Kona tried to find her. After the win. After his coaches and brother pulled him out onto the field. After Fleming played when Robins had enough of Kona’s distraction, the half-hearted speed of his hustle.

Kona hadn’t even cared that the cameras followed him onto the sideline or that they caught Robins’ screaming at him. Keira was gone. After she walked away from him, Kona forgot that he was supposed to be a winner. He forgot everything but how she looked at him. She was disgusted. She was disappointed. That hurt worse than Robins’ screaming at him on national TV.

Later, when they’d barely managed the win, Kona sat in Robins’ office expecting more of his yells, expecting the man to tell him he could kiss his spot on the team goodbye.

“The transition from first to second year is shitty, Hale.” Robins’ voice didn’t raise. The man didn’t seem as angry as he had on the field when Kona’s efforts were half-hearted, barely managed. Robins instead sat with his elbows on his desk and his fingers together, giving Kona a stiff frown. “It’s not every player that can hack it.” Kona couldn’t even look at him. He kept his eyes down, focused on the pitchfork and horns of the blue devil on the rug under his feet. “I gotta be honest, Hale. I thought you were one that could.”

“I am,” he said, though his voice sounded too weak, unconvinced.

“What’s that?”

Finally, Kona looked at his coach, sitting up straight. “I can hack it, Coach. I’ve just got to figure out some shit and then I’ll be good.”

Coach Robins moved his jaw, thumb and forefinger rested on the side of his face as he watched Kona. The man was thinking, Kona could see that clearly and he held his breath, counted the click of the old clock on the wall as the second hand moved around the face. Four, five, six…and then Robins released a sigh. “I’ve been there, son. Trust me. Women will hurt you, but sometimes, if you’re lucky, you find the one that takes the shit away.” Kona closed his eyes, cursing himself and how easy he was to read. “You think you found that one yet, Hale?”

“I don’t know, Coach.”

“Then you haven’t. You’ll know when you do.” Robins backed away from his desk and opened the door, dismissing Kona with no more than a nod, but before he left that room, Robins tapped his shoulder. “You get your head on right, and I’ll let you back on the field, but you’ve got some work to do. I’m gonna be hard on you, understand that now, but I think you got a shot, Hale. Don’t fuck it up.”

Fuck-ups were something Kona was good at, and he left his coach’s office thinking that a subpar performance on the field wasn’t the worst one he’d have to make up for.

Kona had tried Keira’s dorm the second he left the stadium, knowing even his teammates wouldn’t want him around at Lucy’s after the half-assed job he did that night. And Luka, well, Kona still hadn’t let the great well of anger and betrayal he felt toward his twin settle. He knew it would. He knew he’d have to let it go, but that night, as he drove to Graham, thinking of excuses to make to his Wildcat that didn’t sound stupid or pathetic, Kona decided he’d deal with his big mouth brother later. He had to see her. He had to take that disappointed frown off her face.

But Keira wasn’t at Graham. She wasn’t anywhere. Kona would wait, he thought. He believed she needed the night. She needed time. She needed to take a breath from him, and he would give it to her.

He had not expected that wait to be so long.

Sunday he called and got no answer.

Monday he stood outside their English class, eyes alert, head leaning over the crowd, but Keira never showed.

By Tuesday, Kona was desperate. He searched the track, thinking Keira might need a run, but no one was there. He tried the library, the cafeteria, her dorm two more times, all the while blowing up her phone like his life depended on her answering. Still no answer, no response. Even the girls in her dorm were tightlipped, which never happened when Kona flirted, when he flashed his smile.

When Wednesday morning rolled around, Keira was a no-show for English again, and Miller wouldn’t tell him why Keira had missed class. He came just shy of knocking the man out, but decided that would do him no favors. He headed back to her dorm. He didn’t care that his huge body blocking the hallway outside caught stares, low whispers about him being a stalker. After four hours, Leann showed up with her man Michael, and Kona stood, shoulders square, heart pounding.

“Kona, she’s not here. She won’t be here for a while.” Kona barely registered Michael at Leann’s side, how the guy stood in front of her.

“I have to see her. Where is she?”

“She’s not here.” This came from Michael, and Kona was mildly impressed at the way he looked up at him, like he wasn’t intimidated at all. The guy was a few inches shorter than Kona and, like everyone else, much thinner, with less bulk. Kona thought he looked like a thug, with a toothpick in the corner of his mouth and a bad, poorly executed tattoo on the side of his neck. Prison tat, or one that was made to look like that.

Kona didn’t care that Michael looked like he wanted a tussle. He didn’t have time for that bullshit. He needed to find Keira. He had to explain.

“Leann, she won’t answer my calls. She didn’t show up to class this week and you know how much she loves it.” He took a step closer to her, hoping she caught the desperation he knew was on his face. “Please. I just wanna know if she’s okay. Is she sick? Does she need anything?”

“Listen, man, just back off,” Michael said, before Leann could answer Kona.

Hand on her boyfriend’s chest, Leann pushed Michael back and surprisingly, he retreated. “You tell me what happened, and maybe I can answer some questions for you.” In Leann’s expression, Kona saw confusion and a great bit of curiosity.

Keira hadn’t told her cousin what she’d walked in on. She’d kept his dirty little secret. That should have made Kona feel good. That should have had him relaxing, knowing that she still cared if she wasn’t telling everyone who listened what a dumbass he’d been. But all Kona felt, looking at Leann’s expectant expression, was stupid and weak and itching to riffle the campus until he found Keira.

Finally, when Michael inched forward again, Kona rubbed his neck, trying to find something he could say that would pacify the girl.

“I fucked up. I fucked up way worse than any time before.” Curious, he moved his chin at her. “What did she say to you?”

“Nothing really. Just that you fought and she was done with you.” Those words felt like a knife straight in his chest, but Kona brushed the pain back, pushed it away until it was only a dull ache. “Then her mom called and…shit…” It wasn’t a total slip, but Kona caught the meaning, and the fact that Keira would retreat to her mother’s house told him just how mad she was. She hated her mother.

“Thanks, Leann.”

“Kona!” the girl called as he moved down the hallway. “Don’t you dare go see her. Those people will eat you alive!”

How dare you

Steal what’s left of me

The parts already thin

Toxic to my heart

Broken through my skin

 

Keira wanted to slam her Gibson against the wall. Nearly a month and the hook still would not come. It was the lake house, she knew. It was the confining walls of her girlhood bedroom and the constant pestering of her mother whenever her wine bottles were empty. Writer’s block was a myth, some excuse lazy people used when they weren’t producing perfection. Keira liked to think her block was more parental-related. Or, Hawaiian demon-related.

She hated being there. She hated that her mother never let her paint the pale pink walls or lose the ruffled blankets. She hated the white four poster bed and the lace on the canopy. She hated the stuffed animals arranged around the frilly white pillows against the headboard. She hated that her mother had not stopped asking why she was home and not at school. For the past four days. Every hour.

