Kona’s mother had lied to him before. He’d caught her. At the time, he couldn’t stay mad at her. Kuku got cancer and it was terminal. Kona was playing in the AFC finals, happy, excited at the chance to be on a team that could land in the Super Bowl. It wasn’t until after they won when Kona was coming down off the high that win gave him that his mother told him about the diagnosis.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” she’d said. “That game meant so much to you and Kuku didn’t want me mentioning anything to you. Not until the last moment.”

That last moment came two days before the Super Bowl. Kona hadn’t cared about the game. He only wanted to be with his kuku. But he’d made a promise. His grandfather wanted him in that game. He wanted Kona to forget him, if only for a few hours. And so he did. He’d played. They’d won and the last moment came as he held his Kuku’s hand, cried like a little boy as the old man took his final breaths.

He forgave his mother.

But as he waited in the old Victorian, arm across the back of the sofa, posture easy, he thought forgiveness would not come so easily now.

He heard her Mercedes pull into the drive and Kona fleetingly thought that she needed a brake job, that the squeak when she stopped was getting worse than it had been two days before when she picked him up from the airport.

Her long, thin skirt swayed against her legs as Kona watched her through the window and he gripped the back of the couch, somewhat nervous, still angry that she’d kept this secret so long.

Keys on the table in the foyer and his mother stopped short as she entered the living room, eyebrows up high when she looked at him. “Keiki kane? What are you doing here?” She dropped her bags, worry etched in her face so that the wrinkles around her eyes deepened. “What’s happened?”

He didn’t answer. Kona moved his chin, motioned for his mother to sit across from him. She was tiny now; had grown so thin and he worried about her. The professor was nearing her mid-sixties and she didn’t cook for herself, didn’t do more than shop and putter around in her garden.

Her back was straight as she sat on the glass coffee table, looking over his face, Kona suspected, for any hint of what had him so sullen, so quiet. “Yesterday in the Market,” he said, eyes lowered, glaring at her, “I saw Keira.”

The worry disappeared and his mother’s posture became less rigid. “And?”

Kona dismissed the curiosity. He wanted to measure her reaction, to see if a confession would come. “I spoke to her.”

“Kona, no.” She’d already abandoned her worry. She’d always hated Keira, even before the wreck, before Luka. He’d never known why and this flippant attitude that had her standing, had her picking her purse up from the floor and lifting her wide hat from her head, only confirmed that her opinion had not changed. “It’s best you stay away from her. After all she did…”

“What do you think she did, Mom?” His mother snapped her attention to him, a snarl curling her top lip, but Kona ignored it. “You think she’s responsible? Still? After all these years?”

“If she’d minded her own business…”

“She wanted to protect me. So…so did Luka.” He leaned up, rested his elbows on his knees. “It was my fault. You never understood that. I led them there.”

“Don’t say that. No.” His mother sat next to Kona, took his hands and some of his irritation was replaced with gratitude. She never thought he’d done anything wrong. His sins, his crimes, she always excused away as though they were the stupid behavior of a misguided kid, not felonies he’d willingly jumped into.

Then the flash of that boy in the Market returned to him and Kona pulled his hands away from his mother, stared over her head to the window and the fat blooms of hydrangea and roses lining the walkway outside. “It’s a funny thing; the women in my life getting into my business.” He looked back at her. “You’ve always messed with my business.”

She sat up straighter. “What are you saying?”

“You knew. You’ve known this whole time and you never told me.” They stared at each other, his mother squinting, playing a game, seeing whose tells will give away their hands. “He looks just like me, Mom. He’s me exactly.”

She stood, walked to the vase near the window, fiddled with the arrangement of magnolias and hydrangeas. “If he looks like you, it’s because you and your brother were so similar.”

His mother hated his anger, always said it was his father’s bad blood that had him lashing out. She’d never blame that defect on her family. And so she busied herself with the flowers, pulling out the stems, adjusting their height as though he hadn’t just accused her of lying to him for nearly sixteen years.

He couldn’t wait, felt his patience sliding through him. “Mom?” His tone was harsh, sharp and his mother jerked at the sound.

Finally, she looked over her shoulder, and when she spoke, her voice shook. “I knew Keira was pregnant. Her mother told me the day after Luka…” She turned back to the flowers, and the petals fall around the vase. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“By keeping my son from me?” Kona darted from the couch, and in three strides, he was behind her, fighting against himself to lower his voice.

