Thick & Thin (Thin Love, #3)(2)
Winnie snorted to herself. Men! Once a guy had been with a girl, he considered her his property, no matter how long ago they had broken up.
Really, men were so pathetic.
There is saltwater in my veins A thousand moments of memory.
Ancient lives lived,
Sacred time spent.
I gave them to you.
Every recollection
Every instant
Every graze of my tongue on your naked flesh Every exhale of my breath across your breast.
I gave them to you.
You forgot.
Me.
One
There she stood. On the stage. My Aly, forcing a smile meant to convince people that didn’t know her that she was happy. She wasn’t. I knew that because, once, she’d been like the afterthought of memory that lived in my dreams. No one knew her like I did.
My mother’s hand on my arm refocused my attention. She seemed able to do that no matter what disaster I’d stirred up for myself. Her surprise mirrored mine. After all, Aly was family. She belonged to us all.
“Ransom, wait, honey. Just wait a second.” Persistence was my mother’s greatest talent. Despite that tight grip, the paradoxical expression of calm on her face, I didn’t miss the look she threw my father’s way. It was a communication they’d perfected in the thirteen years or so since they found each other again—reading small cues in each other, subtle nuances they meant to keep from me, from my young siblings. It was practiced, perfect.
I still didn’t miss what that glance meant and could feel the unbidden advice before it passed from my mother’s lips.
“Ransom…” A quick shake of my head and she seemed to decide not to bother with softening the blow.
“Keiki kane...” Dad started but I waved him off, noticing how he held onto Mom’s waist, guiding her, maybe, maybe insisting that she give me space with a touch of his large hand. “Wildcat…”
“No, Kona. We can’t just…”
I tuned them out, disregarding the small bickering that went between them. It was always this way with them—Mom wanted to meddle, rescue, Dad wanted to let me sort out shit for myself. But there was nothing either of them could say here, now. Absently I knew that I moved, that the space around me had grown thick with motion. My mother held onto my arm, squeezing my wrist as I walked from the seat, from that stage and the sight of my girl being kissed by someone else.
Someone she’d said yes to.
“Makana!” my mother called out to my baby sister, who broke free from our visiting cousin’s embrace. Her ten-year-old face was grinning when her gaze met my mother’s, and when her eye caught mine, I made sure to slip a feeble smile across my mouth. Makana loved Aly. She was the girl’s teacher, but it was more than just that. Hell, they had a connection that went beyond me, and I wasn’t going to spoil this moment with my own messed up confusion and disappointment. So when Makana ran to us and threw her arms around my father’s wide neck as he lifted her up for a hug, I hung back and let her babble on with excitement that comes from being in the limelight.
It was, after all, Makana’s dance recital. Her powerful display of Kaholo dance had been a source of pride for all of us. It never had to be stated, but we Riley-Hales prided ourselves on family. Ohana, my father called it. The utter importance of never forgetting who lives in our hearts.
“Ransom!” Makana wasn’t going to let me out of being part of her celebration. She waved at me across the aisle, insisting with her small fingers that I stand in front of her. It had been months since I’d been back in New Orleans and when you have young siblings, those weeks add up. I’d seen Makana and her older brother, Koa’s, first steps, heard their first words. I’d experienced every learned skill that kids pick up despite my college football and then later NFL career. I was present. Always, even when I was thousands of miles away in Miami. Still, my kid sister and brother did things like grow and get larger without me knowing. Every trip back home to New Orleans marked another change in them. This time, I had noticed that Koa was taller, his shoulders wider, though he was still a little scrawny. The soft, round features of Makana’s face were diminishing, growing less baby-like, and looking at her reaching those long arms toward me I realized it wouldn’t take many more trips away before I wouldn't recognize her at all.
Soon it would be puberty for my kid sister. Soon, Koa would be into more than his Xbox and whatever social media site was taking his attention. All too soon enough, those kids wouldn’t be kids anymore.
Makana stopped wiggling from Mom and Dad’s attention when I stood in front of her, grabbing her hand. One glance at her face, at that lowering smile, and I knew my kid sister wasn’t just interested in knowing what I thought of her performance. “Did you see that Ethan proposed to Aly? Our Aly?”
“I did, kaikuahine.” I knelt in front of her, grinning at how her attention wandered, like most ten-year-old’s would. She looked over my head, at my side, elbowing Koa when he stood too close. The hint of theater make-up on her heart-shaped face made Mack look a little older than I liked.
She glanced at me, blinking fast, small flecks of eye make-up and glitter falling onto her cheeks to catch the light and sparkle playfully there. “You gonna tell her congrats?”
“Think I should?” I nodded to several fans as they passed me, but wouldn’t sign autographs. Not with my little sister wanting my attention. Not when my folks and little brother expected me to be just Ransom, not Ransom Riley-Hale, NFL player, when I was with them.