Ohana Legacy: Thin Love Series Bundle, page 47
part #1 of Thin Love Series
“That was a songwriter’s showcase,” she told Kona, staring down at their hands. “I remember because Mark told me I had to do it. All those people died on those flights and I was too scared to do what I loved. It gave me the motivation to get over my stage fright. That...that was Mark you saw me with me, Kona.”
A small head shake as though he knew and then Kona came to his knees in front of her, arms on top of her legs as he held her hips. “If had any idea...you being there...if I’d know about Ransom...if you’d told me, I would have walked away from everything. I wouldn’t have cared what anyone thought because I loved you.”
“And you would have blamed me.” Despite everything; what they were, what they’d created together, Keira knew he would have blamed her. It was inevitable. “I would have been the girl that destroyed the life you could have had.”
“No. You would have been the girl that saved me.” Kona sat up on his knees, coming closer, bringing one hand to her neck. “You were the girl that saved me. I haven’t been a saint. In fact, I tried to drive you from my head, tried to erase you completely, but Keira, you’re a part of me. You and Ransom, you’re the best part of me.”
“Kona, we can’t—”
“You’re scared, I know,” he interrupted her, palm back on her cheek, voice strong, fierce. “I don’t care about what could happen, baby. I don’t care about all the shit we did to each other in the past. I only know that when you’re around, when I’m near you, in you, everything else falls away. You make it stop. You always have.” He moved closer, leaning his forehead against hers. “You still do. And it will never be enough unless you’re mine. I’ve always been yours, Wildcat. I’ve always belonged to you completely.” He held her face still, expression severe, adamant. “I’m so sorry I pushed you away. I’m sorry you were alone.” Kona’s voice cracked and his fingers against her jaw tightened. “I’m sorry my son never knew me. I’m so fucking sorry I lied to you. Keira, I’m sorry.”
She’d waited for those words. They’d become the tiny bud of expectation that fed her hungry soul. She had wanted to hear “I'm sorry” and “forgive me” even as she sat in the back of a Greyhound, a frightened kid, lost to the comfort that she'd let vanish from her heart.
Now he said it like he meant it. Those precious words left Kona’s mouth like a promise, like the desperate appeal for absolution of a dying man.
Two simple words that she had chased, had kept brimming, stoking in her heart and until this moment with the giant holding her; her Samson humbling himself, waiting until she'd grant his pardon, Keira realized that forgiveness had come to her a long time ago.
It came when she felt Ransom swimming in her womb, telling her with sharp jabs and quick thumps that he would fill the empty spaces left by Kona's betrayal. He was the promise of something she thought had died.
It came to her when the nurse put a swollen, bright-eyed boy in her arms and she thought her chest would splinter from the thick love bursting in her heart.
Forgiveness came on the wings of time, when she forgot how deeply Kona wounded her, when she veiled the blinding pain his words had caused.
She forgave him and he’d never known it. She forgave him and in her mind, somewhere among the lost memory of the girl who loved him, she forgot that Kona’s betrayal had been a gift all along.
Keira had to know what today meant, what tomorrow would bring for them and so she lifted his head, hoping that in her eyes he saw the plea, understood that she needed a promise he wouldn’t break. “Kona...do you...do you still love me?”
There is no tension in his face, no self-effacing frown that told her his guilt had overwhelmed him. Kona looked, in fact, like a man who had been given absolution from his sin; like he’d been given another chance at freedom. “Wildcat...” he took a breath, head shaking. “I never stopped.”
***
He left her in his bed, body exhausted, worn from a morning of touching, pleasing and then Kona kissed Keira on the temple, pulled her hair off her face.
“I’ll be back in two hours. Don’t you move from this spot.”
“Couldn’t if I wanted to.” She stretched, snuggled against those warm blankets that smelt of them and let Kona kiss her one more time. “Hurry home.”
Kona paused, leaning close to watch her, mouth relaxed in a grin. “I like that. You saying home.”
