“What can you do? Can you help take them down?” Her lips quiver. Kennedy is the strongest woman I know, and seeing her so distraught is killing me.
“Yes.” I’m not sure it’s the truth, but I’m hopeful.
A sigh of relief expels from her when I say it.
“And, no,” I add with heartbreak. “I have someone sending out DMCA takedown notices, but things like this tend to proliferate. It’s like a cancer, you want to stop the bad cells from multiplying, but—”
“It could be too late.” Her eyes snap shut. Her lids tremble. A thin seam of tears lines her lashes.
“But it could work. The most important thing we need to do is control Keith.” I should have squashed him like a roach years ago. I was a fool for so many reasons, but leaving her in his hands is my biggest regret. I hate that he touched her like that. That he made her a spectacle. “We’re going to slam him with a defamation suit. He’s libel for photographing you, creating videos of your most intimate moments, without your knowledge. That’s where we’re going to nail him, Kennedy. He’s going to wish he’d never known your name by the time we’re through with him.”
She swallows hard. Her gaze flits out the window. Her beautiful body rises and falls with her next breath.
“Thank you.” She plays with a loose thread at the base of her sleeve. “This thing with me and you—”
“Is happening.” I clasp her fingers before she can drift too far away. “All those covert summers are over. We knew we were right even back then, Kennedy.” I want to make her say it. Charge her with the truth and make her regurgitate it back to me. I gave up everything for Kennedy. And, believe me, it wasn’t a conscious effort. I slept around. I tried to get her out of my system by way of putting other girls into it, but that was just a bad rouse in hopes of tricking my heart into believing I wasn’t really in love with her. But still, something in me craved her. I had become addicted to her after just one kiss. I hate that I sound like some ridiculous, sappy teen girl, but damn it all to hell, Kennedy can reduce me to far worse than that. She was worth everything, still is. “I came back for you just like I promised.” I should have never left.
“I know.” She shakes her head in protest, her voice pitched with soft rejection. “Look, we don’t really know one another. All those summers—it’s sort of a lie.”
“Nothing was a lie.” A desperation crops up in me that’s been simmering for years, condensing, turning into something just this side of toxic, if not pure. It’s hard to tell. I have never been witness to a healthy relationship. “Let’s start from the beginning then.” I hold out my hand, and slowly she takes it with reluctance in her eyes. Her smile builds, that tiny dimple ignites in her cheek, and I stop myself from leaning in and kissing it, easy as holding up this damn mountain. “Caleb McCarthy.”
“My name is Kennedy,” she relents with a shrug. Playfulness ignites in her eyes, and just like that she’s in on the game. “Did you say McCarthy? As in Warren McCarthy? My stepsister is dating him. He came in the mail as a part of the asshole-of-the-month club.” Her lips purse, proud of her effort to recant those first words she spoke to me verbatim.
“Well done.” I marvel before clearing my throat. “Do you want to go for a swim?” That was my next line. That was the exact conversation that landed us next to the marsh where we kissed for hours, where we thought it would be fun to keep the rest of the world in the dark about the two of us, and we became a thing, a very private, exclusive club for two, just Kennedy and me, whittling down the hours while fused to one another’s mouths. I smile at the idea that what we whittled was each other.
“I think this is where we should deviate.” She hitches a dark thread of hair behind her ear. Kennedy has unbelievably thick ebony hair. I would say black, but that word doesn’t do the depth of the hue any justice. It falls down her pale, bisque skin like midnight, each strand a purveyor of its very own secret. And I do believe Kennedy has them. I believe she is rife with undisclosed tidbits she’s not willing to part with.
“I think you’re right.” I happily agree. “Really all that’s left is your mouth over mine.” My finger traces over her lips like writing a poem in thin air. I pull back almost unwilling to stop myself. “Let’s do this the right way. Tell me about your family.”
“Mama, papa, me and sis, the end.”
Her knees pull up on the couch as she picks up my hands voluntarily, and something in me releases. That knot that has been rolling around in my stomach ever since I came into town begins the slow process of detangling. It doesn’t feel safe to release just yet, and I’m not sure why my body is throwing out the warning.
“There’s more to the story.” I give her hand a squeeze. “Your father is Peter Slade.” My brows rise in morbid salute to the fact.
“That’s right—Peter Slade, champion of the downtrodden, cheating, wife beating, wife-killing-and-disposing-of-their-body husbands. He’s a real superhero among the slime balls of the world. I’m betting not so much among the beaten, cheated on, dead wives. My own mother included.”
“Mmm.” I flinch at her words. I knew it probably wasn’t a rosy picture since her parents were divorced. “I’m sorry. How is your mom doing now?”
“Married. Happy is always a point of contention, so I won’t put words in her mouth, but Chuck is a nice guy. He’s your boss, you should know. So how about your family? What makes the South Luxemburg branch of the McCarthy family tree tick?”
“Not a lot these days. My parents are divorced as well. My mother”—I pause taking in my mother’s tragic reality and how I might convey this delicately—“she’s alone now. My father is busy with his practice. He, however, is not alone. He’s peppered himself with blondes and brunettes of all shapes and sizes. He’s an equal opportunity womanizer, and, believe me, there is a line around the block of single,mostlysingle, divorced, widowed, never-been-married forty something’s waiting for a turn on the McCarthy express.”
“McCarthy express?” Her eyes widen as a light laugh bubbles from her throat. I’m glad I made her laugh, shifted her sour mood into something more affable, especially at the expense of my louse of a father. “Sounds like the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. I saw all those girls eyeing you at Warren’s party.” She gives a sad nod. “You’re a lady’s man yourself.”
“I’m not anything like my father.” A ripe fire of indignation rips through me at the comparison. “You mentioned a sister?” It’s hard for me to believe these conversations never took place years ago, although, in our defense, it’s difficult to get a decent word in while we diligently explored one another’s mouths.
“One sister—one stepsister. Kamryn is just like me but not as smart and not nearly as nice.” Her brow hikes up one side as if those very sarcastic words were meant to seduce me. Mission accomplished. “She sided with my father in the great divide. Enter Reese Waterman—née Westfield. She’s all about her hubby, Ace, these days; in fact, sheisMrs. Ace Waterman. Things have a way of falling into place for people like Reese.” She smacks her lips as her affect falls flat for a moment. “She’s a good person. Too good sometimes, but I can’t fault her for that. My mother technically didn’t raise her.” She pulls her fingers quickly from mine as if she were about to get singed. “She raisedme.” There’s an exclamation in her tone, an odd punctuation, and it makes me wonder why. “And your siblings?”
“You want the truth or a lie?” I’d much prefer a lie.
“You can lie to me a little if you like. I might have lied to you a little.” Her lips curl up at the edges, and I marvel at what a neat trick it is. I can marvel at the neat tricks Kennedy is capable of for a very long time. But I’m quick to dismiss the idea of her lying to me, and I wonder if I’ll live to regret it one day.
“I’ll give you the truth, straight, no chaser. My brother, Abel, is an attorney. My father made him partner.”
“Oh, that’s right you mentioned a little about it. How did that make you feel?” That look in her says she knows. She can run the jealous brother math with the best of them.
“It happened last spring. The idea is still new to me.” It might be new, but I’ll never get used to it.
