17. Kulshedra
KULSHEDRA
WILLA
Eyes, Willa.
I hear on repeat as I run.
Look at me, Willa.
The words echo in my head.
And, right now, as he follows me toward Kimpton’s, his pace languid, I’m more like a woman being stalked in a horror movie than anything else. I run, and he walks. It’s as if he knows the outcome and it’s just a matter of time. If the Jaws theme song starts playing, it couldn’t be worse.
He’s been playing me. Cross-examining me. Violating my trust.
I stop and whirl, the quick turn making me dizzy, but I don’t even give a fuck. I stalk back to him and slap a hand to his chest.
“You’ve been reading me?”
Shove.
“Using interrogation tactics on me?”
Shove.
“Playing me?”
Shove.
“You think you know me, Exton Ranger?”
Shove.
He nods once, his face blank.
Shove.
“Using those techniques to hide yourself from me?”
Shove. This time I use two hands.
“How dare you? I think I’m falling for you and it was a fucking game?! You always say ‘Look at me, Willa.’ Is that because you’re analyzing me?”
A single nod.
“‘Eyes, Willa.’ Is that because you’re examining my intentions?” My voice is getting shrill.
Another nod.
Instead of pushing against his chest, that muscular chest pushes against my hands.
Not to be outdone, and since I’m livid and the anger is doing my head in, I say, “Why?”
“Have you ever been lied to? Have you ever been ghosted or gaslighted or played? Have you ever wished someone would just shoot you straight even if it hurt like hell? No—” He shakes his head and cups both hands on my shoulders.
“Different train of thought… Have you ever met someone and prayed they were real? Have you ever had someone who is so genuine that you wonder how they keep that part of their soul in this fucked-up world we live in? Do you ever want more because you can actually fucking trust someone for one goddamned time in your life?” His mask lifts, and his eyes flare.
“No? You’ve never connected with anyone so deeply that you trust them down to the center of your soul? ”
I swallow past the knot in my throat, the anger I’d held on to dissipating.
“Imagine you did. Imagine you find it all and your job puts it all at risk. Imagine, Willa, that you found someone you trusted to slay your dragons for you, but it meant giving up your art. Then imagine they question your intentions.”
He stalks past me, leaving me emptied of all warmth, and walks into Kimpton’s house, slamming the door.
My head drops as tears slide down my cheeks. I hurt and I’m tired. And I’m so fucking confused. I slide to my knees and then my butt and rest my face in my hands.
I don’t know how much time passes, but a pair of boots comes into view. Brighton sits next to me, wisps of long, chestnut-colored hair blowing in the late afternoon breeze.
“Exton’s intense. He always has been.”
I stare at my denim covered legs, not saying anything.
“When I was younger, I watched my brothers. If I wanted to know how to play the game, I imitated Braxton. Braxton is a flirt and a player. He ingratiates himself, rallies the troops, dances in and out of trouble, and weasels his way out of consequences.”
My head lifts, and I meet her chocolate gaze. I don’t know where she’s going with this. “I can see that.”
“If I wanted to know how to win the game, however, I watched Exton. They’re both gorgeous, I mean, for my brothers.
” She pretends to gag, like the word tastes bad in her mouth.
“But they’re so different. Brax is the date-around, have a great time, never-commit guy.
Someday, maybe, he’ll find someone he wants a second date with, but he’s having too much fun to consider life after.
“Exton, though… Exton doesn’t have the patience to play. He doesn’t care to. He won’t toy with himself or anyone like a cat with a mouse. He wants a meal; he isn’t going to play with his food first.” She looks at me. “That’s a bad analogy, but you get me.”
I nod and hold her eyes. They’re kind. But she’s no pushover. She’s not ingratiating herself to make a friend.
“Exton is passionate and deep. He knows what he wants and he goes for it. He’ll cut bait early and bounce if it’s not worth his time. He knows who he is—always has—and is okay with that being a solo mission if it means he doesn’t have to compromise his values.”