She didn’t know what her dreams were, couldn’t remember the details, but Kona’s arms were around her, his lips on her neck, down her back and Keira hummed in that half-awake, half-asleep bliss. Then, her cell on the bedside table screamed to her from that languid dream and Keira sat up, naked, the sheets sliding down her body.
Ransom’s picture came across her screen, him flipping the bird while blowing the camera a kiss and Keira accepted the call, yawned as she answered it. “Son, it’s only ten a.m. Why are you...?”
“Why’d he do it, Mom?”
His tone was elevated, shaking and Keira’s heart instantly thundered in her chest. He was upset, crying and the rattle in his voice told her he was having an episode. “Sweetie, what is it? What happened?” She immediately left the bed, scrambling around the room to find her clothes with her cell sandwiched between her shoulder and ear. “I’ll come get you right now. I want you to be calm.”
“Calm? You want me calm? The hell with calm, Keira.”
He only called her by her first name when his rage had crested, when he was beyond the point of controlling it. “Ransom...”
“I am so fucking done with him.” She knew he was aiming for rage, anger, but the curse word came out in a heavier shake, in a quiver that made Keira’s stomach burn. “I thought he gave a shit. I thought Kona really...”
“Sweetie, I want you to breathe and tell me what’s going on. I’m in the dark here.”
“Turn on the television.” And then, the line went dead.
Keira was torn, thoughts scattered by what she should do. She thought of calling him back, but she knew her son, knew he’d only ignore her call. She thought of calling Kona, then Leann to make sure Ransom was okay, but sense returned to her and she pulled on her clothes, thumbing through her phone to see if Ransom had left any messages, if Leann had. When she found none, Keira sat on the edge of the bed, clicking on the TV and she pushed her feet into her shoes.
The channel was on ESPN and Keira stood, phone falling to the floor when she saw the grainy video on the feed, playing over and over. The commentators were analyzing what they saw, heads shaking in disapproval and Keira pushed up the volume, stomach twisting as that damn video replayed.
“...at the time he was fourteen.”
“Big guy for someone so young.”
“Just like his father.”
“And speaking of his father, Hale’s camp claims that Kona is aware of his son’s, and this is a direct quote, folks, ‘volatile, emotional problems’ that they are ‘trying to combat with medical and psychiatric treatment.’”
“Well, Bryan, that’s a lot for Hale to take on and I have to wonder if the Steamers will still consider a contract with him. Seems like he should be sticking closer to home than in New Orleans.”
“Absolutely, look, Bob, here it is again. Hale’s kid picks this boy up and bam, right through that plate glass.”
Keira didn’t need to see the highlights. She was too familiar with that stupid video. Ransom at fourteen, hands on the collar of Mikee Sibley, a junior twenty pounds lighter than her son. She closed her eyes, seeing it as it played out, just as the principle had shown her the day she’d been called into an emergency meeting.
“Ms. Riley, we simply cannot have this. He won’t be welcomed back.”
Keira’s body was shaking, fingers barely able to grab her keys, her purse as she left Kona’s house.
“Ransom could have killed him and the damage to the lobby...”
“Where is my son?”
“In the security office.”
Keira drove down the road, wiping her tears from her face, eyes flicking through her phone on her lap as she tried to find Leann’s number.
They’d handcuffed her fourteen-year-old son. To them, he was a monster, the bully whose rage had spilled out of him when he found his friend crying against the lockers, when that small girl told Ransom how Mikee had touched her.
“He tried to hurt her, Mom. She was so scared. I...I was so mad.”
“I know, baby. I know you were.”
They called him a psychopath. They told her Ransom was unbalanced, but all she saw that day was a scared boy who didn’t mean to get so angry. She only saw his body shaking from fear, from humiliation.
And now, it came back. Two years later. He’d gotten so much better, had learned to control his anger. And Kona. Why the hell would he say that about Ransom? Why the hell would he allow his people to release that statement? Kona didn’t know anything about what had happened. He really didn’t know much about Ransom at all.
Keira weaved through mid-city traffic, fingers tapping against the steering wheel as she clicked on the speaker. One ring, two and Leann finally picks up.
“Keira?”
“Where is he?”
