Kona feels a cramp in his stomach, one that twists up his esophagus and he tells himself to push down that sensation. It shouldn’t matter to him that Keira probably had someone back in Nashville. She is a beautiful woman. She is strong and confident. She is talented and smart, he’d never kidded himself into believing she’d be without a man. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t jealous. That doesn’t mean he’d stop listening.
“Bobby, no. I can come home if you need me. I’m serious. Of course… well, no, but…” Keira’s words rush out, and Kona can hear the frustration, the worry in her voice. “You know I will. Okay. Yes. Yes, of course. I love you, sweetie.”
Four small words that feel like a gut punch.
Three words that Kona hasn’t uttered to anyone in sixteen years.
Keira says them easily. She says them like she means them and Kona can’t listen anymore.
“You know I will. Sure. Yes. Yes ma’am.”
Bobby, he thinks. The boss Keira said helped her out. Kona tries to pull the instant, stupid-looking relieved smile from his face as he walks into the dining room, waving off a slice of cornbread Ransom has lifted from the oven as he sits at the table.
“So Kona, you back for good?” Leann asks and Kona looks at her, needing a distraction so he won’t stare after Keira when she returns to the kitchen.
He nods to Ransom, a small thanks when the boy sets a bottle of Abita in front of him. “I don’t know yet, Leann. My agent is trying to work something out, but the Steamers’ defensive line is pretty strong.”
“One of the best in the league,” Ransom offers, taking a sip of his sweet tea.
Another nod and a swig from his bottle and Kona shrugs. “We’ll see how spring training goes. I’m set to start with them in July, but I’ve been putting out feelers on some other things.” Leann grins at him and Kona gets the feeling her question had been polite, that she’s not all that interested in who Kona signs with.
Leann sits at the table peelings cucumbers, slapping her son’s hand from the bowl of clean vegetables and fussing at her younger son when he runs through the dining room with wet feet. “Outside, you little monster.”
Kona’s gaze follows the boy and he smiles at his white blonde hair, at the low growl of a laugh he makes when his mother continues fussing. “Two boys?” Kona says to her moving his chin between the little guy running out onto the patio and the one sitting next to Ransom as both boys check their phones.
“Yes. Two was plenty.”
“You don’t dance anymore?” He was curious, trying to catch up, trying like hell not to watch Keira as she moves around the kitchen.
“I do. I own a studio in Kenner.”
“That’s good. Owning a business will keep you out of trouble.”
“Then maybe my boys should think about it.”
Kona’s grin grows as he nods at Leann’s boy across the table from him. “You give your mom hell?”
“Not as much as the shit Ransom gives Keira.” He winces when Leann throws a cucumber peel at his head.
Ransom elbows his cousin, silently telling him to keep his mouth shut and Kona laughs, relaxes against his chair. “You give Keira problems?”
“No. Well, not anymore.” The boy sips from his glass. “Last summer there was some shi—” Leann clears her throat and Ransom waves her off. “Last summer I got talked into a race.” Tristan snorts, a disbelieving sound that has Kona laughing.
Ransom takes another drink, finishing off the tea until the melted ice rattles in the bottom of the glass. “Okay, so I don’t like people messing with me.” Head to the side as his eyes move over Kona and Ransom moves his chin at his father. “You can’t tell me people didn’t screw with you when you were my age.” He waves between them. “The size? The height?”
“Yep. I got that. Lu…” he winces, catching Keira gaze’s from behind the kitchen island when he looks up her. Kona feels stupid, awkward with how uneasy he is just uttering his twin’s name. “Luka too. We were always fighting, especially him, because he was tall and fat until he was about ten.” Kona shakes his head, blinking away the memory of his brother knocking out an sixth grader who tried telling the whole playground that the boys were stupid, had to have been held back since they were so much bigger than everyone else. “Anyway, last summer?”
The prompt has Ransom shifting his eyes down, sliding the empty, sweating glass between his hands. “Some big redneck with a Kawasaki Ninja starts talking shit, telling me his 900 can beat my GSXR.”