Who would want to be with someone who didn’t know something as fundamental as that about him?
She shoved the thought aside, not wanting to get bogged down in regret again. At least not right now, not with the men there to witness the spiral.
“Since we were babies, really,” Smith said as he undid the ratchet straps around the sofa. “Our parents are friends. I can’t remember a time we didn’t know Harris and Greyson.”
“How’s your foot?” Harris asked, ambling past her and down the steps to help Smith with the straps.
“Getting better. I have to keep the cast on for another couple of weeks to make sure the foot heals properly.”
“Yeah, I get it. You stand a lot.”
“Yes.”
“Glad you’re feeling better.”
“Thank you.” She hesitated before adding, “And thank you for helping with this. I’m sorry to be such a bother. I know getting a brand-new sofa for a rental is a little exorbitant.”
Harris chuckled.
“It’s no bother. And you’re talking to the guy who bought a brand-new mattress and a microwave when I stayed next door. If Dickens keeps renting to the likes of us, he’ll have this whole place refurnished without having to spend a cent.”
“Would either of you like something to drink?” she asked, not sure what else to say or do.
“I’m good, thanks,” Harris said.
Smith shook his head at her questioning look.
“Right, well then… Let me know if you need anything. I’ll get out of your way,” she said.
She retreated to the dingy interior of the house.
It was stuffy, dusty, and hot inside. The thirty-degree Celsius January heat outside was at least four degrees hotter within the confines of the poorly ventilated house and she proceeded to throw open all the doors and windows in an effort to get some cool air circulating.
She was grateful for the small task, as it kept her busy and made her feel less superfluous.
She downed a couple of aspirin and half a bottle of water after that, very aware of the men’s low voices just outside, as they talked while working.
So at ease with each other.
Friends for nearly the entirety of their lives.
Kenny had only ever had her brothers. They were her constant. Her favorite childhood companions. She couldn’t imagine having a decades-long friend. Someone who knew all of her secrets. Who’d been there through the good and bad times. Not because they had to be, but because they wanted to be.
“Shopping for furniture with her? There something you’re not telling me, Smith?” Harris asked, slanting a furtive look over his shoulder at the open front door through which Kenny had just fled.
“No. I just gave her a ride to Knysna.”
“And now you’re getting rid of the old couch and delivering the new one for her? That seems a little above and beyond, you ask me.”
“Nobody asked you.”
“Maybe you should ask me,” Harris grumbled pointedly. “Or are you forgetting the wreck who crashed on our sofa for a week before getting his shit together enough to shower and change his clothes?”
“You’re the one who told me she seemed different. Just last night you implied that I was being stubborn.”
Smith honestly wasn’t sure what the fuck he was doing. All he knew was that last night, as he’d held her while through her storm of tears, something had shifted in him. And that shift had solidified when they had fallen asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.
He was as exhausted as she claimed to be. Tired of the discord and anger. Sick of the hostility.
He didn’t want to be the cause of any more of her tears.
“I meant have a conversation with her, not get cozy enough to pick out drapes and furniture with her! Why does everything have to be so fucking all or nothing with you? Look, all I’m saying is pick a lane, Smith.
A nice conservative, conversation-across-a-boardroom-table-with-a-lawyer-by-your-side kind of lane.
Because whatever is going on right now is going to irreparably fuck you up. Both of you.
“I—we…Tina and I—we just don’t want to see you hurt again. You were nonverbal for fucking days after leaving her. That was—it wasn’t great, okay? We’d rather you not backslide into that morose fucker again.”
“I understand, Harris. I do. And Kenny and I…” He broke off, as he tried to organize his thoughts. “We don’t work. But the hell of it is, it’s not because we can’t, but because we haven’t even tried. Not really. Does that make sense?”
“Not a fuck,” Harris told him with brutal honesty. “But I think giving yourself the room to figure it out is probably a wise idea.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do. That’s what today was about. I feel like I’m on the verge of some understanding. A breakthrough, but that means—”
“Opening yourself up to more pain?”
