Kendall #2
“Kendall!” Mom called out my name in delight as she hurried over and sat on the bench next to me, wrapping me in a tight hug. The familiar scent of her perfume soothed my stress a little. “It’s been eons since I’ve seen you!”
“It’s only been two weeks since we were at the cabin,” Josie piped up with a laugh. “I guess that is a long time for any of us to be apart, though!”
“Well, let’s not do that again anytime soon, hm?” Mom said, running an affectionate hand over my hair. When she pulled back and finally locked eyes on my face, she let out a sound of concern. “Oh my gosh! Honey, you look half dead! What’s the matter?”
“He’s just tired, Mom,” Benji said, probably hoping to garner back some of my favor from the haggard remark.
“I’m fine,” I promised, trying not to sound as weary as I felt. The last thing I wanted was everyone remarking on how bad I looked when Rhys made his way back over. “I’m going to take it easy tonight after the picnic.”
“Well, okay,” she said, but I could tell she wasn’t fully convinced. “How about later this week you come over and you can relax while I make your favorite?”
“Super extra cheesy lasagna?” I asked, perking up instantly.
“That’s right.”
“Oh, we’re definitely in,” Benji said from across the table. It was his favorite too, and we’d asked her for it all the time as kids.
It took me a moment for realization to pierce through my excitement for lasagna.
If I came over, Rhys would be there. It would be uncomfortable for both of us.
I could deal, but… Was it unfair for me to force myself into his space, where he was forced to be living at the moment?
Would he end up resenting me for it? I couldn’t turn down her offer though, or she’d really know something was wrong. We’d both just have to deal.
When Rhys came back around, Dad at his heels, I avoided eye contact with him but I couldn’t exactly delete him from my vision. It didn’t help that he was wearing the running shorts he knew I loved. He looked so hot and so built, all his perfectly defined muscles on display.
Luckily, Dad sat on my other side, enthusiastically commenting about all the dishes I’d brought and how he was looking forward to trying everything, which helped my mind focus on something else for the time being.
The picnic was fun as always. I mingled with lots of people, received tons of compliments about the stuff I’d brought and had a lot of people interested in my services. Everyone piled their plates high with food, and came back in droves to graze and snack during the rest of the activities.
I wasn’t exactly in the mood or mindset to participate in the games, but I watched most of them, faking my amusement, clapping and cheering for all the winners as they were presented with their trophies and ribbons.
I was glad for everyone who was happy, I just couldn’t bring myself to feel that particular emotion at the moment.
As the day began to wind down, I made my way over to the dessert table. Just about everything had been picked clean, but a single one of my espresso cupcakes was left, which I picked up and sank my teeth into.
In the open field a little ways out, a group of younger boys were playing with a football.
Rhys was directing them, gesturing widely and explaining what looked to be different strategies and different methods of throwing the ball.
I couldn’t be too sure about that one, as I didn’t exactly understand the rules of football beyond getting the ball from one end of the field to the other.
But the boys were super enthusiastic, staring up at him in sparkly-eyed awe as he coached.
I couldn’t blame them, I probably looked like that when he was talking to me too.
As I slowly chewed my cupcake, I felt a bit more relaxed as the cool breeze whipped around me. He was way too distracted to realize I was watching him, so I didn’t have to worry about that.
“Hi, Kendall.” The voice of a little kid cut through my serene thoughts.
“Hi, Ava,” I answered, crouching down so I could be at eye level with her. She was chewing on her fingernail, like she was nervous about something. “I love that top.”
“Thanks!” She said, instantly preening and smoothing down the patterned front. “My mom let me get it when we went to Old Navy at the mall.”
“Very chic.”
“My mom also said that she was going to let me get a cake from you just like Peyton had for her birthday.”
“Oh boy,” I answered, popping my eyebrows up. “I can’t wait. When’s your birthday?”
“February 12th,” she said, twirling a lock of her dark, curly hair around her finger.
“I’ll mark it down on my calendar,” I promised. “You want a princess cake, too?”
She looked thoughtful for a moment, pursing out her lips. “Maybe. I might think of something better.”
I had a feeling Ava and Peyton might have been whatever the tiny version of frenemies were, and she might have been feeling a tad competitive over who would have the best birthday party.
