4. Kendall
Kendall
Ihad tried. Really I had. I circled the block three times and almost pulled into the parking lot of the diner on my third time around. But I couldn’t do it. Regret and shame had me in a chokehold and the threat of every burgeoning unknown hurtling towards me at once was enough to send me spiraling.
I wasn’t ready to derail our entire lives.
I’m not sure I ever will be. Our world is small but full.
It is loud, messy, toys everywhere, Cocomelon on a fucking never ending loop.
It’s chaos but it’s ours. Maybe one day we’d be open to more, more than just the two of us.
More than hoping. I had come farther today than I ever have in the past. I had actually paid for a ticket and stayed for the entire game.
I had listened to his voicemail for once without breaking down in tears.
I had every intention of walking into that diner and facing my demons.
But no matter how hard I try, I can’t give myself that final push I need.
***
Three days later, I’m still a wreck from attending Kai’s game and ghosting him after he asked me to meet up with him.
I sigh as I scurry through the back door of Kip’s restaurant, hopefully unnoticed, as I’m four minutes late for my shift.
I yell, “Hey guys,” into the kitchen cheerfully and get a few heys, a few winks, and a grunt from Sal, the ornery line cook who can’t be bothered with pleasantries.
I put my hair up in a quick bun while I trot to the hostess stand.
Once I've secured a pen, pad, and some oversized sticky menus, I scope out Amber.
“Ken, finally!” she shouts, her gaze connecting with mine at the counter.
“Sorry,” I say, shoving the pen and pad in the black apron tied around my waist. “Traffic was horrendous,” I grouse.
“It’s fine, I appreciate you covering. Also, you can thank me in advance for the big tip you’re going to get from nine and ten,” she chirps while removing her apron. “Bunch of Neanderthal athletes with big pockets.”
I look in the direction of my section and even from a distance, I can hear the racket and witness the scene they’re making.
Laughing, cursing, hollering. She isn’t kidding; they’re rowdy and obnoxious, likely already drunk.
I’m definitely going to be getting a nice fat tip from that group, if I could manage not to be socially awkward for the next two hours.
Together, they took up two booths, and from the looks of them, all hulking muscle and broad shoulders, they could eat.
But I don’t pay enough attention. I’m listening to Amber prattle on about the tabs she closed out and how the rest of her shift went.
I scan the list of specials quickly while she thanks me again and heads out the door.
My mistake was not getting a closer look at the group crowding tables nine and ten.
I shimmy up to them, light on my feet, eyes still on the specials.
“Hi, welcome to Kip’s. I’ll be your server tonight—“ but my words catch in my throat. Because the man seated third one in from the left is Kai. My Kai.
“Well, hello there, gorgeous,” a square jaw attached to a blonde head of curls muses.
My mouth is open but no words come out. Like there’s a hundred tabs open in my brain and they’re all frozen.
I’m left speechless by the sight of him.
A few guys, I assume are his teammates, say something but I can’t make it out.
Their voices sound muffled like we’re under water.
I’m still stuck on him. The same brutally handsome man I fell in love with.
The same midnight eyes, untamed dark waves, the same beautiful tan complexion that made people wonder—sometimes out loud—where he was from or what his race was.
And the same perfect smile that cut straight through to my soul.
Except he’s not smiling, not anymore. His face is ashen, his lips downturned into a grimace, like he’s just seen a ghost. I suppose he has.
My throat feels dry and my head is a little fuzzy.
Am I going to pass out?
“Don’t call her that,” he warns blondie, his eyes locked on mine and his voice is just as deep and velvety smooth as I remember it.
His voice could tame the most ruthless ocean.
I don’t think I realized how much I missed it until now.
The timbre of it glides over my skin and caresses my heart.
It reverberates throughout my chest and sinks its talons into my bones.
It’s not like I hadn’t listened to his voicemails or heard him talk in interviews.
But this, hearing him in person, seeing him in the flesh a foot away from me is different.
It’s throwing my entire limbic system into upheaval.
“Why? You don’t even know her,” he postures.
“Wait, Kendall? You’re Kendall?” another unfairly attractive man asks in disbelief as he raises his pierced eyebrow. But I don’t respond. Every word I could possibly utter gets trapped in my throat and blocked by an immovable wall of shock.
Every small yet distinct detail of him throttles me with startling force.
One after the other. The smokey baritone of his voice.
The intensity of his gaze. The sheer size of his hands that always seemed to engulf mine completely.
That fucking scar that gives him an edge he certainly doesn’t need and that pesky lock of hair that obscures his eyes.
They all hit me in the gut and worsen the dull ache in my chest that I had been trying to extinguish for three years with no success.
“Fucking Christ, Jonah,” Kai grits out. But I don’t hear the rest of the conversation.
I'm already sprinting to the staff bathroom trying to hide from this torturous seventh circle of hell I’ve stumbled into.
