“We’ll be back,” I tell my mother as we walk out.
I’m barefoot as he leads me to his car. He opens the door and waves for me to slide in. I do so, and he closes me inside. Kyson walks around the hood to his side, gets in, and starts the car, turning the music up but not too loud. He grips the steering wheel hard and blows out a breath.
“Kyson—”
“How long have you known?” he interrupts, not looking my way.
“I found out the day you came to the café to find me.”
His knuckles start to turn white on the steering wheel from the force of his grip.
“Did you intend to tell me, or were you planning something else?”
“I wasn’t planning anything. I was trying to get my head together.”
He turns and faces me, his eyes dark, but I don’t feel afraid.
“I want to know these things,” he insists.
“Do you even want kids?” I ask.
“That’s not the damn point. I am not him. You tell me things. That’s what we do.” He breathes deeply and then tries to reassure me by repeating, “You tell me things, Kalilah. Do you get it?”
“I do. And you need to know I’m keeping the baby, but I don’t expect anything from you,” I manage to squeak out.
He looks away, and I can’t read his face. Is he mad because of what I said? I know I’m young, and what we have is new, so I really don’t expect anything from him. I lift my hand to put it on his shoulder but pull it back. I’m not sure what is the right thing to do in this situation.
“You’re keeping it?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“You know who I am. Who my family is and what we do,” he says.
“Yes, you know I do.”
He stares out at the house—the house I grew up in—and sees the white shutters on the windows, the brown brick, and the wraparound porch. It’s an average-looking home. There’s nothing too fancy about it, but it’s somewhere I feel extremely comfortable. I can see him staring again, going quiet, probably thinking of what to say next.
Him and me both.
I was planning to tell him when I got home and worked out my plan of attack. You can’t just jump up and say to someone you slept with a few times, “Oh, and by the way, I’m pregnant with your baby, and I’m keeping it.” I suppose some people can, but my situation is somewhat different. The man I’m seeing is an assassin, a trained killer, not that I think for a second he would kill me, but the situation is definitely different.
“I didn’t have this kind of life,” he says, nodding to the house.
My parents in the living room, watching television, waiting for me to come back inside. They’ll want to know more about Kyson to see if he’s different from Tony.
He is…
In so many ways.
“Is this the life you want?” Kyson asks, and I see the worry in his eyes as the words leave his mouth. I get it. He’s worried that he won’t be able to give me this life.
“I like where my life is heading. I like my new place, your car that I get to drive, and I like having sex with you.” I smile at him. “Can we not just like the now?”
His eyes drop to my stomach. “It’s not the now I’m worried about.” Kyson gets out of the car and walks around to my side. I sit there, confused, before he reaches my door and opens it. “Introduce me to your parents.”
“What about your parents?” I ask.
“Dead. I couldn’t care less. It’s yours I’m concerned about.” I take his offered hand and step out with his help.
“I’ll give you three months to live by yourself before you are mine,” he states.
“My lease is for six months,” I reply.
“We will shorten it.” He shuts the door, not letting go of my hand as we walk to the house. I almost trip on the driveway, and he catches me. I look up at him and start laughing, and his eyes narrow like I’m a crazy person, and I lift my hand over my mouth.
“How times have changed. That one time you let me fall on my face.”
“You annoyed me,” he says like it was obvious.
“Yeah, and you’d just killed someone,” I whisper.
“Kalilah.” We both turn at the sound of my mother’s voice at the door—thankfully out of earshot—with my father standing behind her with his arms crossed over his chest, trying to be intimidating.
I wonder if Kyson is ever intimidated. I doubt it.
I approach with Kyson’s hand still in mine, and he gives it a little squeeze as we near them.
“This is Kyson,” I say and smile.
“Son.” My father nods his head and offers his hand.
Kyson takes and shakes it.
“It’s good to meet you. Kalilah has spoken of you both fondly,” Kyson says, and my heart warms at his words.
“She’s barely mentioned you. What do you do for work?” I tense at my father’s terse words, but Kyson simply squeezes my hand.
“I’m a contractor. I run my own business.”
My father nods in approval. “And your family? Your parents?”
“Parents have passed away. My brothers all live close by back home,” Kyson says.
My father looks at me. “And you like his brothers?”
I remember the night with Kenzo on the couch. “Yes, both are lovely.” In their own way, I add to myself. Kenzo in how close he is to his brothers, and Zuko with how close he is to his brothers and how much he adores Alaska.
“Let’s go inside. It’s getting dark,” my father says.
“It’s so nice to meet you. Sorry about him. Now he has his girl back he is worried he won’t see her again,” my mother gushes, reaching out and laying her hand on Kyson’s shoulder. “You wouldn’t stop her from seeing us, would you?”
My mother and I look a lot alike. Same color hair and the same build, but I have my father’s eyes.
“Never,” Kyson says, and I believe him. “Family is important. It’s why I work with my brothers and would trust them with my life.” He isn’t joking. They literally do, then they kill the ones they don’t like. Funny, but whatever.
My mother’s hand goes to her heart.
“I love that. Her ex…” She shakes her head.
“Yes, Tony. I met him.”
My father stops, turns around, and asks, “You did?”
“Yes, and he was worse than awful. So I showed him exactly how to treat a lady.”
My father smirks. “What did you do?” I’m sure my father would be happy to know Tony is dead, but I know Kyson won’t share that part with him.
“I hit him, hard, after he spoke to her like his possession.”
My father nods, smiling, then turns to me. “I’m glad you aren’t with him anymore, dear.”
“Me too,” I answer.
“Want a beer, son?” my father offers.
He likes Kyson.
I know he does.
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, please don’t call me that, it makes me feel old. Call me Hampton,” my father says, giving him his first name.
Kyson releases my hand and follows my father to the bar fridge and I hear my father ask him more questions as I turn to face my mother.