God, that woman was nosy.

In fact, the only thing Keira did like about this place was her balcony. Her parents had built this house just after they married twenty years ago. It was mammoth and brazen, way too much for three people, but Keira liked that it was nestled right on the banks of Lake Pontchartrain. She liked the summers, when her mother and Steven took their yearly cruise, and she and Leann could lay out on her balcony and bake their skin. She liked how easy her French doors and the trellis down the side of her railings made sneaking out to be with her cousin, to do things high schoolers did but had no business doing. She liked that on a full moon, she could sit out on her balcony, legs between the cast iron railings, hanging off the side, watching the glitter of moonlight over that water.

She’d take a thousand meddling lectures from her mother if it meant she got an hour looking out onto that water.

The doorbell rang, pulling Keira off her bed and into the en suite bathroom looking out of the window to investigate who had arrived so early in the day. Her mother and Steven were leaving that afternoon, another spontaneous trip to Atlanta that Keira suspected had something to do with how late Steven had been coming home from the city. “Smelling like something cheap and whorish off Bourbon Street,” her mother had told her. He did that occasionally, and each time, they took a week away and her mother came home with bags and bags of shit she would never use or wear.

Keira’s stomach landed somewhere around her knees when she saw Kona on the front porch, hand held over his eyes as he looked up.

 “Shit.” She stood on her toes, stretching her neck to see him better, but then the front door must have opened because Kona disappeared onto the porch and she heard the low murmur below. “Double shit!”

She couldn’t go down there, wouldn’t even attempt to interrupt whatever horrible thing she knew her mother would say to him. It was over. Done. She wasn’t going to see Kona again so the fuss she knew her mother would make was pointless. Keira had to let Kona go, and though it made her feel like an asshole and a coward, she knew no one could make him run out of that house faster than her mother.

Still, that didn’t mean she let herself be kept in the dark.

She tried to be quiet as she lifted the window, hoped that the hinges wouldn’t squeak. But she had it up only halfway when she heard Kona’s voice, deep, tone polite.

“We have an assignment due next week, and she hasn’t been in class. I was just checking on her since she’s been out. Um…ma’am.”

Oh, crap. Mistake number one.

Her mother hated being called ma’am. In her mind, she still looked and felt like she was twenty, thanks to her nutritionist and a great plastic surgeon.

“My daughter won’t be in class this week. I’d have thought Professor Miller would have told you this if you really were working on a project with Keira.”

She got on her knees, moving the small wood hamper directly in front of the window and she heard it then, that Kona grunt that told her he was losing his temper.

Keira could imagine what was happening downstairs. Her mother probably had a half-empty glass of wine in her hand. She was probably still wearing those too-tight yoga pants and the Gucci tank top. And Keira knew she was looking Kona over. He was impressive, caught the attention of every female with a pulse, but Cora Michaels wouldn’t be silently praising him. She’d be wondering how her precious daughter had lowered herself to befriend a boy “like him.” Like “him” generally meant not white, not local and not one of THEM.

Kona, on the other hand, Keira thought, would be attempting one of two things: either using that bright, beautiful smile of his to worm his way into the house; or he’d be balling his fists up, feet apart and a constant rough growl working in his chest. Either way, she knew he wouldn’t cross the threshold. You just didn’t mess with Cora Michaels. You especially didn’t mess with her once she’d downed half a bottle of Moscato.

“Ms. Riley…”

“It’s Michaels, son. I haven’t been a Riley in a long time.”

He cleared his throat, covering another grunt. “My bad, Mrs. Michaels. I was just worried about Keira. She’s not answering her phone and…”

“Are you that boy from the hospital?”

Crap. Here she goes.

“Sorry?”

“You are, aren’t you? You’re that boy my husband told me Keira was with while he treated your grandfather. He said you two looked a little friendly.”

“We are…um…friends.”

Keira had to withhold her laugh. Kona was many things to her, but friend wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t like Leann. She didn’t spill her secrets to him; well, not all of them. He didn’t know who she was, not really.  Not...really. At least, that’s what Keira told herself; it was the tiny lie that kept her from running down those stairs. “Friends.” But Keira was pretty sure friends don’t touch each other the way she and Kona did. Friends don’t hide things behind your back. They don’t lie to you. They don’t reach into your heart and squeeze down hard, trying to fracture the thin, barely-there fibers with lies and deception.

 “How friendly are you with my daughter?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Because you know she’s seeing Mark Burke. They’ve been together for several months now.”

Keira wanted to crawl under the sink and hide. Kona knew better, he’d been with her more than Leann, and he’d know there was no way she could fit in a date with Mark. Besides, Kona had won that round at Nathan’s, and Mark had backed away without a fight. He had to know her mother was goading him.

“Keira and I are friends, Ms. Michaels,” he lied, and Keira was grateful. She’d told Kona how ridiculous her mother was, how she wouldn’t understand their relationship. “It’s not my business who she dates. She was at the hospital when my grandfather was brought in, and she was very sweet to me, helped me out when I had no idea what to do.”

There was a pause, and Keira could picture her mother sipping her wine, allowing it to fuel her arrogance. Part of her was humiliated. She hadn’t wanted Kona to ever have to deal with her insane, drunk mother. That’s why she’d never asked him to come home with her for weekend. But she knew if she went downstairs, if she interrupted the verbal lashing her mother was preparing, then Kona would smile, would touch her, would call her Wildcat, and all her defenses would crumble. He was good at that—the whole crumbling thing. Keira was weak around him. She didn’t have the strength to completely walk away from him. He was too consuming, and so she kept herself in that bathroom, holding onto every word he spoke. She’d missed his voice, his arms, his mouth…those beautiful eyes. But she wouldn’t let herself cave. Her heart couldn’t take another break, and she was so afraid Kona’s juicing wouldn’t stop. What he was doing to himself, to his future, to his life, would be what broke that damaged heart of hers until it was nothing but dead filaments.

“Well, as I said, she won’t be back to school this week. She’s not feeling well. We think she may have picked up that virus that’s going around. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’re busy and don’t have time for random visits.”

“Can you please tell her I stopped by?”

“Sure.” The door slammed before the word had left her mother’s mouth. It took ten full seconds, which Keira counted, for her to hear the quick rumble of her mother’s feet on the stairs. Keira jumped down off the hamper and darted back onto her bed just as three quick taps rapped against her door. Her mother didn’t wait to be asked in.

“Keira, that boy…”

“What boy?” She wouldn’t give her mother an inch, but just didn’t have the energy to fight. She knew the lecture would come, but she’d take it in stride, just as she had with all the stupid meddling the woman had given her during the past four days.

“That Hispanic boy.”

“Diego?”

Her mother’s lips twisted into a purse, and Keira had to bite the inside of her bottom lip to keep from laughing. “No. Not him. The other one. From the hospital?”

