Kira
Over the next few weeks, Kira got use to living in what was essentially a mansion, complete with a hot tub in the back yard. The best part, though, was being with Lucian and Dylan all day. For the most part, Kira didn’t see much of Brent, encountering him only briefly very early in the morning or very late at night, and only ever communicating in a very perfunctory, to-the-point way.
Brent would ask, “How’s Dylan?”
And then Kira would say, “Fine. Look into a counselor yet?”
To which Brent would say, “Working on it.”
In a way, she felt like the house was hers—in a way. She definitely got more use out of it than Brent did. She wondered sometimes what he did with his days, why he had so much money. Maybe he’s in the mafia, she thought to herself with a grin while sipping a late-night glass of wine one evening after she’d put Lucian and Dylan both to bed. No, that can’t be right. He would have a family if he were a part of the mob.
Just then, the front door crashed open, and Brent stumbled through it, cursing under his breath. He was halfway to the staircase before he noticed Kira sitting on the couch. “Oh. Why aren’t you asleep?” he asked. Before she could offer an answer, Kira realized that he was clutching his arm to his side.
“Are you hurt?” she asked, immediately putting the glass of wine aside and getting to her feet to attend to her boss.
“No, no, I’m fine,” Brent said, protesting weakly when she tried to touch his arm. “It’s a little sore, that’s all.”
“Looks like more than just a little sore to me,” Kira said. “Come on, sit down, let me look at it. I used to be in school for nursing, you know.”
“You were?” Mr. Barkley asked.
“Yeah, don’t sound so shocked,” she said with a laugh, gently prying the jacket off of Brent’s body so she could look at his arm. “Oi, cheese and crackers,” she exclaimed, wincing a little at the sight of Brent’s bruised, bloodied arm. “What the hell happened here?” she asked as she reached out to gingerly touch it, just to see if it was still bleeding. Mercifully, the blood flow had stopped, but the cut was clogged up with clots and mucus.
“Nothing, just a couple guys got on my nerves. Believe me, I got the better end of the deal tonight,” Brent said, gritting his teeth a little as her fingers made contact with his bloody skin.
“Yeah, yeah, we all know you’re the big macho man who wins fights, don’t worry,” Kira said a little mockingly, rolling her eyes but offering him a teasing smile when he looked offended. “Sorry, just trying to make light of the situation. You get into bar fights often?”
Brent hesitated a little before answering the question. “Um, not really. Not so much recently.”
“But you’re getting back into the habit?” Kira asked, raising her volume so her voice would carry as she got up to grab a first aid kit from the kitchen.
“I don’t know. It didn’t feel too bad, I’ll tell you that much,” Brent said with a half-smile as she returned with bandages and disinfectant for his wound.
“Really? Looks like somebody pulled a knife on you, man,” Kira said as she attended to the gaping hole in his skin.
“Probably,” Brent said, waving his other arm dismissively as if a knife attack is nothing to be concerned about. “Why aren’t you a nurse instead of a nanny if you went to school for it?”
“Got knocked up,” Kira said as she began to wind a bandage around Brent’s bicep. “Had to get a job doing data entry to pay for the kid, since his piece of shit father could never be depended on. No time for school.”
“Ever think about going back?” Brent asked.
Kira shrugged. “I don’t really have what it takes.”
“Bullshit. What does it take, then?”
“Money,” Kira said with a grin, highly amused with herself, even though she was just telling the truth. “That’s the crucial thing you need to be a success.”
“It definitely helps,” Brent admitted, flexing a little bit to get comfortable as she finished tying up the bandage on his arm. “Thanks,” he muttered, staring down at his lap rather than making eye contact with Kira.
“No problem,” Kira said. She reached over to grab her wine and took another few sips to reward herself. “Hey, do you want a drink, by the way? You look like you could definitely use one right about now.”
“Sure,” Brent said, getting to his feet. “I’ll get it, though. You’re not a waitress.”
“Used to be!” Kira said with a laugh, going up with Brent and bringing her almost empty wine glass so she could get a second serving. “I had several jobs on my travels before I came here. Which reminds me…what do you do, exactly?”
Brent burst into laughter, right in the middle of pouring the wine, so that he spilled a little on the front of his shirt. “Ah, shit,” he groaned. “Oh, well. The red will go with the blood I got on it earlier,” he said with a smile. Kira thought that she’d never seen him look this light, this free. Maybe fighting really was therapeutic for men.
“What was so funny, anyway?” Kira asked, holding out her glass so Brent could pour her some wine as well.
“Oh, it’s just that you waited until you’ve been working here for almost a month before you asked me. I never figured you were the shy type.” He finished pouring Kira’s drink, but before she could take another sip, he lightly tapped the side of her glass with his own. “Cheers, or something,” he muttered before tossing half of his glass down his throat in one gulp.
