His home felt too intimate for this. He didn’t want Keira there, and Kona would not meet her at his mother’s home. Those two women had always hated each other. It would be a weird, awkward meeting, and he didn’t need his mother interfering. She’s was good at that, always had been. If Keira the woman was anything like the girl Kona once loved, then there would be words, anger, shouts and Kona didn’t want his mother in the middle of it.

When Keira called a few hours before, he could hear the worry, the fear in her voice. She should be worried. She should be nervous. Keira had hurt him worse than anything he’d ever done to her.

He wasn’t sure them meeting in a hotel room was exactly smart, but he knew his anger had quieted the earlier feelings of desire he felt the moment he saw her. One call and his credit card number had emptied the floor. They would have this conversation in the quiet and empty space of a hotel room. He didn’t think about the bedroom behind him. He wouldn’t need to. It would take everything in him to stop screaming.

He had a son—a nearly grown son. He shook his head again, trying to recall the boy’s face. He’d known him instantly, felt drawn to him just as he had been to Keira all those years ago, when she’d put on a front and threatened him not to slack on their joint project. Same as with Keira, something called him, shouted in his subconscious that the boy was his. He didn’t need a test to tell him the truth.

Kona walked to the bar, used his fingers to fist out a few cubes of ice and filled his glass with Scotch. The liquor burned his throat and he craved the sensation. He hoped it will quell his anger. He hoped it would stop his hands from shaking. They’d not stopped since that morning when he watched Keira walk away with Leann yammering in her ear.

He hadn’t told anyone what he’d discovered. He didn’t know how he could. Another swig from his glass and Kona sat in the plush hotel recliner, thumb and index finger at his forehead and temple as he tried to rub away the tension there. He thought of the life the boy had endured. Kona had missed everything, absolutely everything. His birth, first steps, first words. How could Keira do this to him? That’s all he wanted to know. Not where she’d been or how, as a kid herself, she’d managed to raise their son on her own. There were a million questions running through his head and a million more worries. 

He didn’t care about the crowd watching them this morning. He didn’t care about the gossip or the attention, or what the existence of this boy would mean for his career. He only cared that she had kept him away, ignorant that he’d created something he’d longed for. He wanted children, a wife, something that anchored him; something that tethered him to a home, to comfort, to love.

He’d tried. With Simone, with Caroline Williams when he was fresh out of college, but they’d always complained Kona wasn’t giving them everything. They wanted more from him. They wanted real, and he’d always seemed unable to give them that. Every face he touched wasn’t soft enough, didn’t affect him. Every mouth he kissed, he found flaw in. Every woman that promised him tomorrow, he did not feel that same raw connection that he had as a college sophomore with the hot-tempered, blue-eyed girl. The mother of his child.

He felt sick again, dizzy with rage. But Kona knew he could not stay angry. He knew that he would have to tamp down this shock, this anger, if he wanted answers.

Kona downed what was left of the Scotch and set the glass on the table in front of him, leaving a wet circle on the wood. He tried not to think about the expression on Keira’s face when she saw him watching their son. It was part shock, part fear, and he knew, because he had memorized her every expression, all those obvious tweaks and quivers that laid her emotions on her face, that she was sorry.

Good, he thought. Feeling like shit is the least she could do.

Two sharp knocks on the door and Kona’s gaze snapped to it. He waited; it would be good for her to wait, let her stew in her guilt. His steps were slow, calm, and Kona pulled his anger down, tried to breathe through his nose as he hovered his hand over the doorknob. “Shit,” he said when his fingers kept trembling, and Kona squeezed a fist tight so his knuckles grew white. He tried like hell not to get excited that Keira was on the other side of that door.

Three fast inhalations to get his heart back to a normal pace, then Keira was standing before him and the door shook under Kona’s grip. This would be easier if she looked like shit, if the years had not been kind to her. If she’d let herself go, gotten sloppy, uncaring about her appearance. But none of those things happened. She was still flawless to him: skin pale, eyes wide, and Kona couldn’t help himself. His gaze moved on its own, over her face, down to the firm swell of her breasts held together between the straps of a modest floral sundress. His gaze dipped lower, and Kona blinked at those strong legs, the muscular calves, even to the pink polish on her toenails. He stepped back, waved her in, and tried not to watch the sway of her hips or the mesmerizing curve of her ass.

Keira was the girl he pushed away all those years ago, the one he tried to convince himself he hated. She was the same girl, aged—time and struggle maturing her with sensuality, confidence. Breaking through all that devastation and anger was the minute desire to pull her against him and slam his mouth over hers, but it was faint, and was completely overshadowed by the memory of the boy who could be his clone running through the Market. 

Kona didn’t speak to her when she offered him a smile. He didn’t return the smile either. He just stepped back, walked her to the sofa in the sitting room.

