Reminders of Him

I’m sorry. Thank you. I’m sorry.
That’s my day, every day, on repeat.
I’m sorry. Thank you. I’m sorry.
My sentence was not justice considering the way you
died. Eternity wouldn’t be justice. But I hope your family
knows my actions that night didn’t come from a place of
selfishness. It was horror and shock and agony and
confusion and terror that guided me away from you that
night. It was never selfishness.
I am not a bad person, and I know you know that,
wherever you are. And I know you forgive me. It’s just
who you are. I only hope one day our daughter will
forgive me too. And your parents.
Then maybe, by some miracle, I can start to forgive
myself.

---

Until then, I love you. I miss you.
I’m sorry.
Thank you.
I’m sorry.
Thank you.
I’m sorry.
Repeat.

---

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
KENNA
I close out the document. I can’t read anymore. My eyes have filled with
tears. I’m surprised I made it as far as I did before crying, but I tried not to
absorb the words as I was reading them aloud.
I set my phone aside and I wipe my eyes.
Ledger hasn’t moved. He’s in the same position, leaning against his
driver’s side door, staring straight ahead. My voice is no longer filling his
truck. Now there’s just a silence that’s thick and uninviting, to the point that
Ledger can’t seem to take it anymore. He swings open his door and gets out
of his truck. He walks to the back of it and begins unloading the table
without so much as a word.
I watch him in the rearview mirror. Once the table is on the ground, he
grabs one of the chairs. There’s a pause before he chucks the chair onto the
table. It lands with a loud clank that I feel in my chest.
Then Ledger grabs a second chair and angrily tosses it across the yard.
He’s so mad. I can’t watch.
I lean forward and press my hands against my face, regretting ever
reading a single word of that to him. I have no idea if he’s mad at the
situation, or me, or if he’s just back there throwing chairs as a way to
process five years’ worth of emotions.
“Fuck!” he yells, right before I hear the crash of the final chair. His
voice reverberates in the dense trees that surround his property.
The whole truck shakes with the slam of his tailgate.
Then there’s just silence. Stillness.
The only thing I can hear is my shallow and rapid breathing. I’m
scared to get out of the truck because I don’t want to have to come face to
face with him if any of that outburst was directed at me.

---

I wish I knew.
I swallow a lump that forms in my throat when I hear his footsteps
crunching against the gravel. He stops at my door and he opens it. I’m still
leaning forward with my face in my hands, but I eventually pull them away
and hesitantly look up at him.
He’s gripping the top of the truck, leaning in my doorway. His head is
resting against the inside of his raised arm. His eyes are red, but his
expression isn’t filled with hatred. It isn’t even filled with anger. If
anything, he looks apologetic, as if he knows his outburst scared me and he
feels bad.
“I’m not mad at you.” He presses his lips together and looks down. He
shakes his head gently. “It’s just a lot to process.”
I nod, but I can’t speak because my heart is pounding and my throat
feels swollen, and I’m still not sure what to say.
He’s still looking down when he lets go of the roof of the truck. His
eyes meet mine as he reaches into the truck and puts his right hand on my
left thigh and his left hand under my right knee. He pulls me to the edge of
the passenger seat so that I’m facing him.
Ledger then takes my face in his hands and tilts it so that I’m looking
up at him. He blows out a slow breath, like what he’s about to say is hard to
get out. “I’m sorry you lost him.”
I can’t hold back the tears after that. It’s the first time anyone has ever
acknowledged that I lost Scotty that night too. Ledger’s words mean more
to me than I think he can comprehend.
Agony spreads across his face as he continues. “What if Scotty can see
how we’ve been treating you?” A tear forms and spills down his cheek. Just
one lonely tear, and it makes me so sad. “I’m part of everything that’s been
tearing you down all these years, and I’m sorry, Kenna. I’m so sorry.”
I place my hand over his chest, right over his heart. “It’s okay. What I
wrote doesn’t change anything. It was still my fault.”
“It’s not okay. None of this is okay.” He’s cradling me in his arms with
his cheek pressed against the top of my head. He runs his right hand in
soothing circles over my back.
He holds me like that for a long time. I don’t want him to let go.
He’s the first person I’ve been able to share the full details of that
night with, and I wasn’t sure if it would make things better or worse. But

