The piano keys struck loud, angry, those brutal notes pounding out across the tile at Keira’s feet. Ransom’s clothes, shoes, were scattered in the hallway, across the floor and Keira picked them up, draped them on her arm as she darted into the living room.

            Wide, shaking shoulders, chest rising quick, Ransom struck the keys—half played intros, unfinished choruses started and stopped and Keira’s heart broke.

A slap, a curse and Ransom slammed his fists on the keys, growling, angry as Keira walked into the room.

“Sweetie,” she said, grabbing his arm, pulling him to her chest when he tried walking away. There was no sound worse to a mother than that of her child’s heart breaking. Her boy was devastated, his pain like an electric line snapping and biting. “Shh, it’s going to be okay.”

Ransom’s wet face dampened her shirt when he wiped his eyes against the fabric and he pulled back, breath shuddering before he looked at her. “Everything is over, Mom. My life here, my life back home. Everyone will know. They will all know.”

“It doesn’t matter.” His cheeks were hot, red as she pulled his face up and those eyes—those dark, intelligent eyes looked lost, distant, with streaks of red lining around the whites, puffing up his lids. “We’ll fix this, honey. I promise.”

“How? How can you fix this? You can’t do anything, Mom. He…Kona…that asshole…I thought…”

The buildup crested—that swift thread of rage, of fury slipping back, shaking his fingers, made her son lean out of her touch. But Keira settled him, caught that slip of control before it is out of her hands completely.

“Play.” She turned his shoulders, moved his wrist onto the keys.

“It won’t help.” Ransom’s jaw worked, clenched as she held his large hands steady on the piano. “No, Mom, I can’t. It won’t work. I can’t get it to work this time.”

“Then I’ll help you. Come on.” He hesitated, just for a moment and with one shuddering exhale, began to play. The notes were sporadic, uneven as his fingers slipped across the keys and Keira urged him, filled in the missing notes with her right hand, her left steady, still on his back. “That’s it. Good. Take your breaths. Count for me.” And he did; clipped, uneasy numbers, gritted through his teeth, but they come.

“One…tw…two…”

Keira wanted to slap something, beat in Kona’s face, but she pushed the inclination away, focused on the way Ransom’s eyes stared down at the keys, how his fingers weren’t shaking as much. “Can you…will you sing with me, sweetie?”

Eyes squeezed tight, Ransom shook his head, bending his back and she knew he was trying to lose himself in the music. She’d seen it too often from him. He wanted to drift from his anger, become lost in the feel of the ivory on his fingertips and the vibration of the pedals at his feet.

He was wandering, out of touch with the calm he needed, broken by the ghosts of the past. Keira’s chest pulled tight, hating that her son felt the sting that has lived in her for sixteen years. She never wanted this for him. She didn’t want her mistakes, her sin, to touch him. But it had, and its bite was vicious and crippling.

The tune was familiar to her; something new, something that Ransom learned after hearing it one time on the radio. He played by ear, and she thought he knew this song, that it lived inside him. Its lyrics were about loss and pain and the fever that love brings; the numbing pull that loving someone can do. She didn’t know all the words, but she’d try. For her boy, she’d try anything to heal him.

Ransom didn’t frown or flinch when she missed some of the words, filling them in with her own. He continued to play, notes clearer, surer, and when she reached the second course, he picked up the song, voice shaking, a quiver trembling the lyrics, but the words came to him, strengthened him as he continued to sing.

The bridge she knew, because the words always managed to hit close to all the heartache Keira brought upon herself.

 

Funny you’re the broken one,

but I’m the only one who needed saving.

Ransom’s hair was wavy, tousled by his fingers, something he did when he was annoyed, frustrated; another gesture he’d inherited from Kona and she pushed back a thick wave that had fallen onto his forehead. The touch had him pausing, forehead creased as he looked at her and then, he took his hands off the keys and jerked up as he stared over Keira’s shoulder.