If the years had taught him anything, it was patience and control. You can’t be a hot head and expect to play with penalties and fines racking up. The NFL forced Kona to mature, to level his anger into calculated reasoning. And it was that reasoning that Kona drew on now as he sat opposite Keira in the recliner. He was relaxed, calm, his elbow on the armrest and his fingers covering the hard frown on his face. He didn’t move them when he spoke, was content to keep his demeanor mildly cold.

“You want a drink?” That hard gaze he’d perfected over the years glared right at her and he felt slighted that she wouldn’t look directly at him. “There’s Scotch, I think beer in the fridge.”

“No. I’m good.” Her voice was soft, polite and her posture was ramrod straight as she fidgeted with the straps of her purse.

Good. Be nervous, he thought.

But he couldn’t take the tension, the awkward way that she examined the room, her fingernails, the view from the balcony behind him. He needed a distraction, something to keep him level and calm and Kona didn’t bother to look at her when he walked to the bar to his left and quickly made himself another drink.

“Got a lot of questions,” he finally said, staring at the picture above the bar—Jackson’s statue in the Quarter at night, the old confederate’s head silhouetted against a bright moon. Another sip, deeper than the last, and Kona turned, leaned against the bar and crossed his feet, swirling the ice in his glass as he watched Keira. Her eyes narrowed, and her gaze ran up his legs, over his hips and came to rest on his hands. Still, she wouldn’t look at him directly.

“I’m sure you do,” she said, leaning back against the sofa. She rested her temple against her fist and looked down as though she was bored, as though she was ready to take whatever punishment he had for her.

Kona forgot his drink, left it behind him on the bar and didn’t care that her back stiffened when he sat next to her. “What’s his name?”

She seemed surprised about his first question, and he guessed that it was odd, that it came before “how could you?” and “why?” but it seemed best to start out small.

“Ransom. He’ll be sixteen next month and he—”

With Kona’s uplifted hand, Keira went quiet. “You wanna say that again?”

For the first time Keira gave him an effortless smile, as though his surprise at hearing her son’s name was expected, something she’d heard more than once. “Luka Ransom Riley.”

Kona threaded his fingers together, an effort to stop himself from touching her. There were emotions that overwhelmed him; thoughts and questions that ran through his mind like a wave: confusion, gratitude, disappointment. “You named him for…” he couldn’t finish the thought. He wouldn’t. His twin, that loss, it was something Kona tried never to think about. He refused to acknowledge what his brother’s death had done to him; what it continued to do to him.

“Luka was a good man, Kona, and his death was senseless.” Keira turned, moved her arm along the back of the sofa, her hair brushed back, sending the sweet scent of jasmine straight into Kona’s nose. “I couldn’t give Ransom your name, so I did the next best thing.” Keira looked to her left, to the chandelier above the dining table, but Kona doubted her thoughts were on the ornate fixture. “He was the price I paid for walking away from my life here. He was the ransom for everything I could have had.” When Keira looked back at him, that small quirk on her mouth was faint, barely there. “It was a price I’d pay a hundred times over.” He held that stare and tried not to let his mind wander to the gray flecks in her eyes or the determined set of her fine chin. And then, when Kona remained silent, when his gaze lingered, Keira turned away, broke the small spell that caught between them in those quick seconds. “He’s an A student, spends most of his summers building houses with Habitat.” She scooted up, mimicked him by resting her elbows on her knees. “He’s…he’s just really a great kid, and he doesn’t know you’re his father.”

Kona watched her, saw the worry, the fear again and some small measure of his anger left him.

“What have you told him about his father?”

“Not much.” Kona hated that she sat back. He hated that she’d retreated away from him; in the next moment, he cursed himself for caring that she had. Keira’s shoulders relaxed, but she fiddled with the seam on the back of the sofa, running her fingernail along the brown suede. “He knows I was young. He knows I quit college when I got pregnant with him. He knows you are a Hawaiian, that you’re a damn giant, but I was never comfortable talking about the past.” She looked away from him and Kona wished he knew why. He wished those cluster of thoughts he could see working in her eyes would surface. “Not any of it, and he hasn’t pushed much. He’s never asked for your name.”

“Why didn’t you tell him?”

Keira always ran. It was her thing. When she was angry, when she was frustrated, she closed off from him, from everyone. She was doing the same thing now, clearly uncomfortable with his questions, maybe with him moving closer toward her. “It’s complicated.”

He’d let her breathe, give her some space, but Kona was determined not to relent. He wanted answers and even if he had to run after her if she decided to take off, again, he’d have his damn questions answered. He pushed back, near the other side of the sofa and moved his elbow against the pillows, his fingers almost touching her shoulder.

“Then uncomplicate it for me. I think I have a right to know why you never told me I had a son.”

“I tried to, Kona. That day? At the jail?” She moved off from the sofa, paced next to the coffee table, and Kona watched her, gaze hard, eyes shifting back and forth, catching every step she made. Finally, Keira curled her arms around her middle, and when she worked up enough nerve to stare at him, Kona was leveled by the hard glare narrowing her eyes. “You told me unless I could bring Luka back, you didn’t want to hear anything I had to say. You pushed me away, you remember that? You told me you didn’t want me, that you never loved me.”

