Thin Love (Thin Love, #1)(156)
The boy decimates much of the living room, crying, shouting, knuckles, fingers bloody and the twin sensation of Ransom’s yelling and Keira’s uncontrollable sobs has Kona’s eyes burning, has him holding onto Keira’s shoulders as though she is an anchor that will keep him from falling apart completely.
“Asshole running his mouth, talking about shit he knows nothing about.” Kona takes the glare his son gives him, closes his eyes against that fury only for a second when Ransom points at him. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me you piece of shit! And you still manage to ruin my life. You both… you both ruined my life!”
Kona doesn’t expect Keira’s loss of control, doesn’t catch her when she falls to her knees, hands over her face, wounded to the quick by Ransom’s angry words
The boy lunges forward, eyes wide, as though he’s stepped away from his senses, not caring who he hurts. Kona remembers this; just like him, his boy wants to lash out, he wants to injure and he doesn’t seem to remember that his mother has loved him, has made him her world for all of his life. So Kona reminds him.
He moves in front of Keira, ready to take whatever venom Ransom needs to spit at him. “She was protecting you, son. From me.”
“Good damn job she did!” Ransom is big for his age, but he still has some sense, still has some semblance of understanding that his father is stronger than him, that he won’t let Ransom touch Keira. One step toward Kona, a glance at his mother and the boy retreats, hands held in his hair, eyes searching, itching for something else to destroy.
And when Ransom spins away from him, stops short and looks down at the guitar next to the leather sofa, Kona’s stomach drops. Behind him, Keira’s sharp intake and immediate sobs have Kona moving, speeding toward Ransom as he jerks the Hummingbird off of its stand. The instrument is up and over his head as Kona reaches him.
”No.” The strings bite into his palm when Kona grabs the neck. “Not this.”
Ransom’s breathing is heavy, eyes swollen, nostrils flaring and Kona watches his quick intake of breath, the pants that move over his open mouth. There is confusion in his son’s expression, but the anger ebbs away, a sluggish retreat, but it dampens as Kona pulls the guitar from his hands.
Just then, Kona sees what Ransom has been running from. He is a little boy, hurt, betrayed and masks it all with fury. Kona is familiar and the memory of that emotion, how quickly he can recall it, staggers Kona.
“She didn’t do this to you.” Kona feels the metal tang of blood from his bitten cheek. “I did this. Not her.”
His frown relaxes and Ransom stops breathing, gaze flashing quickly from Kona, to Keira sobbing on the floor. He follows Kona’s movement, the cautious way he sets the guitar back onto its stand and then his son’s anger is gone, lost in the realization of what he almost did.
“Mom. Oh God…” Ransom runs to his mother, falls in front of Keira on the floor. He dwarfs her tiny body. Ransom covers her, conceals her in his large arms, her fingers clinging to his shirt as her sobs quiet. Ransom’s hold is tight, fierce as his kisses the top of her head, rubs his hand down her back. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
The moment is theirs; forgiveness given, taken without hesitation and Kona can only stare at them, amazed how his boy, and his Wildcat, hold each other. He feels like a voyeur, an unwelcome witness to the healing they take from each other. His fingers shake with the urge to touch them both, to interrupt this moment so that he feels what they share, taste a hint of what he’s never had, but he doesn’t move from his spot. He doesn’t speak. They amaze him. His family. His everything.
He is exhausted by the day, by the heartache that never seems to be more than a reach away from him. Would this always be the way of things? Would their lives always be so consumed with guilt? With anger?
The stinging in his eyes is sharp, brutal, but Kona does blink, doesn’t try to make it disappear.
“You still here?” his son says, still holding his mother, covering her face so that Kona cannot see her expression. He understands the lingering anger. He certainly knows where that need to protect Keira comes from and even though his son’s voice is bitter, his frown hard, Kona is grateful that Keira has Ransom. That she finally has someone protecting her.
“I don’t run.” Kona’s steps are slow, tentative, but he will not retreat. It’s not in him. “I don’t ever run.”
His voice seems to bring Keira out of her heartache and she stands, pulling herself up against Ransom’s arms so she can look at Kona. “Why?”
It’s all she needs to ask. That look, that hurt, angry look she gives him is explanation enough. Last night he touched her, loved her and it had been the first time Kona had felt himself, had felt at ease in sixteen years. He draws on that sensation, the thrill and pleasure Keira moved in him, to calm his voice, to keep his heart from racing out of his chest.
“You know I didn’t do this.” Another step and Keira’s chin stops wobbling. “I would never do this.”
“Then how?” Ransom asks, holding his mother’s arm as though he’s ready to move in front of her, maybe hold her back if she decides to attack Kona.
But his answer is for Keira. In one look—hooded eyes, mouth pinched tight—Kona stares at Keira, silently begging her to understand. Silently asking her to forgive him yet again. That drop of his stomach only dips lower when her features shift, eyebrows rising, and Kona knows Keira realizes who is responsible.