Keira lowered the book she was pretending to read and looked over it at her mother. “You mean Kona?”

“That’s the one.” She sat on Keira’s bed as though she was gently inquiring and not gearing up for an investigation. “He was just here asking about you.”

“Was he?” When Keira tried to crack the spine of her book open, her mother jerked it out of her hand.

“It is rude to read while someone is speaking to you.”

“I think it’s ruder to interrupt someone while they’re reading.”

She pushed on Keira’s leg, giving it a soft tap with the book in her hand. “Sit up now.”

“Mother, I have no idea why Kona was here. We’re just classmates.”

Her mother was doing that weird, suspicious calculating sneer with her mouth—twisting again, but this time there was a definite pull on her top lip. “You would have not spent hours holding that boy’s hand at the hospital if he was just a friend and he would not have driven forty-five minutes outside the city, looking the way he did, if you were just classmates.” Keira hadn’t gotten a good look at him, but he must have taken extra care with his appearance if her mother noticed. She actually seemed mildly impressed. When Keira didn’t answer, when she pulled her knees against her chest and acted as though she had no clue what her mother was implying, Cora’s weird sneer became exaggerated, and she clicked her tongue to the roof of her mouth. “I have told you once before,” now she frowned and the sneer became a scowl of disgust. Keira knew the “time before” she mentioned was her very brief rebellion with Diego. “It isn’t wise to befriend the wrong sort of people.”

“Wow, Mother, whatever do you mean?” Keira pulled her guitar off the foot of the bed and began to strum slowly. She did it specifically to annoy her mother. Just looking at her father’s guitar made the older woman’s face scrunch up in irritation.

“You know damn good and well what I mean. You are not to see boys like that. You are not to see boys that aren’t like us.”

Keira stopped strumming. “You mean you don’t want me hooking up with Spanish boys or Asian boys or Black boys or, like Kona, Hawaiian boys? Is that what you’re trying to say, Mother?” She gripped the neck of her Gibson to hide the trembling of her fingers. “Or is it not just the color of their skin?  Do you mean I should just date boys like Mark, rich boys, privileged boys, boys in our social circle? Or, since you’re so hell bent on making sure I stay all, what? Aryan?” At this her mother’s mouth fell open. “Please clarify this for me, Mother.  So you wouldn’t have a problem with me dating a boy who grew up in a trailer park as long as he was lily white?”

“Keira Nicole that is not what I mean at all.”

Keira let one tight laugh leave her mouth before she started finger picking her strings with her nails. “Then just what is it that you do mean?  Oh, Mother, you’re a racist. Just admit it. We’re at home. No one is listening. If you’re going to have those opinions, then at least have nerve enough to admit you have them.”

“That is not the point.” Her mother stood from the bed and brushed one manicured hand over her pants. “I just want you to make smart decisions about who you associate with in college.” The woman had to speak over the strum of Keira’s fingers as she played faster. “Mistakes you make today will have adverse repercussions on you tomorrow. Try to remember that.”

“Yes, Mein Führer!”

Her mother’s face screwed up into another sneer, something ugly and insulted, and Keira wasn’t surprised when she lunged forward, slapping Keira, once, twice, so hard her guitar fell off her lap. She could smell the wine on her mother’s breath, and she focused on that smell, pulling back on her anger, trying not to retaliate. It wouldn’t do any good, her mother would fight back, and she didn’t care if she left evidence or not.  Keira didn’t have the energy to make excuses for weeks about the marks on her face or how they got there.

She licked the corner of her mouth, relieved when there was no cut, no trickle of blood; she was almost happy that the pain radiated for her cheek and not her mouth. A slap mark would fade faster than a cut lip. It usually did.

Out of breath, her mother stepped back, pulled her knit top down from where it had ridden up over her thin hips, and brushed her perfectly styled hair out of her face, daring Keira with a stare to say something smart again. The girl knew better. “Mistakes,” her mother intoned coolly, for emphasis, in order to have the last word, “can last a lifetime, especially the ones you make when you’re young.”

Keira wondered if her mother was talking about her own mistakes. She wondered if loving her father felt like the biggest mistake of the woman’s life. If it did, that didn’t say much about Keira. If it did, that meant her mother had regretted having her as much as she regretted falling in love with a man who struggled to live out his passion. “Are you taking your birth control pills? Making sure you’re not missing?” When Keira nodded, her mother walked to the door, holding it open in one hand as she looked over her shoulder. “I know you think I’m backwards and stupid, Keira, but I really am looking out for you.”

Somehow, Keira doubted that her mother looked out for anyone but herself.

 

 

 

By three that afternoon, Keira was finally alone, and her face had stopped throbbing. Steven and her mother swarmed out of the house, brief waves and longer warnings falling behind them as they loaded their car and headed for the airport. It was only then that Keira could breathe.

That is, until four o’clock, when her mother was already on a plane, and the heater broke. The weather had turned chilly, colder than it had been at the game the weekend before but it wasn’t the cold she had to deal with. The heater managed to get stuck on high, at 80 degrees, and Keira didn’t know how to turn it off.

So she spent much of the afternoon on her balcony, guitar on her lap, as she tried to find that elusive hook. She poured all her thoughts, all those bitter, angry emotions she felt toward Kona into each chord, every word she wove together.  But then, as if even nature were against her, dark clouds emerged, the skies opened up, and Keira was stuck in the sauna-like house while a cold rain fell outside.

The shower Keira took should have left icicles on her skin it was so cold, but as soon as she left the bathroom and dug in her dresser, her cold skin warmed and sweat began to pool down her back. She plucked an old Black Crowes tee that was gray and slightly threadbare from her drawer and decided she’d forgo any sleep shorts. She knew she’d likely be naked before the end of the night anyway. The room was stifling, and Keira needed a distraction, so she turned on her stereo, skipping through the CDs already loaded and stopped when she came across a worn, overplayed track.

Dave Matthews. “Crash Into Me.”  Keira loved the quick tap of the cymbals, right on the bell top, and the slow rap against the low register of the guitar. It was a song that haunted, seduced in such an intense way, and most of the time she jumped the track back to the beginning to hear that intro again and again. But Dave Matthew’s lyrics and his hypnotizing voice also filtered into her skin, had the hairs on her arms rising. She’d always wanted someone to crash into her like that, to pay tribute to her body, to touch her with that much passion. Now she did. Or she had, past tense.  Her chest felt tight, emotion clotting in her throat, at the thought of anyone else but Kona touching her like that.

Keira felt the tears burn against her lids and cursed herself for being weak. Crying was something she thought she couldn’t do anymore. Not since her father’s cowardly retreat. But the past few months with Kona had reawakened emotions long buried, and she hated and loved him for that. With her head down on her dresser, Keira felt the vibration from the speakers, and she rubbed her face against her arm, feeling weak, pathetic and supremely stupid, since she was the reason he wasn’t with her now. She wouldn’t second guess her decision to leave him, but that didn’t mean she didn’t hurt, that she wasn’t wounded by having to walk away from him.

