“I was nervous.” Ransom’s hair feels thick against her fingers as Keira brushes his bangs out of his eyes. “Didn’t know what to do with myself.”
“Nothing to worry about, Mom, honest. We’re good.” Keira follows Ransom’s gaze as he nods to Kona, as his father offers them both a tentative smile. “I’m beat, though. Gonna take a melatonin and crash.” He kisses Keira’s forehead, then leans toward her ear, voice low. “Don’t hold grudges, Mom. It’s freakin pointless.”
Her son taps Kona’s shoulder, exchanges a brief farewell before he leaves the kitchen, leaving them alone, staring back at one another.
She cannot take the silence, the long seconds that fill awkwardness, uncertainty in the room and so Keira deflects, as is habit, returns back to the table and the numbing relief the Glendronach offers.
“That’s bad for you.”
She needs this liquid strength, to steel herself for what she will say. It will be the last chance he has; this time, Keira won’t run.
“Keira?” he says, standing at her side, looking down at her and the bottle in front of her. “What are you doing?”
She sits up, voice raspy, raw. “Drinking a bottle of forty-two-hundred dollar Scotch.” He settles next to her at the table, elbows on that smooth wood surface and Keira slides the bottle toward him. “You like this stuff, if memory serves. It’s old, around forty years.”
“Why are we drinking?”
Something about Kona breaks her resolve. It always has and it’s no different now. She can’t hide anything from him. Those looks, the determined tone of his voice, strips away her mask, completely shatters the hard veil that hides what she’s feeling. The tears start, feel like an insult, but one more sip and she clears her throat, lifts her chin to face him. “I’m tired, Kona.” She shakes off his hand pulling on her fingers and moves her glass in front of him. She doesn’t need the distraction of his touch. “Drink with me.”
He hesitates, quiet, considering before he holds onto the glass. “Alright.”
Kona’s sip is long and Keira likes the stretch of his neck as he downs the drink, how his throat works as he swallows. Damn. Just him doing something so mundane as drinking has Keira hungry for a taste of him.
Eyes fluttering, shaking away the sensation, Keira pulls on the bottle, swigging from it like it’s water and not burning whiskey. “I heard the press conference.” Kona’s stare is easy, but behind those dark eyes, Keira catches his focus, the steely gaze that tells her he’s thinking, considering her and the thought makes her nervous, makes her eager. “It’s good. Ransom needed that. You love him?” She knows the answer to that question, but she wants to hear him say it. She wants Kona to confirm that he had fallen for their son just as quickly as she had.
Kona’s mouth twitches as he fights a grin, but his nod confirms what she already knew. “Of course I love him.”
“Funny how that happens, right? How sudden. How quick.” She tries for another swig, but Kona takes the bottle, fills his glass again. “Never thought I could fall in love with someone I’d only know for a few seconds, but that’s how it was,” Keira says, closing her eyes at the memory of that day. God, Ransom had been beautiful as a baby. Huge pools of dark eyes, perfect brown skin. The moment she held him, Keira had been smitten. “They pulled him out of me, laid him on my chest and that screaming, swollen little thing just looked up at me like I had all the answers for him. I didn’t have a single one.”
“Keira, you worked miracles. He’s amazing.” Kona’s voice is sweet, soft and Keira hears the emotion it, the pride.
“I had help.” The sting in her eyes again, the frustration and fear, burning hotter than the throb in her throat and Keira does not care about Kona seeing her tears. She doesn’t care that she looks weak, vulnerable in front of the one person she wanted to believe she was fearless. Pushing the glass away, Kona reaches for her wrist, fingers closing around it and Keira can only shut her eyes against the sensation of his skin on hers. “Sometimes I think it’s all hopeless. Me, you, us together.”
“Why?”
Her skin flushes when Keira touches her face. “Because I thought I was too broken, that there was nothing left of my heart,” she says, covers his hand with hers.
Kona is at her side and he leans over, stretches to kneel in front of her. She could hear his every move, feel every stare even if she was blind.
“What else do I have to do?” Kona’s breath is warm, smells delicious with the smallest hint of whiskey. That scent makes Keira’s mouth water. Warm fingers back on her skin, Kona on his knees in front of her and his free hand on the back of her chair—a cage of his body, but one Keira doesn’t retreat from it. “You are the most stubborn, bullheaded woman I have ever met.”