24. Warren
24
WARREN
The next morning, dragging myself away from Kira’s warm body feels like walking through cement, but I need to peel myself away before I do something rude and inappropriate in someone else’s home. I can see the appeal of the Adult Sleepover for friendship purposes, but my dick doesn’t seem to care that we’re not in the privacy of our own home.
Ours.
I suppose I shouldn’t put the cart before the horse, but Kira’s home certainly feels like mine, too. I can see the coming years in my mind like a film reel. Waking up in her mountain of blankets every morning, limbs tangled with hers. Carrying her in a white gown through the threshold. Adopting a kitten or a puppy, then graduating to a baby. Practicing making said baby in every room. Creating a life of memories with the woman who has captured me, body and soul .
I just need to get through this conversation first.
Kira is still in a deep sleep when I remove myself from the bed. I slip on the sweatpants I discarded in the middle of the night as well as a t-shirt and head to the kitchen in pursuit of caffeine.
The smell of freshly ground coffee beans invades my senses as I make my way through the house. Everyone is already in the kitchen, munching on eggs and toast and sipping from steaming mugs. A TV plays a live podcast, a morning show where the hosts are known for their snark and pop culture stories as well as the pajamas they wear during their broadcast.
“Wow, there’s actually coffee? I’m surprised you let the stuff within fifty feet of your doorstep, Am,” I say as I busy myself with the fancy espresso machine on the counter. Amir’s disdain for coffee is widely known. Ironic, considering he married a coffee shop owner.
“What my little wife wants, my little wife gets,” Amir says, kissing the top of Rachel’s head.
“Such bullshit. When we lived together, you made me drink my coffee outside,” James says around a mouthful of toast.
“Your blowjobs weren’t as good as hers,” Am shrugs, laughing when James reaches over to flick him in the forehead.
I settle in at the breakfast bar with my cappuccino, helping myself to a blueberry-lemon muffin. Once Kira and I went public at Spin Sync and the muffin-embargo was lifted, I learned that the muffins are brought in from a bakery nearby, the same place where Rachel gets her pastries for her shop—and, apparently, her home.
“Hey, you big British butthole, you left me in bed all alone,” Kira says, a sleepy whine to her voice. I turn to find her padding towards me in a threadbare Knoxville Crushers t-shirt and black leggings, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes.I find it ridiculously endearing that the silly name she used to try to insult me with is now laced with…love?
I really hope its love.
“I’m sorry, darling. I had a caffeine emergency,” I say, holding out my arms for her. She walks right into them, snuggling her face against my shoulder.
“Vanilla latte, Rach, and make it snappy,” she says, barking an order at her friend from her place in my arms. I’m not used to Kira being so…snippy in the morning. But the mornings I’ve spent with her thus far have all included orgasms, so that might have something to do with it.
Rachel doesn’t seem to mind, though. She gets right to work, pulling espresso and steaming milk. I think part of it is because coffee is Rachel’s love language, but it’s also because Kira has a group of friends who understand her. She can appear abrasive or bratty, but her aggressive exterior is not only part of her charm, it’s a suit of armor that she wears. When she’s snapping her fingers like she’s Emily Gilmore and Rachel is the poor maid who is one wrong step away from being fired, what she’s really saying is –
Good morning, Rachel. I’m sleepy and would love a cup of coffee. Would you mind making me one since you’re the best and I love you?
I get that, and I’m so happy that she has friends who get it, too.
Kira McKenna is a woman with a heart of gold and a lot of love to give.
Taking a robin’s-egg blue mug from Rachel’s outstretched hand, I watch in rapt fascination as Kira brings the steaming cup to her nose and inhales deeply before taking a sip. Her eyes flutter close, her shoulders shrug, and her feet do the tiniest little happy dance when the coffee hits her taste buds.
The morning sun shines in from the floor-to-ceiling window, casting my girl in an ethereal glow as she moans through another sip of coffee. She’s luminous, a radiant being for whom my heart beats, with lips like caramelized sugar and a soul that calls to mine, beckoning me into her warmth.