Outside, rain slapped against the French doors that led out to her balcony, and the lights above flickered, the erratic electrical current skipping the track on her stereo. Keira looked up, watched the feeble quake of the bulbs in her chandelier flicker, and when they glowed, she pushed play again, setting the song on repeat before she turned off the overhead light and switched on her bedside lamp.

There was a huge clap of thunder outside, followed by the bright strike of lightning, and Keira jumped in fright.  She turned to look through the door onto the balcony to see if anything had been struck, and nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw Kona standing on the other side.

“Shit!”

He was soaked, hair flat against his head, white T-shirt sticking to him like oil, looking like some feral god, and Keira had to force her eyes away from the outline of his body, from the hard contours of his chest and rippled stomach, so she could make it across the room.

She was at the door and had almost reached for the lock before she remembered the self-warning from earlier that day—the one she had to repeat when her legs tried making her move down the stairs to save him from her mother. She couldn’t let him in. He’d kiss her, he’d apologize, he’d have her forgetting why she’d left him in the first place. 

Keira pulled her hand back and stepped away from the door. Kona splayed his palm on the glass, eyes low lidded, as he silently begged her to let him in. He looked horrible. Dark circles bagged under his eyes, his body trembling in the frigid, wet weather outside and rivulets of rainwater coursed over him. “Let me in.”

It was hard to refuse him, especially when he looked so lost, but Keira managed a head shake, a quick refusal that had Kona balling his fists at his side.

“Wildcat, open the damn door.”

She hated his tone, the anger laced behind each syllable. He had no reason to be mad. That anger was for her, her tiny gift for having the stomach to walk away from him. Now Kona’s own anger turned to a threat when Kona slammed his fist against the glass.

“Stop it.” She walked closer, and Kona’s gaze immediately scanned her face, moved down lower, to her chest, her hard nipples. She tried not to react to the way he was looking at her, to that simmer in his eyes or the long, slow lick he made over his lips. “Just go back to campus,” she said. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“I have plenty to say to you. Now open the door before I bust the glass.”

He would never, she thought. Kona had a temper, same as Keira, but he wouldn’t lower himself to vandalism. Not just because she’d been hiding from him. She knew it was stupid to smirk at him, to offer that small challenge that told him she doubted him, but it seemed Keira always did stupid things when Kona was around.

One flash of anger moved across his face, worked his frown until his eyelids lowered and then Keira screamed, darting backward as Kona kicked his large foot against the pane of glass above the door handle.

Glass shattered across her floor, small chunks that Keira had to avoid as Kona slipped his hand in and unlocked the door. “Are you out of your mind?” Her attention was on avoiding the glass, moving away from it so it didn’t touch her bare feet when Kona walked into the room, rainwater still streaming over his face and off his hair like melted ice. “You’re freaking lucky I hadn’t set the alarm.”

Kona didn’t seem to care about alarms or disturbing the neighbors. He didn’t care about anything but crunching the glass under his feet to get to her. His wet hands felt good on her arms when he touched them and Keira tried not to enjoy the feel of his cold body against her when he hugged her. “Fuck, baby, I missed you.”

“Stop it, Kona,” she told him, stepping out of his touch. “I’m serious, you need to leave.”

She needed a distraction, something that would pull her gaze away from his body, away from the anxious look in his eyes. Keira picked up the towel she used earlier and tossed it to him.

“I’m not like you,” he said, wiping his face and hair dry before he dropped the towel onto the floor. Another step and Kona had her against the dresser, hands resting near her hips. “I can’t just walk away and feel nothing. Not when it comes to you. I’m not heartless that way.”

“Oh, and I am?”

“Hell, yes, you are. You take everything with you.” Kona pulled her damp hair between his fingers, squinting against the faint light in her room, but Keira lifted her chin, wouldn’t let that touch weaken her anger. Kona dipped his head, let it rest on her shoulder. “Everything gets dark. That’s cruel, Wildcat. You’re so cruel sometimes.”

She pushed him off of her, and Kona went back two small steps. She hated the smile he gave her, hated that he was trying to charm her.  “Fuck you, Kona.”

“You wanna?”

“That’s not funny. None of this is funny!” He started to reach for her, but moved his hand away when she slipped toward the foot of her bed. “You’re killing yourself, and I’m not going to watch you do it.” Keira thought that should settle things. She thought her voice was strong, determined, that the grip of the door in her hand when she walked to it told Kona enough, told him she was done talking. There was a slight feeling relief on her skin from the heat of her room with the door opened. “Get out.”

Keira thought that expression on Kona’s face told her he would leave. She thought his quick movement toward the door guaranteed he was done trying to convince her they belonged together, but then Kona pulled the door out of her hand and slammed it shut. “I don’t run. You haven’t figured that out about me yet? I don’t run away from my shit.”

“And I do? That’s what you think?” It was an insult that cut deep, that had her anger resurfacing quickly, that reminded her that Kona had no clue what she was running away from or why. Keira couldn’t make her hands stop shaking, couldn’t stop herself from shoving against Kona’s chest, from wanting to lash out at him. “I’m trying to protect myself. I won’t let you hurt me.”

“I would never hurt you. You know I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

“Except for juice? Except for wreck your body? Except for slowly kill yourself? Bullshit, Kona.”

“You don’t understand what it’s like…”

“Oh, I know what it’s like.” And then, Keira was nine again, desperate, scared, angry. She was ten and hopeless, feeling like her lies had failed her father, like she had been the one to pull the trigger. “I know what it is to call 911 because your father passed out with his face in a heap of blow. I know what it’s like to clean that shit up before the ambulance arrives because you can’t have your daddy in trouble again, to be a kid and still understand that the doctors in the ER could be bought.” The hot tears on her face didn’t register; it was second nature to rub them away. “I was a kid and had to catch three buses to make sure they got paid off. I know what it’s like to make excuses, to tell your mother he had too much cold medicine, too much Jack, and that’s what made him almost die, not the blow, not the bottles he hid under the sofa, not the shit he did to himself.” Kona reached for her, but Keira didn’t want his comfort. She told herself she didn’t want him, and when he tried again, stretching his arm toward her, she slapped his hand away, getting angrier, full of rage she knew had little to do with Kona. 

“He was everything to me, Kona, and I loved him so much.” Keira closed her eyes, squeezed them tight as she tried to blot out her father’s smile, his happy laugh when he played, his still body, cold, lifeless, as he lay in that coffin. “I won’t do that again. I…just can’t. I don’t ever want to watch that again.”

“I’ll stop. Right now.” His voice followed her as she walked around her room. Keira felt the pent-up knot in her chest and needed something in her hands to release it. She was only half-listening to Kona then, looking for something she could destroy. But he continued with his promises, with pointless words that had him stepping closer, trying again to touch her. “Right this second. I’ll stop for you, Wildcat. I won’t let another needle break my fucking skin. I promise.”

