Page 83 of Never Kiss the Bad Boy

I don’t wait for them to answer, going into the kitchen to start the pot. I don’t need another one after Dani’s super-strength brew this morning, but I need something to do. Cameron and Kayla sit at the kitchen counter stools, watching me.

“Let’s start with Dad’s your dad, obviously,” Kayla suggests. “Can we agree to that stipulation, at least?”

I sigh, my hands planted wide on the counter and my head hanging low.

“Or do you need a DNA test?” Cameron taunts.

Maggie’s words replay in my head. If I want them to see me as the man I am, I can’t be the flippant, shit-talking bastard I’ve always been. I lick my lips and stand, turning around and leaning back on the counter with my arms crossed over my chest. “He’s my dad. I had a moment of doubt because it seemed like it would explain why he hates me so much in a way that would mean it’s not because I’m hate-able.”

“This again?” Cameron snaps, throwing his hands out and looking at Kayla like ‘are you hearing this?’

Kayla glares at him and snaps right back. “Shut it, Cam. Let him explain.”

Cameron clacks his mouth shut, semi-surprised at Kayla’s vehemence, and stares at me expectantly, begrudgingly giving me the floor. It’s not exactly an open-arms welcome, but it’s all I’m going to get after years of doing my best to live up to the fuck-up label they assigned me long ago.

I try to put my thoughts together into words as I fill three mugs with coffee, setting a steaming cup in front of each of them and then taking a careful sip of my own. It scalds my tongue, and though I wryly think it's deserved after the ugly words I spewed last night, I set the mug down, leaving it.

“When I was a kid, I was always the tagalong everyone tried to ditch. Whether it was a game, or school stuff, or going out with friends, I was either left out or drug along with a reminder that it was only because Mom said one of you had to take me. I was the unwanted annoyance you were stuck with. You and Carter and Chance would argue over who had to take me.”

“You were the baby of the family, and we were older and had shit to do,” Cameron argues.

He’s not wrong, so I nod. “I know. Especially now, I can see that, but then? It just felt like no one loved me and it hurt. It made me feel like I didn’t have a place in the family. And then everyone started leaving, and I was mad about that. It was celebration parties and going away hugs, and nobody cared that I was stuck there in that house, slowly getting lonelier and lonelier.”

“Kyle—” Kayla whispers, but I’m on a roll and won’t stop now. I don’t think I could if I wanted to. Everything that’s been held back for so long is bubbling out, but this time, instead of using anger as a cover for what I feel, I’m letting the real emotion out… pain.

“Dad was never there, always at work or in his office or traveling for a deal. Mom was busy with her charity stuff and then she was taking care of Grace.” I hold a hand out to Cameron, rushing to add, “Which I don’t begrudge her doing. You needed her and Grace needed her, and by then, I was too far gone for Mom to deal with, anyway. It was a crisis-management-only situation, and I know it.”

Cameron’s not jumping over the counter to murder me with his bare hands, which I take as a sign that he’s letting the comment about his needing help go.

I can’t resent Cameron for needing Mom’s full attention when he was going through hell. I’m glad she was able to step in for him, because I remember vividly how fucked up Cameron was for a long time after his wife passed away. Hell, I think he’s still fucked up. He’s just better at hiding it now. That thought replays in my head—I hide my growth by acting like a dipshit, and I think he hides his descent into hell by acting like he’s got his shit together. We’re two sides of the same coin in a twisted way.

“But when things settled down, I went back to acting out the only way I knew how—by being more and more of an asshole. Hell, you don’t even know the half of it. In a way, I thought if I did something big enough, bad enough, attention-grabbing enough, then maybe… finally… everyone would give a shit about what I was going through too.”

“How’s that working out?” Cameron asks, but instead of sounding snarky, he seems sad.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” I say, ashamed that my behavior last night is what finally went over the line to get me the attention I’ve been so desperate to receive.

“Fair point,” he concedes. “Pretty sure there were several better ways to go about it, though.”

“Agreed.”

“Would you like for me to list them out for you?” he offers dryly, counting on his fingers. “One, don’t accuse Mom of cheating. Two, use your big boy words with Dad. Three?—”

Kayla backhands Cameron’s bicep, and he shoots her a look of disbelief as he steadies his coffee so it doesn’t spill. “Am I wrong?”

“I’m sorry you were going through all of that,” Kayla says, taking charge. “I had no idea. I guess I thought we annoyed you and that was why you would come in, act a fool, and then blow back out, leaving chaos in your wake. But you’d always show up when we needed you, so I was okay with that. I thought you were too.”

“I show up because I love you guys. I just want you to love me back and for me to not still be the annoying tagalong you want to ditch but are stuck with.”

“We do love you,” Kayla declares.

“Ditto,” Cameron says, his brow arched, begging me to not make him say it.

The old me would’ve teased him about that, would’ve poked and prodded until he said it or more likely, said he hated me, and I would’ve taken it as a confirmation that I was right all along… that they don’t want me in the family. But that’s not who I am, not who I’ve been for a long time, so I nod. “Ditto too, man. Love you, Kayla.”

It feels like a fresh start with two of my siblings, at least, but I know Kayla will have the rest of the boys on a group call before she pulls out of my driveway to let them know that we’re good now. So, in effect, it’s fixing one problem. There’s still a much bigger one to deal with, though.

“I’m gonna fix things with Mom and Dad. I just don’t know what to say,” I confess.

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