Is it okay to tell her she looks nice tonight?
That’s what I would say to any woman who looks nice.
So I clear my throat. “You look very nice tonight, Kelly.”
She doesn’t glance up at me, and she says nothing.
Okay… Perhaps not the best opener.
“Apparently Buck makes a great lasagna,” I say. “He’s Italian. His last name is Moreno.”
Again, she doesn’t look up, and she says nothing.
Lord, this is going to be a long night.
If I hadn’t invited Kelly, I could be having a nice dinner with Buck and Aspen tonight. Instead, I have to think about every word I say and sit here watching a woman who is clearly uncomfortable and doesn’t want to be here.
Why the hell did you say yes, then?
The words hover at the edge of my lips, but I won’t say them. I’m a polite guy. I treat women with respect, even when they haven’t earned it.
Kelly is the way she is for a reason, though. People don’t become this harsh overnight. She’s been through hell, but so has Aspen, and she’s one of the nicest people I know.
But…Buck has told me her story, about how she nearly let revenge eat her alive.
So I need to give Kelly a break.
She deserves that much.
Aspen returns with a glass of wine for me and a glass of water for Kelly. Kelly mumbles her thanks and places it on a coaster on the small table between our two chairs.
Aspen takes a seat on the couch across from us, picks up one of the wineglasses, takes a sip and then swirls the burgundy liquid in the glass. “I love a nice Chianti, don’t you?”
Was that a question for me? I swirl the wine in my own glass and take a sip. It tastes like red wine. I’m no wine connoisseur. White wine tastes like white wine and red wine tastes like red wine.
“It’s very good,” I say.
“Buck will be out in a few minutes. He’s putting the lasagna in the oven.”
Oh, God, that’s right. Aspen originally invited me at seven thirty, and then at six o’clock so we could talk.
It’s going to be a freaking hour and a half before dinner is ready.
If Kelly doesn’t start talking, that ninety minutes is going to seem like a year.
10
KELLY
My hands shake as I take a sip of my water.
Why did I agree to come here? Though I have to admit the lasagna smells good.
My mother used to make me spaghetti and meatballs every once in a while when I was a kid.
On her good days.
She would open a can of store-bought spaghetti sauce, form hamburger into tiny balls and fry them, and then pour it all over cooked spaghetti noodles.
It was my favorite meal, and I knew when I smelled spaghetti and meatballs that it was a good day for my mother. A day when I wouldn’t end up in the closet.
She had a lot of good days after she took away my volleyball. For some reason that made her happy—to take away something that meant so much to me.
Macy says she needed me, and she was jealous of the volleyball. She thinks my mother suffered from something called borderline personality disorder. Probably combined with bipolar disorder. The two together are a difficult combination and require treatment most of the time.
But Macy can’t be sure, of course, because she hasn’t talked to my mother. Hasn’t examined my mother. And she says my memories could be flawed.
Apparently, when you have a traumatizing childhood, your memories can’t always be trusted. Even though I remember every single thing in Technicolor as if it were yesterday.
I sigh, which turns out to be a big mistake. Aspen and Buck both turn and stare at me.
“What?” I say.
“You sighed,” Aspen says. “Is everything okay?”
Really? Did she just ask me that question?
“You know very well that everything is not okay,” I say. “I’m being threatened. By Brindley.”
“Yes, we know,” Leif says, his voice measured. “That’s why Buck and I are here. Did you know Buck and Aspen are missing their honeymoon to be here?”
I huff as I look around the living room. Leather furniture, of course, which I hate. It’s not quite as colorless and drab as Leif’s place, though. A few throw pillows in red and green make it look like Christmas. And the coffee table is dark wood without a glass top. So I don’t risk breaking anything when I slam my hand onto it. “Well I’m sorry. I’m sorry that my safety made you miss your honeymoon.”
I hate myself as soon as those words come out of my mouth. I’m not this person. But, as Macy says, how are these people supposed to know otherwise? They can’t see inside my head. They only know what I say.
“I’m sorry.” I force the words out of my mouth while purposefully refusing to rub my hand that smarts.
Aspen looks at me with wide eyes. “You are?”
“I said it, didn’t I?”
God, here I go again.
“You know, Kelly,” Leif says. “People would be nice to you if you were nicer to them. We’re not your enemies.”
“I shouldn’t have come.” I rise.
Aspen rises as well. “Please, sit down. Let’s all try to get along. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together, and as Leif said, I’m missing my honeymoon for this.”
“I—”
Aspen gestures for me to be quiet. “I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty. Buck, Leif, and I all want to be here. We want to be here for you. I know what you’ve been through. I was there.”
I open my mouth to retort but then shut it abruptly.
She doesn’t know what I’ve been through. Sure, she was on the island. And Aspen went through hell on that island. I’ve heard the stories. She was a favorite to hunt, and she spent time in the infirmary. I don’t know any of those details.
But she probably had an idyllic childhood. Two parents who loved and doted on her.
Plus, she’s tall and strong and beautiful. The island didn’t take that from her.
The island didn’t take anything from me, either. My mother had already taken everything from me by the time I got there.
I sit back down. “All right. I’ll stay.” I take another sip of my water.
Buck joins us then, and I force myself not to gape at him. He’s almost as good-looking as Leif, only dark where Leif is light. As much as I hate to admit it, he and Aspen make a stunning couple. Both dark-haired and dark-eyed, both tall and muscular. They’ll have beautiful athletic children.
I take another sip of water. My throat hurts a little bit, and I’m not sure why.
Except I do know why. I spend my life choking back sobs so my throat is always constricted and in pain.
For once I’d like to be able to let it all go. Fly free, if only for moment.
“Everything smells great,” Leif says.
“My mom’s lasagna is the absolute best. Just ask Aspen. Every time we go to an Italian restaurant, I order lasagna and every time I say—”
“It’s good, but nothing like my mother’s,” Aspen finishes for him, laughing.
Happiness radiates through both of them. I drop my gaze to Aspen’s left hand, where her wedding set sparkles. It’s got to be two carats for sure. A round solitaire set in a ring guard of diamond chips. Buck wears a plain gold band on his finger.