Chapter 23
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
REBEL
“Are we really not going to talk about what happened last night?” Mom grins at me as I plod out of the bathroom with my toothbrush.
I roll my towel and dirty clothes into a ball. “What about last night?”
“I heard Carol made an announcement that you joined the Society!”
A groan builds in me. “Mom, please. Let’s not.”
“Let’s not what?”
I shuffle ahead of her.
She follows me, a crease between her brow. “What’s wrong, sweetie? You’ve been in a mood since last night.” She pauses. “Did you have a fight with Gunner?”
I chew on my bottom lip and look away, so mom can’t see me flinch. “How’d you find out about the Jumbotron?”
She brightens. “The video was everywhere. It was even posted on the Lucky Falls official news account.”
Oh no. Even residents who’ve moved out of town follow those accounts.
“I wish I’d gone to the game. I would have loved to see the video in person.”
“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” I mumble, padding over to the sofa. Mom converted my old bedroom into a storage unit, which is another term for ‘junk room’, so I spent the night on the couch and my back is killing me.
Mom clears her throat. “I’ll be honest. I was a little nervous about you hanging out with the Ladies. Folks like Carol Kinsey and Marjorie White… they can be…”
“Judgemental? Rude? Condescending?” I offer helpfully.
Mom gives me the side-eye. “I was going to say intimidating .”
“Huh.” I cap my toothbrush and set it on the coffee table.
“But that video proves they accept you as one of their own.”
I snort.
Mom keeps gushing. “I really think the Society will take you places, Rebel. The Kinseys are the backbone of Lucky Falls…”
“You mean tail bone,” I mumble.
“… and what with you dating Gunner and joining the Lady Luck Society, you’ll be—” Mom freezes and narrows her eyes at me. “What was that, young lady?”
“Nothing.” I force a grin. “Are you hungry? I’ll get started on some grits.”
Shuffling to the kitchen, I flare up the stove. Poor mom. It will really hurt when Carol Kinsey makes her clarification statement. I am not looking forward to that.
“By the way,” mom comes into the kitchen and brushes my hand away from the cupboard, “when is Gunner coming over for dinner? I bought the ingredients for pasta. He used to love my pasta when he was little.”
“He’s on a diet.” I reclaim the pan from her.
“Diet or not, he still has to eat, doesn’t he?”
I tilt my gaze to the ceiling, searching for another excuse.
“Does he not want to meet me?” Mom looks around frantically. “It’s not because the trailer’s too shabby, is it? It’s no three-story farmhouse like the Kinseys have?—”
“There’s nothing wrong with our trailer, mom. And no, that’s not why he can’t come. He’s just… busy. Yesterday, he had the game, and I bet he had training early this morning too.”
“Why is he working so hard? Don’t they get a break after a win?”
“I’ve seen how Max cracks the whip with them. He won’t let them rest until they come back with a championship.”
“I guess you’re right,” mom mumbles, drawing away from the kitchen. “Anyway, who says he has to come to me? As his future mother-in-law, I’ll bring him and his teammates some snacks this week. It’ll be something that won’t break his diet, of course. Perhaps some homemade granola?”
Horror drains the blood from my face. That absolutely cannot happen.
First of all, Gunner Kinsey doesn’t deserve mom’s homemade granola.
Second of all, he wouldn’t appreciate it anyway.
“Mom, there’s actually something I have to tell you.” I squeeze my eyes shut and decide to rip the bandaid off, “Last night, Gunner and I?—”
The screen door screeches and mom’s voice rings out, “Gunner Kinsey, what a sight for sore eyes!”
“Mrs. Hart.” A deep voice rumbles.
I whirl around. Why does that sound like Gunner?
“Oh, none of that. Call me Rachel.”
Footsteps thud on the floor and then a giant appears, filling the doorway with his muscular frame.
I gulp. Why does that look like Gunner?
My mortal enemy is wearing a simple long-sleeved blue shirt, flannel and jeans. He fills the trailer and makes the entire space ten times too small.
The sight of him after our, well, my —because he didn’t say much—fight last night pinches harder than I expected it to. I look away to the table, enduring a twinge of embarrassment.
“My, oh my. Gunner Kinsey, how you’ve grown! I remember when you were knee-high and now look at you.”
I snort. Knee-high? Maybe Goliath’s knee.
Gunner isn’t just big physically. He’s got this way of making other people feel small simply by standing next to him. It’s his aura—mysterious and guarded. No, not just guarded. He’s a secret vault buried under an alien research base. Everything about him is locked off, held behind a thousand door knobs and rattling chains.
“Have a seat. Let me get you some lemonade,” mom chirps.
Gunner folds himself into mom’s sofa, turning the average-sized loveseat into a chair fit for an elementary kid. His eyes lock on my face.
Trying to look busy, I grab the pan I’d set on the stove and then hiss in pain. The pan clatters back on the open flame. I’d forgotten that I turned the stove on.
“Ah!” I fling my hand up and down.
“Sweetie, are you alright?” Mom yells.
She hurries toward me, but a blur streaks past her. Gunner’s long, loping strides eat away the distance. He’s at my side in a flash. Grabbing my hand, he glares at the angry, red stain on my skin as if it did him a personal grievance.
“I-it’s okay. I let the pan go quickly enough. It doesn’t hurt that much.” I try to tug my hand away, but he holds firm and drags me to the sink.