He remembered. Kona had spent years recalling her expression, the rage in her fists, in her screaming voice when she destroyed the parish’s telephone. He remembered her struggling against the guards. He remembered her curse. But he knew this woman. Or, at least, he knew the girl she’d been. She was deflecting, trying to hold back whatever it was she didn’t want to tell him. “That was you and me. That had nothing to do with the kid.”

“His name is Ransom.”

Keira’s shout had Kona’s eyebrow arching up, had him standing in front of her, looking down with a poker stare he’d perfected years ago during contract negotiations. He wouldn’t yield. “Stop procrastinating. Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” When Keira hesitated, rubbed the back of her neck, and Kona saw the small beads of moisture on her upper lip, he grew worried, curious about where her fear came from. “What is it?”

She waved her hands toward him as though she’d decided to give up. “I was asked not to tell you about the baby.”

“By who?”

“Who do you think?”

Keira didn’t have to elaborate. That scowl on her face told him everything he needed to know. Kona closed his eyes, silently cursing his mother and all the damn interfering she’d always sworn was for his benefit. “What did she say?” he asked Keira, expecting more anger, not expecting the laugh that worked out of her mouth.

“I recall her telling me I wasn’t worthy of you; that I would ruin your future. That I…I’d already taken one son from her, and she wouldn’t let me take you too.” Keira turned away from him, walked to the large window overlooking the city. She still kept her arms wrapped around herself and her shoulders were set again, hard, severe.

“She wanted me to get rid of him.” Kona’s stomach dropped, and he dipped his head, thought of fixing another drink, but was held motionless by Keira’s voice; those revelations he professed he wanted were like slaps against his face. “She wasn’t the only one that gave me that advice, and maybe I would have. I was scared, and after I left you that day at the jail, I realized I was very alone.”

He came next to her, leaned against the window and watched her profile, spotted how her eyes reflected the city lights outside.

“That was my mother’s plan for me, too, but she and I had a fight.” Keira squeezed her eyes shut as though she was trying to erase whatever memory ran through her mind. “She’s the one who called the cops that night. She overheard us in my room, and she made the call.” Keira glanced at Kona, and he saw her guilt, the heavy weight of what she’s felt for decades. Just then, he wanted to reach out to her, to tell her that none of this was her fault even though he wasn’t sure he believed that. Instead, he folded his arms, pulled that wrinkle of concern from his eyebrows and watched Keira’s face as she again faces the window.

“Even after I kicked her out of my room, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know what I’d do. I thought maybe telling you about the baby would help you heal. I was so naive. But then the doctor came in, let me hear the faint, barely moving heartbeat, and I knew, I just knew, there was no way I could destroy that life.” Keira lowered her forehead, rested it against the glass, and when she spoke again, her voice was lowered as though forcing the words out was like extracting a tooth without anesthesia. “I’d made it with you. You were everything to me then, and we’d made this perfect little soul together. There was no way I was getting rid of it.”

Kona was surprised to see her tears; they were brief ,and she didn’t let them linger on her face, but he saw that the memories consumed her, that for her they were still real.  “So I went to see you at the jail. I was going to tell you. I thought you’d get past…everything. I thought we could start over.” She looked at Kona, gave him a small frown. “You were so angry. You hated me. You blamed me for Luka. I understood that. And then you broke up with me, told me you don’t want me anymore, and I knew. Right then and there—after the argument with my mother, after your mother telling me I’d never be good enough for you, that I’d ruin you, and then you telling me you never loved me, that Luka’s death was my doing—I knew the only thing I had left in the world was our baby. So I left.”

“You carved up my Camaro.” It was pointless, stupid to even mention, but Kona too had gone back to the past. Keira’s words filled in what he didn’t know, the moments after he made her leave. “You went to Nashville?” She nodded, and Kona could only watch the dip of her chin and the straight line of her mouth. “But your car was totaled, and you walked away from your family…how did you…?”

“Mark Burke.”

She said the name with a smile, with a fondness that Kona didn’t like. The jealousy was irrational, and he tried not to let it consume him. Keira wasn’t his. She hadn’t been his for a long time, but part of him hated that Burke was the one she’d turned to. He couldn’t push down that instant whip of anger deep enough and he knew his frown gave away what he felt. Keira’s gaze followed him as he moved back toward the bar.

“Burke?” he finally said, trying to keep his voice even.

“He gave me three grand and put me on a bus.”

Kona worked his jaw, unreasonably annoyed, unable to keep the bite out of his voice. “Burke did that for you? What did you have to do in return?”

She didn’t expect an insult. That much he could tell, and as soon as it left his mouth, Kona regretted it.

Keira lifted her chin, stepped in front of him, came too close. “Fuck you, Kona, it wasn’t like that. I had nothing. I had absolutely nothing. I certainly didn’t have you. Don’t you dare judge me, especially when you don’t know shit about what I was going through, and you damn sure don’t know why Mark did anything for me.”

