Someone to Love(93)

I look up at my father in this new light, the older gentleman with graying hair, the newly-minted playboy—the friend.

“Not at all.” I lead us to a bench overlooking the stream that braids itself through the property, quiet as a yawn. My grandfather used to tell me stories of catching trout here, but I haven’t seen a fish longer than my thumb since I was thirteen. The runoff from a nearby hillside keeps it flowing straight through winter. I used to come out here after the Blair debacle, then Kenny brought me a moment of peace, and here I am again.

“You have an upsetting call?” He points to the phone still cradled in my hand. He’s wearing a pair of jeans, which is unusual for him, and a baseball cap of mine that Mom must have lent him. We resemble each other enough for me to know what I’ll look like in about twenty years—that is if I eat like hell and forget the directions to the gym.

“Blair’s mother.” I rattle the phone before diving it into my pocket. “She’s trying to play matchmaker. I’m sure Blair put her up to it.”

“You ever think of getting back together?” He winces when he says it. The flesh on his face looks thicker than I remember as a child. A smile is permanently embedded in the lines beneath his eyes. “It’s never too late to make things right.”

“Never is the operative word. Let’s just say I’ve been given a reprieve. A dying man doesn’t run back to the guillotine.”

He lets out a warm laugh straight from his belly, and it feels good to be out here with him, sharing a moment, even if it is a pretty crappy moment for me. Not that I plan on highlighting the heartache I’m having with Kenny anytime soon.

“I had a relationship once that I let go of too soon,” he starts. “Never forgot her. Thought about her every day of my life after I let her walk through that door.” His gaze softens over mine.

I have a feeling I know exactly who he let walk out that door, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to follow in his footsteps.

I’m going to fight for Kenny.

I just hope there’s something to fight for in her eyes.





19


Kendall

Heart of Glass, Heart of Stone





A glimmer of light pours through the curtains and rouses me just enough to let me know I’ve got one hell of a power headache pumping through my skull.

I let Ally talk me into hanging out with her at the party last night, well after Lauren disappeared with Cal. Turns out, no matter how hard I tried to bring him to his so-called cheating knees, he held onto his resolve and, apparently, his relationship. Lauren burst out of the closet and the rest was make-up sex history.

Of course, I’ll have to confess everything to Cruise since it’s his friend from the gym, or things are bound to get really weird the next time Cal’s around.

I pull my hair into a ponytail and head to the kitchen. There’s a plate on the table loaded with eggs and bacon, two slices of my favorite kind of toast, and my heart melts. The way Cruise loves me is indescribable. It feels like heaven to be cared for like this.

There’s a note set to the side.

Going for a walk, be right back.

I don’t hesitate slipping on my boots and coat before heading out the door. I need to collect my morning kiss. It’s practically a necessary vitamin to kick-start the day.

The air outside is crisp. The wind picks up and wraps itself around my bare neck like a scarf made of icicles. If it weren’t for Cruise, I’d literally be freezing to death and homeless. I guess I should be thankful Pennington didn’t have the foresight to get me keyed in with the housing department—thankful for his beer bong emergency that cropped up at the last minute. It’s so strange how it all worked out. It’s as if destiny stepped in and arranged every coincidence to work in our favor.

If ever there were a couple that was meant to be, it’s Cruise and me.

Voices buzz through the shrubbery, and I follow the sound over to a dirt trail.

“But I don’t love her anymore.” Cruise’s voice resonates loud and clear through the thicket, it reverberates through my skull like some horrible gong. Who doesn’t he love?

I lean into the fat trunk of a pine—my heart already blistering from his words. Surely, they weren’t meant for me. I peer over at him, seated next to his father.

“I regret every last thing,” he continues. “Honestly, I don’t know what I ever saw in her. I don’t even think she’s pretty.” His voice escalates as if he just woke up from a long hibernation and wasn’t satisfied with what he found lying in his bed. “She’s totally screwed up on the inside. I’m sure she’ll blame it on daddy issues, and now she’s got her mother all over my back. If I regret one thing, it’s ever asking her to marry me.”