Page 156 of All the way home

Chapter Fifty-Two

Rena

As Rena unlocks the front door to the lake house with the spare key, a wave of crushing exhaustion rolls over her.

She feels heavier on her feet than she has in months, lighter on the inside than she has in years.

Following the scent of coffee and the clatter of ceramic, she finds Mum in the kitchen, bleary-eyed and scowling, short hair sticking up every which way. “I understand the allure of proving yourself a romantic,” she grouses, instead of hello, “but I’m not sure how I feel about fireworks as an alarm clock.”

Then she turns, registering that it’s Rena and not Kieran. Her expression shifts, opening up as she blinks owlishly and sets down her coffee cup. “Oh. Rena. Hello, love. I thought you’d gone to bed.”

Rena shakes her head. “I just got here.”

“You came separately,” she says, light enough it’s not a question, more of an observation.

“I needed a little time to think.”

“Twelve hours in an airport wasn’t enough for you?” Dad asks, from behind. He’s clearly just shuffled down the stairs, wrapped in that well-worn gray sherpa robe. He steps into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes. On his way to the coffeepot, he smiles warmly at Rena, tucking her into a brief side hug and planting a kiss on the top of her head. “Good to see you, sweetheart. Real hugs once I’m awake.”

At whatever is happening on her face, Mum frowns, stepping forward and taking hold of her by the upper arm. “What’s going on?”

It’s out before she can stop it. Rena blurts out, “Lucas and I broke up.”

Mum stiffens. “You what?”

Rena pulls away, swiping at her eyes. “It just happened. I don’t know. I didn’t mean to, it just—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mum sounds hurt. “Sweetheart. I had no idea you weren’t happy.”

Neither did I, Rena wants to say, but can’t force the words out.

Brow furrowed in concern, Dad watches and says nothing.

As usual.

A sound in the doorway disrupts the stretching tension in the room.

Kieran.

Worn-out, clearly exhausted, but smiling. Wearily, helplessly happy.

At the sight of him, Mum’s expression shifts, concern rippling into relief and relaxing, at last, into a practiced neutrality. There’s something wooden barely disguised in her tone when she says, “You didn’t call.”

Instead of responding, Kieran just strides forward, puts his arms out, and envelops her in a hug so tight that it lifts her off the ground.

Mum lets out a soft sound of surprise into his shoulder, then softens, putting her arms around him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, muffled, and then sets her down, pressing a kiss to her cheek. There’s something electric about him, present, vital, as if the Kieran she’s been looking at for the last year—longer—was always only a shadow.

Clearing his throat, Kieran steps back to join Rena at the counter. His knuckles find hers, the lightest presence, a promise.

Rena leans to the side, just enough so that her shoulder touches Kieran’s. He’s gearing up to something, she can tell, so she stays quiet.

It seems like Mum and Dad think so too, by the long, wary looks they’re giving him.

“We haven’t talked about last year—or a lot of other things—because I’ve been afraid,” Kieran says. He takes a deep breath, and adds, in a rush, “And because when you didn’t ask, I assumed it was because you didn’t want to know.”

Mum sucks in a gasp of objection.