---

this feels better, so maybe that means something.
I feel like a weight has been lifted. It’s not the weight of the anchor
that keeps me tethered under the surface—that won’t be lifted until I get to
hold my daughter. But a small portion of my pain has attached to his
sympathy, and it feels like he’s physically lifting me up for air, allowing me
a few minutes to breathe.
He eventually pulls back far enough to assess me. He must see
something on my face that makes him want to comfort me because he
presses a soft kiss to my forehead while brushing my hair back tenderly. He
kisses the tip of my nose and then plants a soft peck on my lips.
I don’t think he expected me to kiss him back, but I feel more for him
in this moment than I ever have. I clutch his shirt in my fists and quietly beg
his mouth for a much fuller kiss. He gives it to me.
His kisses feel like both forgiveness and promises. I imagine mine feel
like apologies to him, because he keeps coming back for more every time
we separate.
I end up on my back, and he’s halfway into his truck, hovering over
me, our mouths pressed together.
When we’re in the thick of fogging up all the windows, he pulls away
from my neck, and there’s a split-second look he gives me. It’s so quick; it’s
a flicker, a flash. But I can tell he wants more in that quick glance, and so
do I, so I nod and he pulls away and opens his glove box. He grabs a
condom and starts to open it with his teeth, bracing himself up with one
arm. I take this opportunity to slide my panties off and bunch my long skirt
up around my waist.
He gets the package open, but then he pauses.
The seconds begin to drag as he silently stares down at me with
contemplation.
Then he tosses the condom aside and lowers himself on top of me
again. He presses a soft kiss against my lips. His breath is hot against my
cheek when he says, “You deserve a bed.”
I drag a hand through his hair. “You don’t have a bed here?”
He shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Not even an inflatable mattress?”
“Our first two times were on an inflatable mattress. You deserve a real
bed. And no, I don’t have either one here.”

---

“How about a hammock?”
He smiles at that, but still shakes his head.
“A yoga mat? I’m not picky.”
He laughs and kisses my chin. “Stop it, or we’ll end up fucking in this
truck.”
I wrap my legs around his waist. “And that’s bad how?”
He groans into my neck, and then I lift my hips and he gives in.
He grabs the condom and finishes opening it. While he’s doing that,
I’m unzipping his jeans.
He slides on the condom and then pulls me to the edge of the seat. His
truck is the perfect height for this. Neither of us even has to adjust ourselves
or change positions. He just grips my hips and pushes into me, and even
though it isn’t a real bed, it’s still just as good as it was last night.

---

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
LEDGER
I don’t know how I found the strength to pull away from her long enough to
go inside and get the floors started.
I figured she’d sit back and watch me, or write in her notebook, but as
soon as I told her I needed to get some work finished, she asked how she
could help.
It’s been three hours. We’ve mostly worked, with the occasional short
break to rehydrate and kiss some more, but we’ve finished most of what
will be the living room floor.
We’d be done by now if she weren’t wearing that shirt with that skirt.
She’s been crawling across the floor, helping me lock the flooring into
place, and every time I look at her I can see straight down her shirt. I’m so
distracted I’m surprised I haven’t injured myself.
We haven’t discussed a single thing of importance since we exited the
truck. It’s as if we left all the important stuff inside it and chose to carry
nothing of weight with us into this house.
It’s been such a heavy day already; I’m doing everything I can to keep
things light. We both are. I haven’t brought up the letter since we came
inside. She hasn’t mentioned the restraining order, I haven’t mentioned
Mother’s Day under this roof, we haven’t talked about what our new
physical connection means or how we’re possibly going to navigate it. I
think we both know the conversations will come, but right now it feels like
we’re on the same page, and all we want out of today’s page is to ride the
high of each other.
I think Kenna and I needed today. Kenna especially needed today. She
always looks like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders,