“Cheers,” Kira repeated before taking a sip. “I’m not shy. It’s just…I don’t know, to be honest with you, before right this moment, I figured you didn’t want to talk to me for any reason unless it was absolutely necessary. You know, like you’re a very intense guy.”
“What? No, I’m not,” Brent protested, pouring himself some more wine and going to get another bottle for good measure. “I’m a very simple dude, really.”
“Oh yeah? Simple? That why you’re still dancing around telling me what you do for a living?” Kira said, making a point to raise her eyebrows as high as they could go.
Brent lifted his hands in surrender, smiling and shaking his head at her. “You’re a real interesting woman, Kira. Nothing gets past you.”
“I’m like a verbal goalkeeper,” Kira said, laughing at her own lame joke before taking another sip of the sweet wine. “But anyway, I’m not going to let you get away without answering me directly.”
“I didn’t mean to be evasive, really,” Brent said.
“You’re still evading me! Spit it out, god damn it!” Kira demanded, even though there was a broad smile splitting her face in half. She must have been feeling a little bit looser and freer as a result of the alcohol. It was also nice talking to another adult for a change.
“I’m a therapist!” Brent finally answered, laughing loudly after the words left his mouth. “I’m a psychologist. I work with people on their mental health. That’s what I do.”
“Wow, I would not have guessed that,” Kira said, staring at Brent harder to try to figure out if he was lying or not. It seemed like the type of thing he would do, lie as a joke. Or maybe even lie just for the fun of doing it.
“Is that an insult?” Brent asked, narrowing his eyes a little suspiciously.
“Hey, you’re the therapist,” Kira said, smiling so broadly her lips started to ache a little bit. “You should be able to figure that one out.”
“No, no, see, I don’t analyze people outside of the office. That isn’t a smart way to do business.”
“Ah, shoot,” Kira said, slapping her own knee in mock disappointment. “That’s a shame. I was looking for you to like, read my tarot cards and tell me my destiny, or whatever it is you shrinks do.”
Brent sarcastically clapped his hands together. “Wow, you’re so funny.”
“I’ll be here all week,” Kira said, sipping some more wine even though her head was starting to feel a little woozy. She definitely did not have the tolerance that she used to back in college. “Well, I’ll be here as long as Dylan is, anyway.”
Brent coughed a little awkwardly, tossing back more wine and looking uncomfortable, as if just bringing up the vague deadline he’d set for Dylan’s time here was too much for him to handle. Kira took the hint and decided not to push the issue, at least for now while they weren’t already fighting each other. She decided to fall silent, focusing on the sweetness of her drink for several long peaceful minutes until Brent decided to speak up again.
“So you were married?” Brent asked.
“Yeah, for a couple years,” Kira said. “It was…not the best experience of my life, I’ll put it that way,” she added with a laugh. Now she knew for sure that the alcohol was having an effect on her emotional state. She never used to like talking about Larry. In fact it often made her skin crawl whenever a coworker or neighbor or old friend or family member even mentioned him in passing. But for now, she was still comfortable, not raising her hackles in response to any question or comment about her failed marriage. She even…wanted to talk about him, for some reason. It was like she needed to get the words out of her system, releasing them out into the world regardless of their recipient. “He was a total fucking scumbag. Is, not was. He’s not dead, unfortunately.” Kira sighed and playfully slapped herself on the side of her own face. “Bad girl. I shouldn’t say things like that. He’s my son’s father.”
“So?” Brent asked, scooting his chair a little closer to Kira’s and dropping his voice, probably in case one of the boys was awake even though the chance of their conversation being heard from upstairs was slim. “Does it make him less of a scumbag, just because he donated some DNA at a crucial point in the kid’s lifeline?”
“I don’t know,” Kira said with a sigh. “A lot of people in Larry’s life would probably say the same thing about me, and…you know, I’m not a perfect mother, but I try really hard. Maybe from Larry’s perspective, things are the same for him.” She shrugged, blowing out her breath as she thought of all the issues with her ex-husband.
“Well, that sounds like bullshit to me, but I can see you’re trying to be nice, so I’ll let it go,” Brent said, offering her a teasing smile that made her feel a little bit warmer inside even though her mood had fallen a little bit thinking about her ex. “So what’s the deal with him anyway? Deadbeat dad? Doesn’t have a job? What is it?”
“Sort of,” Kira said. “He has a job, but he still tries not to pay child support even though he can afford it. He’s a cop. Well, a parole officer, actually.”
Brent paused, his cup suspended mid-air between the table and his mouth, like the new information surprised him for some reason. “Interesting,” he said, clearing his throat. “Go on. Tell me more about him. Why do you hate him?”
“I don’t hate him, I just…” Kira trailed off, tired of repeating the same line to herself over and over again. “Okay, fine, I hate him. I just can’t say that in front of my kid, okay?”
“Understandable,” Brent said, nodding for her to continue.
