Kona pulls open his shirt, and throws it onto the island and Keira’s eyes move to the colossal Polynesian tribal designs, all black, all connected, that cover his shoulder, half his arm and his chest.
“Sixty hours with a bone-tipped rake and a striking stick. I was on the big island for three weeks and most of that time was with Naoki, an old war buddy of my tutu knae’s. There was no smartass tattooer telling me not to get inked for some girl, like Michael did. There was me, Naoki and his two sons. Up until a month ago, this piece was what I was proudest of in my life. Until I met Ransom. Until you introduced me to my son.”
Keira’s eyes soften and she stretches out her fingers like she wants to touch him, but then curls her hand into a fist, until Kona reaches out to her, and places her hand on his shoulder. “This,” he says, to the black waves that circle his entire shoulder, “is for the persistent memory of those I’ve loved and lost. It’s for Luka, for my tutu kane, the ones I pushed away when I was too stupid to realize how lucky I was, how loved.”
Kona turns, slides Keira’s fingers along his skin, up his shoulder, his breath shuddering at the feel of her nails smoothing over his traps, to his shoulder blades. She touches the spherical sun with waving flames and pointed spikes on his back. “This is for rebirth, for the renewal of myself, for me learning to forgive myself and never letting my weaknesses bury me again.”
Then Kona moves Keira’s fingers along his arm, catching her eyes, holding them as he trails her hand to the dark and light shells intricately patterned against the tribal spaces that fill up his skin. “This is for protection, for my family, to remind me of what I lost, what I want to earn again.” Keira holds his gaze, doesn’t watch her fingers being moved back up his arm, to his chest where Kona marked himself for her all those years ago. “This entire piece is the story of my life, Keira; who I was, what I lost, what I want to have back and it all starts here. It starts with you, Wildcat.”
He steps forward, takes her hand and puts it over his heart. “Ku`u Lei. My beloved. Then. Always. I could never get rid of that just like I could never really get rid of you.” Keira’s face is in his hands, his thumbs smoothing over that skin he’d been aching to touch and his chest constricts, heart strumming steady, but fast. “I could be a thousand miles from you, telling myself I don’t want you, that I’d gotten over you, but it would be a lie. I remember the way your skin felt under my fingers. I remember the noises you made when I kissed you, how quick your breath got when I made you come, how soft you held me, how you made me feel things I didn’t think I was good enough to feel. You did that, always. You were mine and I never loved anything more. I never wanted anything or anyone like I wanted you. Like I still want you. My always, Keira. You’re still my always.”
And then, Kona stopped talking, stopped wanting and took what was always his.
She’d loved him like a song. She had told Kona that once.
His fingers were chords, the strong vibration of a beat that slipped into her chest, filled all the empty spaces that had been missing since her father’s death. His hands were a tempo, a crushing, consuming bass line that echoed in the stillness of her heart, filling it with heavy beats she heard singing into her ears. And that song had not faded, had not dimmed in the years they had been apart.
Kona kisses her, loves her with every touch and he plays loud, loud, loud inside her, seeping into the portions of her body, the thin wisps of her soul that only he could ever sing to her. All those years, all the struggle they both endured fades like the reverb disappearing behind a back beat as he comes to her, touching, kissing her against the sink, hands lowering, pulling her to his strong body. He is the drumbeat of her past, the soft melody of her memory coalescing in his extended arms, in the demanding, aching way his fingers play against her skin, under her shirt.
His words come in soft breaths against her skin, his mouth on her chin, across her face and Keira holds onto him, eyes rolling back with those strong, certain hands pulling her in, closer, surer than he ever had before.
But he stops; only a pause that has her blinking, another promise Keira doesn’t believe is spoken lightly. He stares hard, face stern, a promise in his features that his words could never break.
“This time,” he says, breath calm but quick against her neck, “this time I won’t lie to you.” Those chords dip down on her spine, up the tattoo she’d put there for him and he kisses her again, warm lips humming to the top of her pulse. Kona wraps his too large, too heavy arms around her waist. “This time when you walk away, I won’t let you stay gone. This time, Wildcat, I’ll follow.”