---

but today she looks like she’s floating. She makes gravity seem powerless
against her.
She’s smiled and laughed more in the last few hours than she has since
the day I met her. It makes me wonder if I’ve been a huge chunk of the
weight she’s been carrying.
Kenna locks the piece of wood in place on her end and then reaches
for a bottle of water. She catches me staring at her chest, and she laughs.
“You sure do have a hard time looking me in the eye now.”
“I think I have an obsession with your shirt.” She usually wears T-
shirts, but this particular shirt is made out of a slinky material that dips
down in the front, and now that she’s been working for three hours, it’s
starting to stick to her in all the places where she’s sweating. “That shirt is
fucking lovely.”
She laughs, and I want to kiss her again. I crawl over to her, and when
I reach her, I press my mouth to hers so hard she falls backward against the
floor. I kiss her through her laughter, until I’m on top of her.
I hate that I have no furniture. We just keep ending up on the
hardwood floor we’ve been installing, and it’s nice, but I’d give anything to
kiss her on something more comfortable. Something as soft as her mouth.
“You’ll never finish these floors,” she whispers.
“Fuck the floors.” We kiss for a few minutes, and we just keep getting
better at it. There’s a lot of pulling and tugging and tasting, and it gets a
little chaotic, and her shirt that I love so fucking much ends up somewhere
on the floor next to us.
I’m admiring her bra now, kissing her skin right above it, when she
whispers, “I’m scared.” Her hands are in my hair, and she keeps them there
when I lift up just enough to look down at her. “What if they find out about
us before you have a chance to tell them? We’re being reckless.”
I don’t want her to think about this today because today is good, and
they’re out of town, so there’s no point in dwelling on it until they return. I
press a comforting kiss against her forehead. “Worrying won’t make the
situation any better,” I say. “They’re out of town. Whatever happens is
going to happen whether we make out right now or not.”
She smiles when I say that. “Good point.” She wraps her hand around
my neck and pulls me back to her mouth.

---

I lower myself on top of her, but then whisper, “What’s the worst that
could happen if I have to hide you forever? You’ve seen my closet, Kenna.
It’s huge. You’ll love it in there.”
She laughs against my mouth.
“I could install a minifridge and a television for you. When they come
to visit, you can just go to your closet and pretend you’re on vacation.”
“You’re terrible for joking about this,” she says, but she’s laughing. I
kiss her until we aren’t laughing anymore, and then I slide off her until I’m
lying next to her, leaning over her.
It’s the first time we’ve really looked at each other without feeling like
we have to look away. She’s so goddamn flawless.
I don’t say that out loud, though, because I don’t want to diminish any
of the other wonderful things about her by giving her a superficial
compliment about her face. It would take away from how smart I think she
is, and how compassionate, resilient, and spirited she is.
I look away from her impeccable face and slowly trace the center of
her cleavage until she has chills running across her skin. “I have to finish
my floors.” I slide my hand over to her breast and gently squeeze. “Stop
distracting me with these things. Put your shirt back on.”
She laughs at the same time someone clears their throat from across
the room.
I quickly sit up, immediately scrambling to block the view of Kenna
from whoever the fuck is in my house.
I look up to find my parents standing in the doorway, looking at the
ceiling. Kenna immediately scrambles away from me and reaches for her
shirt.
“Oh, my God,” she whispers. “Who are they?”
“My parents,” I mutter. I swear, embarrassing me is their favorite
hobby. I raise my voice so they can hear me. “Nice of you to warn me you
were showing up today!” I help Kenna to her feet, and my parents are still
looking at everything but us as I help her back into her shirt.
My father says, “I cleared my throat when we walked in. How much
warning do you need?”
I’m not as mortified as I probably should be right now. Maybe I’m
growing immune to their shenanigans. But Kenna isn’t immune.

