Page 10 of Their Broken Legend

A thief, too.

Just like my dad is, but unlike my dad, they never caught Brer. These stories bloomed my love for little woodland creatures, for rabbits, foxes, mice, and squirrels, even though we don’t have them in Australia.

So, while my sisters played with barbies and makeup, I staged little scenes with Sylvanian Families—Father Rabbit and his daughter Dotty were my absolute favourite.

My dad will spend years in jail.

The blur breaks when I force my tears away. Suck them back into my body.

Absently, I kick off my stilettos and climb onto the trampoline, crawling across until I am in the centre, where I plop on my back and sigh.

Blinking, I gaze at the sky, a black sheet of warm twinkling dots, while the air is cool, fogging around each shaky exhale. It is too cold for the pool now, and the patch of garden I’ve ended up in is barren of people.

Thank fuck for that.

My mind drifts to the sight of an old man hunched over in a cold clinical-looking prison room with a toilet in the corner and a tiny bed. His strength has been crushed from him. His diamond smile useless in the cold cell. So, he finally decided it’s easier not to smile or move and eventually wastes away, and—

My heart shudders.

I can’t.

It’s not right.

There should be an age limit on imprisonment or an elderly ward or—I gasp for a breath. Something!Somewherefor people who won’t survive confinement, who are softer than their outward actions. Soft like Brer Rabbit.

Me too, Dad.

“You left, huh?” I faintly make out the words, twisting my head on the plastic weave to the sight of Grayson with his balaclava in place, possibly ready for round two with my urethra. But then I notice the ominous height, panther-like agility of muscles shifting, the powerful thighs unhidden beneath black suit pants.

Panther-like?

Really, Kaya?

Not Grayson.

Xander.

I twist back to the stars and deadpan. “I wasn’t going to wait for you all night. I have options.” I taunt, disinterest flattens my tone along with my recent life-changing news. Mostly, I hope my tone gets across just how much I don’t admire him or his tongue… Okay, him, his tongue is another subject.

“Oh.” He laughs, boyish, charming and at odds with the balaclava and hands made for strangulation.Ugh.His cuteness is annoying. “Left is a contronym.”

I frown. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“It’s a word that means two opposite things at the exact same time.” I can hear him approaching to my right, but I refuse to stare at him, noting his movements in my peripherals, his silhouette framed by the garden lights. “I meant you’re still here.You left. But you thought I meant ‘you left the room.’ See,leftis the past tense to leaving a place, but it's also the present tense to still being there.”

Oh. My. God.

He’s so adorable I want to punch him.

My lips fight their way into a smile, and I’m relieved that the dark cloaks the effect he has on me. “You take too long to eat your dessert. It’s kind of excessive.”

“Come again?”

I finally twist to face him, annoyance shocking my forced apathy to outright anger. The balaclava is bunched at his hairline, his boyish good looks only slightly distracting in the evening gloom. He’s closer now, slowly advancing. “You really don’t remember.” I cringe. “That we’ve done this before?”

He stops midstride. “Have we?”

“God.” Pushing myself to my elbows, I seethe. “That’s even worse! You just walk around licking anything that moves or what?”

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