Thin Love (Thin Love, #1)(98)

“Yeah?”

“I’m really proud of you.”

She disconnected the phone and for more than once that week dreaded going into her room. Leann had rehearsal, was rarely there and Keira had been spending much of her time alone. No Kona, no Leann. It had been confining, suffocating. She had no guitar. She had no keyboards, nothing that would ease the ache in her chest.

Predictably, Kona had called. He’d stopped by a dozen times, but Keira never answered. She need space from him, again, but this time she wouldn’t run away to Mandeville. The threat her mother made the week before still loomed and Kiera was tired of running from her problems. It was something Kona always called her on. But that didn’t mean she was ready to talk to him. She could avoid him away from their English class, but he was impossible to disregard during Miller’s lectures. She left early, arrived late, and sat between Skylar Williams and her boyfriend Dylan Collins, much to the girl’s displeasure. Skylar glared at her for fifty minutes straight, but Keira had felt a different stare on the back of her neck, one that crackled in the air of the room. Kona kept his distance, stayed silent when Miller called on Keira in class, but she always felt him staring, always knew he hung onto everything she said.

Keira walked down the hall, eyes immediately going to her door and she only relaxed when she saw the pin board empty. It was the first time in a week that Kona hadn’t scribbled something on a Post It, begging for her to call him. Mingled with that relief was a little disappointment and Keira cursed herself, felt stupid for wanting him so much, for missing him despite everything, but she couldn’t help it. Things were gray, the air too heavy when he wasn’t around. He had broken her father’s guitar. He had severed her last tie to the man, the one she loved most, with a crack to the headstock. She should hate Kona for that. She should hate him for forcing her to place that broken guitar in the dumpster, for the empty space not playing music created in her heart.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

As she turned her key and inched the door open, Keira caught the scent of something overpowering and sweet. Stepping inside, she nearly tripped over two vases, both holding a huge bouquet of roses. Eyes lifting up, Keira was floored by the ridiculous amounts of flowers in her room. Nearly every surface was covered. The floor, the desk, her dresser, Leann’s bed, hers, the bookshelf; every conceivable free space was covered in roses, tulips and hibiscus. The smell lingered, surrounded her as she stepped further into the room. Keira blinked, head shaking, eyes scanning and she had no doubt who had done this. There was no way Michael would be this over the top. Her cousin’s boyfriend was always broke and a tattooer’s budget didn’t allow for this kind of ridiculous gesture.

Kona. It had to be. Who else could get flowers this big, this bright in the middle of December? Who else would take the time to arrange petals and single stems all over her bed? Who else would have made the impossible task of fixing her father’s busted guitar happen?

Keira’s mouth fell open and she took two steps, hurried and excited, when she saw the Hummingbird laying in the center of her bed. She picked it up, examining the neck, the headstock for a fray or break, but nothing was there. It was pristine, beautiful, and when she strummed against the strings, the sound was flawless, deep and familiar.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, barely managing to hold back her tears. The frets still held those precious grooves and Keira felt like she was touching her father, letting his smile kiss each fingertip as she played a few quick chords.

She’d only just noticed the card on her bed and lowered the guitar to her lap to open the envelope and read Kona’s messy scrawl.

I’m nothing without my always. Please don’t leave me lost, Wildcat.

He’d said the P word again and that whispered word she didn’t think he’d remember saying the first time they were together had stuck; it was a detail Kona committed to memory.

Keira wiped her cheeks, her nose clogged and stuffy, but she didn’t care. Her smile made her face ache and she wanted nothing more than to run out of her dorm to find Kona. But before she could leave, Leann walked through the door, her eyes becoming round, growing bigger the more she glanced around the room.

“Holy. Shit.”

“Right?”

Keira stood next to her cousin, still clutching that small note and Leann looked to her bed, smiling when she spotted the guitar.

“He got it fixed.”

“Yeah.” Keira rubbed her nose on her sleeve and followed Leann to her bed, moving three dozen clumps of flowers before she sat next to her.

Her cousin’s gaze kept searching, eyebrows lifting when she spotted another bushel, another ribbon tied grouping of flowers in unusual places. “He’s relentless,” she finally said. Keira shrugged and watched Leann take a rose from the bundle on her lap. Keira knew she was thinking of something, weighing what she should and shouldn’t say before she even met Keira’s eyes. She expected it. Leann generally didn’t lecture, not since that night she’d walked in on Keira and Kona attacking each other’s faces on her bed. She’d cautioned Keira, told her not to let Kona overwhelm her, but had stopped with the tedious warnings about STDs, cheating linebackers and hoes who would take advantage of their fighting.

Leann twirled the rose between her fingers, eyes on the tops of the petals and Keira knew another warning was coming. “It’s not my business to tell you how to live your life, Keira.”