Ohana Legacy: Thin Love Series Bundle, page 8
part #1 of Thin Love Series
Keira didn’t like the look Leann gave her. It was pity and sympathy and all the things that she never wanted to see on anyone’s face when they looked at her. Especially not Leann. Her cousin knew this. She knew that above all, Keira wanted to be free from the control that had weighed her down her whole life. She knew that Keira wanted to make mistakes because she’d never been allowed to before.
So Leanna did what she always did when there was tension between them. She pulled on the end of Keira’s long hair and gave it a tug, gentle, but just enough to tell Keira she was sorry for doubting her.
“Bitch,” Keira said, her head down and gaze still focused on her guitar.
“Brat,” Leann returned and she stretched her legs across the bed and nudged Keira with her foot. “Play me that sad song.”
Keira knew what she meant. Leann had been requesting that same song for months now, ever since she and her boyfriend Michael started sleeping together. Leann was happy it happened, she’d told Keira that much, but she suspected that her cousin missed that sex was one experience she’d never get to have again for the first time.
There were smooth grooves on the fret board; large dips that Keira’s father had made over the years. They were bigger than Keira’s fingertips, wider, but whenever she played her father’s guitar, she felt close to him. It was like reaching through the ether and touching him, paying tribute to the hope, the heartache he’d laid down on that instrument. Keira’s own emotion, the sliver of hope that lived in her heart, came through with every note, with each line of lyric that left her mouth.
He’d taught her to play at eight and by nine, she was as good as he’d ever be. He told her she had a natural ability, that he wanted her to never forget what it felt like with the music in her mind, swelling her heart the very first time she played.
She never had.
Keira’s voice was low, an alto with a hint of a rasp, and it followed the notes, slid along B flats and Cs like she was trying to catch up to them, to make them settle.
She didn’t watch her fingers when she played. That was a habit of a newbie guitarist Keira had long since abandoned. Eyes closed, the vibration of the guitar against her chest, and then Keira was taken over by the words, by the refrain in her mind, flickering from her throat.
Her lyrics were a spell, magic woven from her father’s blood that she would never be able to define. She didn’t know why the sounds in her head never matched the notes she played or where those haunting, melodious words came from, why they fit together so perfectly.
Little girl I used to be
Shadows covered broken dreams
Forgot the promise I made to me
And then, Keira reached the bridge, climbed through the music like it was a mountain. She didn’t have to watch Leann’s expression to know that there were tears in her eyes.
No first kiss
Small last breath
Little girl gone, put out to death
The song continued, weaving through that small dorm room and Keira felt the bed move, the tremble of Leann’s body as she tried hold back her shuddering breaths. When the vibration from the last note ended, Keira finally looked at her cousin, shaking her head at the sloppy way Leann wiped her face against her thin sweatshirt.
“Damn. You’re too good for CPU.”
“You’re biased.”
“Of course I am, but I mean it.”
Keira didn’t let Leann’s look stagger her. It was a compliment she’d heard from her cousin for months, years before when they were eleven and Keira had written her first haunting melody, her very first lyric filled with melancholy.
Leann looked at the door when the knock sounded and offered Keira a glare, her emotions transformed in moments. “Be good,” she told her before she jumped off the bed and grabbed hold of her bag. “I have rehearsal until ten. Ten, Keira.”
“Are you still here?” She waved her cousin off and leaned her guitar against the footboard of her bed.
Kona’s smile appeared when Leann opened the door. He dwarfed Leann, was at least a foot taller than her, but that didn’t seem to bother her cousin in the least. The girls shared that ‘you can’t intimidate me’ gene.
Kona
Kona heard the music before he knocked. The voice had him resting against the doorframe, listening. He knew it was Keira singing, her natural tone evident in each note. Just the sound had him punch drunk.
The door opened and Kona’s gaze shot down to the petite girl in front of him. She looked a lot like Keira; they both had the same fierce scowl, the same fine, pale skin, but this girl was bolder, her eyes sharper as she glared at him.