This isn’t happening. This is a nightmare I will wake up from.
It has to be. I splash cool water on my face and force myself to breathe.
In through my nose, out through my mouth. In my nose, out my mouth. In, out, in, out. Fuck, this isn’t working—
“Ken, it’s me.” His voice is soft and pleading from behind the thin door. “Can you please come out so we can talk for a second?” Fuck. I can’t wait in here my entire shift. I have to face him one way or another.
“Just give me a minute,” I respond but it comes out high pitched and a little deranged.
I take what little time I have to collect myself and steady my breathing.
As soon as I walk out of the bathroom, he takes a hesitant step toward me and reaches for me like a reflex, one built over years of being with someone.
But I can’t meet him where he’s at. I have to meet him where I’m at, and that is utterly and completely terrified.
I retreat a step instead and he winces like I caused him physical pain.
It’s almost imperceptible but I’ve spent most of my life learning him, reading him, loving him, so I know it’s not the reaction he was hoping for.
But I can’t touch him. I can barely look him in the eyes.
I know if I do, any resolve I have would crumble.
The raw unhealed pieces of my heart would break all over again.
Thankfully, he’s so tall that the only thing at my eye level is the fraying string of his Boston Bucks sweatshirt.
“I called you the other night. I know you were at my game—”
“Kai, I can't do this right now. I’m working and I really need the tips,” I whisper shakily. He runs his hands down his face in frustration.
“Yeah, and why is that, Kendall? Why exactly do you need the tips so badly?” he asks, pinning me with an intense stare.
He knows. He might not know everything, but he knows something is off.
“Kai, I can’t. Not here. Please,” I beg him. He looks hurt, confused, angry, all the things he should be.
“Fine, meet me tomorrow. The same place. Same time. Clearly there’s things we need to talk about.”
I have to do this. I have to give him some shred of hope or he probably won’t leave. The frightening unknowns are happening now whether I want them to or not. The alluring possibility of more is standing right in front of me and for the first time, I want to reach out and take it.
“If I meet you tomorrow, you’ll leave and let me get through the rest of my shift in peace?” I stipulate.
“Yes,” he says, a small grin taking over his face. Jesus that fucking grin makes my heart stutter and my brain short out. That smile alone could level cities. “But don’t think I won’t come back if you stand me up again.”
“Okay. Tomorrow,” I confirm.
“Tomorrow,” he repeats, moving closer to me and holding his hand out.
I reluctantly place my palm in his and smother the urge to gasp because of how good it feels to be near him again.
I already know I’m in over my fucking head.
Before I can draw my hand away, he tugs me the slightest bit closer, leaning in.
I forgot how large he was, how captivating his presence could be.
How easy it was to be consumed by everything that was Kai.
His breath warms my face, the scent of his cologne, woodsy and clean with a hint of spice.
It overpowers the rational part of my brain and sends tingles skittering down my spine.
“You look beautiful today by the way,” he whispers in my ear and his stubble almost, almost tickles my cheek.
Dangerous. This is dangerous, my brain yells. And yet when he takes a step backwards and releases my hand, I have to fight the instinct to reach for him again.
Then this devastating, enchanting man walks away, like he didn’t just land a lethal blow to my self-control and my rapidly beating heart.
It’s impossible to peel my eyes away from him as he says his goodbyes to his teammates and mumbles something to Jonah.
Then he waltzes through the front door, confident and unbothered, and every female head swivels to his towering frame as he does.
Two hours later, their group of ten leaves and I can finally take a full breath. I start clearing their tables when I feel someone hovering behind me.
“Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean to be creepy,” he says as I turn around to face him.
I recognize him from some of the articles I had read about the Bucks and my recent social media stalking.
He’s tall, not quite as tall as Kai, with warm light eyes, multiple piercings, and perfectly manicured short brown hair.
He has a slight tan even though it’s the dead of winter and rings adorn every finger.
He is objectively, undeniably attractive and I get the sense he is someone who is very comfortable in his body.
What is it with these hockey guys? Is unlimited sex appeal a prerequisite to playing in the NHL?
He smiles awkwardly, his hand ringing the back of his neck.
“I’m Jonah by the way.”
“I gathered that. I’m Kendall, but I suppose you already know that,” I say while picking up used napkins and collecting plates.
“He would kill me if he found out I told you this but he never got over you, you know?” he says quietly.
“Somehow I doubt that,” I scoff.
“I’m serious. He was a mess for a while. I think he just hides it better now.” I remain silent so he keeps talking while I finish cleaning the table. “I'm probably overstepping and I don’t know everything that happened with you two, but at the very least, he deserves closure. A conversation.”
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. “You don’t know everything that happened between us. What I did, what I’ve done, it’s unforgivable,” I admit to this man who is basically a stranger.
“Maybe. Maybe not. There’s only one way to find out though.”
He’s right: there is only one way to find out.
But will I survive it?