How dare you

Trample with your words

Tatter who I am

Poison with your lips

Give it gram by gram.

 

The words poured from Keira, fell from her mouth like water, and she lived inside that melody, brought life and breath to lyric and rhyme like a priestess working a spell. Except the hook. She was stumped by that constant refrain that would make the song complete.

Saturday night, and Keira sat on her bed, strumming her Gibson, while the rest of campus cheered on the CPU Blue Devils. She had enough inspiration, enough melancholy and angst, to write a hundred songs. But that elusive hook held her back.

She tried again, fitting words together by force, lining phrases with chords that did not connect, that didn’t reflect what she kept inside her. Keira didn’t know why it was such a struggle, where this block had come from, but she needed the comfort music provided. Her emotions were too raw, her head still full of Kona’s mouth, his hands, the disgusting way he played her. She promised herself she wouldn’t leave her bed until that damn hook came to her.

Three more chords, a few hums to fill the words that had not come to her and then the knock on her door stopped her mid-strum. Guitar on the foot of her bed, Keira grabbed her hoodie off the dresser, slipping it on before she opened the door just a crack.

“Luka?”

His smile was easy, as usual, and Keira liked how relaxed he was, how relaxed he always seemed. “Sorry to barge in like this.” Luka bit on the inside of his mouth, a nervous gesture that made him seem harmless.

Keira wasn’t so sure about that. She bet that supposedly harmless maneuver had landed many a gullible girl in his bed.

Hale Hawaiian demon magic, she thought.

“It’s okay, but Kona’s not here,” she told him, figuring that was the only reason Kona’s twin would be at her door. She tried not to think about what post-game activities the big linebacker was up to. “I thought he’d be with you.”

“He’s at Lucy’s with the rest of the team.” Luka nodded at her, as though he wanted an invitation inside, and Keira relented, opening the door wider.

“Okay.” For the life of her, Keira couldn’t think why Luka would be there. She and Kona had kept things between them. At least, she thought they had. He’d certainly never mentioned talking about her to his brother, and anytime they went out it was always alone and never involved anywhere his family or teammates would be. But Luka came into her dorm, eyes around the room, hands swinging at his side, like he had something to say to her. He turned away from Leann’s desk and offered Keira a smile, glancing once at her bed.

“How was the game?” She moved her guitar and notebook out of his way and offered him the foot of her bed.

“Good. We won. Fourteen to ten.” He shrugged, waved his hand like their match with the Florida Gators hadn’t been a big deal. Keira knew better. Well, she knew better because Leann told her it was a huge deal. Luka leaned back against the footboard when Keira sat across from him. “Could have been better. Kona was off. He’s been off for a while.”

 “He didn’t mention anything about it.” She cleared her throat. “We never talked about football.”

His smile was dangerous—flirty—and Keira rolled her eyes when Luka waggled his eyebrows. “He wouldn’t.” When she didn’t return the stupid smile, Luka exhaled, sat up straighter. “Look, Keira, it’s none of my business what’s going on with you and my brother.”

She felt awkward with him here, not like she had that first time with Kona, but there was still a strange sense of discomfort in the room. “But you’re making it your business?”

“I guess I am.” Luka got off the bed, walked around her room with his hands touching random things—her picture frames on the dresser, Leann’s bracelets. “He’s my twin,” he finally said, bouncing Leann’s rubber tension ball onto the floor. “There isn’t anybody in the world who I know better, who knows me better, and when he’s going through shit, we handle it. Together.”

Keira lowered her shoulders, thinking that all this nervous behavior was about Kona and the stupid way he drove around the city. She thought Luka was trying to smooth things over, maybe convince her not tell anyone why she’d ended up at the ER. “If this is about the accident today…”

“He feels like shit.” Luka threw the rubber ball onto Leann’s bed. “He feels worse that you cut him loose.”

She thought this was worse than her keeping her mouth shut. Luka wanted to smooth things over, all right. He was playing mediator?

“I did what he wanted. He was pushing me, Luka. I just gave him an out.”

“The thing is, I’ve never seen him like he is with you. At first, I didn’t like it. I told him as much yesterday.” Luka moved back to the bed, this time sitting closer to Keira. “But he got worse. At practice, and even tonight at the game, he was keyed up, but off, on edge, and I figured it was because of you. I figured if he had it so bad for you before, then you breaking up with him made him ten times worse.”

“We weren’t together. Not really.”

He waved his hand, dismissing her. “Doesn’t matter. He’s better with you. He’s calmer. He smiles more, and Keira, my brother never smiles easy. That’s me, not him.” That flirty smile returned to Luka’s face, and Keira realized he was more lethal than Kona. She could imagine him using that smile to get out of every stupid thing he landed in.