That thick knot in her chest broke free, shattered right along with the growl she released and the framed picture of her father that she threw right at Kona’s head. “Don’t! Don’t you dare make promises! Don’t tell me you swear you’ll do something. I’ve heard enough promises to last a lifetime. I’ve made enough excuses. I don’t have it in me to make any more. You need to leave.” She felt the safety glass on the floor crunch under her feet when she turned toward him. It didn’t hurt. It did nothing but release her fury. “You need to forget you know me.”

Kona was so like Keira, and she thought that similarity was likely why he wanted her in the first place. They were both angry, both broken, and when he released his own frustrated, angry growl, it didn’t bother her. It mirrored her own anger. But Kona got too close, threatened her too easily, with his face inches from hers, and when he spoke, his words muffled any release her outburst had given her.

“I’m not your father.”

The slap came hard, quick, and stung her fingers. But it wasn’t enough, hadn’t even managed to make Kona flinch. His head hadn’t moved, and so Keira tried again, another slap she hoped would shock him, would have him retreating. When Kona continued to glare at her, eyelids lowered and the usual angry tick vibrating his top lip, Keira tried again, reaching back further to hit him. Kona was ready, jerked forward and grabbed her hand before it made contact with his face.

 “I can take whatever you give me, nani. You wanna hit me? Do it. Do whatever you need to, only don’t tell me to walk away from you. That’s something I can’t do.” Feeling useless, Keira tried pulling her hand out of his grip, but his fingers tightened around her wrist, and he hauled her forward so that she stumbled against him. “Come on! Do it!  Slap me, punch me, hit me!”

It was useless to fight him. Keira felt drained, pitiful, and even as she fought out of Kona’s grip, she knew she’d never get him to leave. She knew she’d have to lie, to sting, to trick him into leaving. “Stop it. Just go, Kona. Just leave me alone. I don’t want you. I don’t need you.” She pulled against his hold again, bringing her eyes nearly closed, making sure her frown was sharp, biting. “It’s over!”

That verbal blow did sting, and Keira knew she’d finally gotten through to him. Kona dropped her wrist, but he didn’t walk away. Keira could see the return of his fury, the quick lick of anger that had softened at her outburst. Kona grabbed her shoulders, fingers biting down, breath hard, uneven, before his hands fell to her hips, and he picked her up and threw her onto the bed.

Almost immediately, he was repentant. Those big, dark eyes widened, his hands shifted through his hair like he wanted to yank out each strand. He took a step, then must have thought better of it before he covered his mouth. “Oh my God. I just…Keira …”

She wasn’t angry. She didn’t know how it happened or why, but Kona’s action twisted something inside her, pushed aside the anger, the grief and that warped, wild part of her brain that made her attack Kona that night at Nathan’s came back to the surface. As she stared at his shocked face, the expression that told her he couldn’t believe he’d lost it, Keira felt the sweet zip of energy between them; it pulled her nipples tight against her shirt. It had her clit throbbing against the thin fabric of her thong. It made her wetter than she’d ever been in her life.

“Kona.” Keira’s voice was deep, sounded nothing like her. His wide eyes stretched when he looked at her, when they shifted down at her nipples. “Come here.”

Two long strides had him in front of her, had his arms around her. “I’m sorry. Wildcat, I’m so sorry…”

“Shut up…kiss me.” She yanked on his face, nails biting into the back of his neck. “Now.” That kiss pulled everything from her mind: her broken father, her mother’s drunken anger, Kona’s lying, everything that wasn’t his wide tongue and full lips. All Keira felt was his hands on her ass, pushing her closer to him, his teeth against her neck. 

Keira pulled him back against the mattress by his collar, loving how heavy his body felt against her. She was still reeling from that bright spark of rage only Kona could ignite, but he tugged up her shirt, his teeth against her nipples too much, too drugging, and Keira let go of her anger and let it pour out of her, not caring that she was scared for him, not caring that his promises were pointless and hollow. She only knew she wanted him. She only knew that she needed his touch, his mouth, his heart.

She hadn’t worn much after her shower, a thin t-shirt and small thong, and so it was not difficult to have herself open and naked before him, and when Kona raised up, pulled his damp CPU T-shirt over his shoulders with one hand, Keira moaned at just the sight of him, so ready for her, eager to have her.

She was calmer then, intoxicated by the way he looked at her, by the mingle of rain and sweat on his body. Keira watched him, stared into his eyes as she reached one hand down his chest, over that sculpted stomach until she came to his waistband, fingers against the button of his jeans, moving the zipper down, one tantalizing metal tooth at a time.

This was where he usually stopped her. He’d been so careful with her before then, never letting her touch him where she really wanted, telling her if she did, he’d be unable to stop himself from taking her. Now he did nothing but stare down at her, breath in hard, labored bursts, teeth gritted as she pushed his jeans over his hips and wrapped her long fingers around his impressive, throbbing dick.

“Shit,” he said through his teeth. That long vein on his neck throbbed, and Keira got to her knees, licked against it, up his neck.

“You don’t have to hold back, Kona.” She took his ear between her teeth as she continued to rub him, each stroke making a shudder work in his chest. “I don’t want you to stop me.”

“Keira…” He moved his hands in a flash, one going into her hair, pulling her head back so he could look at her in the dim light of her lamp, shadowing their faces; the other grabbing her wrist to stop her movements. “I swear to Christ, I can’t take you touching me. I want you too much.” Kona squeezed his eyes shut when she stroked him once more. “Five…five minutes ago you wanted me out of your life.” He pulled on her hair again, directing her mouth closer to his. “Now you wanna touch me? Now…now you want me? I don’t work like that anymore, Wildcat. Not with you. I…I love you too much to not want all of you.”

Keira pulled her hand back, and moved out of Kona’s grip, heart beating so quickly that she could feel the drum of it on her temples. “What did you say?”  

Kona’s expression went soft, open and Keira loved the way his smile came easy, how his thumb rubbed over her face. She could only make out the faint outline of his shoulders, his hair, but she felt him. She felt him everywhere. “I love you, Keira and if we do this, right now, there will be no turning back. If you let me have you, that’s it for me. That’s it for you. I’m yours. Always. No looking back. Is that what you want?”

Dave Matthews still sang in the background, repeating over and over, and here Kona was, promising to crash into her, promising her all the things she didn’t know she wanted from him. He would be the end of her, she knew that, just then, in that moment. Kona Hale would love her—she didn’t doubt that—but would he stay? Would he break her heart again and again? She didn’t know if she could survive the destruction he’d leave behind if he broke her and left. She didn’t know if she was willing to gamble again, to risk the loss that love always brought.              

“I…will you stop using? And don’t tell me you will, just for me to say yes. I need you to be straight with me.”

“Fuck the juice, Keira.” He pulled her close again, breathing on her face as he dipped his forehead against hers. “You’re all I need. Just you. I’ll walk away from all it if I have you.”

