Just breathe, I order myself and jam my earbuds in. After choosing a song from my phone, I hit play. “Dusk Till Dawn” by Zayn and Sia begins to play. The music winds slowly through my heart, soothing my ruffled feathers.
I start typing again when my eyes lift above the screen, caught by someone moving toward me. Kelly is manoeuvring his way through the student clusters. He doesn’t go unnoticed. He has a presence that commands attention and a body that’s impossible not to notice. Students pause their conversations and laughter to watch.
He’s carrying a bag in his hand. Oh my god. He’s bringing me lunch. My vision blurs. The way Kelly is trying to take care of me makes me ache in the best possible way. He reaches the opposite side of the bench. I blink rapidly, bringing him into focus as I pull my earbuds out.
“Hungry, babe?”
My lower jaw trembles. I lock it down for a moment, fighting back tears. “You brought me lunch.”
“Yeah.” He dumps the bag on the table between us and looks at me, his brow furrowing with confusion. “That makes you sad?”
A tear spills over. Dammit. I swipe it away with the back of my hand before it rolls down my cheek. “It’s just been a …” I was going to say rough day, but it’s been a rough few weeks. “It’s just really nice of you.” I sniff. “I’m so hungry,” I add, though my voice comes out sounding like I’d rather chew broken glass because I’m not sure if I can eat.
Kelly walks around the table and straddles the bench seat next to me. Then he pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around me like a tight band. My face smooshes into his chest. It’s hard and warm, and he smells of sweat and grease from working all morning. I don’t care. It’s more comforting than chicken soup on a rainy day.
“What’s wrong?”
I feel the rumble of his voice against my cheek. “I have a paper due in…” my eyes flick to the time on my computer screen “…two hours and ten minutes. It’s not finished, but my next lecture starts soon, and I can’t miss it when I’m already behind.” I pause, intending to end my complaint there, but I find myself on an unstoppable roll, like a snowball gathering momentum down a mountain. “And I’m tired, Kelly. Mason is furious with me. He’s giving me the silent treatment, so he won’t listen to anything I say. He’s facing more surgery, and I don’t know how I’ll get through all that again, which makes me feel horrible because he has to go through worse. And Echo is probably not talking to me. I yelled at her. I didn’t mean to. I’m stressed and not thinking straight. Last night I spoke to my grandfather for the first time in weeks, and he thinks it’s because I butt-dialled him. He went through the garage rebuild without me, and now he’s building a greenhouse, and I don’t even have the time to help him do that.” Then I remember the Firebird. “Racer could have died last night!” I declare hotly, swiping away more tears as he holds me close, his large palm rubbing soothing, warm circles on my lower back. “And you!” I push away from him, glaring. “I told you last night not to do anything and you didn’t listen. I thought you were dead too! Kelly …” I swallow and take a shaky breath. “My life is falling apart, and there’s nothing I can do.”
Kelly grasps my chin and looks at me. “No one’s dead. And your life isn’t fallin’ apart, babe. You’re going through a rocky patch, but it’ll get better. You got this.” He smiles and kisses me. “And you got me.”
“I got you,” I whisper.
“Yeah.” He kisses me again.
“You’ve got me too.”
This time when he smiles it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I can’t make sense of why. It’s like he doesn’t believe me. “Kelly? You’ve got me too.”
“Okay, babe.” I’m not appeased by his response, but I don’t have time to ponder it right now. “Now here’s what you’re going to do. You’re gonna eat your lunch with me. Then I’m gonna get back to work while you organise for someone to record the lecture for you. Then you’re gonna finish your paper, upload that sucker to wherever it’s supposed to go, and after that you go home, listen to your lecture, eat dinner, and have an early night.”
Kelly’s arranged the chaos from my head into a solid plan, and I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s a plan I can work with. “I can do that.”
“See? I knew you could.”