She didn’t care about Luka, not really, and part of her really didn’t appreciate him butting into her life, into whatever had gone on between her and Kona. But Keira didn’t have any siblings. She didn’t know if this was something normal, something brothers did for each other when shit got messy.

“Did he send you?”

Luka’s laugh was loud, almost paranoid and Keira blew out a breath when his laughter didn’t taper off. “Are you serious? He would kick my ass if he knew I was here.” When she only stared at him, a tight frown making her mouth ache, Luka finally stopped smiling. “Shit, Keira, I mentioned how hot you were, yesterday at practice, and he almost jumped me. In fact, I’d appreciate you not mentioning to him I was here.” He looked down, seemed to suddenly realize he was sitting on her bed, and jumped up, propping his huge frame against the opposite wall.

“What do you want from me, Luka? We aren’t speaking right now.” Keira pick up her pillow, ran her fingernail along the edge. “We don’t have any reason to talk to each other.”

“That’s a problem you can handle quick.” Keira meant to argue, to tell Luka she was finished with Kona. She couldn’t compete with his fan club, and she was tired of trying. But Luka Hale was perceptive; he was smart enough to read her expression. He shook his head when she opened her mouth, effectively cutting off whatever she was about to say. “I’m asking you for a favor. I’m asking you to not give up on him. I’m asking you to get him calm again.” There was something working behind Luka’s eyes, some small disclosure he seemed to debate, and Keira’s curiosity was piqued. She let him consider what he wanted to say, didn’t press when he looked cautious about what he was going to tell her. “Kona’s dealing with some shit…well, I’m not about to spread rumors about my brother. But when you were around, he wasn’t as screwed up. He had someone to focus on, someone he cared about.”

Keira’s laugh was quick, biting, and Luka didn’t seem to like it. He got fidgety again, started shaking his foot, but Keira came off the bed, picked up her guitar as a distraction. Two quick strums and that sweet calm moved from the vibrations of the strings right into her fingers. “There are a thousand girls on this campus that would gladly take my place, and he’s screwed most of them.”

Luka’s sigh was long and labored, and Keira guessed that it wasn’t the first time he’d heard someone call his brother a slut. “You ever do something you weren’t proud of?” She nodded, but it was quick, barely a movement. “Kona was 6’4 by the time he was fourteen. He’s a decent looking guy, and girls seem to like him, for some strange reason. Personally, I think I’m the cute one, but Kona has had girls throwing themselves at him since he was a kid.” She let his joke pass and continued to play as Luka pushed off from the wall and leaned against the footboard. “Hell, even grown women have made assholes of themselves over him. And Kona’s a pleaser. He wants to make people happy.” Another shrug and Luka’s foot stopped shaking. “I’m not saying that he’s always been smart about what’s he’s done, but it’s all he’s ever known. Until you. You’re good for him. You’re what he needs.”

Keira laid her fingers over the strings, needing the silence for Luka to hear her, to understand what a disaster she and Kona were together. “Luka, we are stupid with each other. Did he tell you about what happened at Nathan’s party?”

“He said you had a strong arm. And then he said he wanted to eat you alive.” Keira snorted, pick softly at her guitar, but she kept her attention on Luka and the return of his relaxed, easy smile. “This is what I’m saying, Keira. You do things to him that messes with his head. I don’t think that’s a bad thing. And okay, so maybe you both push each other’s buttons, but shit, isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be? Isn’t that one person supposed to drive you crazy?”

Clearly, she thought, insanity runs in that thick Hawaiian blood. “I am so not Kona’s one.”

“Stranger things have happened. Hell, I’m not asking you to marry him. I’m asking you to give him a break when he gets a little crazy. I’m asking you not to give up on him.”

When Keira only stared at Luka, whose mouth once again quirked in that weird ache of a frown, he slumped against the footboard, rubbing his eyes. She played “Black” by Pearl Jam, a song about goodbyes that fit Keira’s mood and her erratic thoughts about Kona.

“God, Keira, you’re stubborn as hell.”

 She played louder, looking down at her hands like a kid just figuring finger movements, just so she could tune out the pathetic whine in Luka’s voice. It reminded her of Kona, of the way he pouted when she refused to kiss him or when he wasn’t getting his way. “You sound like your brother.” She ignored Luka’s heavy exhale and continued playing the song. “Is that genetic? The whiny bullshit?”

“Yes, but our mom says it’s from the sperm donor’s side of the family.” Luka nudged her knee with his foot, and she finally looked up at him. When she did, that stupid smile was back, this time stretched so wide that dimples appeared in his right cheek. “Come on, please? Just talk to him. Give him another chance. Maybe you can talk some sense into him or at least get him out of this funk he’s in. Let him grovel a little.”