“And…other girls?” She knew she sounded whiny, but the thought had not left her. It was the first thing that jumped into her mind the weekend before when she walked into the locker room. She couldn’t completely let go of Kona’s past, and sometimes the thought of how many of those glaring idiots had touched him was just too much for her. “What about…”

Kona silenced her with a kiss, and she didn’t fight him, couldn’t even if she tried. Too soon, he broke the kiss, his hand directing hers right over his hard length. “This…this is yours, Keira. No one else touches it but you.” And then he cupped her, those large fingers right on top of her throbbing center. “And this, this is mine.” Then Kona pulled his hand away, took her fingers and placed her palm over his heart. “You own this. Only you.” His hand felt warm on her skin, and Keira wondered if he could feel how hard her heart pounded when he rested it there. “This beautiful, wild thing right here…it’s mine. Why don’t you stop worrying about what happened in the past and just take what’s yours?”

Keira knew she was being careless with those walls she’d constructed around her heart. They were rubble by now anyway, and Kona was an addiction, but he was also the only person in her life who would fight for her, who looked at her and didn’t see the mask she wore so no one knew who she really was. Keira took a moment, one small breath, before she looked at him again.

“Whatever I am, it’s yours,” she told him.

He smiled, and it was genuine, real, an expression that told her he was relieved, that eradicated that knot in her chest.

Keira didn’t want foreplay; she’d had weeks of it, and all the dancing they did to avoid what was about to happen had left her exhausted. She pulled Kona closer, back against the mattress and Keira used her feet to push down his jeans and boxers.

Kona moved quickly, shuffling off his Nikes and jeans, a scramble of movements until he was finally naked. When he reached for her, wanting her closer, Keira stopped him, pushed him back. She wanted to see all of him.

“Go ahead and check him out,” he said, laughing at Keira’s wide eyes. “That expression is priceless, Wildcat.”

“This body is priceless.” 

Keira cut off Kona’s laughter, made it shift into a moan when her fingers trailed down his large chest and her mouth moved over one nipple. She liked the breathless gasps he made. She liked how responsive he was, how every flick of her tongue against his skin had his breath heavier, had low, deep sounds rumbling in his throat.

Keira rested against him, breasts sliding down his stomach until she lifted up, reaching for him, taking him in her hand again. He was beautiful everywhere, and his dick was no exception. He was long, very thick, and at full attention, the head came to his navel. Fleetingly, Keira wondered if he would hurt her. It had been a year since she’d been with anyone, and even though Kona had often touched her, stretched her with his fingers, it wasn’t the same. His fingers were big, but they wouldn’t touch as deeply as his dick. They’d never scared her.

She didn’t wait, didn’t push back the urge to taste him. When she did finally taste him, when the slow drag of her tongue went up the underside of that hard dick, Kona threaded his fingers in her hair, moaning, his grip tightening as she made tentative touches with her tongue and mouth. She’d never done this before. There had never been much time or opportunity or desire to play with Diego, and Kona had never let her get this close before.

He was tangy, the skin of his cock miraculously smooth like silk, and Keira wanted more, loved the taste of him, loved the power she felt when he reacted to just small flicks of her tongue and the tight suction of her mouth. When she used her hands, rubbing up from the base, Kona released the loudest moan she had ever heard him utter.

“God…sto…stop…that’s…that’s enough.” He pulled her up by the shoulders, flipping her over until he was on top of her. “Wildcat, I can’t take that.” He kissed her, took her bottom lip between his teeth for a soft nibble. “Your mouth is a miracle, and I don’t wanna come until I’m inside you.”

She laughed at his expression, at the heavy sigh he released and pulled on his chin when he started to kiss her chest. “Then get inside me.”

Kona made a noise, somewhere between a whimper and a growl, but he cleared his throat, covering how her words had affected him. Then, he scrambled off the bed, dug in his jeans for his wallet. His strong, wide back was toward her, and when he finally turned around, that beautiful dick was covered with a condom.

Some of the confidence went out of Keira as Kona crawled back toward her, that long appendage slapping against his flat stomach. She swallowed back the bundle of nerves clotting in her throat. 

“What’s the matter, Wildcat?” Kona lay on top of her, held her hip with his long fingers. “You nervous?” She could only manage a nod, and Kona smiled, moving his mouth to her neck, down her shoulder, kissing lightly. “We don’t have to do this. I can wait.”

“No!” She panicked at the thought. He laughed at her excitement, and that touch on her hip got tighter. “No,” she said, voice a bit calmer. “I want you, Kona.” He looked at her, smile gone, expression relaxed. “I want all of you…now.” Keira exhaled, moving the hair off her forehead. “It’s just been a while, and you’re so…” She flicked her eyes down then quickly back up again. “You’re a lot bigger than I expected.”

“Ha, sweetheart, you’re good for my ego, but it’s just me.” Kona kissed her again, slipping just the tip of his tongue into her mouth before he pulled away. “I’ll be easy with you, Wildcat. I’ll be so slow and good, but maybe this will help.”

Kona’s hand left her hip, slipped between her thighs easily, and he coaxed more wetness from her, teasing her lips, taking his time to touch her clit. Keira shuddered, held her hand against his wrist as he continued, and Kona took her lead, rubbed once more over her clit before he slipped two fingers inside her. He’d learned her body in the past few weeks, and Keira had been grateful that she didn’t have to tell him what she wanted, what felt best. He always seemed to know.

His mouth was warm, tongue eager as he kissed her, as those large fingers curled and his knuckles touched the spot that sent her mind swimming. He never had to touch her for long, always knew exactly how to read the lift of her voice, the collection of sounds that gave away just how good she felt when he touched her. That night was no exception. Just a few sure rubs of his knuckles against her G-spot and Keira was flying, hips off the mattress as her body chased that orgasm.

“Beautiful. Every time, Wildcat. So beautiful.” Another kiss against her neck, with Keira still spinning on the crest of her orgasm, and Kona slipped inside of her. “God…” Kona moved his hips slowly, barely moved an inch, and already Keira felt full, felt she couldn’t be stretched any further. When he slid deeper, she hissed, not from the pain but from how sensitive she already was. “You okay? You want me to stop?”

“No,” she told him, opening her eyes so he’d know she wasn’t hurting. “God, no, please keep going. You just fill me up. It’s so good, baby.”

Kona stilled inside her, and a small quirk of his mouth told Keira he was pleased. “That’s the first time you’ve ever called me that.”

“I’ll say it again just to keep that smile on your face.”

Then Keira lifted her legs, wrapped them around Kona’s hips, and she let herself be filled as he worked inside her. Everything about Kona was huge: his body, his voice, his presence. All of it filled Keira’s room as well as her body, moved around them and through them, and she felt high, so high on him, on the sensation of him moving inside of her, his hands on her breast, his fingers clasped with hers as he lifted her hands above her head on the pillow and pinned them there.