“You have plenty of time. Whatever you decide, I’ll make it work.”
“And you’ll hang out with me, too?” She asked, blinking her lashes at me. “And we can paint our nails and play games and stuff?”
Resisting the urge to laugh, I nodded soberly. “Absolutely.”
“Thanks!” She said, looking happy and satisfied for a moment, before the shadow of nerves I’d observed before we’d started talking made their way back.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, and she shuffled her feet a bit before giving me an exaggerated shrug.
“I guess so.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Well…” She trailed off a bit, before glancing over at the field to our side. “I wanted to play football. But I don’t think they’ll let me play.”
“How come?”
“They probably don’t want a girl ruining their game,” she said, the bitterness in her tone suggesting she’d run into this issue before. Eight years old and already experiencing feminine rage.
“Hmm.” I scooted over a bit so I could put an arm around her shoulders and direct her to face them. “You see that guy? The one in the shorts?”
“Yeah?”
“I bet you a million dollars if you go up to him and tell him you want to play, he’ll let you.”
She looked over to me with such a doubtful expression that I had to suppress a laugh.
“That guy?”
“His name is Rhys,” I explained, pressing my lips together to hold it in. “He’s a lot nicer than he looks.”
“You promise?”
“I promise,” I said, and watched as she timidly made her way over to him. When he finally noticed her, holding up a hand to stop the boys so he could talk to her, he leaned down a bit like he had to get closer to hear her.
When she pointed back in my direction, his gaze flicked up to me and our eyes met and held for so long that my heart started pounding.
I couldn’t read his expression from so far away, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, anyway.
He finally looked back down to her and they talked some more, before he handed her a ball, nudging her into the right position for some kind of throw.
After a few minutes of watching him coach her, her confidence with the ball growing before my eyes, I was basically swooning.
I’d actually had no idea he was so good with kids.
It was so cute I could have melted into a puddle in the grass.
I finally forced myself to look away so he wouldn’t feel like I was staring at him like a creep, choking down the rest of my cupcake despite my jumpy stomach, and tossing the wrapper in the trash.
As I made my way back over to where people were seated, talking and laughing, a familiar voice entered my ears and stopped me cold.
“Well, you’re too busy to answer your mom’s phone calls, but I guess you ain’t too busy to prance around showing off for everybody else, huh?”
Stomach-churning dread, the kind that I’d felt almost constantly in my childhood, the reason I’d spent so many nights at the Kensingtons’, or needed to hide out to scribble in my diary in the sanctuary of the abandoned house on Mulberry.
The man who’d given me my eye color and basically nothing else.
Hayward Austin.
My mother was at his side, looking meek and cowed like always.
Like she was always just waiting for him to snap at her, which he often did.
As far as I knew, he’d never raised a hand to her like he had to me, but his bad moods were frequent and unpredictable.
Or, they had been. I’d crammed as much of my stuff as I could manage into a couple of garbage bags less than a week after my 18th birthday, and had never gone back.
I’d lived in the guest room in Benji’s house during summers and school holidays, rooming with him on campus during all four years of college.
She was a little thinner than I remembered. He was, too. He didn’t look as powerful or frightening, but that didn’t stop my guts from feeling like a ball of solid ice was sinking into them.
“I wasn’t prancing,” I denied automatically, a holdover from when I’d been so desperate to make him believe that the way I talked and the way I walked and the way I stared at other boys when I didn’t think he was watching me, didn’t actually mean anything and I wasn’t the terrible thing he was accusing me of being.
“And I’m not too busy to take anyone’s calls. I don’t want to talk.”
“Boy, you are just real fucking ungrateful, aren’t you?”
I didn’t know what to say. Maybe I was. When I didn’t respond, he went on.
“Your mom and I did everything for you. Put a roof over your head, put you through school-”
“You did not!” I argued back, stunned he would even suggest that.
I still had fucking student loans I was paying back every month because they hadn’t helped put me through school.
And if they meant elementary, middle and high school, that was a joke too.
I’d been a good student, all A’s and B’s, despite the fact that my blood pressure constantly hovered at a point just below the fucking ceiling.
I’d succeeded despite my terrible upbringing.
“You never helped me with anything!” I added. “Mr. and Mrs. Kens-”