Thick Love (Thin Love, #2)(25)
“Keki kane …” He stopped speaking when I sat up.
“I’m just losing it a little, okay? Don’t worry about me.”
Kona brushed my good leg aside and sat next to me, but that frown stayed fixed to his mouth and I felt the beginning of a lecture coming my way. “Listen, if you want to talk to someone…”
“You serious?” I didn’t let him answer. “I’ve been talking to someone since I was eight years old.” I wasn’t angry. That was something else I didn’t do anymore. But I couldn’t keep my tone from sounding sharp, defensive.
If my father was irritated by my attitude, he didn’t call me on it. “They said the same thing over and over,” I continued. “I could probably write a book about all the one-liners shrinks tell their patients. I don’t need to talk to anyone about what goes on in my head, just like I never needed to talk to anyone about how pissed off I got.”
“This isn’t about your temper.” Dad stopped me when I tried leaving the bed with his big hand on my shoulder. “It took me years…”
“Dad, I know.” God, I’d heard it so many times from my parents. Frustrated, I covered my face, scrubbing my fingers over my eyes before I finished. “You’ve told me all of this before. It took you years to learn how to release your anger. It took discipline and practice. The league did that for you. Mom learned to control her rage when she had me. And I learned how to deal with it when…” I looked up at the ceiling, knowing he watched me, that he probably thought I was getting worse. “I don’t do angry anymore.”
“You do. At yourself.” His fingers tightened on my shoulder. “You keep it all in.”
“It’s how I deal.”
“Ransom…” No. I didn’t want that tone—the overly stressed, no sleep, my kid has lost his ever-loving mind bullshit tone my father got whenever he thought I needed to see reason. He had enough on his plate. I didn’t need to add to it.
“Did the doc say I could leave? I want to get back to the team house. I’ve got a Chem quiz on Thursday.”
He looked at me for a long time and I felt the weight of his worry, that tight tension only worsening the longer he watched me. But then, I offered him a smile, hoped he got that I didn’t want to have a heart-to-heart while my teammates crowded into the locker room. Moving his hand off my shoulder, my father nodded once, letting the worry go. I knew he wouldn’t ignore it forever.
“Yeah,” he said, lifting the ice from my knee. “Just a little inflammation. You should be good.” My father’s presence was looming, and the way he moved his gaze at me as I pulled off my uniform and limped toward my locker had me just on the tip of losing my temper. But that wouldn’t do either of us any good. It wouldn’t settle the problems I’d created for myself since the accident, or since. “Listen, why don’t you grab your books and come home with me? I have to get back soon, and I know Keira would want to see you.”
“Why you hurrying back?”
Dad nodded at his assistants and a couple of linemen as they passed him. “Leann couldn’t stay all afternoon with her.”
“Leann?” I said, stopping him with my hand on his shoulder. “What about that Aly girl?”
“Who?” He had no clue, that much I could tell by the confusion making my father frown. You’ve got to be kidding me.
“The instructor from Leann’s studio.” That suppressed anger started to bubble as my father shook his head and I threw my balled up shirt onto the bench when I realized Aly had played me. “She said she’d call Mom, like three days ago.”
“Keira didn’t mention it and we’ve been bouncing through some of Leann’s students so your mom can get in a nap or two every day. But they’re still in high school.” Dad yawned, blinking quickly as though he needed to keep his eyelids moving so he wouldn’t fall asleep where he stood. “So you wanna come back with me?”
That was bullshit. You don’t say you’re going to do something and then flake out. Who does that? Assholes do that, but I honestly hadn’t picked up that Aly was a liar. Dad yawned again and I realized I’d have to let some of my temper surface. I didn’t care who this girl was, I’d scare the hell out of her if it meant my parents could get some damn sleep. “No. I’m good Dad. I’ve gotta get dressed and head to Metairie.”
He moved to my side when I shuffled in my locker for my clothes, ignoring the jabs I heard around me from my teammates. They stopped when my father waved them off. “I thought you were going to study.”
“I am,” I said, slamming my locker, “but first I need to go to the studio.”
6
The music coming from the dark studio was familiar. The drumming heartbeat thumped slow, two quick beats, then a lengthened third, some sort of pop that beat gentler than a pulse and yet pounded deeper. As I walked through the glass doors, a few lines from the song resonated, lyrics sung through a rasp, the language I recognized as Portuguese.
Since we were kids Leann had forced Tristian and me to into learning dances whenever a new style caught her attention and this music reminded me of salsa, maybe a slow tango. Whatever the music, it didn’t match my mood or quiet the temper that had my neck hot and my pulse throbbing. That Aly woman had lied, on purpose I figured, just to get away from me.