Thin Love (Thin Love, #1)(120)
Keira always ran. It was her thing. When she was angry, when she was frustrated, she closed off from him, from everyone. She was doing the same thing now, clearly uncomfortable with his questions, maybe with him moving closer toward her. “It’s complicated.”
He’d let her breathe, give her some space, but Kona is determined not to relent. He wants answers and even if he has to run after her if she decides to take off, again, he’d have his damn questions answered. He pushes back, near the other side of the sofa and moves his elbow against the pillows, his fingers almost touching her shoulder.
“Then uncomplicate it for me. I think I have a right to know why you never told me I had a son.”
“I tried to, Kona. That day? At the jail?” She moves off from the sofa, paces next to the coffee table and Kona watches her, gaze hard, eyes shifting back and forth catching every step she makes. Finally, Keira curls her arms around her middle and when she works up enough nerve to stare at him, Kona is leveled by the hard glare narrowing her eyes. “You told me unless I could bring Luka back, you didn’t want to hear anything I had to say. You pushed me away, you remember that? You told me you didn’t want me that you never loved me.”
He remembers. Kona had spent years recalling her expression, the rage in her fists, in her screaming voice when she destroyed the parish’s telephone. He remembers her struggling against the guards. He remembers her curse. But he knows this woman. Or, at least, he knew the girl she’d been. She’s deflecting, trying to hold back whatever it is she doesn’t want to tell him. “That was you and me. That had nothing to do with the kid.”
“His name is Ransom.”
Keira’s shout has Kona’s eyebrow arching up, has him standing in front of her, looking down with a poker stare he’d perfected years ago during contract negotiations. He wouldn’t yield. “Stop procrastinating. Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” When Keira hesitates, rubs the back of her neck and Kona sees the small beads of moisture on her upper lip, he grows worried, curious about where her fear comes from. “What is it?”
She waves her hands toward him as though she’s decided to give up. “I was asked not to tell you about the baby.”
“By who?”
“Who do you think?”
Keira doesn’t have to elaborate. That scowl on her face tells him everything he needs to know. Kona closes his eyes, silently cursing his mother and all the damn interfering she’s always sworn was for his benefit. “What did she say?” he asks Keira, expecting more anger, not expecting the laugh that works out of her mouth.
“I recall her telling me I wasn’t worthy of you; that I would ruin your future. That I… I’d already taken one son from her and she wouldn’t let me take you too.” Keira turns away from him, walks to the large window overlooking the city. She still keeps her arms wrapped around herself and her shoulders are set again hard, severe.
“She wanted me to get rid of him.” Kona’s stomach drops and he dips his head, thinks of fixing another drink, but is held motionless by Keira’s voice; those revelations he professed he wanted are like slaps against his face. “She wasn’t the only one that gave me that advice and maybe I would have. I was scared and after I left you that day at the jail, I realized I was very alone.”
He comes next to her, leans against the window and watches her profile, spots how her eyes reflect the city lights outside. “That was my mother’s plan for me too, but she and I had a fight.” Keira squeezes her eyes shut as though she is trying to erase whatever memory is running through her mind. “She’s the one who called the cops. She overheard us in my room and she made the call.” Keira glances at Kona and he can see her guilt, the heavy weight of what she’s felt for decades. Just then, he wants to reach out to her, he wants to tell her that none of this is her fault even though he isn’t sure he believes that. Instead, he folds his arms, pulls that wrinkle of concern from his eyebrows and watches Keira’s face as she again faces the window.
“Even after I kicked her out of my room at the hospital, I wasn’t totally sure about what would come next. I didn’t know what I’d do. I thought maybe telling you about the baby would help you heal. I was so naive. But then the doctor comes in, lets me hear the faint, barely moving heartbeat and I knew, I just knew, there was no way I could destroy that life.” Keira lowers her forehead, rests it against the glass and when she speaks, her voice drops as though forcing the words out is like extracting a tooth without anesthesia. “I’d made it with you. You were everything to me then and we’d made this perfect little soul together. There was no way I was getting rid of it.”
Kona is surprised to see her tears; they are brief and she doesn’t let them linger on her face, but he sees that the memories consume her, that for her they are still real. “So I went to see you at the jail. I was going to tell you. I thought you’d get past… everything. I thought we could start over.” She looks at Kona, gives him a small frown. “You were so angry. You hated me. You blamed me for Luka. I understood that. And then you break up with me, tell me you don’t want me anymore and I knew. Right then and there—after the argument with my mother, after your mother telling me I’d never be good enough for you, that I’d ruin you—I knew the only thing I had left in the world was our baby. So I left.”