Chapter 27
Remi
Each splinter hums a truth too sharp to bear,
Yet bleeds away the ghost that lingered there.
I cheered so loudly that Amir looked up at me before he even got to his feet. That ‘safe’ gesture the umpire made had become like a switch that triggered my embarrassing boyfriend mode. I didn’t know much about the game, but I knew that one.
Despite how Amir shook his head, there was a smile on his face. Before he dipped into the dugout, he put a hand to his mouth, then flung it outward in my direction. Some people in the crowd reacted to the gesture, and I chuckled as I sat down.
My phone buzzed, showing a picture of Mal that I’d taken at the car show. She’d video-called me twice since she left just over a week ago. Both times were to help her with a math worksheet, but it still took me by surprise.
Shifting the headphones over my ears, I connected the call. “Hey, I’m at a game, so it’s loud.”
“I know.”
“You watching?”
She nodded. From what I could see, she was lying on her bed with her notebook in front of her.
“You need help with math?” When she shook her head, I clicked my tongue. “This would be the ball chillin’ in your court, Little Valkyrie.”
“You sound old.”
“We’re on that again? Come on, you know I’m cool as hell.”
She rolled her eyes. “No.”
“Bro, you’ve got to tone down the angst. At this rate, you’ll have an emo phase by eleven. I haven’t owned a hair straightener since 2012, so you’re out of luck there.”
Her lips quirked slightly. “You’re an adult. Buy one.”
“Yeah, I could do that, but I’m too lazy to straighten my hair anymore. This metal in my face is my memento to the good old days. And you can pry my skinny jeans out of my cold, dead hands.”
“Stupid,” she laughed. “I wish I was an adult.”
“Do you?”
She nodded. “Dad says I shouldn’t.”
“Yeah, most people long for their youth. They think adulthood is worse.”
“You?”
“Nah, being a kid wasn’t fun for me. I much prefer being older, which is why I went and became an adult at sixteen.”
Wide eyes looked into the camera. “How?”
“It was complicated and nothing you need to go through.”
With a grunt, she returned her attention to the notebook. I wanted to ask about her story, but I didn’t think she’d tell me. It seemed like one of those things she’d need to offer up freely, like affection.
“Did you call me to insult my age, or what?”
“Article,” she replied simply.
“A new one?”
No answer.
Navigating to a browser, I typed in Amir’s name.
Sure enough, something had been posted a couple of hours ago.
Just when I’d started to think that evil woman was done spewing bullshit about us.
The last one had been a couple days after Mal left, and naturally, it had speculated about the reasoning for her ‘sudden disappearance’.
Thankfully, this one wasn’t about her. It was about me.
So, we were back to digging for new ways to demonize me. I was surprised it had taken Clara this long to reach into my past. Although, she hadn’t gotten very far yet.
As I read through the article, my teeth ground together.
I popped a piece of gum into my mouth and chewed on it somewhat aggressively.
There was a sad picture of a boy on a swing, who wasn’t even me.
I almost laughed, except she’d named my fucking parents in the damn thing.
‘Graham and Elise Keane were tragically murdered just a week before Thanksgiving twenty years ago this November.’
She droned on about the details only briefly, but too long for my liking.
When I scrolled, I sucked in a breath. Their faces stared back at me, and their warm smiles stood out on the page.
It looked like she’d clipped them from the news article announcing the incident.
I’d never seen it, never had any interest in adding to my existing memories of them.
May Odin grant her ink that burns her tongue,
And quills that splinter when her lies are sung.
May fame forget her, may sponsors flee;
A fitting fate for vultures like she.
I was going to write that one down and send it to her. No doubt she’d feature it in the next article, pointing out how I was—GASP!—a heathen. Cue the pearl-clutching and claims that I’d cast a curse on her or some other ignorant bullshit.
If I could, I fucking would.
‘One has to wonder: What drew Remi to a career tending a bar when he had such intelligent and successful parents? Amir Darya’s team has declined to comment at this time, but there are too many fans desperate for answers, so we won’t be giving up quite yet.’
Yeah, of course she wouldn’t. If she wanted a comment, I’d give her a comment.
“You’re sad,” Mal noted.
I cleared my throat and started up the steps. “I’m good.”
“If Mom and Dad died, I’d be sad.”
“You shouldn’t be reading these, Mal.”