I’ve got to let her in on my secret. Spin Sync is Kira McKenna’s entire world, and Kira McKenna is my entire world. I reach out and cup her cheek, taking a steadying breath before asking if we can go somewhere private like the balcony to continue the conversation I’d tried to start last night.
But as my fingertips trace her silky skin, still warm and dewy from sleep, her eyes go wide in shock. My stomach drops as I immediately tune into the panic coursing through her. As though my thoughts from a moment ago are being broadcast out loud, my ears pick up the words ‘Spin Sync’ and ‘Kira’, but I recognize the voice I’m hearing as someone who has no business being in this room. I whip my head around, and there on the screen, being interviewed by the pajama-clad morning show hosts, is Jonathan fucking Graham.
“So, okay, catch us up here. You worked with Kira McKenna for years, right? I’m surprised that you don’t have…I don’t know? Better things to say? She’s got a stellar online reputation. Can two million followers really be wrong?”
“Oh yeah, they can be really, really wrong,” Jonathan answers the redhead host wearing the blue pajama set. Fucker is wearing a three-piece suit as if he isn’t sitting on an intentionally casual stream at seven in the morning. He should be knocked out for his lack of self-awareness alone.
“Kira is a lion in sheep’s clothing. She had a huge crush on me when we first met back in Venice Beach all those years ago. I didn’t return her affections, but that didn’t stop her from latching on to me. I didn’t mind at the time. Sure, she was a little “psycho-stalker”, but I’m used to that kind of attention from women. And as much as she sucks as a person, she’s a good fitness instructor. So I kept her on the back burner until I was ready to launch. Biggest mistake I ever made. Kira is insane. For years she’s been trying to take credit for my ideas, my vision, my work. I gave her a high up position in the company that she didn’t deserve. I gave her the best time slots for classes. I let her run her mouth to anyone who would listen, allowed her to take credit for shit she didn’t do, all because it was easier than trying to keep that crazy bitch quiet.
“Plus, let’s be honest, her last name brings recognition with it. It doesn’t hurt a fitness platform to be associated with professional athletes, but Kira has gotten by on her father’s and brother’s success for long enough. It was always my intention to build Spin Sync as big as I could and sell it at the top, so I stuck it out because I knew I’d be rid of her, eventually. But then I see shit like this, and I can’t sit back and let her pull her bullshit on another hardworking man. Women like that are the ones who give feminism a bad name, trying to use their bodies and sexuality to get ahead.”
On the screen, a photo of Kira and me is blown up and overlaid in the background. It’s a photo taken by someone on the production team–Jackie, I think–of Kira and I sharing a sweet kiss in the Spin Sync lobby, blueberry-lemon muffins and green juices in hand. Someone later asked if the photo could be shared to Spin Sync’s social accounts for some sort of cutesy trend. We’d given them the all clear. Once Kira and I went public, we went public . Neither of us were intent on hiding what we’d worked hard to get to.
Looking at my sweet girl’s ashen face as she seems to stare through the picture on the screen, a part of me wishes we’d kept what we have to ourselves for a bit longer .
“Kira, darling,” I whisper, brushing a thumb over her chin. She doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. She only continues to stare.
The interviewing couple asks more invasive questions and encourages Jonathan to continue spilling his lies. My blood boils. I want to turn around and punch a hole through the offending screen. I want to find Jonathan and give him the beat down he should have gotten in New York. I want to take Kira into my arms and shield her from the things that hurt her. Vile acid churns in my gut as Kira fades further into a ghostly grey pallor, her breaths coming in rapid pants.
“It’s always the bitches with the hot bodies that are fucking crazy. They think just because they’re keeping it tight that they can take advantage of the dudes around them–” the male morning show host says, and I’m about to scream for someone to turn the bloody screen off. Thankfully, Rachel has the wherewithal to shut the show down before we have to listen to it anymore.
“Keeks, don’t listen to–”
“Don’t,” she says, holding up a hand while her gaze lingers on the now-black screen. “Just don’t. It’s fine. Jonathan is trash. We’ve always known that. He wants to talk shit about me. So what? I’m fine. I’ve got to get ready for work.” Kira places her nearly full mug on the kitchen island and turns away, but not before I catch a glimpse of the tears brimming her eyes. She’s back down the hall and in the room we shared last night before I’m able to catch up with her .