He was hers. Ransom had her talent for music. He had her easy nature, her need to make others comfortable. But that rage, that very short fuse of calm, came from both Kona and Keira, and it was that fuse lit and quickly burning that Keira saw just then. Ransom kicked the bench back, nearly toppling her to the floor, and her son darted toward his father standing in the patio doorway.

“Son…wait…” Kona tried, hands up.

“Don’t you call me that, asshole. I’m not your son.” Kona let Ransom take him by the collar, let him shove him against the wall before Keira could stop him. “No decent father would do that to his kid.”

“Ransom, don’t.” Keira’s hands on her son’s shoulders did nothing. “Please, he’s not worth it.”

Kona took her words like medicine. He needed it; they cut deep, but he’d allowed something unforgiveable. He wanted more of Keira’s insults. He wanted all of Ransom’s rage.

“Why would you do that?” His son shook him again, and Kona’s head went back, hit the wall behind him. “What gives you the right?”

He couldn’t find words; there weren’t any. Kona could only stand there, staring down at his son, the boy who looked so like him, who brought Luke back to life in small gestures and familiar expressions. The rage was thick, tangible, and all Kona could think to do was touch it.

But Ransom jerked away from his reaching hand, pushed Kona’s chest again, and he knew what his boy wanted. It’s what he would want, what he always wanted when someone hurt him.

When the swing came, Kona closed his eyes, relaxed the muscles in his face to feel the full impact of his son’s fist.

“Say something, motherfucker!” Another swing, another stinging smart of Ransom’s knuckles against his jaw, and Kona opened his eyes, stared hard, anticipating. But his boy stopped, glare lingering, searching, eyes lowering to follow the small bead of blood in the corner of Kona’s mouth.

Ransom stepped back, let his mother tug him away, and Kona’s own anger brimmed forward, wanting more, needing more of that rage dealt against his skin.

“Come on, son.” Again, he reached for Ransom, but only managed to touch his sleeve. “That all you got? Come on!”

Keira followed Ransom as he stepped away, one finger pointing at Kona, a warning he ignored.

“You don’t know me, and you ruined my life.” Ransom’s kick against the piano bench cracked the wood, splintered it until the hinges broke and scattered worn sheet music under the piano.

Kona saw so much of himself, so much of Luka in his son’s manic anger; his fists upturning all of Cora Michael’s fine, useless figurines on the bookshelf, his shouts as he broke the pictures of a woman he had never known. Keira was crying, hand over her mouth, looking helpless, scared, and when she stepped forward, Kona assumed to stop their son’s outrage and aggression, he took her shoulders, kept her still against his chest when she tried jerking away from him. She didn’t want his touch, he knew that, but Keira was overwhelmed, clearly clueless how to stop this rampage.

“No. He needs this,” Kona told her. “He needs to get this out.” He hated how she leaned away from him, how she jabbed at his ribs, but he steadied her, holding her, while Ransom’s fury was exhausted.

The boy decimated much of the living room, crying, shouting, knuckles, fingers bloody, and the twin sensation of Ransom’s yelling and Keira's uncontrollable sobs had Kona’s eyes burning, had him holding onto Keira’s shoulders as though she was an anchor that would keep him from falling apart completely.

“Asshole running his mouth, talking about shit he knows nothing about.” Kona took the glare his son gave, closed his eyes against that fury only for a second when Ransom pointed at him. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me, you piece of shit! And you still manage to ruin my life. You both…you both ruined my life!”

Kona didn’t expect Keira’s loss of control, didn’t catch her when she fell to her knees, hands over her face. She had never allowed Kona to protect her. She had taken that chance from him, but now he would, without her permission, without her asking.

Ransom lunged forward, eyes wide, wounded as though he’d stepped away from his senses. Kona remembered this—just like him, his boy wanted to lash out, he wanted to injure and he didn’t seem to remember that his mother had loved him, had made him her world for all of his life. So Kona reminded him.

He moved in front of Keira, ready to take whatever venom Ransom needed to spit at him. “She was protecting you, son. From me.”

