She nodded, her lips still on my skin, the scent of her hair drifting up to me and making me feel peaceful and content.
I sighed. I wanted her to know everything about me. I wanted to share things with her I had never shared with anyone, but forcing the words out was difficult and not something I had any practice with.
I smoothed my hand down her silken hair, grasping a handful of it. "I had just gotten back from New York where I had gone to see my mother."
"You went to see your mother?" she asked, surprised.
I nodded. "The trip virtually ended before it had even begun. I've tried to put it out of my mind. But back then, I . . . well, I had graduated college, and I thought if she saw me, saw the man I'd become, that she'd, I don't know, fall to her knees and beg me for forgiveness. I envisioned just that very thing as stupid as that sounds." I made a small scoffing sound. "I flew to New York and looked her up, went to her door with no invitation." I was silent for a moment remembering the hope I'd carried so close to the surface as I'd stood in front of her apartment. "She was married, had a family—two young sons."
"She must have been glad you came to see her," she said softly.
I made a sound that would have been a laugh if there were any amusement in it. "No. She was so bitter—told me I ruined her life, told me she had been on the verge of a huge career when I put an end to that. She said she was glad she didn't have to look at me every day and be reminded of all she could have had. Then she asked me to leave. The worst part, though, was the way she looked at her two other boys while I was there. And I realized that it wasn't that she was incapable of love—it was just she was incapable of loving me." I delivered the words as casually as I could, but I felt the slight flush on my own cheekbones. The memory of that moment still burned like a red-hot brand.
"Gray," she said, a whole world of compassion in her eyes as she reached up and stroked my cheek. I leaned in to it.
"I flew into San Francisco and decided to go to a bar. I needed a drink, or ten."
"You were hurting," she said.
"I . . . yes. God, if I had just gotten on the road and come home," I admitted. My voice cracked on the final word, regret filling me. Kira wrapped her arms around my body and hugged me to her.
"I had been at the bar for about an hour when I ran into Brent Riley, a rich kid I'd known through acquaintances, and had gone to some parties with over the years. His family lives in a town about half an hour from here. He was in San Francisco for his bachelor party—there was a whole group of them there. I hung with them for a while. Brent and I had never gotten along, though. He was a real douche—the type of person who looks perfect and upstanding to the outside world, but behind the scenes is creepy and self-serving."
She nodded. "I'm somewhat acquainted with the type," she said wryly. I kissed her forehead gently, knowing she was thinking about Cooper, or perhaps her father, or perhaps both.
"Yeah, so, we were walking outside to the parking lot and he said he had roofied some girl, and that he and the other guys were going to take her back to their hotel and have some fun." Kira looked up at me and her eyes widened in what looked like surprised revulsion. "He asked if I wanted in on the action and pointed over to a car where a girl was slumped in the backseat. I kind of went a little crazy." I paused. "I was looking for a fight, Kira. I welcomed a reason to fight with him."
"It was a good reason, Gray," she whispered.
I let out a loud whoosh of air. "Maybe. I got right in his face, but he was the one who pushed me first. And it was all I needed. I didn't show him any mercy. He got a few good hits in, but most of the punches were mine. I enjoyed it. And then he fell . . ." I paused, closing my eyes as I pictured that awful moment. "The way he landed . . . I knew right away he was dead. People started scattering, cars drove off, the police came . . ."
She looked up at me, her eyes so compassionate and understanding I wanted to fall into them, believing I might find redemption there. "You didn't mean to kill him," she said.
"No. God, no, I never meant to kill him. I just wanted to hurt him, teach him a lesson. I acted as his judge, jury, and as it turned out, his executioner that night."
Kira brought her hand up and ran her thumb over my cheek. How could she look at me with so much love in her eyes after what I'd shared with her? And yet, she did.
"Did they ever find the girl?"
I pressed my lips together. "Yeah, they found her, but too late to do any drug testing. My defense couldn't use her at trial." I took a deep breath. "My defense. What a joke. My father wouldn't pay for a lawyer—he left me to hang," I said, unable to keep the hurt and bitterness from my voice. "I had to hire a public defender. The guy was totally incompetent—and even if he hadn't been, his caseload was so big he wouldn't have been able to do much for me anyway. Still, though, he was sure I'd only get minimal time for what happened—six months at most, community service at best. And so when the judge came back with five years, I was . . . I was floored, shocked. It felt like my life was over."