His mother faced him, twisting a dead flower in her hand. She stared at Kona’s collar, to the V-neck of his shirt and the silver chain that disappeared underneath it. Then her eyes lifted, were glassy. “By never telling you that the girl you thought you loved was carrying your brother’s child.”

Kona twisted out of his mother’s touch, stepping back. “That’s not true.” He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t make his lungs inflate enough to catch a deep breath. “That can’t be true.” Luka and Keira? No. That just didn’t make sense. He glared at his mother, knees wobbling when he saw her tears. She’d told him her suspicions years ago; it had led to the biggest fight he and his twin had ever had. He’d bloodied Luka’s bottom lip, and Kona’s brother had returned the favor by bruising his eye.

Keira had sworn she didn’t want Luka, and then later, his twin told him what a jackass he was for even thinking he’d touch Kona’s girl.

They couldn’t have lied that well. They couldn’t have been together without Kona knowing.

“Luka told me, keiki kane,” his mother said, leading him into a chair near the window. She kneeled in front of him, and as a distraction, Kona wiped her face dry. “He told me he loved her, but he didn’t want to betray you any more than he already had.”

He refused to believe her, brushed her hand from his arm when she touched him. His gut told him that this is wrong, that it just can’t be true. But his mother was a good woman; she was a little overbearing, a little protective of him even now, but she would never lie about something like this. She would never taint Luka’s memory.

When she stood, stepped back and stared down at Kona, he glanced up at her, waiting for an explanation he isn’t sure he wanted to hear. “She named the boy Luka, didn’t she?” Kona opened his mouth, a question tipping his tongue, but she waved him off. “I kept tabs. He’s my grandson, after all, but I knew she’d never let us in their lives, and I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you. I knew how badly it would hurt.”

His head felt so heavy, like he’d had too much to drink and Kona leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his hands covering his face. “Keira would have never, and Luka…” The thought of his twin was like a splinter in his chest; it always had been.  Most days Kona could bury his memory, his face, so deep that he often forgot what his brother looked like. He didn’t want this to be true. It was hard enough forgetting what Luka’s death had done to their family, what his loss had cost Kona; he couldn’t have this betrayal added to that pain.

It just can’t be true.

“Ask for a test. You’ll see for yourself.” Kona recognized that tone; it was the same one his mother always used to end most arguments. She stood, walked away from him and lingered by the door. He could feel the weight of her revelation and the subtle joy he knew she got now that she’d told Kona what kind of person Keira had been. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this. I know how much you loved them both.”

He thought he did. He thought, one day, he still could. Now, he just didn’t know.

 

Seething. It’s the only word Keira could think of to define the bubble of rage pounding in her mind. She couldn’t even look at Kona, but she felt his eyes on her, that steady glare she knew was in his gaze as they sat across a long conference table in his lawyer’s office.

The battle ax at Kona’s side was smiling.

Keira had suspicions. She knew how the old professor worked. She was always Kona’s one flaw—the thing that annoyed Keira the most about him when they were together. He’d believe anything that mean bitch told him. A slip of her gaze at that wide, phony smile and Keira knew it was her idea to ask for a DNA test.

Kona, at least, seemed to feel the awkward air of anger in the room. Keira glanced at him, caught his frown, that simmering calm she knew was forced and then looked away.

“Okay,” the chubby lawyer with the ridiculous name Martin Martin said, coming through the door to sit at the head of the table. In his hand was a manila envelope and he waved it around like it was a winning Lotto ticket and not the results that Keira knew had been forged. “We have the tests results, Ms. Riley.” The man looked to be in his mid-fifties with gray hair above his ears and at his temples. The smile was professional, friendly, but too polished, teeth too white. He would have fit into her mother’s social circle with little difficulty. “Keep in mind, Ms. Riley that since Mr. Hale and his deceased brother were twins, the lab expanded the testing to thirty-two loci instead of the usual fifteen. Brothers will typically match and so the lab tested Mr. Hale’s sample as well as Luka’s.”

“How?” Keira asked, wondering what lengths Kona’s mother had gone to, to make sure Keira looked like an idiot.

“The autopsy. Professor Alana had the samples stored.”