Keira didn’t think the sperm donor blood had anything to do with the Hale pouts or the asinine things Luka and Kona did, but somehow she knew, deep in her gut, that Luka’s smile was about to get her into a lot of stupid shit.

He felt like a God. He was Kona, God of awesome. God of football. God of the fucking blitz.

“Whose house is this?” he screamed, blood pumping like a busted pipe. All around him, the crowd, drunk on victory, on the utter pride of their win, cheered Kona on.

“Devils!” The roar of the crowd and their loud chant only made Kona’s blood flow faster, his heart pump wilder.

“You’re damn right!”

He felt like he could wrestle an alligator, and that whiny, scaly bitch would be crying for his mama inside of a minute. “Shots!” He climbed onto the chair, arms up over his head as Brian tried to tug him down by his jeans. “Bring me shots!”  

Tonight, Lucy’s was his kingdom, and around him, the crowd of fans—most of them girls climbing over each other to sit with the players at Kona’s side—were his court. Eager, healthy, gorgeous women who wanted them all and drink-buying, back-slapping dudes who wanted to be them. Life was good, and through the fog of adrenaline and beer and whatever the hell that purple shit was he’d just downed, Kona couldn’t remember why he’d been in such a bad mood at practice the day before.

The revelry and that win was what he needed.

He jumped down off the chair when the shot girl came toward their table, weighted down with a tray of dark liquid that had Kona’s mouth watering.

“Fuckin’ right!” he said, shoving the empty beer bottles onto the floor before he patted the table. “Right here, sweetheart.”

“Kona, dude, watch it,” Brian said, scooting his chair back, away from the mess Kona made. “Seriously man, slow down.”

A sudden wave of anger hit him in his chest. He didn’t need a babysitter. He didn’t need Brian treating him like a kid. “Fuck you, brah.” He slammed back two shots of Jagger, chasing one with the next before he banged the small shot glass onto the table. “I’m just getting started, motherfucker. Either keep up or fuck off.”

“I think he’s questioning your manhood, dude.” Kona laughed at Nathan’s jab, then laughed harder when Brian got pissed at them both and walked away from the table.

Kona cheered Nathan on when he downed a shot, then beat his fist on the table when Chris Willis followed them. He couldn’t make the smile leave his face as each of his fellow teammates guzzled the shots, one right after the other, each taking a turn, the drinking going faster, racing as the crowd around them cheered them on.

When Ryan Fleming, that stupid punk threatening his spot on the line, took the last shot and choked, coughing like a punk, Kona stood up, punching the air as though their fast downing of the hard liquor was a race, and he had pulled into the finish line first. 

He loved this place. They came here after every game, made it their second home and preferred place of victory, which was often, and post-loss reflection, which wasn’t. Kona loved the glossy, miniature surf boards on the walls, the yellow tabletops, the red brick floor and the Christmas lights lining the bar. It had atmosphere, was homey, always smelled of pulled pork tacos and sweet pickles, but a sudden bout of dizziness hit Kona just then, and even the crowd and the familiar sound of music and laughter couldn’t quite calm him or help to clear his swimming head. Swallowing, he pushed down the sensation, guzzled a glass of water and tried to regroup.

Kona didn’t care about the sweat on the back of his neck or how slick his skin felt. This was good—him with his teammates, the crowd celebrating with them. The only thing missing was Luka, but Kona figured he’d show up eventually.

“Hey baby, how ‘bout another one?” The pretty redhead from behind the bar moved her hips, swaying around the crowd until she was on Kona’s lap. “This one is on the house.” She pushed her chest toward Kona’s face, and he smiled at the long glass tube resting in her cleavage.

There was only a moment’s pause, a brief flicker in his mind that told him he didn’t need another drink. His head was muddled with adrenaline, victory and liquor already making the room swirl,and something held him back, something that told him he didn’t want this girl jutting her tits at him. But then the crowd started in again and Nathan egged him on with “Dude, take it,” and Kona silenced that little whisper.

 “What the hell,” he said, turning the redhead toward his mouth. A quick dip of his mouth against her warm skin that smelled like apples, and his mouth covered the glass. He jerked his head back, and the liquor slid down his throat, burning and sweet.

He felt the slaps on his back and heard the crowd roaring, happy that he’d taken the tarty offer, but something in Kona’s chest bunched up tight, something hard and searing that made him feel like an asshole.

“I’ve got somewhere else you can put those lips, baby.” The redhead kissed the shell of his ear, and Kona frowned. Keira’s face shifted back into his foggy mind, and he pushed the girl off his lap, shoving her aside.

“I’m not interested,” he told her, the adrenaline cooling in his veins, sobering him slightly.

