“That’s one of the only photos I still have of my parents,” he said, sighing. “The man you thought was me is actually my father. But he never lived to be as old as I am. The year after that photo was taken, when I was only two, both of my parents died in a house fire not far from here.”
“Oh my gosh,” Kenzie whispered, her shoulders falling. “That’s horrible.”
“I survived the fire. My room was near the back of the house, and a firefighter was able to break my window and save me. But my parents were too deep inside the house, and the stability of the place was totally gone. Strange, isn’t it, that I’m always building fires?”
“I assume you have your reasons,” Kenzie answered.
“I don’t have any memories of my parents,” he said, “but I have a vague feeling for the warmth of them, holding me by the fire. I know it sounds crazy, but building those fires seems like a way to link myself with them. So I chop wood, and I build fires, all day and all night, up in my cabin.”
“But you moved away,” Kenzie said. “I went to the cabin first, and it seemed you’d been gone for weeks.”
“I always go back. I sometimes like to be closer to where I grew up. You see, this park is the very one we took that photo in. After they died, they renamed the park.”
“Blue Blossom?” Kenzie asked, remembering the wooden sign.
“That was my father’s nickname for my mother,” Bryce said. “Because of her bright blue eyes and her cheerfulness. At least, that’s what my mother’s friend told me. She made sure the park was appropriately named.” Bryce moved his back away from the bench and gestured toward the golden plaque there, which read: Carter and Molly Walker, R.I.P.
Kenzie placed her finger against the plaque, tracing the words. Sitting beside Bryce, with nothing hidden between them anymore, she felt the chemistry, the electricity, the lust growing within her. She placed her hand on Bryce’s knee, and he took her fingers in his. Her nose filled with his musk. Kenzie leaned into him, kissing his soft, pink lips and feeling the scratchiness of his beard.
Once the kiss broke, Bryce smiled. “You’re even more beautiful now that I know you’re carrying my babies.”
“You’re even more handsome now that I know a bit more about you,” Kenzie said. “I’m so sorry, Bryce. I’m so sorry you had to go through all that. It must have been terribly hard, growing up without them.”
“But that’s all the more reason I want to be a part of our children’s lives,” Bryce said. Tears glittered in his eyes. “I bounced from foster home to foster home, never finding a place to land. Never adopted. Too quiet for that. Potential parents said I ‘lacked something.’ But really, I was just guarded. I’d never really known love.#p#分页标题#e#
“Now that you’re pregnant, I want to do it all right. I want to play baseball in the backyard, and help my daughter learn to cook, and run around, and laugh. I want to open up more and stop being such a closed-off hermit.”
“You could never be an asshole,” Kenzie said, laughing, feeling giddy from his promises. “You have demons, Bryce, but you can overcome them. This is a new start.”
Kenzie leaned toward Bryce and kissed him again, lifting her body onto his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. She lifted his hand to her abdomen, allowing him to feel her stomach. “I didn’t know what was wrong,” she said, laughing with joy. “I was sick all the time and always gaining weight!”
“You look absolutely perfect,” Bryce said, kissing her neck. “That said, I want to take you back with me. I won’t have my babies out here in the cold another minute.”
“Already you’re such a strict father,” Kenzie teased. She felt electric, her face so close to his. It felt as if they’d never been apart.
“They’ll do what I say, and that means they’ll follow their curfew,” Bryce teased back. He lifted Kenzie into the air and carried her, just as he had in the forest nearly two months before. He took her back to his truck, telling her he’d grab her car the next day—that he just wanted to be close to her for fear of losing her again. Exhausted after her long day of driving, Kenzie agreed. She was grateful for the warmth and familiarity of his truck, for the scratchy radio station, for Bryce’s sturdy hands on the wheel.
Bryce drove them back toward the Blue Boys Clubhouse. They passed it quickly, Kenzie peering out at Gunner and Larry, both of who were smoking near the entrance. “I can’t believe you used to drive motorcycles,” she said, laughing. “I can hardly picture it.”