“Sweetie, I think he went back to Mandeville. He wouldn’t stay. Keira, he was so mad. I’ve never seen him so mad.” In the background, Leann’s school noise rang out; music, young girls laughing, tap shoes against wooden floors and then finally, a click of a door and the noise quiets. “Tristan tried stopping him and Ransom hit him.”
“Oh, Leann...”
“I know. He took my Volvo and left. Tristan thinks he went back to the lake house. He said something about packing and getting home.” Her cousin’s voice was high, worried.
Keira cleared her throat, tried to pull the emotion from her voice. “I’m sorry, Leann. This shouldn’t have happened. I don’t why Kona would...I don’t know how...”
“Sweetie, just drive safe. Don’t speed and get to him in one piece. We’ll deal with Kona Hale later.”
“Yeah. We definitely will.”
The piano keys struck loud, angry, those brutal notes pounding out across the tile at Keira’s feet. Ransom’s clothes, shoes, were scattered in the hallway, across the floor and Keira picked them up, draped them on her arm as she darted into the living room.
Wide, shaking shoulders, chest rising quick, Ransom struck the keys—half played intros, unfinished choruses start and stop and Keira’s heart broke.
A slap, a curse and Ransom slammed his fists on the keys, growling, angry as Keira walked into the room.
“Sweetie,” she said, grabbing his arm, pulling him to her chest when he tried walking away. There was no sound worse to a mother than that of her child’s heart breaking. Her boy was devastated, his pain like an electric line snapping and biting. “Shh, it’s going to be okay.”
Ransom’s wet face dampened her shirt when he wiped his eyes against the fabric and he pulled back, breath shuddering before he looked at her. “Everything is over, Mom. My life here, my life back home. Everyone will know. They will all know.”
“It doesn’t matter.” His cheeks were hot, red as she pulled his face up and those eyes—those dark, intelligent eyes looked lost, distant, with streaks of red lining around the whites, puffing up his lids. “We’ll fix this, honey. I promise.”
“How? How can you fix this? You can’t do anything, Mom. He...Kona...that asshole...I thought...”
The buildup crests—that swift thread of rage, of fury slipping back, shaking his fingers, made her son lean out of her touch. But Keira settled him, caught that slip of control before it is out of her hands completely.
“Play.” She turned his shoulders, moved his wrist onto the keys.
“It won’t help.” Ransom’s jaw worked, clenched as she held his large hands steady on the piano. “No, Mom, I can’t. It won’t work. I can’t get it to work this time.”
“Then I’ll help you. Come on.” He hesitated, just for a moment and with one shuddering exhale, began to play. The notes were sporadic, uneven as his fingers slipped across the keys and Keira urged him, filled in the missing notes with her right hand, her left steady, still on his back. “That’s it. Good. Take your breaths. Count for me.” And he did; clipped, uneasy numbers, gritted through his teeth, but they come.
“One...tw...two...”
Keira wanted to slap something, beat in Kona’s face, but she pushed the inclination away, focused on the way Ransom’s eyes stared down at the keys, how his fingers weren’t shaking as much. “Can you...will you sing with me, sweetie?”
Eyes squeezed tight, Ransom shook his head, bending his back and she knew he was trying to lose himself in the music. She’d seen it too often from him. He wanted to drift from his anger, become lost in the feel of the ivory on his fingertips and the vibration of the pedals at his feet.
He was wandering, out of touch with the calm he needed; broken by the ghosts of the past and Keira’s chest pulled tight, hating that her son felt the sting that has lived in her for sixteen years. She never wanted this for him. She didn’t want her mistakes, her sin, to touch him. But it had and its bite was vicious and crippling.
The tune was familiar to her; something new, something that Ransom learned after hearing it one time on the radio. He played by ear and she thought he knew this song, that it lived inside him. It’s loss and pain and the fever that love brings; the numbing pull that loving someone can do. She didn’t know all the words, but she’d try. For her boy, she’d try anything to heal him.
