“I guess I need a ride back up that mountain.”
His eyes brighten into the hottest kind of flames, cobalt with a cool touch of navy. “I might know the way.”
I bet he does. I bet he knows the way to the deepest chamber of my heart as well.
He does.
I think that’s what scares me most.
Caleb
The dark velvetnight clings to the car, to the mountain, like a second skin as Kennedy and I make the steep, twisted climb back to Loveless. I’m fairly certain I’ve sworn a time or two that I’d think twice before taking this road at night. It’s a two-lane highway with just enough headlights coming at you to ensure you’re driving blind for at least half the trip. My father hated coming up this way. He preferred the back with its less invasive incline, but it takes twice as long and—well, shit. Why didn’t I head that way again?
“How did the meeting go?” I slouch in my seat, trying to look casual, not slightly fearful to hear what she might say. As her attorney, I would have advised against addressing her sorority just yet, but, then, Kennedy doesn’t quite regard me as her anything at this point.
Kennedy hasn’t said two words since we got in the car. I’m not sure why she’s so cold and distant—other than the fact her ex put her entire life in a blender. I’m glad I’m here for her even if she’s not feeling the same. I want to help her get through this. I know how it feels to have life mince you to pieces then leave you to figure out what you’re going to do with the scraps.
She gives a heavy sigh either wary with me or uncertain how to answer. “I asked the girls to give me some ideas on how I can further turn Keith’s existence into a seventh grade revenge fantasy. It went from bad to worse before I ever walked through the door. It was childish. Nothing I’m proud of.”
That alone affirms my theory of why she shouldn’t have gone. Now there are dozens of witnesses should she decide to follow through with any part of that seventh grade revenge fantasy, and I’m hoping she won’t.
“I’m sorry it didn’t go as you planned.” She’ll have to give me more than that. I’m not quite sure how to extract any information out of Kennedy. It’s like trying to squeeze juice out of a barbed wire ball and filling the glass with your own blood.
Filling the glass… That should do it.
“You up for a quick drink?” I keep my gaze steady on the road. Kennedy is shaken, a feral version of her former self. I’m afraid if I slow down just enough, she might try to leap out of the car, tumbling all the way down the mountain just to get the hell away from me.
Her dark hair moves from side to side as if she were contemplating this, decoding my words, sifting through them like wheat.
“I’m dry at my place,” I clarify. “I was thinking more like the Poison Barrel.” The Poison Barrel is just at the end of the pier next to the Blue Crab restaurant—both on the east side of Loveless where most of the small shops and businesses are. The lone movie theater on the lake sits like an ancient relic doing its best impression of a ritzy chalet. “Maybe after, we can catch a movie?” There. If the drink didn’t scare her off, the thought of sitting next to me for two hours straight should do it.
“I’d like that,” she whispers so low I’m wondering if I imagined it.
My lungs fill with relief. “Let’s do this.”
We hit the Poison Barrel and hop in. It’s dark and rowdy inside with a cover band spitting out country songs on a loop. Zoey is the first thing we see from the entrance in her low cut dress that shows off more than her cleavage. She’s nursing a beer, laughing it up with a dude the size of a linebacker wearing a ten-gallon hat, eyeing the mechanical bull in the center of the room as if it were her favorite pet.
“Well, look who’s here? Her vibrator must have run out of batteries.” Kennedy doesn’t miss the opportunity to take a swipe, although, in all fairness, Zoey made it simple.
We sit near the back, and I order a scotch, dry, and she asks for the same, I’m assuming to keep the order easy, but in an egotistical way it makes me that much more amorous of her. I’m already too far gone for my own good. Abel used to warn, don’t fall too hard for a girl. Before you know it, you’ll be eating concrete. I suppose it’s a long way down from cloud nine. Abel ate concrete a few times too many. Now he just sleeps with any willing female as long as they’re near and tight. He’s not too picky, neither is Solomon. My stomach sours at the thought of my little brother and the hell he’s going through. I try to expel him from my brain, but I can’t seem to do it.
“What’s wrong?” Kennedy takes the drink from the waitress just as I bring mine to my lips.
“Family stuff. Nothing interesting.” Nothing uninteresting either. Nothing good nor bad, it’s just fucked. I down the Scotch in one solid hit and Solomon and his shit parade evaporate right along with the burn. “That’s better.” I lift my empty glass as if saluting her. “Your turn.”
“My family? They’re not interesting either.”
“What’s up with your sister?”
“Reese?” Her silver eyes flick away at the thought. “Little Miss Perfect? I love her to death, but I can’t say the green-eyed monster doesn’t rear his ugly head on occasions. She’s both lucky in life and in love. She’s the opposite of Zoey—hell, she’s the opposite of me. I bet she doesn’t even know how to turn on a vibrator.” She pulls the glass to her nose and sniffs at her drink. A very greedy part of me wants to see her down it—wants to pour it over her chest and lap it up for her. New item on the bucket list, get shit-faced while sucking good liquor off Kennedy Slade’s porcelain skin. Done and done. I wish it were that easy.
“I meant your other sister. Kamryn, did you say?”
“Kam.” Her gaze slices out the window, dismayed at the mention of her sister. “Yeah, we’re not so close. I bet she doesn’t know how to wield a vibrator, either.” She lifts her drink in my direction. “She’s a little uptight.”
I’d ask her if she’s queen of the vibrator, but given the circumstances of her case I’ll refrain.
“Has she contacted you through any of this?” You would think her sister could lay aside her differences to help Ken get through this. Most would—even if they’re a little uptight.