---

Now that she’s dressed and halfway standing behind me, my father
motions at the work we’ve been doing. “Seems you’ve made a lot of
progress . . . on the floors.”
“In more ways than one,” my mother says, amused. Kenna buries her
face against my arm. “Who’s your friend, Ledger?” My mother is smiling,
but she has a lot of different smiles, and they don’t always mean something
sweet. This smile is her entertained smile. Her this-is-so-much-fun smile.
“This is . . . um . . .” I have no idea how to introduce Kenna to them. I
don’t even know what name to use. They’d definitely recognize her name if
I said Kenna, but I’m not exactly sure they won’t recognize her face, so
lying to them would be pointless. “This is . . . my new employee.” I need to
ask Kenna how she wants me to confront this. I wrap my arm around her
shoulder and lead her to the bedroom. “Excuse us while we go coordinate
our lies,” I say over my shoulder.
Kenna and I make it to the bedroom, out of their view, and she looks
at me wide eyed. “You can’t tell them who I am,” she whispers.
“I can’t lie to them. My mom will probably recognize you once she
gets a better look at you. She was at your sentencing, and she never forgets
a face. She also knows you’re back in town.”
Kenna looks like she’s about to fold in on herself. She starts to pace,
and I can see the weight of the world begin to return to her shoulders. She
looks up at me with fear in her eyes. “Do they hate me?”
That question digs at my heart, mainly because she’s starting to tear
up. And it’s only in this moment that I realize she assumes everyone who
knew Scotty must hate her. “No. Of course they don’t hate you.”
I realize as I say those words that I don’t necessarily know if they’re
true. My parents were heartbroken when Scotty died. He was as important
to them as I am to Patrick and Grace. But I’m not sure that I’ve ever had a
conversation with my parents specifically about their opinion of Kenna. It
was over five years ago. I can’t remember what conversations were had or
what their thoughts were on everything that happened. And we barely
discuss it anymore.
Kenna can see that I’m processing, and she grows a little panicked.
“Can’t you just take me home? I can sneak out the back and meet you at
your truck.”

---

Whether my parents realize who Kenna is or not, Kenna doesn’t know
what kind of people my parents are. She doesn’t realize she has nothing to
be concerned about.
I cup her face with my hands. “Kenna. They’re my parents. If they
recognize you, they’ll have my back no matter what.” Those words calm
her a little bit. “I’ll introduce you as Nicole for now, and then I’ll take you
home and deal with them and the truth later. Okay? They’re good people.
So are you.”
She nods, so I give her a quick kiss and grab her hand and lead her out
of the bedroom. They’re in the kitchen now, inspecting all the things
Roman and I have added since they were last out here. When they notice
our return, they both casually lean against the counters, anticipating this
introduction.
I wave a hand at Kenna. “This is Nicole.” I wave a hand at my parents.
“My mother, Robin. My father, Benji.”
Kenna smiles and shakes their hands, but then she sidles back up to
my side like she’s scared to move too far away from me. I grab her hand
that’s at her side, and I move it behind her back and squeeze it to provide
her with a little comfort.
“It’s such a pleasant surprise that you aren’t alone,” my mother says.
“We thought you’d be out here moping by yourself today.”
I’m scared to ask. “Why would I be moping?”
My mother laughs and turns to my father. “You owe me ten bucks,
Benji.” She holds out her hand, and my father pulls out his wallet and slaps
a ten-dollar bill in her palm. She shoves it in the pocket of her jeans. “We
bet on whether you’d even remember you were supposed to be leaving for
your honeymoon today.”
Why am I not surprised? “Which one of you bet that I’d forget
Mother’s Day?”
My mother raises her hand.
“I didn’t forget. Check your email. I sent a gift card because I had no
idea where to send flowers to this week.”
My mother takes the ten-dollar bill out of her pocket and hands it back
to my father. She walks over to me and finally gives me a hug. “Thank
you.” She doesn’t look at Kenna because her attention is stolen midhug by

---

the patio door. “Oh, wow! It looks even better than I imagined!” She
releases me and passes us to go play with the accordion-style door.
My father is still focused on me and Kenna. I can tell he’s going to
attempt to be polite and include her in conversation, but I know how much
she wants to be ignored right now.
“Nicole has to get to work,” I blurt out. “I need to give her a ride, and
then I can meet you both at the house.”
My mother makes a hmph sound behind me. “We just got here,” she
says. “I wanted a tour of everything you’ve done.”
My father’s attention is still on Kenna. “What do you do, Nicole?
Besides . . .” He waves a hand toward me. “Besides Ledger.”
Kenna gasps quietly and says, “Wow. Okay. Well, I don’t . . . do . . .
Ledger.”
I squeeze her hand again, because that is not what my father meant.
But if we’re being technical . . . “I think he means what do you do other
than . . . work . . . for me.” She’s looking at me blankly. “Because I said
you’re my employee earlier, but then I just lied and said you have to go to
work, and they know my bar is closed on Sundays, so he assumes you have
a different job besides the bar, and he said what do you do besides . . .” I’m
rambling now, and it’s just making the moment worse because my parents
can hear this conversation, and I know they are enjoying the shit out of it.
My mother has returned to my father’s side, and she’s grinning with
delight.
“Please take me home,” Kenna pleads.
I nod. “Yeah. This is torture.”
“It’s such a treat for me, though,” my mother says. “I think this might
be my favorite Mother’s Day yet.”
“And here we were thinking he was going to be sad because he didn’t
get married,” my father says. “What do you think he has in store for
Father’s Day?”
“I can only imagine,” my mother says.
“You two are mortifying. I’m almost thirty. When will this stop?”
“You’re twenty-eight,” my mother says. “That’s not almost thirty.
Twenty-nine is almost thirty.”
“Let’s go,” I say to Kenna.
“No, bring her to dinner,” my mother begs.