He should have apologized. He knew that. Kona felt the weight of emotions he thought he’d buried a long time ago, but Keira being there, right in front of him, her laying out the truth he didn’t believe he was ready for, had him consumed with anger. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He wasn’t the boy Keira knew. So why did being around her for less than a half hour have Kona reverting to the hot-headed asshole he used to be?

Still, they had a son. Kona may have not been there for either of them, but that didn’t mean he’d continue to play absentee father. He had to know that the boy was protected. “So Burke helped you. He’s in your life? He’s in my son’s life?”

“Yes. He has been for years. He’s a good man.” Kona nodded, stepped away from Keira and walked back to the window to lean against it, hands on the glass. He could feel her stare, heard the soft steps she made as she moved beside him, as she rested her back on the window. “So is his boyfriend.”

Kona’s neck popped when he whipped his head toward Keira. “What?”

“Mark is gay,” she said, a smile quirking on her lips. “He came out to me before you and I ever broke up.” Kona let his shoulders fall with a relief he had no right feeling. Keira had hurt him—she’d kept his son from him—but he was beginning to understand why. He was beginning to remember things the way they’d happened and not how he’d organized them in his memory. Keira’s half-smile fell, and she looked down at her hands, a distraction for what, he didn’t know. “Mark didn’t want me to have to live under my mother’s thumb. He knew what she was. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had, and he loves Ransom.”

Kona joined Keira against the window, hands rubbing down his face as he processed everything she’s told him. His mother, the lies, Mark freakin’ Burke and finding out he had a son—it was information overload and Kona looked down at Keira, watched the way she rubbed her neck, how she leaned her head against the glass, taking it all in. Could he forgive her? Had she forgiven him? Kona wasn’t sure what came next.

“Why not later? Why haven’t you told me since then?”

“And have everyone thinking I was a gold-digging groupie? Please, Kona, give me some credit.”

Just as quickly as his anger faded, it came back, flashing into his head as he glared at Keira. “So, you’re saying your pride kept my son from me?”

“No. Of course not.” Even Keira’s sigh had Kona angry. Why the hell was she frustrated? Why was she the one that couldn’t keep her hands still, let her patience slip? “I’m saying that I worked really hard for a really long time to build a reputation, to build a name for myself, so that I could feed and clothe my son. You don’t have any idea how hard it is for a woman in the music industry. You have no clue how many hands I’ve had to slap off my ass or how many redneck singers and producers that offered me a shot if I’d sleep with them when I was trying to get my songs recorded.”

Keira walked around the room, head shaking, as though the memory of those years played back again, exhausting her. “I had to take care of my son, and I had to make sure I was careful not to take any easy ways out. In my business, when you’re starting out, only your talent and reputation separate the real artists from the posers. I wasn’t about to have anyone finding out my son’s father was the new, rich darling of the NFL.

“Besides, the last time I saw you, you blamed me for Luka’s death.” She paused and Kona could see her temper surfacing. It was familiar, and he couldn’t look at her, not without seeing her in that jail, raging at him. He closed his eyes to block out the memory and heard Keira coming closer. “You hated me, Kona. I didn’t want my son to see that anger. He is all I have. Aside from Leann, Ransom is my only blood. You had your mother, your kuku, and I didn’t think any of you would thank me for reminding you of what you’d lost, for landing on your doorstep with a baby you’d fathered with a woman you hated. Raising him was hard. I worked in a diner for years, waiting tables, cleaning my boss’s home, and she helped as much as she could. Bobby became family, but she was almost as broke as I was. It was desperate sometimes, but it was something I did. I wasn’t about to throw all of that away by being called a gold digger or some slut that was coming out of the woodwork just as your star was rising.”

In his mind, it made sense. Her reasons, her desperation to prove herself. She’d been alone, as Kona worked his way into success. He knew that. His brain told him that it made perfect sense, but his heart was another matter. Years, so many years, she’d kept this to herself. She’d kept his child from him. She refused to let him protect either of them, and his heart overruled his mind. “You’re a selfish bitch.”

“Excuse me?”

“You are.” His voice rose, echoed around the room as Kona made for the bar, needing something to do with his hands. “You’re a selfish bitch.” He slammed back a drink and poured another before Keira stood behind him.

“Well, that’s helpful. Still up to old habits?”

Kona looked at the glass in his hand, then back at Keira’s bunched up features and that critical scowl on her face. “You know, what? Fuck you. You don’t get to come in here and start judging me like I’m still a stupid twenty-year-old. A couple of drinks because I’m pissed off doesn’t make me a drunk, and I didn’t get where I am by juicing if that’s what you’re thinking. Six months in jail, Keira. Six months of me dodging Ricky’s boys when I testified against him. Six months, and I crawled back to CPU, begged the coach to give me another shot. I worked my ass off. So, yeah, fuck you if you think you of all people can start judging me. I’m not the one who has lied to you for sixteen years. I’m not the one who was too damn proud to tell me I had a fucking child!” Keira barely blinked when Kona threw the glass against the wall, scattering chunks of ice and glass over the carpet.