The barmaid shuffled away from the table in a huff, but Kona didn’t care, didn’t bother to apologize for being rude, didn’t even answer Nathan when he asked him why he made the redhead leave.

“I gotta take a piss,” he told Nathan, nodding to the few people that tried stopping him as he left the table. He felt the prickle of something familiar against his neck, that quiet whisper that had him hesitating earlier, and as he made it to the bar, Kona looked to his right, seeing Luka at the other end. His brother was talking to Brian, and both shot a glare at him. He started to join them, moved around two girls who looked happy to see Kona moving in their direction, but when Luka stepped back and Kona saw Keira holding a beer in her hand, when he caught the cool fire that licked anger and fury in her eyes, Kona stopped where he stood.

Had she seen his stupid scene with the redhead? Was that and his loud ass mouth why his brother was shooting venom at him? He considered both for a few seconds and then all thought left him as Keira whispered something in Luka’s ear, her hand resting lightly on his chest. His brother squeezed that hand, stood too close to her, held her attention for too long, and Kona didn’t care if either of them was pissed off at him. He was going to find out what the hell they were doing there together, and why his brother was touching his girl.

Kona pushed two guys out of his way with his shoulder as he barrelled across the bar, ignoring their threats and protests. He wanted to get his hands around Luka’s neck, wanted to slug him again. The closer he got, the harder Keira stared at him, and just before he met his brother in the middle of the bar, Keira turned away, guzzling on her beer as she headed toward the door.

“Brah, calm down,” Luka said. Kona planted his fingertips in his brother’s chest andshoved , sending Luka staggering back.

“What the fuck are you doing here with her?” Brian was behind him, trying to hold him off his brother, but Kona pulled his arms free easily.

Luka straightened, then grabbed Kona’s collar, his face hard. “She came here to talk to you, asshole, but then you had your mouth all over that redhead’s tits.”

He slapped Luka off him, still reeling from the image of his brother touching Keira. “You didn’t fucking answer me.”

Luka closed his eyes, rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I brought her here for you.”

“You…what?”

“Yeah, asshat, I talked her into coming. I was trying to get her to give you another chance.” Luka straightened his shirt, took a swig of his beer. “You are such a fuckup, you know that, right?”

Kona glanced toward the door, catching the back of Keira’s head as she left. “I know, brah.” He looked back at his brother, scrubbing his fingers over his face. “I know what I am.” And then Kona ran after Keira.

Keira was going back to her dorm to finish that damn song. The hook would come, she knew it would, but as she walked in front of the building, glancing once at the huge, vertical letters spelling “Lucy’s” against the chipping white paint, toward the parking lot, she tried to think of words that rhymed with “asshole” and “wayward dick.” Those were words she intended to include in her song. She decided then she’d call it “Kona Hale is a Useless Whore of a Boy.” It wasn’t a catchy title, but it damn well would make her feel better.

Maybe.

She dug in her pocket, searching for her keys as she took another swig of her beer, not caring that her fingers were freezing against the cold wind that blew through the alley and the frigid bottle in her hand. She wanted to drink, something she usually didn’t even think about. She wanted to be drunk, and she thought of who on campus could score some liquor for her. That was her last thought—names of her dorm mates who had fake I.D.s or at least an old enough boyfriend—before the pound of feet behind her had her twisting around. Her heart clenched when she saw him.

“You really need to go back inside,” she spat.

Kona didn’t even slow as he caught up to her. “Wildcat—” She pushed him, shutting him up with a shove.

“Do not even try it. Walk away.”

“Would you let me explain?”

She laughed at him, disgusted at herself, at him, at the useless hope that she held onto as she followed Luka through the city toward Lucy’s. Once again, Kona had proved he would never change.

“There’s nothing to explain, Kona. You doing what you always do isn’t a surprise to anyone.” He looked like she’d slapped him, and she was glad, for three full seconds, that she’d stung him. Then Kona’s face screwed up into something like a frown. It could have been a scowl. Keira planned to not stick around to find out. She gave him her back, made a double effort to find her keys in her deep pockets, and was nearly to her Pontiac when Kona’s shout rang out behind.

“I don’t fucking want anyone but you!”

Did he think she was stupid? Did he honestly think what she’d seen him doing tonight could be explained?

She turned around, bottle still in hand. She wanted so badly to slap him. Her fingers itched to do it, but then Kona moved quick, coming in front of her like a man ready to plead for his life with the executioner.

“I know what you saw. I know what it looked like, but Keira, my head isn’t on right tonight. I’m…” He growled, hands shaking as he turned away from her and kicked the plastic trashcan against the brick wall. Bending to catch his breath, Kona looked like he might vomit.

