Page 14 of His Custody

But Alice she hadn’t been expecting. She had bleached blond hair coiled up on top of her head in a way that would make Princess Leia proud and a body like G.I. Jane. Keyne had been in awe the second she’d set eyes on Alice, but when she’d punched Jasper and put him in a headlock as soon as she came over, her admiration had turned into major heart eyes. Alice had held him that way while she’d introduced herself, and when she’d released him, she’d grabbed Keyne by the arm and said, “Let’s get started.”

And so they had. She’d been punching or kicking the air, a bag, or the pads like catching mitts on Alice’s hands for over an hour and she was about ready to fall over dead, since she was damn out of shape from being a grief potato for a month and she hadn’t been workout Barbie before that. But what she wanted even more than to collapse on the mat was for Alice to be proud of her. So she kept at it.

The combinations Alice was trying to teach her gave her something to focus on, and managed to edge out a little of the desperation, some of the misery. All the unfamiliar moves had demanded not only her attention, but her effort. For the first time in over a month, she was tired from actual exertion, which felt cleaner, somehow. Better. Like maybe some of her paralyzing grief had been burned away. Not a lot, but even a little was a start.

Plus, despite Keyne being a flailing bundle of suck, Alice had encouraged her, been patient. She’d made Keyne feel like even if she wasn’t strong now, there was the possibility she could be in the future. After not giving a crap since the explosion, she’d found it hard to care about anything. But this, bizarrely, gave her something to care about in a way that didn’t feel too dangerous. That wasn’t too much of a risk. All she had to do was keep pounding on the mitts.

After a few more combinations, Alice lowered the pads and smiled. “Not bad for a new girl.”

Keyne managed to smile back, and wiped more hair out of her face with her wrapped up hands. She’d taken her shirt off at some point since it had started clinging to her with sweat, and she became aware of standing in the middle of the boxing club in her sports bra and some cropped yoga pants. But she was also aware of Jasper sitting on a nearby bench, and shooting any guy who slowed down to look a glare that would melt most people and made it clear they should move along.

Nevertheless, she grabbed the sweat-soaked tank from the floor and pulled it over her head before accepting the water bottle Alice offered her. After she’d squirted what felt like a gallon down her throat—which still hadn’t quenched her thirst, probably because she’d left her body weight in sweat all over the mats—she let Alice lead her over to Jasper, who was scrolling through some things on his phone.

“Well?” he asked, and though he was looking at her, Alice answered.

“She was awesome. You’ve got quite the warrior on your hands here, Jasper. I wasn’t sure about her at first, but your girl’s got some mettle when she puts her mind to it.”

“Don’t I know it.”

His comment made her proud. Even though she’d been a basket case for the couple of months and would continue to be one for the foreseeable future, Jasper could still see through that, could see she wasn’t weak. She just needed... help. Encouragement. To beat the hell out of something.

And though she hadn’t been able to summon the feeling before under all the grief and anger and sadness she’d been buried under, she was struck by her gratitude for Jasper. He didn’t have to take her in, but he had. He didn’t have to fight for her, but he had. He didn’t have to do everything he could think of to help her, but he had.

She hadn’t returned the favor with anything but more need, and it was possible she hadn’t even managed to thank him since this whole shitstorm had started. Jasper deserved more than she could muster up to give him at this moment, but she could at least do that. So she hugged him.

“Thank you.” She was surprised he could hear her, her face was buried in his chest as it was, but he must have, because he paused for an awkward second, then hugged her back. “You’re welcome.”

It was then she realized she was getting her sweat and nastiness all over him, and he was probably disgusted. She tried to pull away, but he left an arm draped over her shoulder while he offered Alice a handshake. So he didn’t mindthatmuch. Probably because he had Ada to do his laundry.

“Thanks, Alice. I appreciate it.”

“My pleasure.”

Chapter Five

August

Jasper woke up to a knocking at his door. He rolled over to check the clock, and the glow-in-the-dark dial read three a.m. Who the hell was banging down his bedroom door at three a.m.? He swung his legs over the side of the bed and mashed a hand over his face. Next step was trying to gather the sleep-scattered particles of his brain, and luckily he gathered enough to have the forethought to pull on a shirt before he answered the door.

Keyne was standing there in sleep shorts and a camisole, hugging herself and weeping. He knew this might happen. She’d been taking sleeping pills for the past couple of months and they’d decided with her doctor and her therapist that maybe she shouldn’t anymore.

“Bad dream?”

She nodded and flung herself at him, making him glad he’d put on a shirt. Judge Pollard wouldn’t be excited about his attire, but it was better than nothing. Keyne’s hands fisted in the worn cotton at his back, her small frame heaving with violent sobs. He hesitated for a split second but then hugged her back. Of course he did. What kind of human being wouldn’t offer comfort to a sobbing girl?

“Okay,” he murmured into the top of her head. “You’re okay.”

When her keening had turned less convulsive, he pet her hair. It was soft and it smelled good. It had been a long time since anyone had let him hold them like this. Sarah wasn’t affectionate, and though he had hugged his family when he saw them, including the O’Connells, it hadn’t been like this. A quick, greeting squeeze, not a prolonged embrace. The longer he held her and the calmer she became, the more he became aware of her body pressed against his.

Which was flat-out unacceptable.She’s a kid, Andersson.A child who woke up from a bad dream and sought out the only person who was around to offer her comfort because everyone else was dead.

The thought lanced through him. He missed them. Terribly. He could go minutes without thinking about it, but he couldn’t count the number of times every day that he checked his phone, hoping for a voice mail from his mom asking if he was coming over for dinner or a text from Gavin asking if he wanted to go to a ballgame. No emails forwarded from his dad about business developments or a new car he had his eye on.

Nor could he count the number of times per day that he shut that shit down, because only one person in this household was allowed to be hit so hard by sorrow that they could barely function, and clearly that was Keyne’s prerogative.

He summoned memories of her to get his head on straight: Keyne and Gavin holding hands on their walk to the first day of kindergarten. Keyne’s small face covered with ice cream at a backyard barbecue. It was only last year she’d put away most of her stuffed animals and she still had that raggedy-ass Peter Pan doll that she kept tucked under her pillow because she didn’t want anyone else to see it. Achild.

So he stroked her hair and her back until her breathing evened out and her grip on his shirt went slack.

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