“Good damn job she did!” Ransom was big for his age, but he still had some sense, still had some semblance of understanding that his father was stronger than him, that he wouldn’t let Ransom touch Keira. One step toward Kona, a glance at his mother, and the boy retreated, hands held in his hair, eyes searching, itching for something else to destroy.

And when Ransom spun away from him, stopped short and looked down at the guitar next to the leather sofa, Kona’s stomach dropped. Behind him, Keira’s sharp intake and immediate sobs had Kona moving, speeding toward Ransom as he jerked the Hummingbird off of its stand. The instrument was up and over his head as Kona reached him.

“No.” The strings bit into his palm when Kona grabbed the neck. “Not this.”

Ransom’s breathing was heavy, eyes swollen, nostrils flared and Kona watched his quick intake of breath, the pants that moved over his open mouth. There was confusion in his son’s expression, but the anger ebbed away, a sluggish retreat, but it dampened as Kona pulled the guitar from his hands.

Just then, Kona saw what Ransom had been running from. He was a little boy, hurt, betrayed and masked it all with fury. Kona was familiar and the memory of that emotion, how quickly he could recall it, staggered Kona.

“She didn’t do this to you.” Kona felt the metal tang of blood from his bitten cheek. “I did this. Not her.”

His frown relaxed, and Ransom stopped breathing, gaze flashing quickly from Kona to Keira sobbing on the floor. He followed Kona’s movement, the cautious way he set the guitar back onto its stand and then his son’s anger left him, lost in the realization of what he’d almost done.

“Mom. Oh, God…” Ransom ran to his mother, fell in front of Keira on the floor. He dwarfed her tiny body. Ransom covered her, concealed her in his large arms, and she clung to his shirt as her sobs quieted. Ransom’s hold was tight, fierce as his kissed the top of her head, rubbed his hand down her back. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The moment was theirs; forgiveness given and taken without hesitation, and Kona could only stare at them, amazed how his boy, and his Wildcat, held each other. He felt like a voyeur, an unwelcome witness to the healing they took from each other. His fingers twitched with the urge to touch them both, to interrupt this moment so that he felt what they shared, tasted a hint of what he’d never had, but he didn’t move from his spot. He didn’t speak. They amazed him. His family. His everything.

He was exhausted by the day, by the heartache that never seemed to be more than a reach away from him. Would this always be the way of things? Would their lives always be so consumed with guilt? With anger?

The stinging in his eyes was sharp, brutal, but Kona didn’t blink, didn’t try to make it disappear.

“You still here?” his son said, still holding his mother, covering her face so that Kona couldn’t see her expression. He understood the lingering anger. He certainly knew where that need to protect Keira came from, and even though his son’s voice was bitter, his frown hard, Kona was grateful that Keira had Ransom. That she finally had someone protecting her.

“I don’t run.” Kona’s steps were slow, tentative, but he would not retreat. It wasn’t in him. “I don’t ever run.”

His voice seemed to bring Keira out of her heartache, and she stood, pulling herself up against Ransom’s arms so she could look at Kona. “Why?”

It’s all she needed to ask. That look, that hurt, angry look she gave him was explanation enough. Last night he touched her, loved her, and it had been the first time Kona had felt like himself, had felt at ease in sixteen years. He drew on that sensation, the thrill and pleasure Keira moved in him, to calm his voice, to keep his heart from racing out of his chest.

“You know I didn’t do this.” Another step and Keira’s chin stopped wobbling. “I would never do this.”

“Then how?” Ransom asked, holding his mother’s arm as though he’s ready to move in front of her, maybe hold her back if she decided to attack Kona.

But his answer was for Keira. In one look—hooded eyes, mouth pinched tight—Kona stared at Keira, silently begging her to understand. Silently asking her to forgive him yet again. That drop of his stomach only dipped lower when her features shifted, eyebrows rising, and Kona knew Keira realized who was responsible.

She wins every time, Kona.

“It was his mother. Your grandmother.”

Her tone, that harsh inflection had Kona sick. He knew this would mean more than distance between him and his son. It would mean that the promises he made last night, the bridge he began to rebuild was burnt to embers by his mother’s one phone call.