“Well, he wasn’t the worst guy in the world. He was nice to me in the beginning, but after a while he just got mean. Maybe because he was frustrated at work, or maybe he just fell out of love with me. I don’t know. I guess that can happen sometimes, for no good reason. He just started being so cruel to me all the time, saying awful things about my weight and how I looked and stuff like that.”
“What? That’s terrible,” Brent said, some new emotion flashing from behind his eyes in response to Kira’s last statement.
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t fun, that’s for sure,” Kira said with a drawn-out sigh, reaching across the dining room table to pour herself some more wine. She had somehow stumbled into a makeshift therapy session with her boss, a guy she was pretty certain didn’t even like her that much, so she figured she needed more wine if she was going to survive this encounter with her whole mind and spirit intact. “Anyway, we’ve been broken up for a couple years now, but he keeps…causing problems.”
“Like what?” Brent asked, his brow furrowed in concentration. Kira never would have guessed that he would be such a good listener, but then again he’d have to be, to be successful as a therapist which, from the looks of his lifestyle, he was.
“Well…” Kira hesitated to tell the full story, aware that she sounded a little bit irrational. Ah, fuck it, she thought to herself. She’d been pretty brutally honest with Brent about his flaws as a father. It was only fair that she share her own flaws with him, too. “I’m pretty sure he got me fired. And evicted. I’m not sure what I did to piss him off this time, but I think he called in a complaint to my boss and then on the same day threatened my landlord. He gets…possessive.”
“You’re not together anymore, though,” Brent pointed out.
“Yeah,” Kira agreed. “But logic doesn’t really appeal to him very much. I mean, if he wanted me so badly, you’d think he wouldn’t have cheated on me with some secretary down at the precinct. But he did, so…” She trailed off again, reaching for more wine to numb herself to the emotions that were being reawakened by this conversation.
“What a fucking loser,” Brent said, speaking with a sharp edge to his voice that Kira had never heard before. It was like he was angry—furious, in fact—and holding it in behind a careful mask of objectivity. But Kira could see through it, looking into Brent’s eyes. There was a fire that burned in his pupils. It made her squirm a little in her seat, unsure of what to do. A part of her wanted to thank him for feeling so angry on her behalf, but there was another, more frightened, more defensive part of her mind that felt naked, totally exposed under his gaze. I shouldn’t have told him anything about my private life. I can’t trust him. I’m being stupid. I’m drinking too much, she thought to herself even as she kept sipping on her wine.
She cleared her throat after swallowing, deciding to change the subject. “Anyway, the whole thing gave me Lucian. That makes it worth it.”
Brent shifted uncomfortably on his feet, tapping his fingers against the top of the table before returning his gaze to Kira’s eyes, staring at her so intensely that Kira almost flinched. Almost.
Finally, he broke the silence, asking in an uncharacteristically soft voice, “Do you really believe that? That it was meant to be? Like there’s a purpose for everything?”
“I don’t know,” Kira said. “But I believe you have to make the best of whatever happens, no matter how shitty it is.” She was unsure what they were talking about, exactly, except that it wasn’t a typical therapy session. Somewhere, hiding underneath their words, they were talking about Brent’s issues, maybe even his issues with Dylan. But she didn’t need to know more than that. Nurses and nannies have their own way of treating people’s minds, she thought to herself proudly as she saw Brent crack a slightly hopeful smile.
“All right, well, I better head to bed. I’ve got an early day tomorrow,” Brent said.
“Again?” Kira asked. “You’ve been working really hard. And you go to night appointments, too? I can’t imagine where you get the energy.”
Brent started to say something, opening his mouth a little, but then he shut it again, shaking his head instead. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. Have as much wine as you want. Later.”
He disappeared up the stairs, heading to his bedroom and shutting the door loudly enough that Kira could hear from downstairs in the kitchen. Ah, what the hell? Kira thought to herself as she poured a final glass of wine to drink before going to bed.
Her body buzzed pleasantly, wrapped in some gentle comforting warmth that soothed her to the core, but somehow she thought that it wasn’t just the effect of all the alcohol. It was something else, something that only came about because she talked to Brent. She just knew it.
It’s different, living with a man this way, she thought to herself as she sipped at the wine. Maybe they can only open up to women if they aren’t fucking them. Maybe romance and sex and everything that comes attached to it messes up the communication pathways, and there’s no way to fix it once it’s broken.
One thing was clear to Kira, above all else. This was so much better than living with Larry had been. She could get used to it, having a man in the house she could talk to, who would listen to her, who would help her bear her emotional burdens.
You’re being silly, she said to herself as she drained the dregs from her glass and walked to the sink to rinse it. This is just a temporary thing. Once he gets sick of Dylan, he’ll be done with you, and it’ll be back to abject poverty for both you and Lucian. Don’t get used to it.
Still, as she slipped off to sleep, she couldn’t help but feel like this was where she was meant to be, at least for the moment.