She watched the darkened spot on the gray walls, but didn’t get upset, didn’t do more than slip her gaze to Kona. “I was protecting him.”

“You were protecting yourself. You were doing what you always did…you were trying to prove that you didn’t need anyone. So yeah, selfish bitch.”

Keira’s expression darkened and when she took a step, her bright eyes flashing, Kona thought he saw a hint of the old Keira surface. He thought she might want to hit him; he almost expected it. But Kona wasn’t the same. He wouldn’t let her touch him like that again.  Instead of a violent reaction, Keira turned away from him, with her shoulders straight, and Kona didn’t miss the cool way she breathed in and out, or how she closed her eyes.

Finally, when her expression softened, Keira sat back on the sofa, nodded at the empty space to her left until Kona sat next to her. A few more breaths between the two of them, and the tension in the room eased.

“Maybe,” she started, voice even, “I was selfish, and I’m sorry. I really am. But I was scared and young and determined not to fail. Not when Ransom would have paid the price.”

Kona understood that, recognized the memory of his years struggling to prove himself, taking what every cocky offensive lineman gave him. He’d been determined too, and it had made him stronger. It made him successful. He couldn’t blame Keira for doing the same. 

He didn’t speak, needed a moment to remember himself, to remember all the lessons his struggles taught him. A quick shake pulled at his mouth as he realized he hadn’t been this angry, let his temper slip this quickly, since he was a kid. Since he was around Keira. Only she could make that swell of rage bubble in his chest so quickly.

She watched her hands again, slid her palm up her arm and Kona frowned, guessing that it hadn’t been easy for her, all those years. He’d managed because he had only himself to think about. He had a family that encouraged him, gave him the strength he needed to excel. Keira had none of that, and in that moment Kona realized where the greatest source of his anger came from. He’d always wanted to protect her. He promised her he would. And when the time came, she hadn’t let him.

Keira broke the silence with a long breath, her words rushing out as though she was afraid of them. “What do you want from us, Kona?”

That instant anger returned, but Kona managed to push it down. “I’m not plotting anything, if that’s what you’re thinking. Shit, I’m still trying to absorb the reality that I have a sixteen-year-old son.”

“You…you can’t have him.”

Kona’s mouth fell open, and he had to fist his hand to keep his fingers still. “Is that what you think? You think I want to take him from you?”

He saw the relief in her face and unclenched his fingers. She’d been scared that he’d take away the only person she had left? “Keira…I wouldn’t…”

“You have resources I don’t. You’re angry, I understand that, I really do, and whether you believe me or not, my biggest regret is that you didn’t get the chance to raise your son.” Kona cocked up an eyebrow and Keira rolled her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. I know it’s my fault. But he’s all I have left. He’s my world, and we are close, very close. He’s had some…issues.” Kona didn’t like the change in her features, how her mouth dipped, the faint wrinkle under her eyes. “The past few years have been hard.”

“What issues?”

A small, critical laugh, and Keira leaned back, moved her body around to face him. “God, Kona, he’s our son. He’s anger has become a significant problem. He threw a kid through a plate glass window a while back when he tried to attack Ransom’s friend. It was bad. The school expelled him, and there was a lot of kickback from the boy’s family. They’re well off, and Ransom was forced into counseling. He got community service and had to do anger management. He was devastated, embarrassed that he went off like that.” The worry was immediate. He hadn’t even met his boy, and already Kona was anxious. Keira must have seen that in his features, in the swift frown he couldn’t help, because she leaned toward him, touched his wrist. “He’s trying—we’re trying, but it’s difficult. He only feels better, is able to control himself, when he’s on the field or in front of a piano.”

“He plays? Football?” The muscles around his mouth relaxed, and Kona smiled at Keira, excited.

“He’s really, really good. Defensive back. He’s been scouted since the end of last year.”

When she shook her head, a laugh bubbling up at his expression, Kona scooted closer, smile stretching. They were silent just then, and Kona liked the easy comfort that had replaced the thick tension that filled the room the second she walked through the door. One look at her, at the way she brushed her hair behind her ear, the dimple forming with her smile, and Kona knew he would forgive her.

But what about his son? How would he take the news that the father he never knew about would be entering his life? Did he hate Kona? Did he resent him? Kona’s smile left his face as he thought of his own absentee father. His mother had never even let his name slip. The man died five years ago, and the first time he got a look at him was in a large coffin.

He didn’t want that for his son. He didn’t want Mark Burke to continue filling in for him. “What will you tell him? About me, I mean?”

