Chapter 43 Kai #2
I recognize the voice, but I almost don’t recognize the man walking into the room. The face that used to sneer at me is a ruin. Scar tissue puckers the side of his mouth. His nose sits crooked, and a thick pink line runs from his left eyebrow down to his cheekbone.
I did that to him.
He’s wearing black joggers and a black puffer jacket zipped up to his throat, as if the house isn’t warm enough for him. His phone is in one hand, the other shoved into his jacket pocket.
“Ezra, darling!” Mom rises from her chair, arms outstretched. “Come sit! Dinner’s getting cold.”
My brother ignores her, his eyes locked on mine. “Didn’t think you’d show,” he says flatly.
“Wouldn’t have if I knew you’d be here,” I retort, but my voice is too weak to pull it off.
How I could stick it out at the frat since my freshman year is a medical mystery.
Surely I should’ve burst a blood vessel or seven.
It makes me furious that I went through all that for fucking nothing.
When my last semester is finished, I’ll still be trapped in this shithole of a town—and way too close to the monsters that raised me.
Ezra’s gaze slides to Haven, and his scarred mouth twists. “Jesus, you brought her?”
“Language!” Mom snaps.
Haven’s chin lifts. “Nice to see you too, Ezra.”
He stalks toward the table, tosses his phone down, then drops into an empty chair and sprawls back. When my mom dishes up some turkey for him, he shoves away his plate with a grimace.
“Roaches wouldn’t eat that shit.” Then he glances over at Haven and gives her a lopsided smile. “No offense.”
“Fucking asshole,” Haven mutters, dropping her fork along with the pretense of eating the dehydrated Thanksgiving dinner.
“Is Dad coming or not?” I ask my mom.
I need to know if I still have time for my ‘fuck what you think, I love her’ speech, or if we’re going to be interrupted again.
Also, I’m not sure I can handle my father tonight. I’m sure whatever I tell Mom she’ll relay to him…unless she’s so fucking delusional she won’t even remember I was here.
Ezra lets out an ugly laugh. “Richie? Not a chance. He’s balls deep in his secretary.
Has been for months.” He reaches across the table and snags a bread roll, tearing into it with his teeth.
“He never comes home anymore. Not even if you ask him nicely.” There’s an edge to my brother’s voice, a kind of petulance I can’t wrap my head around.
Almost like he wanted Dad to be here…which makes zero fucking sense.
It explains why Ezra moved back in.
He wouldn’t risk it with Dad around.
“Stop making up stories, Ezra,” Mom says, her expression placid as she sips her wine. “Your father has a demanding job. Just because he works late sometimes—”
My brother snorts. “Yeah, poor Richie. Such a hard worker. So much overtime…in his secretary’s pussy.”
“Ezra!” Sharon snaps.
“You gotta face facts, Sharon.” He gestures at our mother with the bread roll, his other hand is still in his pocket. His pocket bulges as if he’s fisting his hand. Or maybe holding onto something inside. “Dad’s having an affair. And Tyler will never, ever be home for dinner.”
Sharon’s smile crystalizes. “Would anyone like more wine?” she asks in a wobbly voice.
Haven’s grip on my knee has turned bruising. I can feel her leg bouncing with the urge to run, and honestly, I’m right there with her.
But I can’t stop staring at that extra place setting. At the empty chair my mother keeps glancing at like she’s expecting someone to materialize.
“Seriously. Who the fuck is Tyler?” The question comes out hoarse.
Ezra pauses mid-chew, his eyebrows rising. “Jesus.” He shakes his head, genuine surprise flickering across his scarred face. “I knew you were oblivious, bro, but this is impressive even for you.”
“Just fucking tell me,” I grate out.
Ezra leans back in his chair, studying me with the cold, calculating look I remember from childhood. The look that always preceded something painful.
His eyes are red-rimmed and a little glazed. Because he’s high? Maybe he was on his way outside to light a joint when he saw us in the dining room and did a detour.