“Kona Hale.” Leann said his name like a curse, each syllable a dirty clip that she didn’t seem to want on her tongue.
“What’s up?”
“You tell me.” Her eyes lowered, her gaze sliding down past his hips before she jerked her attention back to his face. He caught her meaning, didn’t find her stupid joke funny.
“Leann, leave him alone,” Keira said, moving her cousin aside so Kona could walk into the room.
Keira’s cousin whispered something to her, something Kona thought might be a warning, but Keira pushed Leann toward the door before he could make out the threat.
“Well, kids, have fun.” Leanna stepped up to Kona, eyes fierce again, mouth quirked in a humorless smirk. “Not too much fun you hear me, Hale?” She looked behind Kona, at Keira putting her guitar up. “My cousin is a good girl. I expect her to still be a good girl when you leave here.”
“Jesus,” he said, barely able to finish the word before Leann slipped out of the door.
“Sorry.” Keira’s face had gone blotchy and pink again and Kona smiled at her expression. “She’s a little overprotective, but she’s harmless,” she said, waving her hand to direct Kona toward the foot of the bed. He followed her, rested against the make-shift sofa of thick cushions and pillows as Keira opened the cover and slipped the DVD into the player.
“It’s cool.” It wasn’t the first threat he’d ever received from overprotective friends. God knew, it wouldn’t be the last.
His eyes moved around the room, watched Keira as she knelt in front of the TV, skipped through the intro. She wore low hanging jeans and when she bent to lift the remote higher, Kona had to shift his gaze from the pale skin that peeked between her waistband and the tight t-shirt she wore. He was torturing himself. He knew it and he wondered if Keira had any idea what just being in the same room with her did to him. He doubted it. The girl had no idea the power she had. She had no clue how badly he wanted her, how being near her had him forgetting every steadfast rule he’d given himself about women.
Blinking away the image of that skin, Kona shifted over, made room for Keira when she sat next to him. The area was comfortable and Kona figured that the girls seemed to have set it up when the common room downstairs didn’t invite shared TV watching. Their set was decent, not really that big, but the color was good. At that moment, Kona couldn’t really concentrate on the damn TV or the music spilling out from the speakers.
Keira smelled different, another flowery scent he couldn’t place and he tried hard to keep his inhales short and brief, to focus on what was happening on the screen. But damn it was hard. It was also giving him a headache.
“The quality in this one isn’t the best.” Keira leaned against the cushion and kept rambling. Kona didn’t care, he liked how excited she seemed to be as the music started growing louder. “The librarian told me they had to convert it from a VHS because the company doesn’t sell the ’85 London original cast version, which sucks because aside from seeing it live...” she trailed off, stopping when she looked up at Kona. “What?”
“Nothing. I’m good.” He tried for casualness, not wanting Keira to know how she was affecting him, how just the excitement in her voice had him fighting back the smile that threatened to split across his face. He rested back, slid down on his elbow and moved his long legs in front of him. They nearly touched the TV.
As the musical began, Keira sat up, lifted the remote to increase the volume. Eyes wide, she started to explain the premise, her cheek denting and Kona didn’t stop his grin this time. “So Valjean is prisoner 24601. He’s been in prison for nineteen years and is being paroled by Javert, who is a total bastard. But he’s going to have to display a ticket of leave, which means he’ll be shunned because he’s an ex-con.”
“How’s he supposed to eat or work if no one will help him?”
“The Bishop of Digne offers him food and shelter.”
And then, despite the completely lame idea that Kona is sitting in a girl’s dorm room, not touching her, having her seemingly more interested in a bunch of stuffy singing actors on a stage, Kona let the music pull his attention and then, just as Keira said, the story, and the girl, completely infected him.
“That was the saddest fucking thing I have ever seen in my life.”
Kona’s face had lost all expression and if Keira didn’t know better, she’d swear the huge linebacker had tears in his eyes. She tried not to laugh, but then Kona rubbed his neck and moved his face against his shoulder. She felt almost sorry for him.
“Hey, it’s okay, you know. It’s just a story.”
