Chapter 15
“Friend, huh?”
I don’t need to take this shit from her. She has to know that. I’m paying for her services—or technically, my job benefits are. Still, it’s the same thing.
“How does this help me?” I ask, tucking my hands into my cargo pants.
“Oh, come on, before we get started. It was very deliberate.”
I groan, the sound loud in the quiet forest around us.
Britt and I are walking north of Wildhart, heading toward Starlight, like we normally do on Thursdays. Therapy like this helps. I know I need these sessions, because every week the hollowness in me feels smaller and smaller.
Though, I could argue it’s Ayden doing that for me.
It’s been a week since that night at the bar, seeing his breakdown. Clover had been scratching at the door the second I closed it behind me. Her reaction wasn’t unfamiliar; she had been my mom’s therapy pet.
Cats aren’t usually considered sensory animals, but Clover’s previous owner suffered seizures, and she could sense them before they happened.
When that owner passed, Clover was nearly sent to the humane society for euthanization, until my stepdad got the call.
She ended up being the perfect gift for my mom, who struggled with dangerously low blood pressure.
It seems fate was on both of their sides, because the cat could sense that too.
So when Clover scratched and yowled at the door, I knew something was wrong.
I don’t know what triggered his attack, but if I had to guess, it was me. The urge to go to him was almost unbearable, but I feared I would only make it worse. Clover was able to get him settled, and I took my ass into the bathroom to get cleaned up.
Blowing up on him as I did, acting like that, I wanted to blame the alcohol but that would be ignorant of me. It wasn’t just that. It was everything that’s built up since losing my mom. No matter what I do, it never seems to end.
The last thing I want is to hurt Ayden, even if I’m still so angry with him.
“Earth to Keoniiii.”
“Legally, Britt, he no longer is my stepbrother. I hadn’t lied. He is a friend.”
“Uh… huh…” I watch as she tucks her hands into her sweater pocket and gives me a sheepish grin. “I’ve known you for several years, and I was watching you all night back at the bar. Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying to you. That would be stupid considering you have some weird superpower to tell when people are being untruthful.”
Her grin turns toothy. “Exactly, and you’re lying.”
“He’s a friend. One I’m still very upset with.”
“Okay, okay, let’s segue.” She steps back, hurries ahead a few paces, then turns to face me.
“Do you think the animosity you feel toward him has amplified your inability to talk about what happened? You said in our last session his fake smiling was pissing you off, and said he won’t tell you about anything, and that—”
“I thought we were moving on from the Ayden topic.”
She shrugs her shoulders. “I’m certain there is some sort of connection here. Not between you two, since, you know… you’re so adamant about there not being anything going on...”
We cut a little to the right to get on the road. I don’t say anything, which has her aggressively groaning.
“Fine. Where did we leave off last week?”
“The transfer.”
“Right, so, you were excited about it? To come move to Maple Falls.”
I nod. “Surprisingly, yeah.”
“You weren’t upset about leaving the job, your friends, and… no significant other?”
Shaking my head, I sigh somberly. “I would obviously miss them, but it felt right to move here. I’ve never shied away from listening to my gut…” I slow my pace and suck in a deep breath. “Until I didn’t.”
Guilt is a power inhibitor. It’s a punch right in the center of my chest and makes it feel as though someone tore out everything that should keep me alive—and yet, I still… live.
It’s a hollow ache. I imagine it’s what floating in space feels like without a tether to keep you from drifting away.
For a moment, I get lost as I stare ahead.
Had I made a different decision that night, they’d still be here.
“Keoni.”
Britt’s hand feels like fire against my bare arm, and I instinctively step away from her.
When I look at her, there’s no sympathy in her green eyes. I see the understanding, and she’s bypassing the fact whatever just happened to me hurt, but instead, sees me attempting to come to terms with it.
It’s alright to hurt. That was what she first told me. I’d taken the hardest step, one that most can’t do, which wasn’t to jump and get the help I needed.
I won’t let myself climb back onto that cliff. I won’t stare into the void and lose myself to the permanent darkness waiting below.
“It was the best decision to be closer to her,” I say, clearing my throat. “And yes, even to my stepdad.”
“Alright then, so you sent them a letter just before they went on vacation.”
I’m grateful she moves on. “Yeah, figured what better way to end a trip with great news. I knew that my mom would be ecstatic.”
