Thin Love (Thin Love, #1)(154)

The channel is on ESPN and Keira stands, phone falling to the floor when she sees the grainy video on the feed, playing over and over. The commentators are analyzing what they see, heads shaking in disapproval and Kiera pushes up the volume, stomach twisting as that damn video replays.

“… at the time he was fourteen.”

“Big guy for someone so young.”

“Just like his father.”

“And speaking of his father, Hale’s camp claims that Kona is aware of his son’s, and this is a direct quote, folks, ‘volatile, emotional problems’ that they are ‘trying to combat with medical and psychiatric treatment.’”

“Well, Bryan, that’s a lot for Hale to take on and I have to wonder if the Steamers will still consider a contract with him. Seems like he should be sticking closer to home than in New Orleans.”

“Absolutely, look, Bob, here it is again. Hale’s kid picks this boy up and bam, right through that plate glass.”

Keira didn’t need to see the highlights. She was too familiar with that stupid video. Ransom at fourteen, hands on the collar of Mikee Sibley, a junior twenty pounds lighter than her son. She closes her eyes, seeing it as it played out, just as the principal had shown her the day she’d been called into an emergency meeting.

“Ms. Riley, we simply cannot have this. He won’t be welcomed back.”

Keira’s body is shaking, fingers barely able to grab her keys, her purse as she leaves Kona’s house.

“Ransom could have killed him and the damage to the lobby…”

“Where is my son?”

“In the security office.”

Keira drives down the road, wiping her tears from her face, eyes flicking through her phone on her lap as she tries to find Leann’s number.

They’d handcuffed her fourteen year old son. To them, he was a monster, the bully whose rage had spilled out of him when he found his friend crying against the lockers, when that small girl told Ransom how Mikee had touched her.

“He tried to hurt her, Mom. She was so scared. I… I was so mad.”

“I know, baby. I know you were.”

They called him a psychopath. They told her Ransom was unbalanced, but all she saw that day was a scared boy who didn’t mean to get so angry. She only saw his body shaking from fear, from humiliation.

And now, it came back. Two years later. He’d gotten so much better, had learned to control his anger. And Kona. Why the hell would he say that about Ransom? Why the hell would he allow his people to release that statement? Kona didn’t know anything about what had happened. He really didn’t know much about Ransom at all.

Keira weaves through mid-city traffic, fingers tapping against the steering wheel as she clicks on the speaker. One ring, two and Leann finally picks up.

“Keira?”

“Where is he?”

“Sweetie, I think he went back to Mandeville. He wouldn’t stay. Keira, he was so mad. I’ve never seen him so mad.” In the background, Leann’s school rings out; music, young girls laughing, tap shoes against wooden floors and then finally, a click of a door and the noise quiets. “Tristan tried stopping him and Ransom hit him.”

“Oh, Leann…”

“I know. He took my Volvo and left. Tristan thinks he went back to the lake house. He said something about packing and getting home.” Her cousin’s voice is high, worried.

Keira clears her throat, tries to pull the emotion from her voice. “I’m sorry, Leann. This shouldn’t have happened. I don’t why Kona would… I don’t know how…”

“Sweetie, just drive safe. Don’t speed and get to him in one piece. We’ll deal with Kona Hale later.”

“Yeah. We definitely will.”





The piano keys strike loud, angry, those brutal notes pounding out across the tile at Keira’s feet. Ransom’s unpacked clothes, shoes, are scattered in the hallway, across the floor and Keira picks them up, drapes them on her arm as she darts into the living room.

Wide, shaking shoulders, chest rising quick, Ransom strikes the keys—half played intros, unfinished choruses start and stop and Keira’s heart breaks.

A slap, a curse and Ransom slams his fists on the keys, growling, angry as Keira walks into the room.

“Sweetie,” she says, grabbing his arm, pulling him to her chest when he tries walking away. There is no sound worse to a mother than that of her child’s heart breaking. Her boy is devastated, his pain like an electric line snapping and biting. “Shh, it’s going to be okay.”

Ransom’s wet face dampens her shirt when he wipes his eyes against the fabric and he pulls back, breath shuddering before he looks at her. “Everything is over, Mom. My life here, my life back home. Everyone will know. They will all know.”

“It doesn’t matter.” His cheeks are hot, red as she pulls his face up and those eyes—those dark, intelligent eyes look lost, distant, with streaks of red lining around the whites, puffing up his lids. “We’ll fix this, honey. I promise.”

“How? How the hell can you fix this? You can’t do anything, Mom. He… Kona… that *… I thought…”

The buildup crests—that swift thread of rage, of fury slipping back, shaking his fingers, makes her son lean out of her touch. But Keira settles him, catches that slip of control before it is out of her hands completely.