When he nodded, still not looking at her, she touched his shoulder and Kona covered his face between his large fingers. “I hope to God I never have to hear that ‘Dreamed a Dream’ song again.” That time, Keira did laugh and Kona joined her. “Seriously, that shit is depressing.”
Keira noticed how relaxed he seemed, how being in her space had taken away the bite from his voice, how his wide shoulders weren’t set as rigid as he normally kept them. It made her hope for things she had no business giving any thought to. “Well, it was set after the French Revolution. Not exactly a love fest.”
“I guess not.” Kona’s face had gone slack, stern and Keira noticed his forehead was lined with tension. When he rubbed his fingers into his temples, she was reminded of her father’s migraines and how they crippled him.
“Headache?”
“Yeah. My eyes aren’t great and squinting to see the TV didn’t help.” Kona looked at her, shrugging his shoulder, dismissing his pain. “You got an aspirin?”
“No, sorry. I’m not big on pills.”
“Aspirin isn’t a pill. Not that kind anyway.”
Keira had heard it before. Her mother practically lived off pills, but she didn’t like depending on something unnatural to make her feel better. It was something her father always preached against, though considering his hobbies that made him a huge hypocrite, but just then, an idea came to her. Despite her fear that she would be sending Kona the wrong message, she couldn’t help herself. He pulled his eyes nearly closed and took to rubbing his temples again.
“Would you like me to help you?” Keira didn’t trust the flirty smirk on his face. She’d been around Kona enough by then to understand when he was having lewd, typical boy thoughts, but she dismissed the expression with a quick eye roll. “Not like that, jackass. Come here,” she said, motioning for Kona to lay his head in her lap. He hesitated, but only for a moment and then quickly obeyed her.
“Damn, Keira, if you wanted me on my back, all you had to do was ask.”
“Be quiet and close your eyes.”
Keira looked down at Kona, trying not to focus on the precise features of his face. His frown was steady, severe, the pain clearly visible. It was eerily similar to the hard scowl her father used to make. She couldn’t stomach that expression either and so she rubbed Kona’s temples with her soft, firm fingertips. How often had she watched her mother do the same thing for her father? Hundreds of times perhaps, when the woman still loved him, when she still cared about the constant pain that filled her father’s body.
“That’s good.” Kona’s voice was low, light and after only a few quick strokes, the tension began to fade from his forehead. His skin was smooth and Keira liked how the dark, barely distinguishable freckles peppered across his cheeks and on the bridge of his nose. Another rub, this one deeper, and Keira looked away from his face, tried not to count all those delicious brown spots.
“What did you think of Les Mis?” she asked. He responded with a grunt that Keira thought was noncommittal at best, but she then clarified. “Aside from it being depressing.”
“It was okay. Sad as hell, but a good story. Messed up, for sure.” Kona’s large shoulders felt heavy against Keira’s lap but she didn’t mind the weight. He was solid and his body gave off a delicious heat that Keira tried not to enjoy. She was always cold- natured, perpetually had a chill, but Kona poured warmth into her skin, comforted her more than she’d like to admit.
“Messed up?”
“Yeah. I mean, come on, Valjean can’t be bothered to handle his own shit so he lets his guy do it and that poor Fantine lady gets fired?” Kona looked up at her, head shaking as though he was disgusted. “It’s all his fault. All the shit she went through, it was his fault.”
“That’s why he took care of Cosette. He knew he’d messed up. That’s what I meant by betrayal. Valjean’s betrayal was like Lancelot’s.” When Keira’s fingers stopped moving against Kona’s temples, he tapped her hand to get her to continue. “He did this terrible thing and wanted to make up for it. It’s a story all about betrayal; a lover’s betrayal, society’s, how even the greatest, consuming loves can be harmful.”