“The truth. I don’t lie to him. I may not always offer full disclosure, but I’ve never lied to him.” Kona looked away from her, nodding, unusually nervous. Just the idea of meeting his son had made-up, tension-filled scenarios racing in his head, but then Keira touched him again, pulled on his fingers and offered him a comforting smile. “I’ll be honest, this is going to blindside him. I don’t know how he’s going to handle it. But Kona, I’ve never once spoken badly about you to Ransom.” She squeezed his fingers. “He really is amazing and very kind.”

“When?”

Keira pulled her hand away, and Kona missed the warmth from her fingers. Her shoulders straightened, and she fiddled with the small ring on her pinky, as though her nerves had resurfaced to niggle at her calm. “I’ll need some time. I have to tell him gently. I don’t know what he’ll say, how he’ll feel. He’s going to be mad at me, but he’s fiercely protective. I don’t know how he’ll react to you, to be honest.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Kona, I already feel like an asshole. There’s no need for you to make me feel worse. If you’re going to be in his life, then you and I are going to have to act like civilized people. You can hate me on your own, but not in front of my son.”

“Our son,” he corrected her, but his voice didn’t shake, wasn’t lifted in a shout. His gaze dropped down to the floor, to Keira’s small feet, and Kona felt nervous for a different reason. “I don’t hate you. Not…not even then, I didn’t hate you.” He managed to glance at her, to push a quick smile onto his mouth before he looked back at the floor. “I was so angry about…about Lu, about me getting everyone into that shit. It took me a long time to figure that out. But this…all of this screws with my head. I’m confused, and I’m disappointed that I’ve missed out on so much, but I don’t hate you, Wildcat.”

Keira didn’t hide her smile. It is instant, seemed like the quick recall of something she’d forgotten on purpose. He returned that grin, and it stayed, deepened when she slid closer to him. “Can we be civil, Kona? Can we be, I don’t know—”

“You wanna be my friend?” And just like that, the zip returned. It was faint, barely recognizable, but it still crackled between them. Kona had felt the buzz of it when she touched him, trying to reassure him, but as their gazes caught, Kona felt the whip of energy return. Keira licked her lips and Kona cannot help leaning toward her; the anger and devastation of the day slipped from his mind, left him completely as he stared at Keira and those beautiful flecks of gray in her widening eyes. “I was never your friend, Keira, you know that. I always just wanted you.” An easy lean of his shoulders, and Kona’s mouth hovered near hers, and Keira did not back away. “Then I needed you.”

Kona moved the small wisps of hair from her forehead with a slow drag of his finger over that soft skin. It was the same. It was exactly the same. So was her reaction to his touch, to the slow movement of his fingers against her forehead. He wanted to kiss her. Despite himself, despite the anger and betrayal he felt, Kona wanted to kiss Keira.

“I never asked, but you married?” His anger, his frustration at her silence had kept the question out of his mind. Now with her sitting next to him, smelling the way she did, looking the way she did, had Kona eager to know if she’d forgotten him completely.

That lulled, comfortable expression on Keira’s face relaxed further, transformed her mouth into a smirk. “No time.” Bottom lip dented beneath her teeth, Keira met Kona’s gaze. “You?”

“No desire.”

Her gaze caught his before she closed her eyes, before she leaned away and a frustrated groan sounded from her throat. She was slow, calm and stood from the sofa, an easy nod of her head telling Kona that she wasn’t really rejecting him.

“I need to go.”

He followed her, his lips tingling from that almost kiss, and Kona couldn’t help himself, was eager to tease her now that the anger and tension had left them. “Still running, Wildcat?”

She stared at him, then down at his hand when he grabbed her wrist, but Kona could tell she wasn’t angry, not with that smirk on her face. Keira opened the door, but didn’t walk out of it, not until she looked over her shoulder, and the pretty blush he hadn’t seen in far too long warmed her skin. “Don’t call me that, Kona.”

“Did you go with Tristan to the river?” Keira grabbed the rubber ball her son has been bouncing against the refrigerator for the past ten minutes and arched an eyebrow at him when he tried nabbing it from the island.

“Nah.” He settled in across from her on the barstool, with his leg bouncing against the footrest, and took the ball, running it along the granite surface between his hands. “He wanted to head to the Quarter. There’s a girl who works in the Riverwalk he’s been eye-humping for a month.”

Keira wrinkled her nose. The visual of Leann’s oldest son gawking after some teenage girl with burgeoning lust in his gaze was unwelcomed, and Ransom laughed at Keira’s expression. Tristan was just a year younger than Ransom, and Keira remembered the day he was born. She remembered changing his diapers; she remembered him and Ransom muddy from the river just outside her small cottage in Nashville. She didn’t want to know Tristian even noticed girls, much less that he’s been eye humping one. “Please. I can’t know that.”

“Mom, come on. He’s almost fifteen.” He leaned across the island, voice lowered behind his laughter. “I bet he even gets boners.”

“Okay, gross.” A shudder worked up Keira’s shoulders and she turned back to the stove, waving off her son’s low laughter as he moved around the island.

