Page 54 of Fierce Love
“He did in the car,” Kinsley says, pointing at me. “It’s not my fault if you weren’t listening. Besides, I go to the coffee shop all the time by myself when you’re working.”
The claws are out, and they are sharp. “I shouldn’t have said yes,” I say, holding up my hands. “Your sister is right—that wasn’t my place.”
“She wasn’t listening,” Kinsley says. “The minute we’re back in New York, it’s like”—she waves her palm up and down in front her face—“the wall goes up and she’s not listening.”
I cannot comment on that, but I have a hard time believing Kinsley is being fair.
“An hour,” Hollyn says. “You get an hour, and then you need to be back here.”
Kinsley leaves with Indy, slamming the door behind her. Pictures on the wall rattle, and I raise my eyebrows at Hollyn, but I don’t say anything.
Instead, I settle into one of the two armchairs that have a small coffee table between them. There’s no kitchen table or even any discernable space for one. The place is crammed with storage and, if I didn’t think Hollyn would object to me poking around, memories that I’d love to uncover. She’s this puzzle that I can’t stop trying to solve even though I know I might never have all the pieces.
Hollyn sighs, and when I glance at her, the toll that fighting with Kinsley has taken on her is obvious. Though Kin had a point about Hollyn not listening to her this time, I also understand how frazzled Hollyn might feel, ’cause I’m all over the fucking place with my own emotions.
“She’ll be thankful for you someday,” I say.
“Sometimes I think I should just sit her down and tell her in detail how much worse it could be. What her life could have been.” She runs her fingers along her wrists where scars are either a faint outline or clearly visible. I haven’t consciously clocked them like I did when we were teens.
Mickie Davis was a monster, and I fucking hated her before I ever met her. At one point, I even considered trying to sic my mother on her. Celia isn’t altruistic, but I would have been willing to manufacture something my mother would care about, frame Mickie in a way that would make my mother respond.
But I never did because as terrible as Mickie Davis was, Hollyn’s feelings were always conflicted because of her aunt’s connection to her mother. Hurting her mother hurt her aunt. The worst tangled ball of emotion that left Hollyn, sometimes, unprotected.
“Other than ‘because they can,’ why does the Tucker family have two massive apartments?” Hollyn asks, toying with the shirt in her hand.
“My parents stayed in one, and all of us kids stayed in the other with a nanny.” I give her a slight smile. “As you know, my parents ascribed to the whole ‘seen but not heard’ mantra as far as their children were concerned. And ‘seen’ was only when they felt like it.”
“I heard you and your mom are closer now?” She’s twisting the shirt, and she hasn’t fully entered the room, despite the tiny size of the apartment, as though she’s most comfortable close to an escape.
And the whole time I’m looking at her, there’s an ache in my chest, this intense desire to minimize the awkwardness, recapture what we once had. Maybe I’m a fool for thinking it’s possible after fourteen years apart.
“We are closer, I guess,” I say tapping my fingers on the arm of the chair. “I grew up. Realized Celia Tucker did the best she knew how. Could have been worse.” My gaze slides to Hollyn’s wrists, and she twists the shirt around her hands and wrists, shielding them from my gaze. “She’s got a protein issue with her kidneys, which could mean a transplant if they can’t get it under control. The first step in the treatments they can do to kick-start her kidney into functioning properly isn’t working yet, but the doctors have a pretty extensive plan of attack.”
“You’re not worried?”
“Ava and I are both a match for a kidney, so Mom shouldn’t die from this, but I think it’s definitely shaken her. She’s not immortal and untouchable after all.”
“Softened her?” Hollyn asks, and there seems to be a hint of hope in the question.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I admit. “I’m still not sure it would be wise for anyone to cross her.”
“I’m just going to finish getting some stuff together in my room,” she says, and she takes the few steps back until she’s out of sight again. After a few beats, I hear movement, rustling of clothes, opening and closing of drawers.
The briefest thaw in the ice between us hardened, too thick to penetrate, in the blink of an eye. It’s so impossible to be sure if I need to push more, if I’m pushing too much, or if we’re truly a lost cause in her mind. If only she’d tell me what she wants, not just what she doesn’t think she can have.
We spend the rest of the day buffered by the girls and their excitement, and it’s the only saving grace in what might otherwise feel like a descent into darkness. I’m starting to think I’m fooling myself to believe Hollyn will come running to me, embrace the reality of us. A few stolen kisses in an office might be the peak. I’ve made my feelings clear, and they just seem to create more barriers between us, not less.
The concert is loud and chaotic, but the private suite makes it bearable. I managed to get us into a suite with other studio and television executives, so this is as much a work opportunity for me as a kindness for Kinsley.
Instead of sitting with Hollyn, Indy, and Kinsley in the seats in the open area of the suite, reveling in the music, I’m back at the bar area, mixing and mingling, trying to drum up more investors in some of the projects people are pitching me in Bellerive.Redesigning Home, the show Posey and Hollyn are fronting, has cracked open the interest in reality-style television in our limited streaming-focused community. So many Bellerivians now believe our country is the ideal backdrop. Convincing others who reside outside our island is the trick.
Once the concert ends, we’re swept up by people from Mia Malone’s crew and taken to a separate oversized room where other fans with the same lanyards are already mingling. The meet and greet is militant in its organization, and as soon as we’re in the room with Mia, she’s bubbly and personable despite just doing a two-hour show. Indy and Kinsley only seem to fall more in awe and in love with her. The only moment that isn’t joyous is when Mia’s mother enters to usher us out, and a blend of annoyance and exhaustion seems to descend over Mia before she can conceal it.
Then we’re back in the car on our way to the apartment, ears ringing from the concert, the girls high on adrenaline. Hollyn’s been quiet all night, and I’ve compensated by talking to the girlsor mingling with other industry people I recognized. I can’t seem to find my footing with her, no matter how badly I might want to.
In the hallway between the apartments, the girls float in their door, elevated by the whole experience.
“We need to meet the car at eleven in the morning to get to the jet in time,” I say, walking backward to my door. The whole day has been rife with tension, and I’m exhausted.