Of course she did, Keira thought, suddenly realizing that the woman had likely planned this. She’d known Keira didn’t go through with the abortion. It was something a woman like her would have checked up on. Storing Luka’s DNA was her insurance.

The lawyer cleared his throat, bringing Keira’s attention back to the head of the table.  “In this case Luka Hale’s DNA and Mr. Hale’s were tested as the potential fathers of the child.” Keira hated the way the man called Ransom a child. She hated the way he spoke Luka’s name as though he was a footnote, the unlucky pawn that got blamed for Ransom’s existence.

Keira could only stare at the gold ring on the lawyer’s hand as he slid the envelope across the smooth table. She knew they watched her, took in her slow movements, the flick of her nails against the brass brads as she opened it.

She was not surprised when she read the results:

Kona Hale: Probability of paternity: 50%

Luka Hale: Probability of paternity: 99%

Keira blinked, then closed her eyes, slipping the paper back into the envelope. “Well now,” she said, staring right at Kona’s mother. “Isn’t that convenient?”

“Excuse me, Keira?” the woman said. Her smile was so wide that her lips looked thin.

The lawyer again cleared his throat, perhaps sensing the build of tension in the room. “Naturally, since Mr. Hale has been ruled out as the father, he will not be making any arrangements in terms of child support or back payment for the past sixteen years.” Keira watched Kona, her anger building as she noticed his posture, how he’d crossed his arms, tightened his shoulder. How he refused to look at her.

“Money?” Keira leaned on the table, slapping her hand on the surface when Kona averted her gaze. Finally, he looked at her, expression tight, guarded. “You think I want your money?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Keira, really. This can all be settled.” She couldn’t even look at Kona’s mother when she spoke to her. That tone was too familiar, and Keira leaned back, forced herself to keep her eyes on the table as the woman continued. “The boy is still our blood, and Kona wants to help you out. Isn’t that right, keiki kane?”

When Kona only nodded, Keira pushed back from the table. Sixteen years ago, her temper would have her wanting to crawl over the table and jump on top of that bitch. But Keira was not that angry girl anymore. Time, distance, motherhood had all calmed her, given her reflection and hindsight. So she didn’t scream at Kona’s mother. She didn’t call Kona a spineless asshole for letting his mother and lawyer hold his balls. Instead, Keira picked up her bag and pushed her chair back under the table, hand resting on the back.

To his lawyer, she nodded. “I am not interested in any monetary arrangements.” The man’s eyebrows lifted, and Keira saw the question rounding his eyelids. “Mr. Martin, I’ve won a Grammy and have written a dozen platinum songs. I don’t need Mr. Hale’s money.”

When the professor clicked her tongue, Keira jerked her head around. “Don’t believe me?”

“Girls like you are always calculating.” As the woman leaned forward, arms on the table, she sneered at Keira, cold, pensive, as though she believed reading Keira, understanding her, was simple. “I know damn good and well that this won’t be the last we hear from you.”

“Girls like me, Professor Alana? You mean girls who take care of themselves? Or girls who make their own way?”

“Keira, don’t play the martyr.” The woman brushed off Kona’s hand on her wrist, his vain attempt to get his mother to calm down. “I know your mother left you a substantial inheritance.”

“Yes, she did and I donated every single dime to charities she would have hated: the NAACP, the American Indian College Fund, Water.org.” She tried not to let Kona’s attempts at fighting a smile dim any of her anger. “Believe me or not, but I’ve done pretty well for myself, and I don’t need Kona’s money.” Keira was done with this ridiculous conversation. She’d given Kona and that bitter, hateful mother of his too much of her time. Her hand was in her purse, pulling out the envelope before either of them could argue with her.

“And while we’re talking about girls like me, girls that are calculating, why not admit a few things? Like who suggested what lab would do the testing?” She looked at Kona. “Was it her?” She nodded to Alana, who made strange little noises of protest, forcing Keira to speak louder. “And why in God’s name would she have stored Luka’s autopsy samples all these years?” She walked around the table and placed the envelope in front of Kona. “And if she was so convinced that Luka was Ransom’s father then why the hell would she have given me this?” Keira leaned down, ignored how good Kona smelled as her mouth lingered near his ear. “I think you know it’s well past time for your balls to drop, asshole.” Keira backed up when he turned, eyes hard, frown severe, but she wasn’t threatened by him or the cold way he glared at her. “You keep away from my kid. You don’t deserve to know him.”