“I’ll get an ice compress,” mom says. She opens the freezer. “Oh, dear. It seems we’re out of ice. I’ll run to the store real quick.”
The screen door shrieks open and then slams shut.
I stare at the side of Gunner’s face as he concentrates on my hand. There are dark circles under his eyes and his face looks a little pale. I wonder if he’d gotten lightheaded when he jumped out of the couch to help me.
Gunner’s piercing blue gaze meets mine. My heart skips a beat, and I hate myself for it.
I’m angry with him.
Aren’t I angry with him?
What am I angry with him about again?
Right. He’s a Kinsey. I don’t need an actual reason.
My jaw clenches and I turn away, tugging my hand out of the faucet’s cold spray. But Gunner doesn’t allow me to budge and keeps my hand in place.
“It needs to run for at least twenty minutes,” he says firmly.
I shoot him my fiercest glare.
The corner of his mouth turns up and my heart falls over itself. Why is he smiling like that? What’s wrong with him? What’s wrong with me?
What on earth is going on?
“D-didn’t we end this last night?” I murmur, ignoring the way my stomach is doing backflips. “What are you doing here?”
“I brought breakfast.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Gunner lifts my hand close to his face, inspecting the fading mark. His mouth is a millimeter away from mine. If I lean over, I could probably kiss him.
The thought sends a shiver down my spine.
Should I check myself into a mental health clinic? A few hours ago, I was in a cab screaming that I never want to see him again.
I must be going insane.
He turns off the faucet and cradles my hand as gently as I cradled the fluffy yellow chicks in the Kinsey’s hen house when I was six.
Looking around, Gunner locates a dry towel hanging on mom’s cupboard door and pats at my hand to sop up the water.
I pull away. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
His voice is velvety smooth. “You’re my girlfriend.”
“Fake girlfriend. And we broke up,” I remind him, keeping my voice low in case mom’s close by.
“Wouldn’t that make it a fake break up?”
I narrow my eyes. Did Gunner Kinsey just… joke with me?
“I want to talk to you about something,” he adds before I can answer.
“No.”
He arches a brow.
“I’m not interested in any more of your schemes.”
“Have you given up on the Lady Luck Society?”
“Hence our breakup. Were you not listening last night?” I scowl.
He tilts his head. “What about your plans to help people?”
I glance away.
He plants one massive hand on the counter and leans against the cupboard. The stance brings him closer to me, like he’s half trapping me between him and the sink.
“Was all that fuss just to get into a club with The Davis Sisters and Marjorie White?” Gunner taunts.
I reel back. “Of course not.”
Gunner’s stare is intense and probing. “Then what are you going to do?”
I look up at him, see the challenge in his stare, and I lift my chin higher. “If no one else wants to help this side of town, I’ll do it myself.”
It was my dream to be a part of the Lady Luck Society, but the world didn’t end because Carol Kinsey said no. The school still needs painting. The basketball court still needs fixing. Those wild dogs still need to be caught before they hurt someone else.
I think of poor little Rebecca Jergenson who had a run in with one of the dogs last month and got herself bitten. The sun doesn’t rise and set on the Kinseys approval.
Gunner shifts a little closer to me. “How do you plan on getting it done?”
“I might not have money or connections, but if I take it little by little, I can do it.”
His eyes soften from their usual, cold stare and it almost feels like Gunner Kinsey is proud of me.
Until he says, “You’re only one person.”
I lean toward him, feeling a familiar fire in the pit of my stomach. “I’m the right person.”
Rebel Hart the ‘pretty face’ turned into Rebel Hart ‘the mechanic’ overnight. I didn’t listen to any of the naysayers who said I couldn’t fix cars because it would be a ‘waste of a pretty face’. And I didn’t let the auto repair instructors embarrass me out of my love for pink and fashion either.
I’m not the type to let the world define me. Every time someone pushes me into a box, I turn the box on its head.
“Watch how I change this neighborhood with my own two hands.” I lift my arms to prove my point.
Gunner takes my hand again, and I inhale sharply at his touch. My eyes drop to his mouth like a magnet to steel.
“This hand is busted. You’ll need some help,” he says with the finality of a doctor.
“I told you. It’s not that bad and even if it was, it’s just a burn. I’m a mechanic. I get injuries like this all the time.” I avert my gaze. “Besides, I don’t need your help. I’ll figure it out on my own.”
“No.”
My eyes shoot back to him. “No?”
He nods, doubling down.
I bark out a disbelieving laugh.
Gunner remains unbothered. “If you plan to do everything you listed, you’ll need all the help you can get.”
Just then, the screen door flings open and mom hurries inside, holding a melting bag of ice. “Um, is there a reason a food truck just drove up outside?”
I lean past Gunner’s bulk to see my mom better. “What?”
A car horn blasts through the air and mom waddles back to the doorway. Whatever she sees outside makes her jaw drop.
“What is it?” I ask urgently, taking note of her expression.
“The hockey team. They’re… they’re outside. With paint brushes.”
My eyes scurry to Gunner. I notice the confident tilt of his chin and the ghost of a smile on his lips.
I grab his arm and jerk him closer. “What’s going on, Kinsey?”
“I told you.” His eyes dart to my lips for a second and it makes my knees weak. “I brought breakfast.”