Thick & Thin (Thin Love, #3)(82)

He opened his eyes, brows lifted as though my question surprised him. “I go where you are.”

“I don’t live in Miami anymore.”

The right side of Ransom’s mouth twitched before he brushed away the hair from my forehead. “Then neither do I.”

“But what about your…”

“Nani,” he said, slipping his thumb over my mouth. “It’ll work itself out. I told you. I go where you are. That’s all that matters.”

The confidence, that assured knowledge he always had, more so than me, God how I’d missed it. Ransom just seemed to always know what he wanted from me. And he knew he’d always have it. That was why my leaving had not really undone him. Not at first. He always believed we were end game. And that's why he simply couldn’t accept my engagement to Ethan, no matter how hard he tried. It simply didn’t fit in with his world.

Ransom kept his thumb on my mouth, resting his fingers on the back of my neck and closed his eyes, that threatening smirk a relaxed grin now.

Ethan’s face slipped into my mind and I frowned, moving the ring around so that the diamond rested against my palm. I had not given it back, but then I’d thought very little about the ring or the proposal with all that had gone on in the last few days. Shouldn’t guilt come with that thought, that Ethan hadn’t even crossed my mind? Shouldn’t shame?

Behind me, Mack snored and Koa grumbled under his breath, their bed squeaking when he rolled over. The quiet in the pool house was only broken by the soft trickle of the lake outside and the bug zapper hanging from one of the columns near the patio. It was a sweet night, wrapped up in Ransom, in his siblings who were mine too, always had been. I hoped they always would be.

“Stay with me.” Ransom kept his eyes closed but had moved his thumb from my lips. I couldn’t tell if he was talking in his sleep or asking me to stick around. Then he opened his eyes. “I’ll beg…”

And just then, my heart broke a little bit more, but the sting of it didn’t burn. I couldn’t help myself, rolling toward him to press my lips against his, never wanting to leave his mouth.

“Don’t go.”

“Shoushou, I’m never gone from you.”

And I wasn’t. He was never gone from me either, even when I wished fervently that he was. Silly me. Day in. Day out, Ransom had remained like most things we love and lost do. Never gone. Not really.





We walk away,

Damaged.



After the memories fall

With potential

Of what I could not give.



It’s not you.

It’s me.

It’s not you.

It’s me.

You’re not.

Him.





Twenty-One





My city. New Orleans. That’s what I told myself it was, what it would always be. Even at fifteen, coming here, staying then because it was finally safe to stop hiding in Metairie with our cousin Leann because Mom didn't want to run the risk of bumping into anyone who knew her from before. That had been the way of things my whole life. Until I was fifteen. Until Cora Michaels, Keira’s mother and the grandmother I never met, died and my mother was forced back to New Orleans to settle the estate. Then, finally, we could walk around the city, absorbing the bright culture, the laughter and music that seemed to pulse though the air right alongside the sound of horses pulling carriages and the smooth mix of voices and music. There was always a band playing somewhere in the city. There was always someone performing for a crowd.

Today was no exception. Koa and Mack were halfway down the street as I followed behind them, walking toward Canal. We’d passed two tap dancers both with upturned ball caps at their feet, dancing on sneakers with bent spoons tied to the soles and a small Jazz trio of horns blasting “When the Saints Go Marching In” for the curious tourists.

My attention was divided between my alternatively bickering and laughing siblings and my phone, waiting on Aly’s return text asking if she wanted dinner. She’d told me last night, as I tried convincing her not to go back to her condo, that she’d have to miss my little shopping spree with Koa and Mack so she could work on competition choreography that got delayed with my parents’ drama. I’d hated her leaving. I’d hated her missing the day with us too. With my injury, the rehab that followed and my final decision to change that IR status to retired, I’d forgotten Koa’s birthday. I’d be officially retired at the end of the season and Mom and I had plans to scout new artists. I was looking forward to that. Since I couldn’t indulge my kid brother without also spoiling Mack, she’d come along too. They both deserved it. Our parents had started their anniversary celebration early this year spending the next week holed up in a cabin atop the highest mountains Tennessee offered. They’d left before the sun came up, opting to tackle the ten-hour drive in Dad’s new Hybrid Denali. Better them than me.

As Koa jabbed Mack in the side, and she retaliated with the heel of her tween-appropriate boot heel on top of his foot, I suddenly realized just how long this week would be. Very damn long.

“Makana,” I started, using my “angry brah” voice when she made for another jab against Koa’s foot. She wasn’t threatened, it seemed, hurrying up the sidewalk, stopping only when we’d cleared the main intersection at Canal and were well down Camp. I’d parked hoping to get a yes from Aly on dinner and a hell yes that she’d agree to a sleep over since Mark and Johnny would be in this afternoon to spend a few days with us before they left for Nepal on another Doctors Without Borders mission.