His skin was slick with sweat, his forehead was clammy when he rubbed the spot between his eyebrows.

“She’s never met me; she doesn’t know me.  Why would she care?” Ransom asked Keira.

“Because she doesn’t want him involved with us. That’s what she does. She interferes, she always interferes, and it’s not ever going to stop.”

Kona snapped his head up, eyed her carefully. “Keira…”

He had no argument; could say nothing that would convince her he would protect them from his mother. But Keira was right. His mother would never stop interrupting his life, or trying to keep Keira out of it. Not unless Kona broke all ties to her. He had a choice and for him, it was easy: His mother or his family.

“I’m going to end this.” He told them. He was just feet from them, and he wanted to touch them, to hold them, make them believe him.  “I’m going to fix it all.”

Keira looked away, head shaking, but Ransom’s expression was calmer and Kona saw the flicker of hope on his son’s face. “How?”

“I’ll handle it.” Ransom’s mouth twitched and Kona thought he wanted to smile, wanted to believe that he wasn’t the weak asshole Ransom thought he was. Kona had missed everything—lost all those memories to his mother’s deception, to his own weakness. He would not lose more, and he wanted his boy to know that, to understand that he would do anything to repair the damage done today.

Before Ransom could stop him, Kona was in front of him, his hand on the back of the boy’s neck, pulling him close. “I would never do anything like this to you. You’re my blood.” Palm easy, soft on his boy’s face, Kona lowered his voice, hoped his tone was sincere enough, honest enough. “You’re my boy, and I love you. I’d kill for you, understand that. I’m your father, and it’s my job to protect you and that’s what I’m going to do.” To his right, Kona saw the packed bags sitting next to the door and the thought of them leaving, either of them running, made him sick. “Please don’t leave.” He chanced a look at Keira, felt gutted by her frown, at that hopeless, defeated expression on her face. “Either one of you. Please. Let me fix this.”

“Can I go with you?” Ransom’s question came out of nowhere, and Kona could only stare at him, mouth open, shocked.

Keira was immediately worried, and she pulled on her son’s sleeve, making him step away from Kona. “Ransom…no, you don’t want to meet that woman.”

And just then, Kona thought he saw a flicker of his twin: that slow smile, that easy grin, right there in his son’s features. “I think I have to.”

Kona stared at him, jaw working. It would be a shock to his mother to see this remarkable boy, to see the face of the life she tried to destroy. It would level her to see how she hadn’t broken him, how strong he was. In Ransom’s expression, Kona saw determination, a fierceness he knew didn’t come from him, and he realized that there wasn’t much he could refuse his son. A quick nod and then Ransom smiled.

“No,” Keira said, giving up on convincing Ransom as he smiled. she took Kona’s arm, pulling, pleading with those worried eyes. “No, I don’t want…”

“Keira, you’ve been handling things for a long time.” A small graze of his hand against hers and she retreated. Kona buried his disappointment, pushing aside the need to grab her. “You don’t have to anymore. Please, let me carry this. It’s mine anyway.” When he tried touching her, she recoiled, and that disappointment swelled, had his shoulders sagging. “Let’s go,” he told his son. “I wanna get this over with. We need to stop off at the bank.”

He needed to leave before Keira’s frown stopped him. He wanted this over with, this betrayal buried, so he could start to rebuild whatever is left with Keira again. He waited by the door as Ransom whispered to his mother, as he kissed her forehead.

He was on the walkway, nearing his rental, when Ransom caught up to him. “You sure about this, Kona?”

He’d never been surer of anything in his life, but Kona stopped, looked down at his son, with a grin pulling the side of his mouth. “Think they’ll ever be a day when you call me Dad?”

A small flicker of anger stuck in Ransom’s features; it softened, and Kona thought his boy was waiting to see how this visit to his mother’s went. Those familiar features were guarded, gaze considering, as Ransom eyed him. Then his boy shrugged and continued down the walkway, with Kona trailing after him. “Maybe. But you gotta earn it.”