 “You’re not capable, Kona.” She took a step, her voice softer, but her anger saturated that calm tone. “I’m not an idiot. I see how your eyes wander. I see the attention you get. And that’s fine.”

Kona stood up then, gaze whipping to her like he knew a threat was coming. Keira ignored that look, ignored how straight he held himself, how he stood with his feet apart, ready for an attack. “What do you mean, ‘that’s fine’?” He managed a smile that was both hopeful and suspicious.

 Keira blinked, and the image of the redhead and Kona’s mouth on her chest had her squirming. “You do what you want. I will, too.”

The smile dropped from his face.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You think you’re the only one to notice me? You think I don’t get offers? I have choices, Kona. You’re not my only option.”

“Who, Keira?” His voice was calm, too calm and Keira knew that expression; she recognized his anger, the vivid, suspicious imagination. She guessed that inside Kona’s head were paranoid images that probably made his stomach roll: Keira’s mouth on an unfamiliar chest; her hands sliding up shoulders, arms, too small to be his. He took a step closer and Keira didn’t back down from that frown, from the hard, uneven breath that shot from his flared nostrils. “Who?” His voice was louder then, so sharp and demanding that Keira flinched at the sound.

But she wasn’t a coward and she’d never been threatened by his temper. In fact, most times, she responded to it, got off, just a little bit, on it. More than she’d like to admit, she loved making that temper worse.

“None of your fucking business. Just go, Kona. Leave me alone. I’m leaving. Maybe I’ll stop by a bar. Maybe I’ll make a call.”

“Like hell you will.”

She didn’t bother responding to his jealous command, didn’t even give him the annoyed little glare she normally leveled at him. Instead, Keira shook her head, intent on putting space between them. But she barely managed two steps, maybe three before his grip was on her arm, spinning her around, giving her no space, no chance to back away from him.

“Don’t you walk away from me.” Keira could see the wild desperation in his eyes, the possessive nature that flicked forward. It thundered a dichotomy of emotions into her mind—rage, insult, passion.

“What the hell is wrong with you? You’re acting like a crazy person.” She jerked back from him, spilling her beer on his shirt, and Kona’s hold loosened. “I’m not yours, Kona. I’ll never be yours.” She knew the lie was weak, pathetic; she knew that the temper stirring on his face was growing and though she knew it was stupid to provoke him, she couldn’t help herself. Some dark, quiet part of her loved how eager, how frantic he looked.

Kona’s frown was severe, and from his body, Keira could feel his rage, the quick whip of anger that she loved seeing from him. She was playing with fire, standing so close to it that she felt her skin blister. She stepped back, their burning glances hard, challenging, before there was enough space between them.

“Where are you going?”

Keira felt drunk, fueled by insult, and lust, and the words were out of her mouth before her brain had given them permission to leave. “I’m going to check on those other offers.” She walked backward, a calculating, forced smile on her face. “You know, Luka looked good tonight. Maybe I’ll go see what he’s up to.”

Keira could not take that look, the quick slap of frustration, rage, something she put out of her mind as quickly as she glanced at it, turning from him, knowing that it was Kona’s shout of rage echoing in the alley, bouncing off the bricks and empty pavement. She could feel him coming, each step getting faster, and the bottle in her hand lowered, as Keira readied herself for his hands on her arms, to do battle and not think of the consequences.

When he spun her around, jerked her toward him, Keira lifted the bottle, a threat that put a quick, taunting smile on Kona’s face. “Gonna hit me, Wildcat? Go ahead.” Kona slapped his own face, looming toward her, daring her to react. “Do it, you little coward. Hit me.” Another slap, another step, and Keira’s temper broke. He was too much. Too much altogether, and Keira lost her sense, let reason shift from the forefront of her mind. She wanted that condescending smile off his face.

Keira swung hard, and the bottle in her hand cracked against Kona’s cheek. It took him to the ground, and when he looked up at her, eyes wide, confused, Keira fell to her knees. “Shit. Kona. Oh, God.”

Blood poured from his cheek, and Keira tasted the bitter, sour tang of vomit on the back of her tongue.

What did I do? What the hell did I just do?

She couldn’t touch him. There was too much blood, and even though Kona reached for her, needed someone to steady him, Keira retreated, scrambled off the ground.

“Keira, wait…” Kona held his hand against his face, and that sick taste in her mouth doubled. Behind her she heard the clatter of activity: a shout, and the quick thunder of feet on the pavement, and then Luka was next to Kona, cursing, scared, glaring at her.

“What the fuck, Keira? You did this? Are you crazy?”

