Thin Love (Thin Love, #1)(131)
“You’ll hurt him,” she says, her voice softer, cautious.
“No, I won’t.” Kona looks down at Keira, away from her full mouth, breathing through his nose, ignoring the urge to touch her. “You’re going to have to trust me on this. He’s my son, Keira. I won’t hurt him.”
When she folds her arms and looks to the row of photographs on the wall—all of her mother and those rich bitch friends of hers—Kona risks another rejection by grazing his finger against her elbow. “We have to come to an understanding. Whatever happens from here on out, it has to be about him first. Dredging up the past isn’t going to help anyone and it certainly won’t make things easy for him, will it? Not if he’s put in the middle of our shit.” Keira’s eyebrows lower and that hard edge that made her mouth look something like a straight line, disappears. “You agree?” he asks her, moving his head to catch her eyes.
“I agree.” A little nod of her head and Keira steps back, but she is still closed off from him, arms still cradled tight against her body. “Ransom wouldn’t want that anyway.”
“I wouldn’t want what?”
If Kona had a mirror, one that shot back a reflection of his younger self, then Ransom would be what he saw. He wasn’t a sentimental guy, not generally, and he liked kids well enough; had wanted his own for years now. Kona didn’t get off on beautiful sunsets or centuries old masterpieces. If he saw something he thought was nice, he either bought it, bedded it or guzzled it down. Most of the time, whatever he admired warranted a pleased jerk of his chin. But seeing this boy in front of him threw all of Kona’s composed swagger and cool right out the open doors behind him. The boy was beautiful and strong and he amazed Kona with one single glance.
Fleetingly, he wonders what the boy had been like as a kid, if, like Luka, he’d had a little chunk or was he lean like Kona had always been? He pushes those thoughts aside quickly, not wanting to dwell on all the milestones he’d missed in his son’s life.
Ransom walks forward, sweaty, looking tired as he pockets his iPod and smiles at Kona, giving him a nod before he stands at Keira’s side.
“What wouldn’t I want?” he asks his mother, but his gaze keeps veering to Kona.
“Us. Fighting about shit that doesn’t matter.” Keira rubs her face, shaking off her earlier annoyance and anger before she grabs Ransom’s hand. “Sweetie, this is your father, Kona.”
Absently, Kona tugs on the hem of the white button up he’s wearing, unusually nervous, worried by the way his son looks him over, and he thinks he might get some attitude, maybe a thousand questions about why there had been a DNA test and why his mother had returned home yesterday likely ready to spit fire. But Ransom doesn’t ask a single question. He nods again and an easy, warm smile crosses his features. Kona blinks, shivering when the right side of the boy’s mouth curls in a half grin. Luka had done that a lot. He did that often and seeing that gesture after so long makes Kona’s palms sweat and his chest twinge.
“Hey man,” Ransom says, lifting his hand toward Kona.
He takes the boy’s hand, pulling him into a dude hug—hands grasped and a quick pat on the back.
“You remind me of my brother.” The words are out before Kona realizes he’d said them and he thinks he might have messed up; that his honesty is too telling or that Keira might think it is a dig at her and the stupid accusation his mother made.
“Oh, you mean my real father?” Ransom says, but he laughs, slapping Kona’s shoulder and the melancholy and nervousness he felt instantly disappears.
Keira jabs the boy in the side and his laughter increases. “That is not funny, you little shit.”
Ransom kisses the top of her head, has to bend down to reach it and Kona’s chest pinches for a different reason. They love each other, that much he can tell and the thought that his boy has turned into someone so laid back, so seemingly willing to make others comfortable pulls a wider, honest smile to Kona’s face.
“Ugh. Go take a shower. You smell disgusting.”
Ransom rolls his eyes, grinning at his mother when she moves his shoulders and pushes him toward the hallway. “Easy, woman, I’m going.” He glances at Kona. “You sticking around?”
“Yeah. I can do that.”
“Cool. Maybe we can sweet talk Mom into making chili.” He pulls the sweat slick shirt over his head and winks at his mother before he grins at Kona. “You ever have her chili?” Kona shakes his head and the boy shrugs. “Well, it’s awesome. I call it her Bless Jesus Chili.”
“Your mom had me blessing Jesus a lot, but not for her cooking.” Kona bites his lip, realizing too late that he probably shouldn’t have said that. Keira glares at him, looks like she wants to smack him hard, and he thinks Ransom is insulted, maybe thinks Kona is disrespecting his mother. But after a few seconds that lingers, Ransom laughs hard and loud.
“Oh shit.” He holds his stomach, gives Kona a fist bump. “I like you, Kona.”
And with that, Kona’s son leaves the room, his laughter bouncing off the walls of the hallway.
“Asshole,” Keira says, but Kona catches the small smile she tries keep off her lips.
The lake house smells wonderful. Kona’s mouth waters, his eyes moistening as the smell of chili powder and cornbread perfumes the air. If the smells were any indication, then cooking is a skill Keira has acquired and she is damn good at it. She’d already slapped Ransom’s hand from the simmering pot twice when the boy tried stealing a taste and Kona couldn’t blame him. The smell alone is making Kona’s stomach grumble.