Page 6 of The Wrong Side of Kai
Mom is gone and Dad may be around physically, but emotionally, he couldn’t be more absent if he tried.
Kennedy turns back to her dresser, examining her nails underneath the spotlight, checking for blotches. She doesn’t know it, but when Mom died, I made a promise to myself that I would always protect her no matter what. It’s a lonely place to be, because I’m now the only one who can.
My phone buzzes again.
I like your thinking. . . Pick you up at nine.
*
“I’m going out, Dad.”
Dad glances briefly over his shoulder. He’s standing in the kitchen, laptop open and a pot of ramen noodles boiling in front of him. His gaze is so empty, a deserted wasteland every time he looks at me. “Do you want dinner?”
“I already ate,” I say with a shrug. Guess he didn’t notice the microwave spaghetti and meatballs I was scarfing down an hour ago a mere fifteen feet away from him. I can’t cook to save my life – and no one in this house is going to fix that anytime soon – but at least I keep myself and Kennedy fed with microwave meals, which is more than he tends to do. “And so did Kennedy.”
“Oh. You guys did? Okay.” He turns back to the pot and keeps on stirring in silence. His voice used to be so vibrant and booming with joy that it would piss me off if he spoke for too long. Now I would give anything to hear him talk for hours on end the way he used to about the thrill of a big drugs bust at work, or his dream of owning a Porsche 911, or how he’d beaten his friends at poker again.
I hover for such a long moment that it hurts. This waiting for something,anythingis agonizing. Why can’t he just give me a firm warning not to stay out too late? Even just a reminder that I have school in the morning? But I get nothing.Nothing.
And I have been used tonothingfor so long, but it still hurts every time I find myself faced with it.
So, I don’t say anything more either. I grab my keys, slip my feet into a battered pair of Converse by the door, and head outside. It’s just after nine, and of course, Harrison is bang on time. His truck is parked outside, its engine purring and its headlights illuminating the street. I bet he can’t wait to see me, which makes this suck even more. But it’s not like I haven’t done this before. Breaking boys’ hearts has almost become standard.
I have to protect myself, but I’ve even made it more bearable for him. No makeup, so my eyes are sunken and tired. My hair thrown back into a ponytail with too many loose strands to count. An old hoodie with a hole in the sleeve that’s three sizes too big for me. My worst-fitting jeans. Not a single spritz of perfume. I figure it’ll hurt him less if I look like crap.
My steps are lethargic as I trail across the lawn and pull open the door of his truck. I yank myself up into the passenger seat, then look over. God, Kennedy is so right: heisgorgeous. Like, Greek-god gorgeous. A groan rises in my throat, but I fight hard to suppress it.Whycouldn’t he have been happy with just hooking up and nothing more? Now I have to turn down those bright blue eyes, chest made of stone, and sandy blond hair.
“I like this carefree vibe you’ve got going on,” Harrison says, his eyes sweeping over me, taking in my newfound style. I dress casual at school, but I never dressscruffy. “Makes you look young. It’s cute.”
“What?” I’m literally trying to be the exact opposite of desirable right now. I sit up straight in my seat and angle my body to face him, narrowing my eyes. I wonder if he can tell by the abrupt tone of my voice that I’m not here to fool around. “And you seriously think I look cute without eyelashes?”
Harrison pouts, disappointed by my attitude. “You’re no fun tonight. I’ll fix that.”
Obviously, he doesn’t notice that I’m not in the mood for fooling around. Doesn’t notice that I haven’t flashed him my coy smile yet. Doesn’t notice that I haven’t instantly placed my hand on his upper thigh. “Heritage Park should be a nice spot to park up,” he says as he begins to drive.
Great. Heritage Park, Westerville’s prime hookup spot on the edge of town where half the school hangs out on weekends in the backseat of their moms’ cars. At least Harrison’s truck is his own. But what does it matter? There will be absolutelynoaction for us tonight, that’s for sure. Not because I don’t want to, but because I’m determined not to give Harrison false hope that there could ever be anything more between us than late night kisses.
“Harrison. . .” I say, but he doesn’t hear me because he’s already turned up the music. He places his hand on my knee, his grip firm, and I stare at the grazes on his knuckles while he drives. Somehow I can’t resist placing my hand atop his, intertwining our fingers. My other hand is in my hair, massaging my head as I think. Could it hurt to kiss him one more time? I told myself last night was it, never again, but. . .
God, I hate myself for even getting into these situations in the first place.
“So. . . Did you enjoy the party last night?” Harrison asks after we’ve driven in silence for a while. We don’t talk, not really, and if we do it’s only ever to flirt. I don’t know much about him, just that he’s Harrison Boyd, that he’s on the football team, that we’ve shared classes over the years, and he must be smart because I’ve never once seen him fail a test. We don’t talk about anything important. I don’t actuallyknowhim. He doesn’t know much about me either.
I’m still staring at my hand on his, trying my hardest not to flirt, not to deliberately turn him on even now. “Yeah. Did you?”
“Yeah.”
More awkward silence. It’s like we’re trying to pass time until we’re able to get our hands on each other, because we don’t know how to interact when we’re stone-cold sober and not making out. It makes me question why Harrison would even invite me on that ski trip with him. What would we even talk about? How cold the snow is?
Out of habit, I lift his hand and kiss those grazes on his knuckles. I know I shouldn’t be leading him on, but I’m going to miss this. I’m trying to appreciate it while I still can. Harrison drives with one hand on the wheel, the other interlocked with mine, letting me kiss my way down his bare arm. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye every once in a while, his gaze growing more and more heated.
We make it to Heritage Park and follow the quiet road up through the trees to the secluded parking lot, and there’s only one other car parked in the distance. Lights off. Shadows moving inside. I look away, back to Harrison as he rolls the truck to a slow halt, tires crunching against the gravel. I know I should tell him right now, before things go too far, but when his smoldering eyes meet mine, I can’t resist.
I drop his hand and reach out for him, pressing my lips to his. In another world, one where I didn’t believe that all relationships were doomed from the get-go and where I wasn’t so terrified of losing the person I loved, perhaps I’d be more open to getting to know Harrison better. Maybe I’d even be excited about the idea of heading off on a ski trip together.
Harrison might not know much about me, but he knows how to do everything right. His fingers are tangled in my hair, teasing more strands loose from my ponytail, and he’s tugging at my waist, desperate to bring me closer.
We’ve never hooked up in his truck before, and I feel awkward and clumsy as I climb over the center console and onto his lap. How do people do this? I’m locked between his chest and the steering wheel and I’m wondering how the hell the logistics of this can even work when I remind myself that, no, I’m not doing that. There’s no seduction here. I amnothooking up with Harrison tonight.