Kona pushed against his brother as he got to his feet, and Keira moved around them, ran for her car, tears blurring the light above her and the outline of her Sunfire just feet away. “I…I’m sorry,” she said, over her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

She dropped her keys, trying to unlock it, trying to hurry as Kona shouted at Luka, as he tried fighting against the small crowd that had gathered.

“No, brah,” she heard Luka tell Kona. “Let her go.”

And the last thing she heard before she shut her door and fired up the engine was Kona’s ragged voice screaming her name.

 

 

 

Keira couldn’t sleep. Her mind was pumped full of adrenaline and guilt, her heart twisted like someone had a grip on every inch of the muscle. 

She hated Kona.

That’s what she told herself. Hate was easy. Hate, she was used to. She had practice with pushing her feelings down deep, with ignoring any semblance of affection. She should never have wanted him. Wanting only led to disappointment.

But the girl tonight, with her arms around Kona, with her lips rubbing precariously close to his ear, had Keira questioning those repressed feelings she’d felt over the past weeks. God knew how much she wanted Kona. She liked his kisses. She loved the way he looked at her. She loved the way his skin smelled after he’d run to the library with no time to shower after practice.

He did things to her body that she wasn’t used to. They’d flirted. They’d made out, and afterward, each time, she felt her body burn. He never pushed. He never asked for more than what she offered, and it drove her insane.

And Kona’s mouth, his hands, his skin, made her wonder why she held him off, why she hadn’t pushed, hadn’t asked for more.  Keira closed her eyes and long red hair shattered the darkness. The girl had been actually pretty, not like the familiar, vapid clones on campus. She stuck out. Of course Kona would take what she offered. The thought of it made her sick.  Keira knew he wouldn’t change. Weeks and weeks she had lied to herself, had repressed the knowledge that he was a beautiful, popular athlete who could have his pick of anyone he wanted. She hated that Kona made her doubt herself, made her feel somehow subpar. But even through her anger and pain, she had to acknowledge that if the last weeks had told her anything, it was that Kona wanted her too. Maybe not forever, but he definitely wanted her.

He wanted her like air, like breath. He’d showed her in every lingering glance, in the small movement of his fingers down her neck, in the calm, settled way he rested against her chest while she raked her nails through his hair.

Keira tightened her eyes at the memory of his lips on her neck. Her traitorous nipples hardened, and her skin felt fevered as she lay in her bed, remembering what his tongue had felt like on her neck, his fingers just under the clasp of her bra, working inside her, making her come so hard she thought she might pass out. A quick shudder moved across her skin, and Keira had to turn on her side, pull her knees up to shake off the sudden hum that throbbed between her legs.

She couldn’t shake the image from her mind or the feelings from her body. Kona might want Keira, but that didn’t mean he wanted only her. There were over a two thousand available girls on campus. It seemed like they all were after Kona. What was she, compared to them? She was one of the crowd. One of the many. 

And tonight, with him acting like a maniac, her getting aroused, so needy by his anger, brought back the sudden, ugly image of Kona on the ground with blood pouring from his cheek.

Aggressive tendencies. That’s what the doctor had told an eleven-year-old Keira she was fighting against. It was that buried, angry thread of rage that Keira had experienced the moment her mother had flippantly broke the news to her: “Your father put a pistol to his temple and killed himself, Keira.” And not ten minutes later, “Try not to carry on at the funeral.”

Her mother had made it clear that she was to hide what she felt—told her that tears were something only infants were allowed, and so Keira swallowed up that grief, the rage that being left without her beloved father had kindled in her heart. She stowed away that anger, those tears, because that is what she was expected to do. That’s what ladies did. They shouldered others’ burdens and ignored their own.

Pills helped when necessary, as did years of therapy, but then Kona Hale entered her life, and that angry little girl forgot that she was supposed to breathe when rage hit her. She forgot that she should count, let the anger pass. He brought it out in her with little effort, and tonight had been the catalyst, the tipping-off point of frustration and heat, and desire denied, that sent Keira over the edge.

It wasn’t an excuse. It didn’t allow for reason or tell Keira that swinging a cold bottle at Kona’s face was understandable, in the least. She felt like a freak, an unhinged monster, and Keira buried her face into her pillow, hiding from her guilt. The tears came again, harder, sharper than the ones she’d cried the day before when Kona had left her room.

Leann’s bed lay empty. Michael got her attention on weekends. Michael got her cousin’s attention most days. But it was Saturday night, game night, and Leann’s priorities were on her man, not her unbalanced, violent cousin. Keira understood that. But it didn’t make her feel any less alone. 

Anger, lust, shame: they all coiled together, shot straight to Keira’s core, aching, throbbing, and she felt stupid and unstable and thought she should touch herself, maybe hit something, to try to release the pent-up feelings inside. She didn’t know which she wanted more —the emotional release or the physical one.

