Thin Love (Thin Love, #1)(162)
Can she go back to that past? She wants to. Sometimes, Keira needs to and maybe part of her forgets that the past hasn’t always been some rose-colored dream. Part of her buries the reality; the memories of those days before Kona when she thought she might die from loneliness. That part of her that doesn’t bother with the way reality fell, with the proper order of who she was with Kona, of who she thought she’d never become.
She forgets that there were nights that he made her cry so hard her eyes burned and snot coated above her top lip. She forgets about his jealousy, the looks and whispers about her others made because she loved him. She forgets about the constant fear of losing him.
Kona had been her daydreams, he filled her nightmares and, back then, she’d watched herself from a distance, just a shadow monitoring the stupid, stupid things she’d do whenever he was around. She’d loved it, she couldn’t refuse it. And to him, she was just the same. All-consuming, a threat to anything he wanted his tomorrows to be. A lit match, barreling too close to that tantalizing fuse, waiting, panting with hungry anticipation for the ignition.
But she didn’t remember that, not at first. Not when she forgave him as she held her son in her arms.
She’d just remembered the way his mouth fit so perfectly against her neck when they slept in that too small dorm room bed. She’d remembered the way small sparks of light would kindle in his eyes—hungry eagerness, dangerous joy—when he’d set her temper off. He did it on purpose. She did. But a cyclone and a volcano aren’t supposed to connect. The results were disastrous. It had been life altering and now she has to remind herself of the danger. She has to recall how all that passion bit into her, made her ache. How it nearly destroyed everything she wanted for herself.
In her mind, that eighteen year old Keira tells her to ignore the truth, that it doesn’t matter. That girl reminds Keira that her heart had never been fuller than when Kona held it. No one could make her smile, make her ache with belly laughter like him. That loud mouth, nagging girl reminds her that his touch is searing, soul shaking and that no other man alive would ever bring her that much joy. Not like that. Not like Kona.
The door closes, echoes against the low voices as Ransom and Kona enter the kitchen. Her son stares at her, eyes squinting as he shifts his attention to the bottle in front of her, then back to her face.
“Mom?”
A quick wipe against her face to dry it and Keira greets her son, holding his shoulders. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” She picks up on how easy the vibe is between them, how Ransom and Kona exchange a look, how the big Hawaiian leans against the doorframe, pretending to scan through his phone, giving Keira a moment with their son.
“You better now?” She doesn’t like the dark circles that have formed under her boy’s eyes, how the day and its drama shows in his features.
“I’m okay. It’s done now and we’re cool.” Ransom moves his chin to the table. “What about you? You drinking for a specific reason?”
“I was nervous.” Ransom’s hair feels thick against her fingers as Keira brushes his bangs out of his eyes. “Didn’t know what to do with myself.”
“Nothing to worry about, Mom, honest. We’re good.” Keira follows Ransom’s gaze as he nods to Kona, as his father offers them both a tentative smile. “I’m beat, though. Gonna take a melatonin and crash.” He kisses Keira’s forehead, then leans toward her ear, voice low. “Don’t hold grudges, Mom. It’s freakin pointless.”
Her son taps Kona’s shoulder, exchanges a brief farewell before he leaves the kitchen, leaving them alone, staring back at one another.
She cannot take the silence, the long seconds that fill awkwardness, uncertainty in the room and so Keira deflects, as is habit, returns back to the table and the numbing relief the Glendronach offers.
“That’s bad for you.”
She needs this liquid strength, to steel herself for what she will say. It will be the last chance he has; this time, Keira won’t run.
“Keira?” he says, standing at her side, looking down at her and the bottle in front of her. “What are you doing?”
She sits up, voice raspy, raw. “Drinking a bottle of forty-two-hundred dollar Scotch.” He settles next to her at the table, elbows on that smooth wood surface and Keira slides the bottle toward him. “You like this stuff, if memory serves. It’s old, around forty years.”
“Why are we drinking?”
Something about Kona breaks her resolve. It always has and it’s no different now. She can’t hide anything from him. Those looks, the determined tone of his voice, strips away her mask, completely shatters the hard veil that hides what she’s feeling. The tears start, feel like an insult, but one more sip and she clears her throat, lifts her chin to face him. “I’m tired, Kona.” She shakes off his hand pulling on her fingers and moves her glass in front of him. She doesn’t need the distraction of his touch. “Drink with me.”
He hesitates, quiet, considering before he holds onto the glass. “Alright.”
Kona’s sip is long and Keira likes the stretch of his neck as he downs the drink, how his throat works as he swallows. Damn. Just him doing something so mundane as drinking has Keira hungry for a taste of him.
Eyes fluttering, shaking away the sensation, Keira pulls on the bottle, swigging from it like it’s water and not burning whiskey. “I heard the press conference.” Kona’s stare is easy, but behind those dark eyes, Keira catches his focus, the steely gaze that tells her he’s thinking, considering her and the thought makes her nervous, makes her eager. “It’s good. Ransom needed that. You love him?” She knows the answer to that question, but she wants to hear him say it. She wants Kona to confirm that he had fallen for their son just as quickly as she had.