Sweat pooled over their skin, met together in the twist of their bodies, and when Kona stared down at her, kissing her like her lips would give him breath, Keira shuddered, squeezed against him. The light was thin, and Keira could only make out the outline of his features, the small glint in his eyes, and it was too much, too overwhelming, but she would not run this time; she wouldn’t tell herself she could do without this. Not again. Not anymore. She belonged to him. Her body, her heart, no matter how beaten and worn it was, belonged to Kona Hale.

Keira squeezed against him again, and Kona stilled, stared down at her with a smile that told her he wanted to control this, lead her. “Don’t squeeze,” he said, pulling her hips up, hitting inside her deeper. “If you open up, go wide for me, relax, I can make you come hard, I can make it last for you.” A slow thrust, deeper, harder, and Keira arched against him, relaxed her inner muscle even as she throbbed against him. “Perfect, so perfect.”

It was deeper this way, freer somehow, letting Kona move them, letting him control the moment, and Keira held onto Kona like he would anchor her, keep her from floating above herself.

“Let me have your orgasm, baby. Give them to me completely, and I’ll make it so, so good for you. I’ll take care of you when you shatter against me.” And Keira listened, guessed that this is what Kona needed—that slip of control she gave him. She pushed out, relinquishing herself, her body to Kona, rather than closing off and pulling in, and the effect was substantial. He moved in closer, worked faster, and Keira let herself open, relax until that heavenly sensation came upon her, urged on by Kona’s strong hands on her hips, his wide dick touching all the way inside her, and when the orgasm came, it mirrored her heart—free, unyielding, explosive.

“God...,” Kona said, voice rising higher and higher with each grunt he made, hips slamming into her hard, fast, faster, and Keira knew he was hitting his crest. Shoulders shaking, hips pumping faster and faster, Kona released a groan, filling her, throbbing inside her as he came.

Then he pulled his hand from hers and held the back of her neck, stared down at her with his thumb on her cheek. “This is always, Wildcat. You… you’re my always.”

The rain hadn’t stopped. Kona heard the slow thump against the makeshift patch he’d fashioned out of duct tape for the broken pane of glass on the French door. The heat had finally dimmed; a quick slip of the wire pulled from the thermostat had accomplished that. Keira’s mother would probably think he was an animal for all the mess he’d made at their home. The door, the thermostat…Keira. He did feel like a jackass for kicking in the door, but at the time, his thoughts had been on touching Keira, on holding her, to make all her doubt vanish. He’d watched her with rain pouring over him, flooding his skin, and he hadn’t felt a thing but the quick whip of anxious energy that made him kick in that glass.

Keira had looked so scared, so wild, so lost. She’d told him more than she ever had, about the loss of her father, the events leading up to that, and it broke Kona’s heart. There was something about her that made him want to protect her. He’d felt it that first night outside her dorm, when he ran up to that asshole attacking her. The sensation of taking all that shit, all that pain from her, had only increased the harder he fell for her. Tonight, with her raging at him, with her screaming secrets about what she’d done for her father, had crippled him, had him wanting to cover her with his body just to hide her from the world. More pain would come—no one gets through it without feeling life’s bite—but Kona would kill himself to make sure he’d didn’t give Keira any of that pain himself. 

A clap of thunder rattled the French door, and Kona blinked, squinting, then frowned when he noticed Keira wasn’t in the bed with him. He came to his side, looked around her room, to the girly decorations littered around the room, the random collection of stuffed animals on the floor, and he left the bed, pulling on his damp jeans.

“Keira?” he called into the en suite bath, but when he stepped inside, he only found a wet tub and two towels drying on the side of it. The whole room smelled like her, jasmine, sweet, and just the scent made Kona hungry for her.

The house was ridiculously huge, and he felt awkward and uncomfortable in the hallway, taking the stairs down, looking at the empty walls and the random décor that reminded Kona of a house that had never been lived in.

He was thinking of the difference in where he grew up and this place, shaking his head at the soulless opulence, at how pristine and orderly everything was, when the sound of a piano in the next room pulled his thoughts toward Keira.

He had been hoping he’d hear her sing. Up until now, Kona had only caught snatches of her voice, low hums and muffled songs through her dorm room wall, but he had always wanted her to sing for him. He wanted her eyes on him when she played, for her to voice the words only for him—but he wouldn’t push, knew he couldn't push. 

“Music,” she’d once told him during one of their long library sessions, “is personal. The stuff I write is for me because it’s part of who I am. I don’t show just anybody who I am, Kona.”

The song she played was slow, soft tickles of the keys that had Kona closing his eyes, had his throat buzzing. As he walked barefoot over the hardwood, he made sure his steps were light, that he didn’t disturb her as she played.

Kona leaned against the wall, tilted his head to watch her. The den was an obnoxious, wide room that veered into two spaces. One side was for drinks and TV watching, he assumed, the other for staring through a floor-to-ceiling wall of glass that looked out onto the lake. Plants in heavy, wooden tubs were situated in each corner, and thick rugs were flung over the dark wood floors; a huge mahogany entertainment center was off to the right. To the left was a brown leather L-shaped couch, plush and pillowed, chenille throws on the arms and across the back. But it was what was in the center of the room that caught Kona’s attention. Separating the two seating areas was a baby grand piano, black, shined to a high gloss, with gold wheels and pedals, and “Steinway & Sons” embossed above the keys in gold leaf. Keira sat in front of it in nothing but a thin, white robe that fell further off her shoulder the longer she played.

Kona couldn’t remember seeing anything more beautiful.

He watched for several minutes, loving the long planes of her neck, the defined arch of her shoulders, but would not approach, wouldn’t touch. The song was familiar, something he didn’t think she’d written, and as she continued, humming just above each note, Kona realized it was, “Dark End of the Street,” a song his mother often sang when he was a kid.

Another pass of thunder rolled, and a streak of lightning broke through the dark morning skies.  Keira turned to watch through the glass wall, fingers still dancing across the keys and that’s when he saw it: the long bruise across her cheek. He felt sick, instantly thinking that somehow he’d left it on her face, but he couldn’t remember touching her, not like that.

He let the flashes of memory from the night before sort and play in his head, remembering nothing but the feel of her skin, the smell of her, how tightly she clamped around him, how being buried inside her felt like home, freed him, how it felt like a high. But none of those flashes explained that mark on her face.

Kona shot for calm, for patience, as he crossed the room, kneeling behind her. He wouldn’t bombard her with questions; he didn’t want to fracture the peace that swam in the house since the moment he told her he loved her. It had been spoken so easily, a second nature that felt instinctive, necessary. Honest.

Keira continued to play, the slow refrain of “Dark Side of the Street” eerily haunting, mesmerizing, but she arched her neck, let her head fall to his shoulder and Kona got a better look at the bruise. Two long, purple lines, faint, but clear. Finger marks. Thin, feminine finger marks.