---

“She’s not hungry.” I lead Kenna out the door. “I’ll meet you both at
the house!”
We’re almost to my truck when I realize what leaving my parents
alone means. I pause and say, “I’ll be right back.” I point to the truck so
Kenna knows she can go ahead without me. I turn around and walk back to
the house, and then I lean in at the doorway. “Do not have sex in my
house.”
“Oh, come on,” my father says. “We would never.”
“I’m serious. This is my new house, and I’ll be damned if you two
christen it.”
“We won’t,” my mother says, shooing me away.
“We’re getting too old for that anyway,” my father says. “So old. Our
son is almost thirty.”
I step out of the doorway and motion for them to leave. “Get out. Go. I
don’t trust either of you.” I wait for them to join me outside, and then I lock
the front door. I point toward their car. “I’ll meet you at the house.”
I walk to my truck and ignore their chatter. I wait for my parents to
back out, and then Kenna and I both sigh simultaneously. “They can be a lot
sometimes,” I admit.
“Wow. That was . . .”
“Typical of them.” I glance over at her, and she’s smiling.
“It was embarrassing, but I kind of liked them,” she says. “But I’m
still not having dinner with them.”
I don’t blame her. I put my truck in reverse and then point to the
middle of the seat. Now that we’ve shattered whatever line we had drawn in
the sand, I want her to be as close to me as she can get. She slides across the
seat until she’s right next to me, and I put my hand on her knee as I drive
away from the house.
“You do that a lot,” she says.
“I do what?”
“You point all the time. It’s rude.” She sounds amused rather than
offended.
“I don’t point all the time.”
“You do too. I noticed it the first night I came into your bar. It’s why I
let you kiss me, because I thought it was hot. The way you kept pointing at
things.”

---

I grin. “You just said it was rude. You think rude is hot?”
“No. I think kindness is hot. Maybe rude was the wrong term.” She
leans her head against my shoulder. “I find your pointing sexy.”
“Do you?” I let go of her knee and point at a mailbox. “See that
mailbox?” Then I point at a tree. “Look at that tree.” I tap on my brakes as
we close in on a stop sign, and I point at the sign. “Look at that, Kenna.
What’s that? Is that a fucking pigeon?”
She tilts her head and looks at me curiously. When I come to a full
stop at the sign, she says, “Scotty used to say that sometimes. What does it
mean?”
I shake my head. “It was just something he used to say.” Patrick is the
only one who knows where that phrase originated, and even though there’s
no huge secret or story behind it, I still want to hold on to it. Kenna doesn’t
press me. She just lifts up and kisses me before I pull out onto the street.
She’s smiling, and it feels so good to see her smile like this. I look back at
the road and put my hand on her knee again.
She rests her head against my shoulder, and after a quiet moment, she
says, “I wish I could have seen you with Scotty. I bet you two were fun
together.”
I love that she admitted that out loud. It feels good to hear, because at
some point, we’re all going to have to move past the fact that Scotty died
the way he did. I think I’m at a point where I want his memory to be
accompanied by only good feelings. I want to be able to talk about him with
people, especially with his father, but in a way that doesn’t make Patrick
cry.
We all knew Scotty, but we all knew him in different ways. We all
carry different memories of him. I think it would be good for Patrick and
Grace to get to hear the memories Kenna has of Scotty that none of the rest
of us have.
“I wish I could have seen you with Scotty,” I admit.
Kenna kisses my shoulder and then rests her head there again. It’s
quiet until I lift my hand and point at a guy on a bicycle. “Look at that
bike.” I point at an upcoming gas station. “Look at those gas pumps.” I
point at a cloud. “Look at that cloud.”
Kenna releases laughter mixed with a groan. “Stop. You’re ruining the
sexiness of it.”