She shrugged, not pausing her drawing. “Don’t like Clara. You should write about her. Revenge.”
I chuckled. “That ain’t a bad idea, kid. A taste of her own medicine.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Will you tell me about your story to cheer me up?”
“No.”
I stuck my lip out. “But I’m sad, remember?”
“Liar.”
“Why can’t you be gullible like other kids?”
“I don’t know.”
Spotting my target, I veered in that direction. “Whatever. Until next time, okay?” I saluted with two fingers, and Mal nodded once before she ended the call.
I continued until I reached the tall table where Clara and her crew were posted.
She looked at me in surprise, but it quickly shifted to interest. Maybe she wanted to fuck me, and that was why she thought it was a good idea to poke at my relationship with Amir.
Though I knew that wasn’t the case, it was funny to think about, more so because she’d started her mission with Trav, who wouldn’t give her the time of day for a feature.
“I knew you’d be crawling around here somewhere,” I said brightly.
She stepped around the table, directing her cameraman to face me. “Remi, this is impeccable timing. We were just going online for the seventh-inning stretch.”
“Oh, are we live? Perfect.” I looked at the camera. “Hey, everyone. Calm down, it’s just me. I’m sure it’d be much more exciting if Clara could get McKinney on here, eh?”
She gave me a bitter smile. “Perhaps we can get a statement about your little incident with Mallory last week.”
I cocked my head. “Yeah, totally. We were having a great time, which I’m sure you captured on your cameras, but of course you won’t post that.”
“Losing a child is quite an interesting devolvement from ‘a great time.’”
I waved my hand dismissively. “She got away from me. It happens.”
“Got away from you. That sounds a bit like what a kidnapper would say.” She let out an innocent laugh, and I followed with my own even faker laugh.
“Yeah, you’ve really got me pegged, don’t you? Sorta like that husband of yours.”
The smile fell from her face. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Sure you are.”
“Let’s move on—”
“See, I figured there had to be a reason you target gay men.”
She scoffed. “I write about more than McKinney and Darya, you know. I think you should do your homework.”
“Oh, I have. Tell me . . .” Unlocking my phone, I played the Grindr notification sound. “Do you recognize this?”
Judging by the twitch in her jaw, I thought she might.
“For your information,” I continued, “I have an MBA. I’m not some uneducated bum slinging drinks, but I digress.”
“You grew up in California. Maybe you can shine some light on how you got here.”
“A plane. Hope that helps.”
“And—”
“Four years ago, you filed for divorce,” I interrupted. “Is it because you caught him with a pole in his ass? Strange you didn’t go through with it. If you think he’s reformed”—I laughed, tipping my head back a little—”I’ll tell you something. They never are.”
“Mr. Keane, this is highly inappropriate.”
“And publishing an article about my dead parents isn’t?”
Her lips thinned for a moment, then she smoothed her expression. “I see we aren’t going to find common ground here today.”
“Common ground is for people who aren’t trying to bury me in it.
I may not be a doctor like my parents before me, but I have learned a thing or two in my lifetime.
I’ll give you one for free: Only miserable people want to make others miserable.
” Looking into the camera, I lifted my brows enticingly to facilitate my own Jim Halpert moment. “Write that down.”
“I assure you, that’s not my intention.”
“Of course it is. And that’s fine, but it’s not for me.
See, I have reasons to be a bad person, but I choose not to be.
That’s the difference between us. Dig all you want, but might I suggest a shovel?
The Earth is a deep, cavernous thing. I imagine that hole will be as gaping as your husband’s when his boyfriend is finished with him. ”
She made a gesture, and the cameraman panned to the game where the players were setting up again. The sugary-sweet expression faded and gave way to the ugly thing underneath.
“This was fun,” I said. Leaning closer, I brushed my lips over her cheek and lowered my voice. “You want a war, bitch?” Moving to the other cheek, I did the same. “Haven’t you heard? ‘All warfare is based on deception.’”
I felt her gaze on me the entire time I walked, until I made it out of the stadium. Continuing to the car, I remained aware of everyone around me. For all I knew, they were her spies.
Once I was in the driver’s seat, I met my own eyes in the rearview mirror. My teeth squeezed together painfully as I stared at the stranger there.
“ . . . tragically murdered just a week before Thanksgiving twenty years ago this November.”