She taps my knee. “Exton also doesn’t fall. He doesn’t allow himself to. He’s solid, consistent. If he falls, it means he trusts, and Exton trusts maybe a handful of people on this planet.”
“I can see that too.”
“Then can you see that my brother is falling for you? He brought you home… The week of my mom’s funeral, no less.”
I gasp. “What?! I… I’m so sorry, Brighton. I…”
“You didn’t know?”
I shake my head, replaying our conversations on fast forward. “He told me she’d passed. He never said when.”
She pushes up to her feet and offers me a hand. I accept and quickly hug her, catching her off guard. She doesn’t reciprocate, and I feel even more awkward than I did moments ago.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Now I feel like an imposition,” I hurry my words out.
“Geez,” she says, shaking her head before brushing dirt off her jeans. “You’re as stubborn as he is. All I told you and that’s what you got from it?”
She turns on a heel and walks away.
Exton
“Did you ever wonder what it would’ve been like if you’d met someone who wasn’t Mom?”
“You mean someone more demure, someone with less passion? Yes, I considered it. I dated before her, you know.” The smile in Pop’s voice is evident.
“And, in retrospect, some of those ladies would’ve been easier.
But easier isn’t better, Exton. Your mom was passionate, fiery, and funny.
She was everything I needed—hear me, son, needed—in addition to what I wanted. ”
I slug back another sip of beer.
“What’s up your ass?”
“Nothing. Just thinking out loud,” I murmur.
“No such thing. You don’t do that. Everything you do has purpose. What’s this about?”
“Thinking about how some things work out and some things don’t.”
“Your mom. God, I miss her. Can’t even…” His pause lasts as we both fight emotion. “Emilia was feisty. Brighton comes by that honestly.”
“You ain’t lying,” I mutter.
“But feisty women don’t want an allowance, and they sure as hell don’t need your permission. Feisty women make their own way.”
“They slay their own dragons,” I say quietly.
“Exactly. Your girl out there is feisty.”
“I don’t know if she’s my girl, Pop.”
“Why? Because she’ll go nose to nose with you? Because she’s known you for less than a week and all hell’s broken loose in that time?”
“Because she doesn’t trust me.”
“Things have come too easy for you, Exton. I love you, but sometimes you forget how easy you have it. School, languages, hell, the Army came naturally to you. Easily promoted. Get every job you apply for. Life has greased the tracks, and you fly right through. That woman”—he points to the side of the house between us and the barn—“she challenges you, and you need that.”
I take another gulp and stare off.
“You ever watched Layton work out?”
I tilt my head, wondering where this is going. “Yeah.”
“Think his reps get fewer and his weights get lighter?”
I hold his gaze.
“You’d be a fool to think that. And you’re no fool, Exton Ranger. Resistance builds muscles. Obstacles build grit, and hurdles build strength. If you think easy relationships are the way, you’ll never build one worth having.”
“You think my life’s been easy?”
“I know so. Each of you has your thing, and y’all lean on it, especially when the going gets tough.
You, son, are brilliant. You can see shit and learn shit that most would take years to assimilate.
And you do it in a blink.” He snaps his fingers.
“So, this woman didn’t succumb to your charms after two dates? Smart girl.”
“Look—”
“No, Exton, you look. That woman doesn’t read people like you do.
She doesn’t know you’re trustworthy like I do.
And she trusts you all the same. With everything she has, she’s giving you the opportunity to earn it.
I have only one question, and it’s yours to answer: is her trust and love and loyalty worth earning? ”
He stands from his chair and drops a hand to my neck, giving it a squeeze. “Love you, son. So proud of you. Your mom was too.”
He walks away and down the hall, slugging back what’s left of his whiskey as he goes.
I finish my beer, grab another, and head to my room, which is where I am when the bedroom door opens and Willa tiptoes in. She slides past me, heading to my bathroom and shuts the door behind her, flipping on the shower.
