Page 63 of Dangerous Deceit

“Don’t cry over him. Fuck,” Kenzo says, irritation and confusion swimming across his face, pinching his brow and lips. He leans back in his chair, studying me, but I won’t let my eyes leave the soup. The miso paste settles at the bottom of the bowl. Bile rises in my throat.

“Why are you upset?” he asks. “He raped you, Vi. He didn’t deserve to live.”

I can’t change the past and make it so I never told Kenzo our family secrets. And I can’t bring Patrick back from the dead, no matter how hard I try.

But I can save Uncle Jay.

“You can’t kill Uncle Jay,” I say. I don’t know why I say it—Kenzo doesn’t have any reason to kill Uncle Jay, but Ihaveto make Kenzo do this for me. Uncle Jay is the last family member I have. Myonlyfamily. Without him, I’m alone, and I can’t accept that. “Promise me you won’t kill Uncle Jay.”

“I don’t make promises,” Kenzo says flatly.

I reach across the table, grabbing his hand. “Please.”

He sets his spoon down beside his bowl. His eyes challenge my racing thoughts.

“Has Jay ever touched you?” he asks.

“What?” I ask. “No!”

“If you tell me he’s never touched you, then I’ll see what I can do.” He rubs his forehead. “Damn it, Vi. If it makes you happy, I’ll even promise. Butonlyif he’s never laid a hand on you.”

I let my memories flash across my mind. The drunken nights. The lessons. The fake situations. The “friends” I was introduced to. We’re a screwed up family, and there are some nights I don’t remember at all. But in those flashes of clarity, Uncle Jay never touched me.

“I promise,” I say.

Without another word, Kenzo picks up his spoon and devours the rest of his bowl. If last night was any indication of Kenzo’s extreme side, then maybe this calmer side, this relaxed state, is more like him. Is he feeling like himself yet?

“Uncle Jay is all I have left,” I explain. Kenzo’s eyes barely flick to mine, but his posture stiffens; he’s listening.

“All you have?” he asks.

Guilt weighs down on my shoulders. “Not like that,” I say. “You know, like family-family. You’re my husband, but Jay is my?—”

I take a sip of soup so I don’t have to say anything. My cheeks flush; what am I doing? This is a job; Kenzo isn’t my real husband. So why do I feel so guilty for saying Uncle Jay is my only family?

I focus on the soup; it’s salty and warm, and the tofu melts in my mouth. Kenzo’s bowl is empty, but he’s still watching me.

The last time I told him about our past, Patrick wound up dead. But for some reason, this impulse to spill everything grows inside of me.

Kenzo needs to know why Uncle Jay matters.

“When I was six, burglars broke into our house. Luckily, we weren’t inside when it happened—we were coming home from a candle shopping trip—I can’t remember too much, to be honest.” Everything about those memories is foggy, like my brain doesn’t have the power to process them. It’s probably a coping mechanism or something. “From the driveway, we could see something was wrong.” My hands sweat, and I’m instantly back in the car, the scent of a million different candles tickling my nose, the leather seats crunching under my fingers as I waited. “My father went inside to check things out, but when he didn’t come back, my mother went in, telling me to stay in the car.” I swallow a gulp, trying not to let the anxiety creep in. This is just a memory—it’s notreal—but sometimes, it’s hard to see through it. “They never came back out.”

Kenzo’s eyes darken, but his shoulders remain relaxed, and he’s still, listening to me completely, taking every word in. He’s not even flicking his fingers in bored agitation.

“Uncle Jay found me like that. In the back seat. All alone,” I say.

You’re not supposed to be here,he had said, before unbuckling me from my booster seat.

“He took me home that night,” I say. “I was so scared, but Uncle Jay stayed with me. He promised he would always be there for me, that he’d take care of me like his own kid. And you know what?” I laugh, because it’s funny looking back on it all now. “I didn’t believe him. Not for a long time. And why should I? My own parents had died. That’s not something you can control. That’s something thathappens.Why wouldn’t the same thing happen to Uncle Jay?”

Kenzo’s eyes peer into me like he can see deep inside of my soul. But he stays quiet, letting me guide him through my past.

“Patrick didn’t like it when I came into their lives, but Uncle Jay wasalwaysgood to me. So please,” I beg. “Don’t take Uncle Jay away from me too.”

Kenzo blinks, but there’s a softness to his expression, and I wonder if he can relate. If Tomo was always good to him too.

“I promise,” he finally says.

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