The clock on her bedside table blinked 3:00 a.m., and Keira wondered if Kona had been patched up, if he’d calmed, if he’d left the bar bloody, but not alone.

I’m so fucking twisted.

That throb got worse when she remembered Kona’s lips on her skin, his knuckles inside her just two nights before, and she lay on her stomach, slipping her fingers beneath the shorts she wore. She rubbed twice, felt her pulse against her fingers, and then her door slid open, and she shoved her hands under her pillow. 

“You didn’t stay at Michael’s?” she asked, expecting her cousin’s sleepy reply. But then large hands settled on her hip, a larger body slid in behind her on the bed. For one split, frantic moment, she thought to scream in sudden fear at the intruder in her room, but then she caught a familiar scent, sensed his unmistakable presence.  Her fear turned to shock that he was there, that he had been able to get into the dorm without catching the RA’s attention, but he moved so quickly, so soundlessly and felt so warm, so comfortable, that her shock quickly faded.

He didn’t speak for several moments, didn’t do much else but move his huge hand around her waist. She didn't move, didn’t turn around, willed the bed to swallow her up.

 “I’m so fucked up. I’ve always been fucked up.” Kona brushed a kiss against her neck, and Keira squeezed her eyes shut, trembling when the smell of his skin and his hot breath made the throb worse. His voice was low, soft, and she could tell that whatever he’d been drunk on earlier that night had left his system. “I shouldn’t have touched the redhead.” His hand pushed against her stomach, and her back was pressed against his chest. “I shouldn’t have touched Tonya Lucas, not after you stayed with me at the hospital. I don’t know why I’m the way I am. I don’t know why you make me so scared of everything I feel, Wildcat.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He ignored her. “I shouldn’t have let her touch me.”

Feeble deflection seemed all Keira had left; it was the only thing that kept the guilt from suffocating her. “You can touch whoever you want, Kona.”

She felt him stiffen behind her, then exhale, the breath cooling her hot skin. “I can’t. Not anymore.”

“Why?”

Hard thighs and the feel of rough denim against the back of her legs made Keira tremble, and when Kona brushed one kiss on her shoulder that tremble transformed into a shudder. “You know why.”

Keira rolled onto her back so that she could look up at him, and her eyes went directly to his cheek, to the bandage across his face and the bruise that shadowed behind it. She caught her gasp behind her hands, eyes instantly filling, then pouring with hot tears that she didn’t wipe away.

Kona caught each one, the undamaged side of his face denting with his tiny smile. “I’m okay. Seven stiches. It was nothing.”

“God. Oh, Kona.” Keira tried to cover her face, didn’t want to see it, didn’t want Kona to see how gutted her shame made her.

“Shh. Stop now.” She let him pull her hands down, let him kiss her forehead. She’d do whatever he wanted, whatever he needed, and right then, he seemed to need her head under his chin, his fingers in her hair. “I deserved it.”

“What? No.” Kona didn’t resist Keira’s tug on his collar. He didn’t flinch from the rise of her voice. “No one deserves that. I’m so…I have anger issues. I’ve had them since I was a kid and I just…God, Kona…that’s not an excuse.”

His shaking shoulders stopped her, had Keira leaning away from him to look at his face. The left side was still numb, likely from the anesthesia the doctors gave him before they stitched it up, but the right side carried a smile. It was thin, but it was still there. “I think I figured that out a couple of months back when you came tearing into the cafeteria looking like you were going to claw my eyes out.” He took her hand, kissed her knuckles. “I’m familiar, Wildcat. You think I don’t have issues? You don’t think my anger isn’t as stupid and quick as yours?”

He touched her face, ran his fingertips over the dip above her lips. “I’m an asshole.” She didn’t disagree with him. “I shouldn’t have touched the redhead, and I can’t touch anyone else because I don’t want to.” He leaned down to rest on his elbow, coming closer to her. “The thing is, I don’t wanna touch anyone but you.” Kona looked up at the ceiling as though he were seeking some sort of help from the heavens. “I’m gonna sound like a pussy-whipped idiot.”

Keira pulled his head down so he had to look at her, breath held by where Kona was steering the conversation. “Why?”

“I want you. You know that. I want to do things to your body that are probably very illegal. But it’s not just that. Tonight, when that girl was on me, offering me shit that I’ve heard from a hundred other girls, all I could think about was how I wanted it to be you saying that shit to me.” He leaned closer. “But that would be too easy, right? Me taking you. Me inside you, that shit’s easy, Wildcat.”