We eat our lunch together, Kelly keeping one hand on my knee and me chatting about what happened last night with Mason. He and Echo boosted that car like I asked them not to. I’m grateful, though I can’t bring myself to admit it. It’s one less car on the list. But it doesn’t make what they did okay because if they get caught it’s on me. I’m not sure I can live with that.
When we finish, he scrunches up our sandwich wrappers and stands. “Babe, I gotta get back to work.” He bends, ducking his head to kiss me.
I palm his cheeks before he can draw away, stealing another one, and another. His mouth is warm and his beard scratchy. It’s the perfect combination, sending shivers of delight skittering down my spine. I add another kiss. “I won’t see you tonight.”
He straightens. “We can catch up on the weekend.”
“But …” The weekend feels a lifetime away. “We need to plan.” We have our next boost to organise, but I can’t specifically say that in a crowded public place.
“And you need a break. Spend the rest of the week catching up on study and sleep. I’ll see you Saturday.” He bends, kissing me again. This time my mouth opens beneath his and his tongue slides inside. I almost forget we’re in public. His arm snakes around my back and lowers until he’s got a hard grip on my ass. He groans just a little bit. He’s the one to break the kiss because I have no plans to. He shifts his mouth to my ear when he speaks, his voice low and thick. “You’ll need your rest because I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t move. And when you can’t move, I’m gonna eat you out until you lose your voice from screamin’ my name. And after that…” he draws back and smirks “…we’ll have a nap and do it all again.”
Kelly starts walking away, and I’m left sitting there, mouth open and body craving his touch. “Hey!” I call out, my voice raspy. He turns and starts walking backward. “How am I supposed to write my paper after that?”
“I told you, you got this!”
He turns back and I watch him walk away until he’s nothing but a speck. Then I shift back to my screen with a sigh and pop my earbuds back in. This time I choose a song that’s been in my head from the moment I met him: “Crazy for You” by Madonna.
I get home in the late afternoon to find Mason cooking an early dinner. His back is to me, his eyes on the stovetop as he stirs something in a saucepan. It gives me hope. I slam the front door behind me so he knows I’m home.
He doesn’t turn at the sound. He doesn’t acknowledge me at all.
“I’m home,” I declare loudly.
Radio silence.
I dump my bag on the couch and walk to the kitchen. “You can’t just pretend I don’t exist.”
Nothing.
I know he started a more gruelling physical therapy process today. They wipe him out, but it’s no excuse for his behaviour. I’m trying here. “You’re acting like a child,” I mutter, opening the fridge door. There’s an unopened bottle of wine in the side door. I grab it out and set it on the island benchtop behind me. The kitchen was upgraded when we moved in. The cabinetry is Shaker style in white, and the bench that runs along the wall behind me is marble Caesarstone, which houses the range hood, pantry, and fridge. The island counter is “night sky” Caesarstone; it’s midnight black with little white flecks that resemble stars.
It’s a beautiful kitchen, but Mason is making it ugly with his tension. I take a wine glass from an overhead cupboard behind me. “Would you like a wine?” I ask.
He sets down his stirring spoon and wheels to the pantry.
Right. My lips flatten. “I’ll take that as a no.”
I set the glass down on the starry counter and pour a generous amount. After screwing the cap back on the wine bottle, I push it to the side and bring
the glass to my lips.
“I don’t want you seeing him anymore,” my brother says before I take a sip. His back is to me. The pantry doors are open and he’s facing the shelves, unmoving.
I stare at him, willing the anger to rise, but it doesn’t. I can’t be mad at him. I’m just sad. Tired and sad when earlier today I was hopeful.
“You don’t know him,” I say quietly.
“I don’t need to know him to know what he represents.” Mason grabs a container of pasta from the shelf. He puts it in his lap and turns. “I don’t want to know him. It makes me physically sick to think of you both together. That he’s…” my brother swallows “…touching my little sister with his dirty corrupt hands.” He shakes his head. “How can you even …”
“Enough. Please.” I hate hearing Mason talk about Kelly that way. And I hate having to go against my brother this way, but he’s giving me no choice. “I won’t stop seeing him.”
