Thin Love(182)

When the swing comes, Kona closes his eyes, relaxes the muscles in his face to feel the full impact of his son’s fist.

“Say something, motherfucker!” Another swing, another stinging smart of Ransom’s knuckles against his jaw, and Kona opens his eyes, stares hard, anticipating. But his boy stops; his glare lingering, searching, then eyes lowering to follow the small bead of blood in the corner of Kona’s mouth.

Ransom steps back, lets his mother tug him away and Kona’s own anger brims forward, wanting more, needing more of that rage dealt against his skin.

“Come on, son.” Again he reaches for Ransom, but only manages to touch his sleeve. “That all you got? Come on!”

Keira follows Ransom as he steps away, one finger pointing at Kona, a warning he ignores.

“You don’t know me and you ruined my life.” Ransom’s kick against the piano bench cracks the wood, splinters it until the hinges break and scatter worn sheet music across the floor.

Kona sees so much of himself, so much of Luka in his son’s manic anger; his fists upturning all of Cora Michael’s fine, useless figurines on the bookshelf, his shouts as he breaks the pictures of a woman he had never known. Keira is crying, hand over her mouth, looking helpless and scared, and when she steps forward to stop their son’s outrage and aggression, Kona takes her shoulders and keeps her still against his chest while she tries jerking away from him. She doesn’t want his touch, he knows that, but Keira is overwhelmed, clearly clueless on how to stop this rampage. “No. He needs this,” Kona tells her. “He needs to get this out.” He hates how she leans away from him, how she jabs at his ribs, but he steadies her, holding her while Ransom’s fury is exhausted.

The boy decimates much of the living room, crying, shouting, knuckles, fingers bloody and the twin sensation of Ransom’s yelling and Keira’s uncontrollable sobs has Kona’s eyes burning, has him holding onto Keira’s shoulders as though she is an anchor that will keep him from falling apart completely.

“Asshole running his mouth, talking about shit he knows nothing about.” Kona takes the glare his son gives him, closes his eyes against that fury only for a second when Ransom points at him. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me you piece of shit! And you still manage to ruin my life. You both… you both ruined my life!”

Kona doesn’t expect Keira’s loss of control, doesn’t catch her when she falls to her knees, hands over her face, wounded to the quick by Ransom’s angry words

The boy lunges forward, eyes wide, as though he’s stepped away from his senses, not caring who he hurts. Kona remembers this; just like him, his boy wants to lash out, he wants to injure and he doesn’t seem to remember that his mother has loved him, has made him her world for all of his life. So Kona reminds him.

He moves in front of Keira, ready to take whatever venom Ransom needs to spit at him. “She was protecting you, son. From me.”

“Good damn job she did!” Ransom is big for his age, but he still has some sense, still has some semblance of understanding that his father is stronger than him, that he won’t let Ransom touch Keira. One step toward Kona, a glance at his mother and the boy retreats, hands held in his hair, eyes searching, itching for something else to destroy.

And when Ransom spins away from him, stops short and looks down at the guitar next to the leather sofa, Kona’s stomach drops. Behind him, Keira’s sharp intake and immediate sobs have Kona moving, speeding toward Ransom as he jerks the Hummingbird off of its stand. The instrument is up and over his head as Kona reaches him.

”No.” The strings bite into his palm when Kona grabs the neck. “Not this.”

Ransom’s breathing is heavy, eyes swollen, nostrils flaring and Kona watches his quick intake of breath, the pants that move over his open mouth. There is confusion in his son’s expression, but the anger ebbs away, a sluggish retreat, but it dampens as Kona pulls the guitar from his hands.

Just then, Kona sees what Ransom has been running from. He is a little boy, hurt, betrayed and masks it all with fury. Kona is familiar and the memory of that emotion, how quickly he can recall it, staggers Kona.

“She didn’t do this to you.” Kona feels the metal tang of blood from his bitten cheek. “I did this. Not her.”

His frown relaxes and Ransom stops breathing, gaze flashing quickly from Kona, to Keira sobbing on the floor. He follows Kona’s movement, the cautious way he sets the guitar back onto its stand and then his son’s anger is gone, lost in the realization of what he almost did.