I know my brother used to be into coke a while back, but he’s not agitated enough. Must be weed, or maybe he’s still on painkillers.
Either way, something isn’t right about him tonight, and it’s fucking me up. I’ve learned how to be around my brother without feeling like I’m going to have a panic attack, so it’s not just his unexpected arrival.
“Ezra—” I prompt when he just keeps staring at me.
He shrugs, glancing off as the hand in his pocket relaxes. “Remember when Mom got really fat, back when you were in elementary school?” he asks. When he looks at me again, there’s a gleam in his eyes, like he’s savoring the moment.
I glare at him. “No.”
“Shocker,” he snorts. “Well, that was Tyler. He stuck around for what—” Ezra looks over at Sharon, who’s staring down at her plate of food like someone took out her batteries “—three, four months? Then Dad found out, and Tyler got the boot. Literally.”
He leans back in his chair and drop kicks his bread roll across the room.
My stomach heaves.
“Mom?” I stare at my mother, but she’s reaching blindly for her wine, refusing to make eye contact. The fact that she didn’t cuss out my brother for wasting food or making a mess of her house speaks volumes.
“You two are always playing such silly pranks,” Sharon murmurs half to herself before her voice strengthens. She still doesn’t look up as she forces a brittle smile onto her Botoxed lips. “Tyler’s at football practice,” she says firmly. “He made team captain. Ask Richie. He’ll tell you.”
“She had a psychotic break a couple months back,” Ezra ignores Mom, dusting his hands as he carries on.
“Now she thinks the kid survived. That he’s all grown up and about to go off to college.
” His hand goes into his pocket again, like he’s feeling up his stash or whatever the fuck he’s got in there.
“It’s fucking hilarious. She even put a stocking on the mantle for him. ”
“Holy fuck, Ezra. I knew you were seven shades of psycho, but I had no idea you were this fucking deranged,” Haven says quietly, but her voice is fucking steel.
Ezra’s eyes slide to her. His hand fists inside his pocket again. “No one asked for your opinion, dumpster cunt.”
I open my mouth to yell at him, but Haven lifts her hand to silence me and murmurs, “Not worth it.”
Easy for her to say. She’s not having to sit here and listen to her asshole brother disrespecting her girlfriend.
“It’s the truth.” Ezra gestures at the opulent dining room, the cold food, our mother who’s slowly dissolving into her own delusions.
Me and Haven.
“I’m the only one being real, while you’re all living in your own little made-up fantasy worlds. Speaking of which—“ his gaze snaps back to me “—how’s frat life treating you, bro?”
Haven puts her hand back on my leg. It’s another warning, and I can practically hear her voice in my head.
…it’s not worth it…
So I say nothing, staring at Ezra with a stoic mask on my face as I take a slow sip from my beer.
“Oh, wait, that’s right.” Ezra snaps his fingers, making my mother flinch.
“You quit.” Ezra’s smile widens, but the scar tissue around his mouth pulls it into an asymmetrical shape.
“That wasn’t clever, was it? But at least you got that TA position with Professor Rooke to keep you going.
” He finally takes his hand out of his pocket, leaning forward onto his arms to grin at me over the table.
I tilt my head and slowly set down my beer. Despite Haven’s hand tightening on my thigh, I say, “Nah, I quit that too.”
Haven pulls her hand off my leg, wrapping both around her nearly empty glass like it’ll somehow give her strength. Mom is stirring the green beans, her face vapid and serene.
“Was your trailer park roach keeping you too busy? Or were your professor’s extra duties too much for you to handle?” Ezra sits back, both hands going into his pockets, grinning slyly as he waits for me to escalate the situation like he fucking knows I will.
I’m at a crossroads.
Every fiber of my being wants me to launch myself over the table and have another go at ending Ezra’s life. Not just for insulting Haven—again—but because of his insinuation about Rooke.
It’s not my imagination. Haven heard it too. Ezra suspects I’m close with our professor, and fuck knows the lengths he’ll go to prove it.