My mom’s face in that picture came back to me. Her eyes. Her smile. If I had tried to recall it earlier today, it would’ve been a hazy blob, completely separate from the real image.
What had she smelled like? What did her voice sound like? I couldn’t make a good guess.
“One has to wonder: What drew Remi to a career tending a bar when he had such intelligent and successful parents?”
I had a better question: What had their success done for them? I wondered if they’d tried to save each other while they bled out. In the end, it was all futile. They couldn’t do anything to save themselves, and they sure as hell couldn’t save me once they were dead.
Again, those eyes looked back at me, darker than they were meant to be. My eyes, but reflected in someone else’s.
With a growl, I ripped the mirror off of its pedestal and flung it into the back. Gripping the steering wheel hard, I leaned my forehead against it.
Maybe Clara would back off. Or maybe I’d made it a hundred times worse. After all, Sun Tzu also said, ‘The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.’
I probably should’ve leaned into that one a little more, but wisdom had never been my primary weapon despite the god who had chosen me to walk his path.
*****
“I thought it was funny,” Amir said as he toweled off his hair.
“It was funny. But also stupid.”
“See? It was everything you are.”
I mocked a laugh in his direction. Looking down at my phone, it shifted into a real laugh. “People are talking about it, though. You’d better get yourself a gun before she decides vengeance is medicinal.”
His nose scrunched at the idea. From his place at the side of the bed, the moonlight behind him cast just the right shadows, accentuating the dips and curves of his body.
I moved onto my knees so I could flatten my palms against his abdomen. “They don’t bite.”
“No, they shoot.”
“Exactly.” With a grin, I pressed two fingers into the space between his ribs and mimicked the sound of a gun firing.
“Crazy,” he said, drawing out the word while he ran his fingers through my hair.
“You find it irresistible.”
“I find it disturbing, and it’s more disturbing that I’m somehow into it.”
“It’s the poetry. It draws you right in, promising safety from your weary life.”
Sliding my hands up to his chest, I watched the fire ignite in his eyes.
“You’d dodge a spark but kiss the flame;
Call it danger, I call it game.
You flinch at thunder, yet chase the rain;
Tell me, love, what’s fear but pleasure’s twin in pain?”
His answering laugh was the music to my verse, his smile the choreographed dance to accompany it. All I could do was stare, and when the humor faded, his head tilted.
“What’s going on in your mind?” he wondered.
“It’s just . . . Nobody really laughs like that at my poems.”
“Like what?”
“Usually it’s awkward or mocking. Pitying, even.”
“Pitying?” His voice was low, almost a growl.
I waved my hand. “It’s not one of those things. I know it’s weird, and I embrace it. I just find it interesting that you seem to enjoy them.”
“I do. I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“Good. That means nobody’s competing for your heart.”
“Not one,” he confirmed. “If there was, it wouldn’t be a competition.”
“Alright, don’t be a sap. You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I’ll rest when I’m dead.”
I tried to push him back, but he crowded me against the headboard. Once he was in my lap, I was done for.
“Fine.” I tipped his head back by his hair, then trailed my lips up his trachea. “We have another week here, so we might as well make the most of it.”
“Then I hit the road, the sky, the endless goddamn hotel rooms.”
“And I’ll be back at Remi’s.”
“Are you excited?”
“Of course. That’s my pride and joy.”
He met my eyes, and I saw reflected in his all of the things I didn’t say.
“Kiss me, baby,” I said.
When he did, I poured all of my worries into that kiss.
I decided that I wouldn’t think about how much it’d suck to retrain myself to live on a night schedule.
I wouldn’t think about how Oli had more than likely screwed up my perfect organization at the bar.
Dean probably let him, despite the fact that he’d trained under me and knew exactly how I liked it.
I wouldn’t think about whether Cole would eventually show his face. Maybe he’d been scoping it out already and was waiting for me to get back.
I certainly wouldn’t think about whether Amir and I could handle the distance while he was on his stretches away from home. Six weeks together in Florida, shacking up and playing house, was entirely different from what we were about to embark on. Real life. Real problems.
No, I wouldn’t think about it at all. Not until I could no longer avoid it. When that happened, I was going to need a hella good notebook. One with thick, cream-colored pages and a ribbon bookmark. If the cover was leather with some runes on it, I might get a little hard.