“You know, I get boners too sometimes.” Keira squeezed her eyes shut, as though being temporarily blind would eradicate that disturbing image from her mind. It did not. But her son was insistent, amused by her reaction and his annoying laughter only deepened when Keira stirred the sautéing onions with her eyes still shut. He leaned his chin on the top of her head and Keira could feel his shoulders shake. “Well, all the time.”

“You really want me to throw up, right?”

Another laugh and her son nudged her with his elbow. “Sorry. I’m just messing with you.” He backed out of her way, leaned against the counter as Keira moved around the kitchen, checking the temperature in the oven, returning to the island to the cutting board and the head of lettuce still wet from the sink. She knew her son watched her, was suspicious about her activity. She only cooked when she’s nervous, when something weighed on her mind. Keira was certain that Ransom would soon ask what was bothering her. He’d know something was up when he caught on to what was cooking in the oven.  “You need some help?” he said, squinting.

“Cut the cucumbers.” Keira was content to move around him, to not meet her son’s gaze as she added the rice to the mixture, as Ransom peeled the skin from the vegetable with his head moving, gaze tracing every move she made. Finally, he cleared his throat, repeated the noise until Keira was forced to look at him. “What?”

The long knife was out of his hands and when he crossed his arms over that massive chest, Keira looked away from him, focused on the bowl in her hand. He looked so much like his father. But her son was persistent, took the bowl out of Keira’s grip. “What’s going on?”

“Why do you think something’s going on?”

He moved his chin toward the stove. “Asparagus risotto, double fudge brownies and...” he lifted the cover from the grill on top of the oven surface, “salmon steaks.” Ransom’s nostrils pinched as he inhaled and he opened the stove, jerking up straight when he peeked inside. “Shit, Mom, you made baked mac-n-cheese. From scratch! What is it?”

Keira rushed to deflect the problem before it started. The signs were there instantly—the swift movement of his nodding head, the gear up for the collection of thoughts that were likely mudding up his reason; the hard bite of his top teeth over his bottom lip. They cautioned his impending rage, the hurried bubble of that epic temper as it crested. Keira was in front of him, hand on the back of his neck, fingernails in the nape before he could get too worked up.

“I want you to calm down.”

“I’m good.” His answer was too automatic, but he did not fight her when she pulled on his arm, when she sat him back down on the barstool.

“Ransom.”

Eyes closed, he took a breath, leaned his elbow on the counter and Keira relaxed when her son nodded. “Just tell me, please.”

The words had rested on her tongue for years. She’d tasted them, moved them around her mouth like a bitter wine for as long as he’d been alive. But Keira had never found the courage to release them. Her boy looked at her now, desperate, worried and they left her mouth, through her weak voice just to take that anxious fear from his expression.

“I’m ready to talk to you about your father.”

He sat up straight and instantly that fear was gone, replaced by the stupid, wide smile that was so similar to Kona’s. “Really?” Keira nodded. “Why?” Ransom asked, some of that happiness dimming.

“He…he was at the Market today.” The timer on the oven sounded and Keira moved toward it, pulled out the baked macaroni to set it on a hot plate. Ransom followed, turned her by the shoulders before she could take off her oven mitts.  He didn’t speak; they’d always shared this silent little language, a nod of his head that said “continue” and her quiet exhale that told him she’d explain. “He saw you.”

“Okay?”

“Sweetie, one look at you and he knew. He just knew.” There were four perfectly round freckles, faint, but dark under Ransom’s left eye. When he was younger, every month, he’d insisted that she count them, see if more had joined the others; it was a game to him. It broke Keira’s heart to play it. She ran her fingers over those spots just then, trying to ignore the memory of Kona’s freckles, how she’d kissed every one. “You look so much like him.” Ransom took her fingers, held them away from his face, a silent request that she stop procrastinating.

In those deep dark eyes Keira saw so much. They flashed sweet memories of frustration, of laughter, of sick, consuming obsession. But on the surface, in the soft curve of his cheeks, Keira saw only her boy, that chubby little four-year-old too scared of the height and looming depths of the park slide to even attempt climbing the ladder.

She pushed his thick hair out of his eyes and another memory flashed forward, this one of a boy who wouldn’t let his brother walk into danger; one that asked for Keira’s help. “He had a twin. He died. I never told you that. Luka was his name and he was a good man. Sometimes you remind me of him, but really you’re…you’re so like…like Kona.” She waited for his reaction, for his surprise, but it didn’t come.

“Finally,” Ransom said, his features, his body all lowering, relaxing as though all the weight of what he’d know had left him.

Keira, though was surprised, confused by his reaction. “What do you mean, ‘finally’?”

One quick laugh and Ransom rested next to her, shoulders on the wall. “Mom, I’m pretty smart. Hello, 4.23 GPA.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m still paying off the ‘Oh Look How Smart We Are’ camp.” She nudged him. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve known since I was thirteen.”

It took her a moment, a few brief seconds as she watched him, the easy smile, the wave of his hand, before she believed him. “Excuse me?”