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I should have told her last night. I should have insisted. Swallowed down my fear of the unknown and just fessed up that the company was hers if she wanted it. I should have killed Jonathan Graham a month ago and dumped his body in The Lake in Central Park.
I should have told Kira that I love her, because I’m not sure she’ll believe me anymore.
Now it’s all tainted. I could feel the shift back in the kitchen. All the truths we’ve shared, the vulnerabilities, the late nights and early mornings tangled with each other are suddenly hanging on by a thread because whether I meant to or not, I was complicit in the great fuck-over of Kira’s career.
I can only hope that the trust I’ve worked so hard to try to earn from Kira will win out over me being a living reminder of what can happen when you put your faith in the wrong person.
In the bedroom, I find Kira half-dressed in black leggings and nothing else, rummaging through her an overnight bag. I would normally treasure the sight of her naked and semi-frantic, but I miss the soft tenderness of the moment before that fucking snake opened his mouth on a live broadcast.
“Kira, love,” I say softly as I round the bed to pull her into my embrace. She leans in for the shortest of seconds before pulling away, as if she was placating me with the simple touch before striking her blow.
“I’m gonna head back to my place. Get changed, feed Pancakes. I’ll see you at the studio, okay?” She busies herself again, pulling out a cropped black sweatshirt and yanking it forcefully over her head.
“Darling, you know everything that he said was bullshit, he’s–”
“Of course, I know it’s bullshit, Warren. I’ve always known that it’s bullshit. But it doesn’t matter what I know. It doesn’t matter what my truth is. It doesn’t matter how much work and effort I put into things. It doesn’t matter how fast I run or how many smiles I fake. It never fucking has. For ten years, Jonathan has dangled the carrot of my work, my creativity, my vision in front of my face, making me feel like I had to earn it when he fucking took it from me. He stole it from me like a thief in the night and he got away with it. He’s still getting away with it, and now…”
Her voice trails off, but the unspoken words are as clear as day.
Now I hold the power to do the same damn thing to her. I’m already halfway there.
My throat grows dry, and my eyes burn as the weight of it all settles heavy on my chest. It’s over. Kira doesn’t trust me. She can’t, and after what she’s gone through, I can’t even blame her.
Everything hurts. Every nerve in my body is screaming to lunge for her, touch her, hold her, and not let her go. But if I did that…that would be for me. Just like me flirting with her at the wedding was for me. The teasing, New York, ambushing her at restaurants, every qu estion I’ve ever asked her and every orgasm I’ve given her…they’ve all been for me. Her smile is my drug. Her laughter is the blood pumping through my body. Her pleasure is the song my soul sings. Because Kira McKenna is my happiness. She makes me delirious with joy.
But I…I have the power to fill her with nothing but sorrow.
“I still have to tell you something. Last night–”
Kira holds up her palm, cutting me off.
“Please, Warren. I think I know what you’re going to say, and I can’t right now. I’m going, please don’t follow me. I will see you at Spin Sync. And don’t you worry, boss man, I’ll have on my brightest smile as I skip through the lobby. Fake it till you make it, right? No one has to know that I’m fucking miserable.”
Kira’s use of my full name is like a knife to the gut. Her despondent smile makes my chest ache. I bring a knuckle up to my sternum to rub at the spot. I know what she thinks I mean to say to her. She thinks I’m going to tell her I love her. That might be true, but I won’t be telling her that today.
I might not get the chance to ever tell her.
I let her go, aching to capture her lips with mine as she passes but refraining. The kiss would be for me. Letting her go is for her.
On my way out, I’m met with the sad and sympathetic looks from my–no, not my friends. Kira’s friends .
When I get to the studio a short while later, Kira is nowhere to be found.
I go to my own office, where my emotions bubble over, manifesting in the desperate need for a physical release. Since the person I’d love to beat to hell isn’t here, I take to destroying my office to hell instead. I toss office supplies at the wall. I kick over furniture. Papers fly dramatically into the air before gently descending to the ground like feathers. I howl at the top of my lungs and beat my fist into the wall.