 “Don’t call me—”

“Nani, shut the hell up.” His kiss was deep, tongue brushing against her lips, silently asking to be let in, and Keira obliged. In that moment, she’d give Kona her mouth, her body, anything he wanted from her. The kiss was over too quickly, and when he pulled away from her, he left her lips humming. “You gutted me, telling me about your other options, and when you did, I realized, I didn’t want easy anymore.” Kona’s voice got deeper, coming out at a whisper, and when he looked at her then, his eyes announced everything, told her all things she knew he couldn’t say aloud. “It kills me, thinking of you with anyone else. And I know I sound like even more of an asshole, but I think I’d kill anyone who touched you. That night, back at Nathan’s? The party? I saw you with your cousin, talking to Mark, letting him touch you, that’s when I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“Knew that I didn’t want him touching you. That I wanted to touch you. You reminded me of that tonight. When you tossed me out, when you thought I didn’t want you, Keira, I couldn’t take it. I didn’t want to be something you walked away from.” Another kiss, and Kona let this one grow longer, deeper. When he pulled away, his breath came out uneven, panting. “I suck at this. Being with someone, letting them consume me. I was stupid. I’ve been stupid about you, careless, jealous, and I thought I just wanted to get with you, to have you once and forget I did. But I know now, that’s not it.” Keira saw something flicker in Kona’s eyes, it made him look anxious, uncertain, but she touched his face, moved her thumb over his mouth, and the gesture calmed him. “I’m…I’m into you, Wildcat. I’m so into you, and I’m not sure what to do about that.”

She shook her head, trying to keep her eyes on his, trying so hard not to let that bandage distract her from what he was trying to say. “So tonight made you realize you were into me?”

“No. Tonight made me realize I didn’t even want to be into anyone else. I don’t care that we piss each other off. I don’t care that people don’t like it. I really don’t care that us being together makes no sense at all.”

“Kona. I don’t understand. What are you saying?”

Kona fingered the strap of her tank top, running his thumb underneath as though he need a distraction, needed something that pulled his attention together until he thought about what he wanted to say. Finally, with Keira waiting, wondering what kept the words stuck in his throat, Kona’s gaze returned to her face, and he smiled.

“Be my girl, will you, Wildcat?”

She laughed, overcome by his vulnerability, by the hesitant way he kept his eyes shifting around her face. “You asking me to go steady?”

Kona smiled, and Keira noticed that the left side of his face moved with the gesture, the medicine slowly wearing off. “It sounds stupid when you put it like that, but shit...yeah. Yeah, I guess I am saying that.” His fingers were long, felt warm against Keira’s cheek and she loved how gently he touched her, how those fingers rested against her skin like they belonged there. “I just want you. Do you want it to be just me and you?”

Their anger had been so thick, so consuming, and Keira knew that she was probably flirting with those bad decisions Leann was so worried about. As Kona waited for answer, eyebrows bunched together, Keira thought about their arguments, the careless way they never held anything back. It scared her. It scared her more than anything had before. “I want us to be normal. I want us not to scream and kick and try to kill each other.”

“Who the hell wants to be normal? Normal is boring. Everyone else is normal, but baby, that’s not us.”

She opened her mouth, planned to tell him that sometimes boring was the only thing that kept you sane, but Kona kissed her neck, threaded his fingers in her hair again, and thoughts of being normal seemed beige and lackluster. She didn’t want beige. Beige is what her mother had, what she told herself she never wanted for herself.

“Come on, Wildcat, be mine, just mine, and I’ll be yours.”

“I clock you with a bottle, and you come here to ask me to be your girl? This is sane to you?”

“No. Not sane. Necessary. And I came here to tell you I’m an idiot, and I don’t want anyone else. I came here because when you figure that shit out, you don’t want to wait.” Kona inched down on the mattress, head on her pillow, and Keira couldn’t take the stare he gave, as though he needed her answer. As though it was the only thing that would keep him balanced. “Say yes. Please, say yes.”

Kona Hale wasn’t the type of guy to say please. Not to anyone.

It was then that Keira decided to accept that she couldn’t refuse him. He made her so angry, brought back that little girl reeling from pain and loss, but Keira didn’t care. That girl wanted a little bit of joy. She craved it, and so Keira rested on the pillow, face to face with Kona, and gave him a smile that brought an easy light to his eyes. “Okay.”

His smile was crooked, but still beautiful, still hypnotic. “Good. Now roll over.” He kissed her again—quick, determined—before he nudged her on her back. “I wanna sleep with you.” When she gave him a look that was both eager and suspicious, Kona rolled his eyes. “I just wanna sleep with you, Wildcat.”

Now that the anger had waned, Keira couldn’t fight her yawn or the exhaustion that weighed her down. She turned on her side and smiled when Kona’s arm came back around her waist.

“Kona?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t call me that.”