Mason gives me a filthy expression as though I’m tainted too. He wheels back to the stovetop and sets his container on the bench. “Then we have nothing to talk about.”
Great. Just … great. I swipe my wine from the bench, my appetite gone, and I take it to my room. Shutting the door behind me, I set my glass on my bedside table and flop down on the edge of my bed, rubbing my temples.
There’s no getting through to him. He barely gives me a chance to try. I have no idea where to go from here. If only he could just get to know Kelly in person rather than me trying to get it through his thick head. Mason needs to see the good in Kelly for himself.
I pick up my glass and take a sip. The chilled wine cools my frustration, and like a magic elixir, it gives me an idea. I leave the sanctity of my room to grab my bag from the couch. Mason is still in the kitchen. He’s pouring himself a wine.
My lips purse.
He shoots me another filthy look, and I retreat back to where I came from. I dump the bag on my bed and root around inside for my phone. Finding it, I take it out, unlock the screen, and type out a text to Kelly.
Me: Thank you for lunch today.
I need to ask him a favour, and I can’t just text it outright. I need to work my way up to it. After another two fortifying sips of wine, his reply comes through. I like that about Kelly. There’s no need to wait an appropriate amount of time between texts. No worry about looking too eager or playing it cool or hard to get or keeping a girl hanging.
Kelly: Ur welcome
Me: I can bring you lunch on Friday?
Kelly: Maybe. Casey will be there.
Right. His estranged older brother … even though they own and operate a business together. Kelly’s mentioned him in passing but doesn’t talk about him.
Me: I could meet him?
Kelly: It’s your funeral
That sounds ominous, but the way Mason is right now, Casey could hardly be worse. I’m living in a house with Elsa the Snow Queen the way he keeps freezing me out. I’ll likely snap at any moment—a violent psychotic outbreak where I smash every plate in the house and dig up the garden beds or something.
Me: Actually I want to ask you a favour.
Kelly: Shoot
I take another fortifying sip of wine because he’s going to say no. He’s going to say hell no. And if he does, then I’m all out of ideas. I’ll be up shit creek with no paddle.
Me: Will you come to family dinner with me on Sunday night?
There’s a long wait between his next message. I get up and pace back and forth. Then I use the toilet. I sip some more wine. It’s almost empty, but I’ll have to face Mason again if I want more.
Kelly: Your parents will be there?
Me: Yes. And Racer.
Dammit …
Me: And Mason.
Kelly: Okay
Seriously? Is he for real?
Me: Are you sure?
Kelly: You tryna talk me out of it now? Is Mason gonna come at me with a carving knife?
I cringe because it’s a possibility. Who knows how my brother will react, but we have to try, right?
Me: Maybe.
Kelly: All good, babe. I’ll be there. Don’t want you losing ur brother because of me.
Of course. He knows what it’s like to be at odds with your brother. To lose them as family. It warms me inside to know he’ll do what he can to make sure that doesn’t happen for me.
Me: You’re the best.
Kelly: The best u ever had
My head tips back, and I laugh. Once again he makes me feel lighter. That I’ve got this because I’ve got him. Stuff it. I’m going to brave the kitchen again for another wine.
20
Arcadia
I pull Echo’s car into the parking lot of Rebab on Friday. I haven’t returned here since the Charger Incident, so it brings back a flood of memories. Most of them involve what happened upstairs. My cheeks flush wildly as I step out of the car, remembering my forsaken bra. I’m just going to pretend it never existed. Kelly has never mentioned it, so I’m hoping that’s what he’s doing too.
I walk around to the passenger side of the car and grab our lunch from the seat. I’m shutting and locking the car when my eyes are caught by a redhead on stilts. She’s walking out of the office door and toward a white Tesla Model X that’s parked two spaces down from me. I reserve all judgement on her small electric vehicle. At least it’s a P90D, which means it’s the performance model and she’s saving the earth. Echo and I can’t say the same with her gas guzzler. She complains about me using the Ford, saying I should just buy it from her, but I’m pretty sure I used a quarter of tank just in getting here. I can’t afford her car, just a few brief trips in it here and there, whereby I refill her tank before returning it. Maybe I should just sell it for her, but Echo secretly loves that lady. She’d be heartbroken to lose her.