“No pain. She doesn’t have that power over me.
” Harris looked skeptical and Smith couldn’t blame him.
He didn’t sound very convincing. Not even to himself.
“She doesn’t. Not now. I just want to understand why we didn’t work.
I blamed Kenna for all of it. But I don’t think that was fair.
And finding answers means spending time with her.
Having the conversations we’ve avoided up till now. ”
Harris’s face was grim as he stared at Smith, but finally he offered him the faintest of nods.
“I feel like you’re playing with fire, Smith. And somebody’s bound to get hurt.”
“Much better,” Smith proclaimed as he stood, hands on his hips, staring down at the new, comfortable sofa. It was a boring, boxy, inoffensive thing. Even the color was a snoozeworthy, an inoffensive light gray.
“What will you do with the old one?” Kenny asked curiously. Smith and Harris had lifted the old one onto the back of Spencer’s bakkie, after which Harris had departed.
Kenny was somewhat surprised when Smith chose to stick around. But he’d helped her remove the plastic from the new sofa, moving it fractions of inches to the left or right before deciding that it was in the perfect position.
Smith was still staring thoughtfully at the sofa and didn’t turn to look at her when he replied, “Giving it to Spencer. He runs the local youth center in his spare time. He’ll find a use for it.
Refurbish to use at the center, maybe. Do you think this needs to move a trifle to the left? It still seems off-center.”
“It’s fine,” Kenny said with an exasperated glance heavenward.
And she thought she was anal about crap like this. She’d been happy five “little adjustments” ago.
He tilted his head to the right, still looking at the sofa. “You sure?”
“Oh, for God’s sake! Yes, I’m sure. Now leave it alone.” She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow to tug him away and they both froze when her palm touched his warm, bare skin.
He turned toward her, crowding her with his heat, and height, and hardness.
She swallowed, the sound embarrassingly loud in the oppressive silence of the room.
Their eyes met and there was a quiet, despairing acknowledgment between them. An acceptance that the sudden electric current sizzling between them was real.
And intense.
And inevitable.
His head dipped.
“No.” Her whispered denial washed over his lips, which stopped within a hairsbreadth of hers, held hostage by that small, hushed word.
“No?” he asked on a despairing little groan.
“We can’t keep defaulting to this, Smith. It’s unhealthy and I’m trying so hard to make emotionally healthy choices. For both our sakes.”
He groaned again, louder this time, the sound pained and rife with frustration. He dropped his forehead to hers, hands moving up to cup her face gently. He held her like that for a long moment before dropping his hands and stepping away from her.
“Why did you have to come here?” More frustration, smattered with anger now. “I was doing okay. We were moving on.”
“You were moving on. I was just left behind. “
“You can’t leave someone who was never there, Kenna.” His voice was gentle, for once lacking in rancor and accusation.
The words were presented as a simple statement of fact.
“I’m here now,” she pointed out and took a couple of steps back, sinking down onto the sofa to watch him silently.
Waiting for him to decide what the next move should be.
He hesitated, took a step toward the easy chair, and then stopped again.
“I-I have to get the bakkie and sofa back to Spencer.”
He swung on his heel and left without another word, leaving Kenny reeling.
“Well then,” she whispered, running her damp palms down the cotton of her light summer skirt. “I suppose that’s that.”
She stared fixedly down at her hands, vision blurry, as she took a few deep breaths and tried to work through the staggering sense of emptiness and loss that crashed over her, threatening to her drag her down and drown her.
Her eyes caught on her rings, and she made a stricken, high-pitched sound.
She tugged at them, expecting resistance again, but this time both rings slid from her finger with laughable ease.
She laughed, a soft despairing sound, and carefully placed the rings on the coffee table in front of her.
She was usually an intelligent woman. A surgeon, for God’s sake.
She offered her patients hope. She was their biggest advocate in a high-stakes game of life and death. She often represented that last brave line of defense.