Kona was silent, listening to Keira’s theory and she wondered if he was trying to work out the comparisons. She wondered if he was thinking of anything at all other than how close they were now, how intimately she was touching him. She let her mind drift, let herself enjoy the feel of his heavy weight and the easy way she was touching him. She wasn’t nervous. Not just then. She wasn’t sure why she wasn’t, but sitting there with Kona Hale stretched out on her lap, trusting her to take away his pain, trusting her to lead him to a resolution for their project, gave Keira an unaccustomed sense of comfort she hadn’t felt in a while. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that. She knew who Kona was. She knew she didn’t really fit into his world. Keira wasn’t sure she ever would.
“Your theory reminds me of Beloved,” he said, surprising Keira.
“You’ve read Beloved?”
Dark eyes open, Kona frowned at her. “You surprised?”
“Yeah, sorry, but I am. You know Morrison, but not Campbell?”
Kona shrugged and Keira liked him surprising her. She liked seeing there was more to him than the image he wanted everyone to see. “We had to read it senior year. Our English teacher was excited about the movie coming out.” When Kona opened his mouth, as though he’d say something to erase any approval she felt in that moment, Keira deepened her touch, shutting up anything he might have said.
“I can see the similarities. There’s definitely betrayal in Beloved and the whole consuming love thing.”
“You think it’s bad to let love consume you?”
It was a loaded question and Keira knew she’d have to be careful with her answer. Kona knew more about her than she wanted. He’d pried, he’d wondered and for some reason Keira could not name, she’d allowed him in just a bit. She knew his prying was likely motivated by whatever interest he had in her. She didn’t trust it. She didn’t trust him or herself when he was around her.
“You remember Paul D telling Sethe her love was too thick? He couldn’t handle how much she loved him. Fantine’s love was thick. Maybe too thick. Maybe that’s why she had to die.”
“She was doing whatever she had to for her kid, Keira. No good parent would do any less.”
“I guess.”
Somewhere in their brief discussion, Keira noticed her fingers had moved from his temples to his thick hair. It happened absently, without her thinking about it, without his complaints. It took several moments before Keira realized they were staring at each other. There wasn’t anything significant in that moment, no weighted energy passing between them. There was only comfort and casualness and the curious thoughts they kept to themselves.
“Maybe Arthur’s love was too thick,” Kona said. “Or maybe Guinevere’s was. She was into them both—Arthur and Lancelot. Maybe she loved them both too much.”
“No, I don’t believe Guinevere loved either of them. With Arthur, it was power. With Lancelot it was lust. Both are thin love.”
“And thin love is bad?”
“That’s what Sethe tells Paul D, remember?”
Kona nodded, eyes shifted away from her face as he seemed held up by his own thoughts. “’Thin love ain’t love at all.’”
“Exactly.”
Kona’s gaze moved back to Keira, but he didn’t speak. The look he gave her expanded in the quiet of her room, stirred by his eyes growing darker, by the slow, constant rake of her fingers through his hair. He lifted his hand, stopping her fingers and held onto her wrist, eyes unblinking. Then something happened in that brief pause. The look they shared sharpened and the pull between them rose.
Kona sat up, slow, cautious and Keira watched him, watched unable to react, to respond, until Kona leaned toward her, until she could smell the drugging scent of his skin and feel the soft outline of his mouth. It was the pause of everything, a kindling of heat that Keira did not know how to contain—Kona’s soft lips against hers, his airy breath moving behind the hint of tongue—at once Keira felt drugged, controlled and manic.
Keira’s mouth worked against her will, a reaction, a gut feel of movement that she did not control and Kona seemed to love it, pulled her closer, guided her hands around his waist, then up to that massive chest and Keira did not stop him.
She loved the sound of his throat vibrating, those low, delicious growls he made when her tongue touched his, when her mouth moved faster, harder. Before she realized what was happening, Kona leaned over her, had her caged against the pillows. Behind her closed eyes, Keira allowed only the sensations of touch and taste to filter into her mind and she knew, unconsciously, absolutely, that she wanted Kona Hale. She wanted his hands on her back, lowering; his mouth, tongue, down her neck nibbling. All that sensation, the fiery spark of their bodies connecting consumed her, made her feel drunk, wanted, beautiful. Cherished.
