Thin Love (Thin Love, #1)(142)
“You did that?” he’d asked her, surprised.
“Of course I did. I just wanted your full attention.”
“Sweetheart, my attention was always yours.”
She still had it, especially since the night of Ransom’s party. But Kona hadn’t had the chance to talk to Keira about that kiss or if it had meant anything to her at all. He knew she was wary, still scared, maybe convinced Kona would let his mother screwed with their lives again, but he’d ignored the constant phone calls from his mother, was determined that she wouldn’t get in the way of what he wanted with Keira and his son.
Kona blinks, pulls his thoughts from that kiss, from Keira’s fear and back to his son sitting at his side. “So, what did you think?” Kona asks Ransom between bites of his spaghetti. Across the table, Keira looks at him, smiling behind her wineglass.
“It’s nice.” Ransom sops up the sauce with a thick slice of bread and finishes chewing before he continues. “I like the facilities and how small the campus is.” His son glances to his mother and the look they share has Kona curious. “It’s funny, though, how keyed up your boy Brian was about me maybe going there.” Ransom sits back, sets his napkin down on the table and when he again looks at Keira, Kona knows there is something he’s missing in the conversation. “The thing is, I don’t want to walk in anybody’s shadow.”
“What do you mean?” Kona forgets his meal, pushes his plate further on the table to focus on his son.
Ransom shrugs, releases a slow sigh as though he isn’t eager to explain himself. “I stopped doing music camp when I was ten because all anyone there wanted to know about was Mom.” Ransom is not annoyed, doesn’t have an attitude; Kona gets that this is him trying to deliver bad news. By the expression on Keira’s face—that barely hinted smile and the way she sips from her glass—Kona knows this is something she’s heard before. His son leans on the table, twisting the napkin between his fingers.
“Back home, industry people are a small circle. Everybody knows everybody else and that’s even more the case with their kids. So I’d go to this camp up in Gatlinburg every summer hoping to learn new chords, or how to write a better song and all anyone wanted to know was who my mom was writing for or what she was working on.” He shrugs again as though the memory doesn’t bother him. “There was even one kid who tried slipping me a card so I’d give it to her. Turns out his dad put him up to it because he wanted to work with her.”
“CPU is a little different,” Kona says, not liking where the conversation was heading. When Ransom nods, but doesn’t say anything else, Kona taps his hand. “Say what’s in your head. I can take it.”
Ransom considers him, eyelids lowering before he smiles. “I spent the afternoon with Brian, with him showing me the facilities, promising me things like scholarships and first choice at the team house and it was cool. I’d like to be here, especially if you end up sticking around, though I’d be a little worried about Mom being five hundred miles away. But it’s been less than a month and already Kona Hale’s son is getting treated like a rich kid.” When Kona starts to protest, Ransom waves him off. “I’m not bitching and I don’t think anyone is doing it on purpose, but man, I don’t wanna get into a school that only wants me because I’m your kid. It wouldn’t seem like much of an accomplishment to me.”
Kona is surprised by Ransom’s admission, by the honest way he lets Kona down and doesn’t make Kona feel shitty about it. A quick glance at Keira and Kona smiles. “He really isn’t a normal kid.”
“I told you,” she says.
“Hey,” Ransom says, looking between Keira and Kona. “What is that supposed to mean?”
His son is a good person. His son is exceptional and Kona doesn’t understand how the boy can’t see that for himself. He sits back, head shaking as he watches Ransom’s gaze moving from Kona’s smile to Keira trying to conceal hers with the wineglass. “You know how many entitled brats I’ve been around?” The number staggered Kona. Snotty little shits who had no clue what is was to hunger, to want. “Hundreds. Player’s kids, owner’s kids, hell, even the ref’s kids act like the world owes them something. Not one them have your skills or your talent, son, and every single one of those little shits still expects to get into Ivy League colleges or onto teams that wouldn’t normally look at them. And that’s just the ones who actually want to do something other than live off the coattails of what their parents did.”
Ransom’s face relaxes and he looks down at the table, that Luka half-grin of his warming Kona’s chest. “The fact that you’d walk away from a camp that you liked or won’t be handed something just because of who your parents are says a lot about who you are, Ransom.” His boy waves him off and Kona is surprised to see that same quick blush Keira never could hide moving up his son’s face. “Even if I end up there, coaching, whatever happens, you’ll still have to do the work. You’ll have to train harder, work harder than anyone else. I’m sorry that it’s the way it is. I’m sorry that people are going to treat you differently, but those are just the *s that don’t know you.” Kona leans across the table, grazes Ransom’s arm so the boy will look at him. “Anyone that meets you, takes the time to find out who you are, will see that you don’t expect a free ride. They’ll know what an exceptional kid you are and they’ll respect you.” Kona pauses, lowers his voice. “God knows I do.”