31. Kenny
Kenny
“T he sun is shining, Ken.” A soft kiss brushes my hair. “Take a look.”
They didn’t leave. They were there.
They came for me.
I grip Oscar’s shirt like it’s a lifeline, keeping my eyes closed.
I can’t do that again. Any of it. A thread can only fray so much before it snaps.
Heat prickles at my skin, my hair growing damp at the nape of my neck. Murmurs surround me. “Let’s get her home.”
The slam of a door makes me flinch.
“I’ve got you.” Oscar’s hand is in my hair, playing with it. “You’re out of there, Kenny. We’re in Jake’s truck, okay?”
It’s… hot.
Of course it is. It’s summer.
I missed three whole seasons. Autumn, Winter, and Spring. They came and went while I was locked away.
You’re not locked away anymore.
Gingerly, I raise my head. My eyes begin to water immediately, and I duck it again, hiding from the brightness.
“We’ve got time.” Oscar’s chest rises and falls against my cheek. Calm. Steady. Soothing. “No rush. We’re just waiting for Theo, and we’re going.”
But we don’t move. My hand reaches out, searching.
“He’s coming,” Oscar reassures me. “He’s on the phone.”
The door slams, the air around me shifting, and I breathe in the familiar leather musk. “Abrams is going to meet us at the house to check you over, Kenny.”
I force my head into a nod. Theo’s hand slips into my empty one, and I grip it.
They came.
“What was that?” I mumble eventually. “Why did he do that?”
“I don’t know,” Theo murmurs. Anger threads his words, but he softens them. “My father had a role, I suspect. I’m going to find out. But you don’t have to go back there.”
Charles Rivers. He must… hate me. Not enough that Brett put me in there. That he nearly killed me. I don’t understand it, but the pain in Theo’s voice has me falling silent.
My eyes flicker open. I let them adjust, watching the blurry green threads of Oscar’s t-shirt until they sharpen, my eyes clearing. Turning my face, I glance at Theo.
He’s staring out of the lowered window, his face set in a deep frown and the top of his hair blowing messily. But my hand is curled up on his bare knee below the edge of his khaki cargo shorts, his fingers gripping mine. They’re covered in small cuts from the glass. “Penny for your thoughts?”
Theo swivels, scanning me. Lifting my hand, he presses his lips to my wrist. It feels like… reassurance. “They’re not worth that.”
My eyes slip past him, to the trees flashing by. “Thank you for getting me out.”
“What did I say?” Jake’s voice rumbles back to me. “You don’t need to thank us, Ken.”
I shift on Oscar’s lap, his arm slipping behind me and helping me upright. He winds down the window a few inches, and my lips stretch as I breathe in the rush of air. He’s watching me with a small smile. “Good?”
I push up the sleeves of Max’s hoodie with a small nod, curling my legs up and leaning my head against the glass, letting the air blow tangled strands of red across my face. Probably smacking Oscar in the face too, but he doesn’t say anything. Just holds me steady, one arm curved around my waist and the other stretched out along the edge of the window, so I can rest on it.
We drive through Widow’s Peak, and I turn my face away as we pass by Brett’s statue. “Everything looks the same.”
The diner. The stores. All of it so familiar.
“Nothing much ever changes around here.” Max twists in the front seat, his eyes scanning me. “You warm enough?”
Warm? I’m sweating . His hoodie sticks to my back, but I’m not wearing anything underneath to take it off. Not that I would. I offer him a small grin. “I’m keeping this hoodie. Please.”
He can still wear it sometimes.
“All yours.” He winks at me, but the concern still fills his eyes. “I hope the house is okay. If we’d known you were coming home, we would’ve cleaned up more.”
“I don’t mind.” It’s not a cell. I look up at the two-story house as Jake pulls into the drive. The color has changed, the outside painted a dark, welcoming blue. Smart looking white shuttered frames line the windows, the flowerbeds that line the ground empty but turned over, ready for planting.
I wouldn’t mind planting some flowers. Maybe they’ll let me.
Jake is smiling at me. A sad sort of smile. “We’ve been trying to get it fixed up. In between everything.”
Me . In between me. “I like it.”
It looks homey. It always did , but there’s a certainty to everyone’s movements as doors swing open that hits a little harder. “You all moved in?”
“We did.” Max scoops me up from Oscar’s lap.
“I can walk.” I half-protest, but not too much.
“Let me.” He curls me closer to his chest. “Don’t we need to carry you over the threshold for the first time anyway?”
“Max.” Oscar shakes his head.
“Right,” he breathes. When I look up, his face is stricken. “I didn’t mean to - that wasn’t a suggestion or anything.”
My face isn’t quite sure what to do with that information. “Uh. Okay?”
Max’s cheeks still bear a spot of red as he carries me up the steps. But his voice is soft, thick with emotion as Jake pushes the door open. “Welcome home, Ken.”
Home.
Even the air is different in here. The scent of cooking, of coffee, that I remember has been replaced with a warming mix of all of their different scents, merged together in a way that very clearly says pack . That this is where they live. I breathe in deeply. Again.
Nirvana. I need this bottled.
Glancing up at Max, I catch him watching me. “Put me down?”
He obliges with a small grumbled complaint, his hands hovering as he sets me on my feet. I take a small, cautious step. My feet creak against the dark wooden floorboards, worn but almost soft with use as I pad down the hall. Curiosity grows with every step.
The living room is tidy. Jake darts ahead of me, sweeping up a few empty cups with an embarrassed look. “Yeah. We should have cleaned.”
“No,” I whisper, moving inside. Turning, I half-smile at the familiar coffee table, piled high with dog-eared books and worn down pencils. Beside them, a games controller lies discarded. My eyes travel to the shelves, and I feel my smile grow. “Board games?”
“Board games.” Oscar says gruffly.
A Snakes and Ladders game is at the top. Still in its packaging. And in the corner, a wicker basket is piled high with carefully folded blankets, each of them jewelled and soft-looking. The windowsill holds several candles, unlit.
Like they were waiting for me.
I bite down on my lip against the rush of emotion. A hand brushes my back. “Ken.”
Theo . “I’m okay. Just adjusting.”
“Feels a little more complicated than that,” he says softly. But he doesn’t press. I turn, watching him disappear after Jake into the kitchen. The open doorway shows me a newer – but still battered looking – round kitchen table made of honeyed wood, five chairs pushed in with pretty gingham check cushions tied on top and the sage green walls hung with mismatched photo frames waiting to be filled.
It’s not something they would have thought of. Not unless they were thinking about… someone else. Someone who would want pretty cushions, candles, and blankets. Matching coffee mugs, and plants in vibrant patterned pots that look like they’re on their last legs. Photo frames waiting for memories to fill them.
They’re all watching me. As if my reaction matters.
As if they were waiting for me.
“I love it,” I whisper finally. “It feels like a home.”
Like maybe… maybe it could be my home too.