But it’s only ammunition if he thinks it will hurt me.
So, yeah, I could show him just how deep that wound goes…or I could take the fucking bullets out of his gun before he has time to fire a single shot.
“Kai,” Haven murmurs beside me, like she senses I’m about to do something catastrophic.
I slide my hand over hers, gently squeezing her fingers, trying to reassure her.
“Not at all. I loved how hard he worked me. He really knows how to get the best out of me.”
Haven stifles a snicker, and Ezra turns his glare on her. “Your boyfriend is gay for his teacher, and you think it’s funny?” he demands.
“So what if I am?” I take another sip of my beer, nonchalant as fuck. And damn, the way Ezra’s face goes red, I don’t even care about the fallout.
Come what may, seeing my brother thrown off balance is totally fucking worth it.
“You’re saying you’re gay?” Ezra scoffs.
He snatches up his phone, shaking his head with a disgusted sneer on his mouth as he unlocks his device with his fingerprint. He obviously sees something even more displeasing than our conversation, because he tosses it back to the table hard enough that it bounces.
It happens so fast, I don’t have time to respond before Ezra turns that same sneer to Haven. “And you’re okay with him sucking dick?”
“As long as I get to watch,” she says sweetly.
Sharon chokes on her wine. “Language, Hayley!”
“I didn’t swear,” Haven says, still smiling.
When I glance at Ezra, I know I finally got one over on him.
He’s got this absent look in his eyes, like I knocked the wind out of his sails. It’ll take him a few minutes to recover, then he’ll dredge up something horrific he can use to emasculate me again, but I’m ready now.
I’m ready to give them hell, and I have Rooke to thank for the guts to do it.
I shove back from the table, my chair scraping against the hardwood floor.
“Her name is Haven,” I grate out, directing the comment at my mom. “H-A-V-E-N. Haven Lee, from the Riverside Trailer Park. We grew up together.”
Sharon doesn’t seem to know what to do with this information. She stirs the green beans again, dusts crumbs off the linen tablecloth, picks up her empty wineglass and stares at it like she wishes it were full.
But she says nothing.
“I used to go play with her every afternoon after school, Mom,” I say slowly, so it’ll sink in. “Will you stop pretending you don’t know her?”
“Yeah, Mom,” Ezra whines in falsetto, before dropping his voice back to normal. “You used to hate Haven. Don’t you remember how you threw away those letters she used to send Kai? How you told me it was for his own good?”
“You fucking what?” Haven’s mouth drops open as she whips her head to stare at Sharon, then me. “That’s why you never replied?”
“What letters?” I say, on top of Ezra’s mocking, “Only intelligent thing you’ve ever done, Sharon.”
My mom dabs her lips with a napkin, then the corners of her eyes, leaving a smudge of foundation on the pristine fabric. I don’t see any tears for her to blot away—maybe her tear ducts don’t work after all the plastic surgery.
“And here I thought we could have a nice Thanksgiving. Just one nice dinner where no one’s shouting.
” Her voice cracks, and for an awful moment, I see the woman she used to be.
Before the money, before the Botox, before she learned that looking away and not asking questions meant less pain. “You boys have ruined it!”
The anger drains out of me as quickly as it came, leaving an aching hollow in its wake.
She’s really broken.
My mother is broken, and I don’t know how to fix her, or if she even can be fixed.
“That’s what they do, Sharon,” comes a voice behind me.
My father appears in the dining room doorway, still wearing his overcoat, briefcase in hand. He’s grayer than I remember. His face more lined. But his hard, unforgiving eyes are the same they’ve always been as they sweep over the scene with open contempt.
He drops his briefcase and walks to the empty place setting at the head of the table. Everyone has gone silent, unmoving and stiff as he sighs and takes his seat. He runs a hand through his hair, for all the world like he does have a demanding job that keeps him from his family at Thanksgiving.
“These two always ruin everything,” he mutters, giving me and Ezra a dead-eyed stare before his attention snaps back to Mom. “Go get me a fucking beer.”