Chapter 2 #4
"That's what broke us up, actually," he says, his tone wry.
"I was…I'd been pretty vague about my family and where I lived.
I always went to see her, because it's not like I could just invite any girl I wanted to my house.
There are security protocols in place. Cal breaks them all the time with his girls and our buddies, but then, Cal can sort of get away with it, to a degree. "
"Uncle Val has always had a bit of a blind spot where Cal is concerned," I say. "Or maybe soft spot is more accurate."
"Yeah, trust me, I know." I sigh. "Well, Helena eventually got tired of me being vague about things and wanted to see where I lived. So I convinced Dad and Uncle Val to let me bring her over."
"Didn't go well?"
"She freaked."
"At what?" I ask.
He laughs. “Hell, everything. Sasha and Uri in the RHIB coming up on our flank as we approached the island freaked her out. Seeing guards carrying automatic weapons all over the island freaked her out. Meeting Uncle Val and Aunt Kyrie freaked her out."
"Well, to be fair, to the uninitiated, those things are a lot. It's always an adjustment for me, the first few days after I come down, and I'm on the inside of the circle."
"I know, believe me. I tried to warn her to have an open mind and stuff, but how do you prepare someone for the compound?"
I laugh. "You don't."
"When she met Uncle Val, she really freaked. Like, big freak out.” I adopt a high-pitched whining tone.
“Your dad is the Nicholas Harris and you didn't fucking tell me? All this time you're worth fucking billions of dollars?’” His voice goes high-pitched and mocking.
"Never mind the argument that I'm not worth shit, financially, my parents are, and Mom and Dad aren’t worth actual billions, just close.
Dating when you're the kid of someone worth the kind of money Mom and Dad have comes with certain challenges. "
“Gold diggers are real, huh?" I ask.
"Fuck yeah, unfortunately. It's hard to know what someone's real motives are. That's why I was never too broken up about the security protocols that make it hard to bring people over—I don't want friends who are only my friends because of the stuff. Y'know?" A pause. "But I suppose you don't."
"No, not really. Mom and Dad are comfortable," I say. "In the sense that people say, oh we're comfortable as a way of minimizing the truth. But there's a vast ocean of difference between that and the kind of wealth that your parents and Cal and Corinna's parents have."
"Helena couldn't get over that," Killian says.
“And then, while she was there, Cal and Uncle Puck and Dad and Uncle Val wanted us to go to the range to do some shooting.
When she found out I'm fully trained with firearms and all that other shit?
Oh fuck, man, the freakout was epic." I draw the last word out into a deep, guttural thing.
"But why?" I ask. "Why is that something to freak out over?"
"She's a pacifist and vehemently against gun ownership as an entire concept."
“Oh. That's…a pretty big gulf to overcome."
He laughs. "Yeah, no shit. And, like, I get it.
I really, really do. I'm comfortable with guns, but I don't think everyone needs to have one, and the vast majority of people have no legitimate reason to own any gun, even a hunting rifle, let alone handguns and assault rifles.
But one thing that I know was instilled in you as much as me is the responsibility that comes with carrying a firearm.
We, more than the average gun owner, understand the weight and cost of taking a life.
You especially." He pauses. "She couldn't get over the whole package that is me, I guess, once she saw the full scope of where I come from, who my family is, what my life is like.
She thought I was just some other average American rich kid raised in the Bahamas, when nothing could be further from the truth.
I think, if she saw a future for us at all, she saw it as being…
" he trails off, hunting for the right way to finish the statement.
"A lot smaller than your life is going to be?" I suggest.
"Smaller doesn't feel like the right word," he says. "Her life wasn't small, it was just… drastically different than mine, and the future she saw for herself didn't jibe at all with who I am and how I was raised. Just too big of a fundamental difference."
There's carefully hidden pain in his voice. "You really cared about her, huh?" I ask.
He sighs. "Yeah, I did. She didn't even stay on the compound for four hours. She came, she saw, she bolted. Veni, vidi, vamoos." He chuckles. "That was a terrible joke, and I formally apologize."
"It really was terrible."
"It didn't matter that I tried to show her who I am before I showed her all that stuff. It was just too much."
I stifle a yawn behind my hand, then. "I'm sorry, Killy. I don't mean to yawn while you're baring your soul, I'm just exhausted."
He shifts closer and then scoots down a touch, and suddenly his shoulder is at exactly the right height to rest my head on. "Then rest. I've got a feeling we're gonna be doing a lot of talking before we find our chance to make a move."