“She would’ve been. Honestly, she probably is seeing you here now.”
Although I’ve not stepped foot into church to praise a God, I do believe in some form of higher being. I do know there’s something beyond this life, what that is, I’ve got no clue. All I can hope for is that she’s at peace and happy with Grant.
She’d be disappointed in me for how I’ve treated Ayden, and for blaming myself for what happened. So, I hope she doesn’t see me as I am right now.
A hui hou, Mother.
I close her car door as our session comes to an end.
She asked us to come out again, but I told her no.
I’m picking up a shift. The sudden temperature change has caused a lot of people to get sick, including two firefighters from another squad.
I’ll be going in tomorrow morning for two days with one day off before my own shift starts.
Stepping up to the cabin, I release a heavy breath, and go inside, the smell of stew hitting me almost immediately.
“You are the worst sous chef.”
Clover meows loudly while sitting on the dining room table. Although she has full reign of the house, I don’t like cat hair in my food. I wish he’d have more authority over the feline.
I take off my shoes, careful to stay quiet over the music blasting from his phone so he doesn’t hear me.
“You can’t use those claws of yours to cut up the carrots, but you sure as hell can to destroy my shirt.”
Taking a silent breath to not start laughing, I lean off to the side and watch.
It’s warm inside, so he’s wearing thin sleep pants that hang just below his hips. One side of his shirt is tucked in, the other lazily draped out. His hair is frizzy, which is only like this after a shower, when he doesn’t blow-dry it.
I really like this look. It reminds me of him—not the polished, put-together Ayden everyone else sees, but the real him.
The way I looked at him when we were no longer strangers, but family, would have my mother spinning in her grave. Even now, imagining him like this. Like what he would look like without his clothes on. Or under me…
Grant would’ve likely killed me for thinking about his son like I am.
I suck in a breath and shake my head.
It’s why, even when I figure out how to forgive both of us, he’ll just be my friend. I can’t disrespect our parents—or him—like that. Regardless of how desperately I want to feel his lips on mine again.
Clover meows loudly, drawing Ayden’s attention. He points a wooden spoon at her, then must catch me in the corner of his eye because he whirls around, wets his lips, and clears his throat.
“Thanks to whatever god is watching out for me I wasn’t in full karaoke mode.” His face is slightly flushed, and I can’t tell if it’s from the heat of the room or if he’s blushing.
Either way, I like it.
I chuckle and stroll through the living room toward the kitchen. “It’s not like I haven’t heard your singing before.”
“When I was a kid. I’m a full-blown adult now, Keo.” He rolls his head back and turns away from me.
The cat meows and jumps down, crossing the space to rub against my ankles.
I pull out a dining table chair and slouch into it, letting Clover jump into my lap. My elbow rests on the table, my chin pressing into my palm. The urge to say, “I’m sure it’s just as pleasant as it was back then,” pricks at me. But I force out instead, “Is that Grant’s stew?”
“Yeah,” he says while turning back to the stove. “There was a homemade cookbook, and I don’t mind cooking—I kinda love it.” He pauses for a moment, then lets out a soft laugh. “Just not baking. For some reason, I cannot make a cake to save my life.”
“I can’t do much of anything in the kitchen other than clean…” He looks over his shoulder while idly stirring the liquid in the pot. “The cookbook is Mom’s.”
“I could tell by the writing. Dad always had terrible handwriting.”
“Alysa got that trait from him,” I jest.
“Yeah, she sure did. She had me writing a lot of her handwritten reports in high school.” He drags the back of his forearm across his forehead. “Is it hot in here?”
Truthfully, it’s warm, but not unbearable. It’s likely because he’s standing over a hot stove.
Definitely just you…
“I’m good.”
“Mind if I open the window?”
“Go for it.”
He cracks the one right above the stove, and I watch as his shirt drags up, exposing his lower back.
The divots that taper in and point toward his boxers has me taking a meaningful breath through my nose.
Before he stands straight, he leans further forward, putting his face out into the brisk evening air.
It showcases just a bit more of his skin for me, and it’s now I see a scar, or, at least I think it is.
He’s standing back upright before I have a chance to inspect it further.
“That’s better,” he says before stepping to the side and grabbing two bowls from the cupboard. “Hungry-hungry? Or just hungry?”