Motherfucker, he thought, trying to calm the fury building, the mounting speed of his heart.

Her eyes were closed, her smile easy, content, and Kona hated to pull her out of that emotion, hated that those moments of happiness Leann mentioned had been fleeting, were fleeting. Keira deserved happy. She deserved a hell of a lot more than the shit her mother gave her.

Cautiously, he leaned forward, barely touched his lips to the bruise.  Even that careful gesture made Keira wince.

“Baby…”

“It’s not a big deal.” That sounded too practiced, thrown out too casually, like she’d spent years brushing off marks and scratches she’d received. But even as she uttered the platitude, Keira lowered over the keys, head resting against the top of the piano.

Kona couldn’t take her silence or the small shaking movement of her shoulders as she cried. “I’ll kill her.”

Keira laughed, but it was harsh, mixed between tears. “You can’t kill the devil, Kona. Trust me, I’ve thought about it.”

He slid next to her, pulled her onto his lap and Kona kissed her face, drying the moisture as quickly as it surfaced. “You can’t stay here.”

Keira pulled away from her comfortable spot on his chest, her eyes glassy and an expression on her face that made him feel small, made him feel like she thought he was naive. “Where would I go?” She wiped her face dry. “Your house? Bet your mom would love that. The team house? My dorm? Everything is temporary, Kona.” He closed his eyes when Keira brushed her fingers against his cheek, thumb rubbing over the scar she’d put there. He hated her frown when she looked at it. He hated that she felt so guilty, still, even after his goading. “This scared me. I did this to you. I lost it. How many times have I slapped you? Just last night…” She tried taking her hands from him, tried pulling away, and he meant to stop her, to cover her wrists so she’d keep her touch on him, but then Keira smiled, kept her fingers against his face as though she needed the contact. “Am I any better than her?” Her voice broke, and the wobble of her chin, that pained, crumble of her smile gutted him, had his own eyes burning. 

“Baby…” He pulled her close, held her as she cried and he felt the slow trickle of her tears on his bare chest. He cleared his throat, tried to remove the knot that made him sound lost. “You’ve slapped me when I pissed you off. You lashed out because you know what it does to me. We do it to each other. It’s this…this weird thing between us, and you’ve never hurt me.” Kona adjusted her on his lap, pulling on her waist to bring her closer. “That night at Lucy’s, I was coming off my shot. I was still full of that shit and high on adrenaline. I was out of my head jealous when I saw you with Luka because with you, shit, nani, most of the time I can’t think straight.” She started to speak, and Kona knew there would be an excuse, something Keira would say to make herself seem unhinged. “No. It’s true. We both have issues. We’re just the same. I never got over my mom keeping our father out of our lives because he hurt her. You’ve had to deal with a bitch who gets mad and can’t keep her hands off you. But when I’m with you, when we’re together, none of that shit matters. I forget everything.” 

“So do I.”

“Good. See? We’re the same. Tempers and stupidity and sometimes we do shit we don’t mean to.” Kona bent his head, kissed the exposed skin below Keira’s collarbone. “Last night, I threw you onto your bed because I was mad.”

“And I liked it.”

His smile was quick, moved across his mouth because he was happy he hadn’t hurt her, because he knew how much she’d liked it. But that smile disappeared when he lowered his eyes, when he brought his fingers to the bruise. “This isn’t the same thing. Not even close. That bitch is an ugly drunk; you’ve made a few comments that had me guessing that.” Kona tilted her chin to get a better look. “And I doubt this was the first time. Right?”

Keira looked over Kona’s shoulder, and he knew she was remembering something. “She didn’t drink as much until my dad sold his practice.” Her stare unfocused, eyes unblinking. “When they married, he was a lawyer. He did what everyone expected, and then, one day, he stopped caring about what they expected. My mother didn’t like him quitting. She didn’t like the cash cow going away, and they fought so much.” Lids moving, Keira glanced back at him. “They threw chairs and plates and TV remotes…whatever they could find that would inflict the worst damage. She started drinking; he did everything else. It got so bad she didn’t even cry at his funeral. Or the next week. Or the month after that. When I tried to stand up to her, or said something that sounded too much like him, I got popped.” She took Kona’s hand from her face, and patted it once when he made a fist. “I learned to keep my nose down, stay out of her way, and usually that worked. Usually if I do whatever she says, let her get her way, then she’s fine. But you came over yesterday, and she started asking questions, flapping her White Power flag, and I mouthed off to her. And then…this.”

Keira waved her hand, pointing to the bruise like it was nothing, something mundane and usual. He hated her attitude about being knocked around. He hated that she thought this was normal behavior. “It’s not safe for you to be around her. What if she really loses it?”

“Kona, I can fight back. I just never have before.” He leaned up, moving his head to watch her, and Keira must have seen the question in his eyes. “It’s not like I haven’t thought about it. I have. But I know that if I do what she asks, if I play the pacifying daughter, she’ll leave me alone. I’ve got three years, and most of that time will be spent on campus or at Leann’s. Things have just been bad the past year or so because I rebelled, because I moved to campus,” Keira’s cheek dimpled with her quick smile, “and being around you has made me a little ballsier. She doesn’t like that. She doesn’t like that she can’t control me when I’m at school. This has been coming for a while.”

“I still can’t let you stay here.” The thought of this happening again made Kona feel sick and he grabbed her arm, holding onto her as though he needed the focus she gave him. “What kind of man would I be if I let you stay here unprotected?”

“The kind that knows I can take care of myself.”

“Keira…”

She shook her head, stopping him. “I hate her. I hate everything she stands for, everything she believes in. But I have three years. I have to bide my time for three years. When I’m twenty-one, my inheritance kicks in.” Keira shrugged, picked up Kona’s hands and locked their fingers together. “It’s not much, but it’s what my dad wanted me to have, what’s left of what he didn’t put up his nose, but it’s enough to get a place, to get me through my last year of college without her help.”

It all sounded too simple, too perfect. Kona didn’t know Cora Michaels. That brief conversation with her the day before told him she wasn’t the kind of woman who just took whatever came her way. He had a feeling she’d spend the rest of her life trying to control Keira, and Kona wondered, despite Keira’s claim that she could walk away, if she really would. She was strong, she was a fighter, but Keira ran away from things when she thought she’d be hurt. Would she run away from the person who could hurt her most?

“Hey,” she said, voice light, as though she hadn’t spent the past few minutes crying on his chest. “Let me make you some French toast. It’s my specialty.”

More of that running. It’s what Keira did. She was done exorcising her demons, for now at least, and Kona loved that smile, how open it was, how happy she seemed to show him another side of herself he didn’t know existed.

“Sounds good, Wildcat.”

But as she walked away from him, looking far too good for someone who was so broken, Kona wondered if she would fight when the time came. He wondered if she’d let him fight for her. He wondered how far Keira would have to run to keep that smile on her face.