---

I reluctantly dropped Kenna off at her apartment two hours ago. It might
have taken fifteen minutes for me to stop kissing her long enough to walk
back to my truck, but I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to spend the rest of
the evening, and possibly even the night with her, but my parents are
assholes who don’t believe in schedules, and they’re always showing up at
the worst times.
At least this time it was in the middle of the day. They once showed up
at 3:00 a.m. , and I woke up to my father blasting Nirvana in the backyard
and cooking steaks on the grill.
My father made burgers tonight, and we just finished eating dinner
about an hour ago. I waited throughout the whole dinner for them to ask me
about Kenna. Or Nicole, rather. But neither of them brought it up. All we’ve
talked about tonight has been their latest adventures on the road and my
latest adventures with Diem.
They were disappointed to find out Diem and the Landrys are out of
town. I suggested they call ahead the next time they feel like dropping in. It
would make it easier on all of us.
My parents have always gotten along with Scotty’s parents, but the
Landrys had Scotty later in life, so they’re a little older than my parents. I
would say they’re more mature than my parents, but immature isn’t the
right term to describe my parents. They’re just a little more carefree and
unstructured. But even though I wouldn’t categorize the four of them as
actively close, they share a bond because of Scotty and me.
And because Diem is like a daughter to me, she’s been like a
granddaughter to my parents. Which means Diem is important to them, and
they want the best for her.
Which is probably why, as soon as my father goes to the backyard to
clean up the grill, my mother slides onto the barstool and gives me one of
her many smiles. This is her “You have a secret, and you better spill it”
smile.
I ignore her smile, and her, and continue to wash the rest of the dishes.
But my mother says, “Get over here and talk to me before your father
comes back inside.”

---

I dry my hands and sit across the bar from her. She’s looking at me
like she already knows my secrets. It doesn’t surprise me. When I say my
mother never forgets a face, I don’t say that lightly. It’s like a superpower.
“Do the Landrys know?” she asks.
I play dumb. “Know what?”
Her head lilts to the side. “I know who she is, Ledger. I recognized her
the day she walked into your bar.”
Wait. What? “The day you were drunk?”
She nods. Now that I think about it, I remember her staring at Kenna
when she walked into my bar that day. Why would she not say anything to
me about that? She didn’t even bring it up when I spoke to her on the phone
a few days later and told her Kenna was back in town.
“You told me she was leaving town last time we talked,” she says.
“She is.” I feel guilty when I say that because I’m hoping with
everything in me that it isn’t true. “Or she was. I don’t know anymore.”
“Do Patrick and Grace know the two of you are . . .”
“No.”
My mother blows out a soft breath. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly.
“This isn’t going to end well.”
“I know.”
“Do you love her?”
I blow out a heavy, slow rush of air. “I definitely don’t hate her
anymore.”
She takes a sip of her wine and gives this conversation a moment to
settle. “Well. I hope you do the right thing.”
I lift an eyebrow. “What’s the right thing?”
My mother shrugs. “I don’t know. I just hope you do it.”
I release a short laugh. “Thanks for the nonadvice.”
“That’s what I’m here for. To tiptoe around this thing they call
parenting.” She smiles and reaches across the bar to squeeze my hand. “I
know you’d rather be with her right now. We don’t mind if you abandon us
tonight.”
There’s a moment of hesitation on my part, not because I don’t want to
go to Kenna’s place, but because I’m surprised my mother knows who she
is, yet she’s still okay with it.