The force of it causes a frame to shift. The black and white shot of the Golden Gate Bridge was here before I was, a relic from when this was once Jonathan Graham’s office. I never cared to move it, figuring if I ever wanted to redecorate, I’d deal with the cliche photo then.
I barely spare the photo a passing glance, but what looks like a seam painted over on the wall behind the frame catches my eye. I squint, running a finger over the spot. I remove the frame and up close, I can see that the seam makes a perfect square. It seems too perfect to be a coincidence. I tap the spot with a knuckle, then do the same thing in the middle of the space. The sound echoes through the room, light and airy. I tap outside the square a few times, and then in the middle once again, my suspicions confirmed.
Hollow. There’s a fucking hollow spot behind the frame. My heart starts to race as a million thoughts and possibilities flood my brain. The likelihood that there’s something behind this sheet of drywall is low, and I doubt that my life is about to become the semi-titillating third-act of a made-for-tv movie. Still, something inside of me is screaming to find out what, if anything, is back there.
I look around the tornado-swept room, looking for anything that will break through the wall. Nothing jumps out at me. I consider punching a hole through the spot, but think better of it. There could be…I don’t know…knives or dead fish or something back there. And it’s too high up for me to kick through.
Warren
Get over to my office. Bring a hammer or a paperweight or something
James
Is this some sort of kink thing? Because you know I’m happily married…
Warren
James. My office. Something heavy. Now.
James
I don’t know, man. There’s a blueberry muffin here in the locker room that’s calling my name. I think I’ll pass on whatever weird game you’re trying to play.
Warren
You realize I’m your boss, right? And I’m telling you to do something while you’re on the clock.
And before you come back with some smart-ass remark about how you’re a billionaire who doesn’t need a job and therefore doesn’t have to listen to me, remember who invested in your fledgling little startup and basically GAVE you your billions.
James
…
Technically Kira is my boss since she’s the lead instructor so…maybe get your own damn hammer.
Warren
WHY ARE YOU FIGHTING ME? IF YOU brING ME A HAMMER RIGHT NOW THEN MAYBE KIRA WON’T CRY ANYMORE JESUS CHRIST JAMES HELP ME OUT!!!
James
Ah. So that’s what the hammer is about. You need to hit Kira over the head so she remembers she likes you. I get it.
*mutters to self* Welcome to another Pussy Posse relationship, James. Land of a thousand problems only you can fix. I’m on my way.
When I’m sure James is headed to assist me, I pull up my contact list. My Kira is not in a good place, and if she doesn’t want me to be the one to help her through, she’s going to need someone who can. So, I swallow my own sadness and place the call .
“Hello?”
“Jay, it’s Warren. Kira’s…well. It’s Warren. Something has happened.”
There’s a long pause on the other side of the phone, followed by a deep sigh.
“We saw. Keith has news alerts for the kids on his phone. We’ve tried calling her a few times, but she hasn’t answered.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me.
“She’s not in a good place, and I don’t know if she wants my help. I don’t know what to do, Jay. I love her and she’s hurting, and it’s my fault. I’ve been trying to present her with the contracts, to let her know that it’s all hers. I don’t even care if it means I piss her off and lose her. She deserves to have the company that belongs to her. But right now, I think I’m just a reminder of everything that fucker Jonathan is trying to get people to believe about her. I don’t know what to do.” My lip trembles as I speak, and by the time I finish, the tears brimming my eyes are falling down my cheeks.
“Warren, are you okay?” Jay asks, his voice smooth and calming. Gone is the man who, a few short weeks ago, wanted to rip my head off for touching his daughter.
“No. I’m not. Kira’s pain is my pain. I want to help her, but I don’t think I’m what she needs. At least not the only one she needs. Do you think…maybe if I can arrange a flight for you– ”
“The closest private airstrip is in Knoxville. We can be there in twenty minutes.”
I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that my love will be taken care of even if I’m not the one who gets to do it.
And when James comes by my office, wielding a gold-plated Global CEO Excellence award trophy–not a hammer, but it works just the same–and I pull an aged and yellow-stained notebook from the hole in the wall, I know that she’ll finally be okay.