“Shit, Mom, you never wanted to talk about it. And then Hale got signed to the Broncos. I was thirteen and we flew up to Englewood for my Beta convention and the Broncos were doing spring training, open to the public.” Ransom flipped his bangs out of his eyes and Keira noticed that his dismissive tone was rehearsed; that he must have practiced this little speech for years. “I begged and begged you to take me but you freaked out. We had to miss the rest of the convention because you hustled us back to Tennessee.” He crossed to the island and grabbed the rubber ball again, squeezed it in his hand. “But, Mom, that wasn’t the first time. I know how to Google. Why do you think I wanted to meet him so badly? You know how many times guys on my team called me Lil Kona? I’m not blind. I saw the similarities and a few online interviews told me you and Hale were at CPU together. It all added up.” Ransom shrugged, waving off Keira’s frown. “The year of the convention Leann came up to visit and I asked her about it. She only confirmed what I knew.” Ransom bounced the ball once on the floor, but then stopped, folded his arms over his chest. When he spoke again, his mouth was straight, serious and there was no playful tone in his voice. “She made me promise not to mention him to you. She said he destroyed you. She said I was better off not knowing anything about him. So I let it go.”

All these years later and Leann still didn’t know how to stop meddling. She wanted to be angry at her cousin. It wasn’t her place to answer Keira’s son’s questions. But Leann had always been braver than Keira and she knew her intentions weren’t spiteful. She still wanted to pop her in the head, though. “She shouldn’t have told you.”

“Does it really matter now? That was three years ago and I’ve dealt with it. Kona Hale is my father. I’m okay with it.” Again Ransom bounced his ball, and that somber tone was replaced again by his easy humor. “It sucks that he’s never been around, but I got you. That was always more than enough for me.”

Ransom always did that; saw the upside in every situation. She often told him he was born old and Keira knew his maturity, the way he reasoned and spoke came from the role of confidant she’d forced him into. Sometimes she felt guilty that she’s depended on this kid for so long, that’s she’s asked him to bear the weight of her emotional upheaval, but he’d never complained. Just like now, Ransom took what came and dealt with it.

He was so different than her. His heartache, pushed down, sacrificed for her and she felt pathetic, useless that she could not protect him from this loss, that he had to question and wonder in silence.

Keira’s heartache all those years ago had been raw and she hadn’t had anyone either who could help her tamp it down. Back then, she’d only wanted to remember her breath, remember what it was to feel her lungs expand, to let the air shoot from her chest and out of her nose. But she couldn’t. The air had been too thick. Each inhalation was a battle and she wore her wounds inside, beneath the hard bristle of weight born the day she walked away from Kona. And it stayed there, grew larger, heavier until she forgot what breathing was, until she forgot what it was to relax, to rest, without the crippling weight caging her to the ground. 

And then, one July morning eight months later, she remembered. She remembered to bear down, to hold steady, to push and so she did. And all that she buried in those eight short months—his touch, his warmth, the breath he gave her—sped forward in the blood and sweat and blissful pain of ten small fingers, ten perfect toes and then, just then, in a hospital in Nashville, Keira remembered to breathe.

Ransom had reminded her how.

Keira couldn’t help the small collection of tears that formed in her eyes, and she blinked them away, knowing that the one thing Ransom couldn’t ever take was her crying. “You are not a normal teenager.”

“Well, you’ve never been a normal mom. Besides,” he grabbed her hand, gave her fingers a squeeze. “What have you always told me?”

He’d always remembered the conversation they had when he was five. He loved hearing it over and over. “It’s you and me, kid.”

His nod told her that the small emotional catharsis was over and he returned to the island, picked up the knife and focused the cucumbers. “So, what did he say?”

“You mean after he stopped giving me evil glares?”

Ransom shrugged. “It had to be a shock for him.” Her kid was Pollyanna. Leann’s positive projection finally stuck with someone and though his “can do, see the best in everyone” attitude could be annoying, Keira was proud of the way her son chose to see the world.

“To say the least.” She distracted herself with finishing the meal, prepping the serving dishes as Ransom reached for a tomato. “He wants to meet you.” Keira came to his side, scooped up the peelings into the trash and she watched him, checked his expression to see if that positive attitude faltered. “You okay with that? I mean he’s been your hero since you were a kid.”

He jerked his attention to her, a twitch of his smile and Ransom shook his head. “No he hasn’t. He’s a phenomenal ball player, Mom, but he isn’t my hero. You are.” When Keira’s chin wobbled and that burn returned to her eyes, Ransom called her on it, dismissed her emotion with a roll of his eyes. “If you don’t stop looking at me like that I’m gonna start talking about my boners again.”

“Please. God, no.” She kissed his cheek, had to lift up on the balls of her feet to reach his skin. “You sure you're okay?”

“Yep. I’m good.” There was a moment when her son frowned, thinking of something he kept to himself, but it passed as quickly as it came and the teasing tone returned to his voice. “Now come on woman, feed me your guilt food.”