---

“Do you blame Kenna?” I ask her after a short pause.
My mother looks at me honestly. “Scotty wasn’t my child, so I felt
sorry for everyone involved. Even Kenna. But if what happened to Scotty
had happened to you, I can’t say that I would make a different choice than
Patrick and Grace. I think there’s room in a tragedy this size for everyone to
be both right and wrong. However,” she says, “I’m your mother. And if you
see something special in her, then I know there must be something special
in her.”
I let her words ruminate, but then I grab my keys and my cell phone
and I kiss her on the cheek. “Will you be here tomorrow?”
“Yeah, we’re staying two or three days. I’ll tell your dad you said
good night.”

---

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
KENNA
I’m in the shower when I hear a knock at my front door. It startles me
because it’s more like an incessant pounding. Lady Diana wouldn’t knock
like that, and she’s the only person who has ever been here other than
Ledger.
I’ve just rinsed the conditioner out of my hair, so I open the bathroom
door and yell, “Hold on!” I frantically try to dry myself and my hair with a
towel as much as I can so I don’t drip water all the way to my front door.
I pull on a T-shirt and a pair of panties, and then grab my jeans and
head to the door to check the peephole. When I see that it’s Ledger, I unlock
the door and then start pulling on the jeans as he makes his way inside.
He seems jarred that I’m not fully dressed. He just stands there and
stares at me until I get my jeans buttoned. I smile. “You ditched your
parents?”
He pulls me in for a kiss, but I’m caught off guard, because this kiss is
more than just a kiss. There’s so much behind the way his mouth presses
against mine, it’s like it’s been weeks since he’s seen me, but it’s only been
about three hours.
“You smell so good,” he says, pressing his face into my wet hair. He
slides his hands down my thighs and then lifts me, wrapping my legs
around his waist. He walks us to the couch and lowers us onto it.
“This isn’t a bed,” I tease.
He nips at my bottom lip with his teeth. “It’s okay, I’m not as
thoughtful as I tried to be earlier today. I’d have sex with you just about
anywhere right now.”
“If this is happening, you might want to move me to that inflatable
mattress, because this couch is questionable.”

---

He doesn’t miss a beat. He lifts me and drops me on the mattress, but
as he’s kissing my neck, Ivy begins to meow. She climbs up onto the
mattress and starts licking Ledger’s hand. He stops kissing me and looks at
my kitten.
“This is awkward.”
“I’ll put her in the bathroom.” I move the kitten to the bathroom and
lock her in with her food and water. I lower myself on top of Ledger this
time. I straddle him, sitting up, and he runs his hands up and down my
thighs while his eyes scroll over me.
“Are you still feeling good about this?” he asks.
“About what? Us?”
He nods.
“I’ve never felt good about us. Us is a terrible idea.”
He grabs the front of my shirt and pulls me down until our mouths are
almost touching. He rolls his other hand over my ass. “I’m serious.”
I smile, because he can’t expect me to be serious while also pressing
himself against me like this. “Are you trying to have a legitimate
conversation while I’m on top of you?”
He flips us over so that he’s hovering over me now. “I brought
condoms. I want to take off your clothes. I want to have sex with you again,
but I also feel like I should have a conversation with the Landrys before this
goes any further.”
“It’s just sex.”
He sighs and then says, “Kenna.” He just says my name like he’s
lecturing me, but then he presses his mouth to mine, and it’s sweet and soft
and so very different from every kiss that has come before it.
I understand what he’s saying, but I think I’m tired of circling around
this discussion because I’d like to not think about it for a while. Every time
I’m with him, my situation is all I think about. It’s arduous, and to be
honest, it’s scary.
I lift a hand to his cheek and brush a piece of couch fuzz away. “You
really want to know how I feel?”
“Yes. That’s why I’m asking.”
“We both keep going back and forth. You worry, and then I worry, and
then you worry, but the worry won’t solve this. I feel like this isn’t going to
end well. Or maybe it will. Either way, we like being with each other, so

---

until it ends well or ends terribly, I don’t really want to waste our time
together going in circles about a future we can’t predict. So just get me
naked and make love to me.”
Ledger shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “It’s like you read my
mind.”
Maybe, but everything I just said out loud isn’t at all what I feel.
What I feel is terrified. I know in my heart that there’s nothing he can
say that will change the Landrys’ minds about me. They aren’t even wrong.
The decision they’re making for themselves is the right decision because
it’s the decision that will bring them the most peace.
I’m going to respect that decision.