Page 33 of Spinning Out Of Control

Suffice it to say, there were nights when we’d be left without a chef to make dinner, and Mum would have to feed my father and I. She’d always make fish and chips, and it was always terrible. She’d batter up any kind of fish we had–cod, salmon, tuna–then she’d fry it to all hell. The fish would always be dry as dust while the batter was soggy and tasted like sushi gone bad. Even the chips were disgusting, like taking a bite out of a raw potato. And they’d force me to eat it. If I refused, Mum would cry and Dad would hold my mouth open and stuff it full, then clasp a hand over my mouth until I swallowed. That lasted until I was about thirteen and could resist his hold. So, yes, I despise fish. I don’t like to look at them, I don’t like to eat them, and I don’t like to think about them out there, living their fish lives, taunting me with their existence.”

We’re quiet for a long moment, and I feel a bit silly. I’ve never told anyone that story before because, really, it’s an odd thing to complain about. I had food to eat. Who cares if it didn’t taste good or if my father left bruises on my jaw every now and then? Being force-fed fish wasn’t even the worst punishment the man ever doled out to me. Mostly, I had everything a boy could want while growing up. I may not have had parents who loved me, but who needs that? Mostly, Mum andDad left me alone until I was old enough to have the weight of the Yates name thrust upon me, and even then, I was able to get out before it smothered me.

Still, watching Kira’s facial features harden, her lips pursing like this time she’s mad for me–not at me–makes me feel vulnerable. Exposed. Like I want to crawl over to her and lie my head in her lap.

“That’s fucked up, Warren. That’s really fucked up.”

Quietly, Kira gestures to a passing server. She points to the table, saying something I can’t understand in Spanish. A moment later, the plate of branzino is whisked away, and Kira doesn’t ask me any more questions.

When we finish eating, I pay the bill and carry the banana bread pudding the server packed up in a to-go box for Kira. We quickly shuffle back to the hotel, braving the frigid air that has dropped at least a few degrees since earlier this evening. And when we reach our hotel floor, Kira gives me a small wave and a smile before disappearing behind the door of her room.

I stand alone in the quiet hall for a moment, rubbing at the ache in my chest and realizing how positively fucked I am.

No longer is Kira McKenna only in my head. No, she’s made herself a home right in the center of my heart, as well.

14

KIRA

Pussy Posse Group Chat

Kira

Rachel. Georgie. I need your help.

G:

What’s wrong?

Rach

Why are you awake? It’s after midnight in NY

Dottie Girl

And why don’t you need my help?

Kira

Because Dot. I have a problem that only a buttload of money can solve. Rach and G are both married to gazillionaires, which makes them gazillionaires. Stephen is but a lowly, small-town peasant. The two of you are cute but you are no use to me right now.

Rach

You need money? What’s going on?

G

Don’t tell me you need bail money. Keeks, if you killed Warren…

Dottie Girl

Stephen is not a lowly, small-town peasant. He makes a good living. And hello, I have money!!! I can post bail, you ungrateful swine.

Kira

“Makes a good living” is code for “He’s a kept man and we all know it” Honestly, how can you even sleep with him? Haven’t you listened to a word Cardi B has said? BROKE BOYS DON’T DESERVE NO PUSSY!

Rach

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