Ransom didn’t frown or flinch when she missed some of the words, filling them in with her own. He continued to play, notes clearer, surer and when she reached the second course, he picked up the song, voice shaking, a quiver trembling the lyrics, but the words came to him, strengthened him as he continued to sing.
The bridge, she knew because the words always managed to hit close to all the heartache Keira brought upon herself.
Funny you’re the broken one,
but I’m the only one who needed saving.
Ransom’s hair was wavy, tousled by his fingers, something he did when he was annoyed, frustrated; another gesture he’d inherited from Kona and she pushed back a thick wave that had fallen onto his forehead. The touch had him pausing, forehead creased as he looked at her and then, he took his hands off the keys and jerked up as he stared over Keira’s shoulder.
He was hers. Ransom had her talent for music. He had her easy nature, her need to make others comfortable. But that rage, that tiny fuse of calm came from both Kona and Keira and it was that fuse lit and quickly shortening that Keira saw just then. Ransom kicked the bench back, nearly toppling her to the floor and her son darted toward his father standing in the patio doorway.
“Son...wait...” Kona tried, hands up.
“Don’t you call me that, asshole. I’m not your son.” Kona let Ransom take him by the collar, let him shove him against the wall before Keira could stop him. “No decent father would do that to his kid.”
“Ransom, don’t.” Keira’s hands on her son’s shoulders did nothing. “Please, he’s not worth it.”
Kona
Kona took her words like medicine. He needed it; they cut deep, but he allowed something unforgiveable. He wanted more of Keira’s insults. He wanted all of Ransom’s rage.
“Why would you do that?” His son shook him again and Kona’s head went back, hit the wall behind him. “What gives you the right?”
He couldn’t find words; there weren’t any. Kona could only stand there, staring down at his son, the boy who looked so like him, who Luka lived inside those small gestures and familiar expressions. The rage was thick, tangible and all Kona could think to do was touch it.
But Ransom jerked away from his reaching hand, pushed Kona’s chest again and he knew what his boy wanted. It’s what he would want, what he always wanted when someone hurt him.
When the swing came, Kona closed his eyes, relaxed the muscles in his face to feel the full impact of his son’s fist.
“Say something, motherfucker!” Another swing, another stinging smart of Ransom’s knuckles against his jaw, and Kona opened his eyes, stared hard, anticipating. But his boy stopped; glare lingering, searching, eyes lowering to follow the small bead of blood in the corner of Kona’s mouth.
Ransom stepped back, lets his mother tug him away and Kona’s own anger brimmed forward, wanting more, needing more of that rage dealt against his skin.
“Come on, son.” Again he reached for Ransom, but only managed to touch his sleeve. “That all you got? Come on!”
Keira followed Ransom as he stepped away, one finger pointing at Kona, a warning he ignored.
“You don’t know me and you ruined my life.” Ransom’s kick against the piano bench cracked the wood, splintered it until the hinges broke and scattered worn sheet music under the piano.
Kona saw so much of himself, so much of Luka in his son’s manic anger; his fists upturning all of Cora Michael’s fine, useless figurines on the bookshelf, his shouts as he broke the pictures of a woman he had never known. Keira was crying, hand over her mouth, looking helpless, scared and when she stepped forward, Kona guessed to stop their son’s outrage and aggression, he took her shoulders, kept her still against his chest when she tried jerking away from him. She didn’t want his touch, he knew that, but Keira was overwhelmed, clearly clueless how to stop this rampage.
“No. He needs this,” Kona told her. “He needs to get this out.” He hated how she leaned away from him, how she jabbed at his ribs, but he steadied her, holding her while Ransom’s fury was exhausted.
The boy decimated much of the living room, crying, shouting, knuckles, fingers bloody and the twin sensation of Ransom’s yelling and Keira's uncontrollable sobs had Kona’s eyes burning, had him holding onto Keira’s shoulders as though she was an anchor that would keep him from falling apart completely.
“Asshole running his mouth, talking about shit he knows nothing about.” Kona took the glare his son gave, closed his eyes against that fury only for a second when Ransom pointed at him. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me you piece of shit! And you still manage to ruin my life. You both...you both ruined my life!”