I set the unopened can of beer on the nightstand and push myself up the bed to sit, back against the headboard.
And I wait.
When Willa emerges, her long legs are bare, and she’s wearing one of my old Army tees. Her face is devoid of makeup and her long dark hair runs loose over her body. The teal ends clash with the olive drab of the shirt.
She won’t meet my gaze, but walks around the bed and throws back the covers, climbing under.
When she meets my gaze, she takes a huge breath, shuts her eyes, and visibly steels her spine.
“Kulshedra.”
She waits for my acknowledgement, which in this case is a confused look. She wouldn’t know that because her eyes are closed. “What?”
“Her name is Kulshedra. My dragon. It comes from Albania folklore where a female serpent defeats a man-god who challenged her. She controls the weather; lightning and thunder come from her battles in the heavens. She can disguise herself in the form of a woman, who keeps her identity a secret.”
I wait patiently for her to continue, but she doesn’t. The silence lingers until she opens her eyes.
“Kulshedra.” I roll it around on my tongue. Mind elsewhere.
“Do you have Albanian heritage?”
“Not that I know of,” she whispers.
“Why is she painted across your body?”
A huge sigh pours from her, and her eyes squeeze shut.
“Eyes, baby,” I say, but do so gently since, apparently it triggers something in her.
She opens them, and her pain is visible.
“Jayne is my middle name. My last name was Shadrick. The man who gave me that name was not my father. He was my mom’s boyfriend from the time I was little.
He adopted me, but he wasn’t the man who loved a woman and her daughter and wanted to make a family.
He controlled my mom, and she was stuck.
She had no education. No money. No employment history.
He kept her in that situation and lorded power over her because he created a need in her that only he could fill.
“If she needed money, Phillip made her earn it through tasks. I saw this growing up, but only understood it as I got older. She cooked and cleaned, and he told her she was lucky she could do that for him.
“He got messed up in drug running. Back then, El Paso to Dallas via Midland made for some very rich men. And some greedy ones too. He wasn’t the rich kind.
He wasn’t the smart kind, but Phillip Shadrick was the greedy kind.
And when the men he sold to wanted more than just heroin or pot, he didn’t have a problem allowing them to have access. ”
Her eyes fly to me. The ghosts of her past are dancing malevolently in her eyes. She’s raw and reopening the wounds is costing her.
“Willa, I…”
She reaches out a hand and sets it on my thigh.
“They didn’t get to me. Mom put herself in the position to take that so I didn’t have to.
But at one point, I’d had enough. Enough of Mom bowing and scraping for the privilege to serve him.
Enough of her begging for money for school supplies or clothes for me.
Enough of her imploring him for a doctor’s appointment.
“And one night, stoned out of his mind, he raped her in front of me. I knew what sex was, but I’d never seen it. And then I did. It was not pleasure; it was punishment.
“I snapped. I grabbed the first thing I could lay my hands on—the old baseball bat he kept at the front door for when the sheriff’s department showed up—and I swung at his skull.”
Her eyes pinch shut. “I hit Mom too. She had a concussion that I couldn’t explain to the doctors in the ER, but she survived.”
Her eyes open and they’re hard, glittering, and determined.
“Phillip Shadrick did not. I was sixteen, three weeks before I turned seventeen. The district attorney’s office might have looked the other way since he was a low-life drug runner.
Or maybe they knew he was cutting the drugs flowing into the surrounding areas to make more profit and there were more deaths, more hospitalizations because of it.
Maybe they knew he was a rapist pig who wouldn’t protect his daughter”—she sketches air quotes—“from his business ventures. I don’t know, but a minor accused with no evidence is easy to overlook as a suspect.
“We moved soon after. Jackie knows. Mom knows. Now you know.” She holds my eyes. “You were not lying when you said ‘she slays her own dragons.’ I have and will do it again if I have to.”
She rolls her hand, and I notice the bandage is gone. There, on the outside of her hand are the words slays her own dragons.