The redhead eyes me curiously as she gets closer, her blue eyes bright and sharp. She’s wearing a white tank with black skinny jeans, high heel boots, and a blue jacket. It’s a simple look, but she’s managing to rock it with ease. And that’s how I recognise her.
I gasp. “Grace Paterson.”
Her stride falters and she smiles. “Do I know you?”
It’s a dazzling smile. I wince, embarrassed because I’m fangirling. “Umm no.” I clear my throat. “I’ve seen you on a few magazine covers.” And catwalks. She’s a famous international model. Well, was. There was a news snippet somewhere in a gossip rag about her retiring due to illness.
Grace doesn’t look sick. Her skin is radiant and happiness exudes from her like rays from the sun.
“Oh nice.” Her smile holds and she offers a hand for me to shake, sounding sincere.
“I’m Arcadia,” I say, shifting the lunch bag from my right hand to my left and shaking hers. “Arcadia Jones.”
“It’s nice to meet you.”
We let go and she takes a step back. There’s an awkward silence.
“So, I should just—”
“Actually, it won’t be—”
We both talk at the same time to fill it and then stop, giving small laughs.
“You go,” she says, car keys jingling in her fingers.
“No, it’s okay. You look like you have somewhere you need to be.”
“I was going to say that it won’t be Grace Paterson for much longer.” She glances at the engagement ring on her finger as if she can’t believe that it’s there. “That’s where I’m headed. For a dress fitting with my girls.”
Holy shit. Whoever put that rock on her finger is either rich or madly in love. It’s a princess cut blue diamond surrounded by smaller white ones. I admire it for a polite moment. “Congratulations. When are you getting married?”
“Thank you.” She bites her bottom lip as she grins as if she’s trying to contain a little giddiness. “I’ll be Mrs. Daniels in two weeks.”
I draw backward, shock stealing my breath. And then I realise … “You’re marrying Casey?”
Her head tilts to the side, the glossy red strands of her
hair glowing like fire in the midday sun. “You know him?”
“Well, no. But Kelly’s mentioned him.”
Grace gasps audibly and she seizes my arm. Her fingers dig in and I wince, though I don’t think she realises she’s hurting me. She seems oddly, and intensely, excited by my comment. “Kelly’s mentioned him?” she reiterates. “To you?”
“Umm … yes?”
Her fingers loosen their violent grip, and she links her arm in mine, herding me toward the office entrance of Rehab. Only one of the three large garage doors are open. There’s a car parked inside and faint music coming from somewhere beyond that. It’s a beautiful car. One I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing up close before. A vintage Corvette Stingray with a gleaming gunmetal grey paintjob. My fingers literally tingle to touch it, but I’m in the clutches of Grace soon-to-be-Daniels Paterson, and it seems she doesn’t want to let me from her sight.
“Won’t you be late for your dress fitting?” I ask, taking one last lingering glance of the Corvette before she opens the office door and nudges me inside ahead of her.
“I’ll call the girls,” she says, stepping in behind me. There’s no one manning the front counter, but there’s paperwork scattered everywhere. “Let them know I’ll be a little late.”
“Seriously? It’s your dress fitting.” Isn’t that supposed to be important? “I don’t want to hold you up. I only stopped by to bring Kelly lunch.”
“Lovely. I’ll direct you to the lunch room.”
“Honestly. It’s okay. I know where it is.”
Her eyes gleam. “Of course,” she mutters, almost to herself. “You’ve been here before.”
We’re inside the lunch room, which is basically just a kitchenette with a round table and six chairs, and I’m setting our lunch down on the counter when she says, “So you and Kelly are …”