“Fucking starved.”
He nods and gets our food prepared, before setting it down and joining me. The moment I’m going for a bite, I realize that there’s something missing.
Oh, that’s right, he’s vegetarian.
I don’t make a fuss or comment. I just take a spoonful. The potatoes along with vegetables, hit my taste buds just like the original did. The absence of meat doesn’t even register. If I hadn’t looked beforehand, I probably wouldn’t have noticed.
After taking a few more bites, he asks, “If you’re open to talk about it, do you mind telling me why you’re in therapy?
I’m not entirely ready to tell him. The mere thought of the why is what has spiraled me into a very dark place, one I barely managed to get out of myself.
Ayden had Alysa, and she came right away for him. I didn’t have anyone, because my biological dad couldn’t be bothered to care about me. He made it all about himself, losing the woman he let get away.
But, if I want the man across from me to tell me his why, I should at least be honest with him.
“I’m open about the therapy. Everyone needs help, regardless of the circumstance.
” I catch something flash across his eyes—understanding, maybe…
envy? No. I must be reading that wrong. “As for the why, I’m not particularly ready to discuss that, but when I can, I’ll tell you if you still want to know by then. ”
He smiles.
Truly smiles at me. God, I wish I could tell him how fucking angry it makes me when he doesn’t give me a genuine one, and that this is him.
Not that fake shit he’s been plastering on his face.
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
Clover continues to purr in my lap as I finish off my bowl. We stay relatively quiet, sharing only a little bit here and there. Nothing is brought up about why he didn’t come once Grant and my mom moved here to Wildhart.
The only question that revolved around the subject that was answered, was when the last time he had come to the cabin was. He said that moving in was his first time coming.
That shocked me, but he explained it was his grandfather’s, who didn’t have the best relationship with his dad. He passed when Ayden was thirteen and it took several years for them to gain the property in Grant’s name. By then, he had graduated from high school and… well, here we are.
Here we are indeed.
After he finishes his food, he reaches across the table to take my bowl. I scoff and take his wrist, which is hot under my touch.
“I’ve got it.”
I know I’ve seen the tattoo before, but never up this close. Moving his arm slightly away, I turn it over so I can look at the very detailed piece.
It’s a rectangular piece that spans most of his forearm, and inside it is a realistic portrait of a lion. It’s just the forehead, down to its nose, the main focus being solely on the eyes.
They’re a bright amber color, sitting with the rest of the black and white piece.
They sorta look like—
“You like it?” He sounds sheepish as he asks the question.
The edge of my lip quirks up. “Yeah. It’s beautifully done. The detail, especially in the eyes, is insane. Did you get this done in San Francisco?”
“Yeah.”
I lean slightly forward, looking at the fine detail, all the way down to the fur that looks realistic. My thumb drags across the bottom of the design as I hum.
“Is this your only one?” I lift my gaze to see his eyes are slightly dilated.
I shouldn’t be touching him like this. So, reluctantly, I let him go and sit back before standing.
He roughly clears his throat. “Mhmm.”
Taking his bowl and my own, I move to the sink. “I’ve been dying to get another one, and another piercing.” Running the water, I rinse the dishes before popping open the dishwasher and putting them in.
Ayden doesn’t say anything, and when I turn around, it’s because he’s walking toward the stairs.
My brows pinch as he gives me a weary look. “I didn’t realize how tired I was.” He laughs slightly. “Can we pick this conversation up tomorrow?”
I don’t think he’s being disingenuous, he genuinely looks like he’s exhausted. “I actually picked up a shift.”
The devastation on his face has both a knot forming in my stomach and my chest hurting. I’m actually glad he is upset about that, but at the same time, I don’t want him to be.
“Oh… Then maybe next week.”
“I can always text you.” I wipe my hands on a kitchen towel. “Or call you during my downtime.”
That’s probably not the best idea. Not that it’s against some rule at the station, but for my own self-preservation.
He offers a soft smile. “Yeah, that’d be great.”
Clover darts across the living room just as he begins going up the stairs.
His mood swings are interesting. I hope that he is actually tired and hadn’t just wanted to stop our conversation. I swore it was going well.
Turning from the stairs, I put the food away, my thoughts swarming with him. I wrestle with myself—should I fight to stop thinking about him, or just let myself suffer since it makes me happier to do so?