Thick & Thin (Thin Love, #3)(41)

“We have to go, Ransom.” She stepped back, grabbing Ethan’s hand when he came to her side. “He’s got a plane to catch and I’ve got competition numbers to choreograph.” Ethan shook my hand, tapping my shoulder once, but I mostly kept my eyes directed at Aly and the odd way she clung to her man, how she avoided my touch and my father’s attention.

“Thanks for coming,” I told her, grazing her arm before she dragged Ethan away.

“Be safe,” she threw over her shoulder and followed Ethan away from me, from our home and the place where she belonged. I managed, at least, to keep my chest from cracking in two as I watched her walk away.





Mortar on my skin

Brick-By-Brick

Walled me in

Until

You chip away

The dust.

I crumble

Until

Nothing keeps me hidden.





Eight





I was back at the lake house that weekend, for Ransom’s game. It was so strange to be in this place, with these people and feel so out of my element. Keira kept such a warm, inviting home. It had changed from the place it first was when I looked after Koa as a toddler. The bourgeoisie décor her society-minded mother favored was gone. No marble. No blingy chandeliers. Everything now was rustic, homey, like something out of a farmhouse fantasy. There were hand scrapped hardwood floors and light gray walls, pretty green wreaths hanging from chippy shutters that held family photos in rustic wood frames. And it always smelled like gardenias—just like my grann’s garden in early spring when the dark evergreen gardenia bushes bloomed the largest, sweetest-smelling white flowers.

There should have been no anxiety. There should have been only the familiar sensation of comfort because, for better or worse, I was home. But it was not the same, not since, in Kona’s eyes, I abandoned Ransom in Miami. Not since I’d licked my wounds and made attempts at starting to forget. And especially not since my engagement to someone not named Ransom.

Ethan, God love him, was over the moon, following Kona around like the big man was Elvis and he, Ethan, had delegated himself as platonic groupie. My fiancé tried to pull off a relaxed swag he couldn’t quite manage next to Kona. They were elbow to elbow on that leather sofa, beers in their hands and glancing at them, I wondered if Ethan knew he’d mimicked Kona’s stance, the slouch of his back, even the way he held his beer between his large fingers. Ethan’s excitement, I understood. Kona was dynamic. Strong, a perfect male specimen. Over the years, I’d seen grown men wither in his company—forget that he wasn’t some Polynesian warrior god. Kona was a man like any other, just with a touch more masculinity and damn sight more vigor. Ransom had gotten all the best of both his parents—the talent, the charm, the ridiculous physical perfection. It was what had drawn me to him all those years ago. But it was his heart that made me love him.

No. Loved. Past tense.

I shot a glance around the living room, reminding myself to hide my discomfort. No one knew I was thinking of Ransom. No one would guess that being here, surrounded by his family while my fiancé hung onto every word Kona said, made me feel unaccountably nervous.

“Aly, here. Hold this.” It didn’t matter to Makana that I wasn’t with her brother anymore. If I was at her house, I became her life-sized doll—letting the girl braid my hair, paint my nails ridiculous bright colors or, like now, hold still the end of the thread she was braiding, fashioning all those purples and pinks into a friendship bracelet I was expected to wear.

“What’s this pattern?” I asked as Mack tugged on my wrist when I tried to turn my hand to see it.

“Duh, basket weave,” she answered, shaking her head at my obvious question. Those purple and pink threads were interlocked and, looking closely, I realized it was, obviously a basket weave.

“Sorry, grosoulye tifi. Geez.” That laugh was infectious and it tuned out the noise coming from the living room where Ethan joined Kona and the other coaches and their wives cheering on Ransom and his teammates.

Across the table Keira looked a little uneasy, a lot tired. She leaned against the dining room chair, one leg tucked under her as she played a silent song on her electric-acoustic guitar. The headphones she wore weaved between her messy bun, the output plugged into the amp and silenced the strum of her guitar. It also drowned out the roar of rowdy, masculine voices from the living room. Like me, Keira hated watching Ransom play. It was too stressful. Each defensive play required breath holding and no small amount of prayers that Ransom would tackle or block and be done with it. He’d just been injured too often to make watching him play anything but nerve-wracking.

Like she knew I was watching, Keira glanced at me, looking over her shoulder toward the television. The Dolphins were up by ten and the defense was about to take over. Keira took a breath when Kona stood, moving around the room like he was too excited to keep still. It was the first I’d seen of him in the past few months where he wasn’t sulking or on edge. Keira must have noticed it too because she kept watching her husband, fingers still strumming as she followed his movements.

Across from Kona, sitting on the love seat was Cass and a different girl from the one he’d brought to the barbeque a few days ago, this one a redhead. The pretty boy singer was starting to become a fixture here, something I knew bugged Ransom and, it seemed, Kona as well. Mack had mentioned how much time Cass spent at the lake house, how it seemed to make her father grumpy, but at the moment both Kona and Keira seemed distracted—Kona by the game and Keira by Kona.