The Falling (Brightest Stars, #1)(48)

“Fuck yeah! Dead as a fucking doornail, man!”

I shook my head. Kael clenched his jaw.

At least we agreed on something.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Kael asked, picking at his fingers.

How the heck was I supposed to respond to that?

“Do you think you’re making me uncomfortable?” The best way to avoid answering a question was to repeat it. I had learned that from my dad.

He let out a breath. “That’s not an answer. But yeah, probably?” he said, cracking a smile. I loved the way his whole face changed when he smiled.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, my answer is no. But one minute you’re ignoring me and the—”

“Ignoring you?” he asked, startled.

“Yeah,” I explained. “You were kind of blowing me off.”

He seemed genuinely surprised. Almost hurt. “I wasn’t trying to.” He hesitated. “It’s kind of hard to adjust to being back here. It’s only been a week and it’s so . . . different? It’s hard to explain. I don’t remember it feeling this weird last time I came back.”

“I can’t even imagine,” I told him. Because I couldn’t.

“It’s the small things. Like using those coffeemakers that brew individual cups or being able to shower every day and wash my clothes in an actual machine.”

“I’m guessing there aren’t any Tide Pods in the Army,” I said. My dad always hated them—even when he returned and could use them, he refused. He liked old-school powder and it grossed me out.

“Sometimes. Wives would send packages to their husbands and we would all get the hookup,” he said.

I wondered if anyone sent him packages, but I didn’t ask. It was my turn to laugh now, but I didn’t. If I wanted to connect with this guy, to find out who he was, I needed to take the first step. Stop deflecting. Build a bridge. Find some common ground and all that.

“You know,” I started, “my dad always came back acting like he just got home from Survivor. It was kind of a joke in our house. Not that it was funny.” I was so bad at this. I was overthinking every single word that came out of my mouth.

“It’s fine.” He smiled, obviously amused by my ramblings, and looked me straight in the eye. “Honestly, Karina. It’s fine. You’re fine.”

I kept going, more relaxed now—more reassured. “He would crave the weirdest things and eat Taco Bell for a week straight after coming home.”

Kael nodded slowly, sucking on his lips. “How many times has he gone?”

“Four.”

“Wow.” Kael blew out a breath. “I’m over here complaining about two,” he said, laughing weakly.

“That’s a lot, though. And you’re my age. I’m over here complaining about zero.”

“Did you ever think about joining?”

I shook my head so quickly.

“The Army? Nope. No way. Austin and I always said we wouldn’t.”

I sounded like one of those twins you read about in sappy books where they make lifelong promises to each other. One lives in the shadows and the other has to live out their twin’s legacy. I didn’t want to think about which role I played in that saga.

“Why not? Just not your thing?” Kael asked.

“I don’t know,” I started. Careful, Karina, I warned myself. I didn’t want to offend him, but my mouth was known for spitting out words without my brain’s approval. “We agreed on it one day. I don’t remember what even triggered it. My dad was deep into his third deployment and . . .”

I could picture the smoke as it billowed through the hallways. I smelled the fire before I saw it.

“And my mom made . . . well, let’s say she made a mess in the living room. A charred mess.”

Kael looked at me, puzzled.

“She said it was from a glue gun, like for crafts? But it was a cigarette. She fell asleep on the couch with a lit cigarette in her hand and had barely woken up when I came rushing down the stairs to find the room filled with smoke. It was crazy.”

As I was telling Kael this, a few people came out of the house, a few people went in. Party traffic. The last guy to come out was wearing a plain white T-shirt with a red stain on the chest. I stopped talking when I saw him and kept my imagination from turning a pizza-sauce stain into anything else. Kael kept his eyes on me the whole time. It was intense, the way he looked at me. The bottom of my tummy ached, and eventually I had to break eye contact with him. Pizza-stain guy walked down the steps and got into his car. I recognized him from the kitchen. He was one of Austin’s quiet friends. The quiet guys always left first.

“And what did your mom do when you found her in the room full of smoke?” Kael encouraged.

“She was walking toward the door, straight ahead, like she was going out to buy milk or some orange juice. She didn’t yell for us. She didn’t look for us. No . . . nothing.”

Kael cleared his throat. I gauged his expression to make sure he wasn’t uncomfortable with the details.

“So . . . you know those quizzes where they ask you what you would save if your house was on fire?” I looked at him.

“Not really,” he answered.

“I guess that’s a Facebook thing. They ask what possessions you would save if your house was burning down and your response is supposed to reveal your personality. If you say you’d save your wedding album, that says one thing about you. But if your choice is to save your vinyl collection, that says something else.”