Thick & Thin (Thin Love, #3)(57)

“You kept all this from me. For months… Months!” The air in the room seemed to clot with my mother staring down at her hands, as if looking anywhere else would cause her to ignite. Kona watched her closely, his hands at his side, his attention on every twitch she made as though looking for a break in her composure, something he could jump on to get her to release her rage. But that did not come, not when she shook her hands, as though flinging the tremor from her fingers. Not when the look she gave him was vicious and unapologetic. “How can I trust you? How can I ever trust you again? I begged you to tell me. I begged you over and over.”

“I know, but I didn’t want you to find out…”

The second that admission came, I knew Kona regretted it. It was right there in his features—the wince of his eyebrows, the way he tried to touch her, how he still looked stunned when she jerked away from him. “You didn’t want me to find out? What the hell does that mean?”

“Keira, no, that didn’t come out right. I didn’t…”

“Who the f*ck are you?” Now she was astonished at the man standing in front of her. A man she thought she loved but didn’t seem able to recognize in the stranger that stood looking down at her.

“I’m your husband.”

“No. You damn well aren’t.”

Mark had told me stories about my parents in college. They were stories that Leann had clarified and given further detail on. The same words seemed to always repeat whenever those college war stories came up: Manic. Obsessive. Dangerous. I’d never believed much of the dirtiest details my cousin and godfather had recalled. The worst ones I generally dismissed as exaggerations.

Now, I believed that every one of the stupid things Leann and Mark had recounted weren't exaggerated at all.

My mother’s denial of their marriage broke something loose inside Kona. Something primal in him was set free, matching my mom’s steely anger, and that clash was a fearsome thing to witness.

They moved at the same time—Mom charging, lashing out just as Kona bent, catching her at the waist. My mother’s fist went right over his head and then Kona pushed her back, against the wall. He’d never hurt her, I knew enough about my father and my parents’ past to know that with certainty. But I wasn’t sure she wouldn’t inflict a little pain. I held my breath as Kona pinned her against the wall, grunting like an animal.

Time crystalized as they did not move, did not twitch, merely stared hard as if trying to bore right into each other's heads. There was a thick pulse of energy just then—and Mom screamed, a deep, throaty, angry cry of anguish, eyes open and neck muscles flexing. The heat, the threat of explosion filled the air in the room and I flinched watching them, stepping closer when Kona punched the wall next to Mom’s head once, crumbling sheetrock dust into her hair. The expressions they wore was a dichotomy, all heat, anger, rage, desire and I wasn’t sure if I should push them apart or leave the room so they could turn that rage into passion.

The spell broke with my mother’s head shake and the tightening of her mouth, setting up for the killing blow. Kona moved his head in what could have been an invitation, what he likely thought would be an enticement, his mouth coming within inches of my mother’s, his breath heating against her skin, the liquid heat of anger and desire and surrender all pulsing through the air they shared. But Mom was having none of it. She wouldn’t let the weakness he brought out in her show.

“Get out of my house, you f*cking coward.”

He wasn’t going to move. He was going to take, even grabbed her face in one hand to do it, and I tensed, ready to knock him away if I had to, even if he was bigger and stronger than me, but she pulled away, jerking her face away from his touch and closing her eyes like she couldn’t stand the sight of him. It was as though her closed eyes and turned face flipped a switch in my father. He let go of her as if a man emerging from a bad dream, and took a defeated step back. She kept her face averted and her eyes closed, her arms crossed defensively across her chest.

“Baby…” His voice broke, cracking with the fear, the heartache he clearly felt.

“Go.” She trembled, as though all her rage had deflated her completely and I finally felt like I could move between them, blocking her from his touch. “Just go,” she whispered.

“Dad…” I said, glancing toward the door as my mother fell against my chest.

“Keiki kane…I didn’t do this.” His voice sounded wounded but full of conviction as he glanced at the back of my mother’s head, his shoulders falling as he accepted that staying there would be doing her no favors. Finally, after a long exhale, my father swallowed, holding his hands on the back of his head before he let them drop, even though they remained balled at his sides. It was a struggle, I could see that, to fight the urge to take hold of my mother. But finally he took one step back, then another, until he was at the doorway, leaving one last directive with me in a voice that was little more than a whisper. “You take care of my…take care of her, keiki kane. Please.”

I didn’t see if he looked back when he left. I was too intent at holding my mother, to protect her as her anger finally ebbed, and her sobs took over, while her wash of tears wetted my shirt.

“Mom…” I tried but there didn’t seem to be anything left to say. Then her knees started to give out, and I held on to her, giving her what strength I could as she slumped in my arms. My mother’s desperate, defeated words ripped through my body like lashes from a whip.