At the moment, my brain wanted to fixate on Steven, wanted to replay his words. But when I landed and had a part to play and a job to complete, I’d have no trouble putting Steven out of my mind. I needed that. I wanted it.
I arrived early for my flight, which proved to be torturous. I found myself unable to sit still, unable to quiet my mind. Hearts are made to be broken. Hearts are made to be broken. I chanted these words over and over as I chewed gum and walked around the periphery of my gate.
It didn’t help. Not really. Tuesday’s scene wasn’t easy to ignore or forget. Flashes of Steven’s angry countenance, his calculated vitriol, his singular determination to wound me as deeply as he could, would come upon me and leave me breathless and panicked. I’d been blindsided. I hadn’t known he was capable of it.
Even I wasn’t capable of that level of verbal attack—and my tongue was notoriously uncensored when I became angry. My temper flared often and hot, but it cooled quickly. Steven seemed to never lose his cool. Looking back, his phone messages to me were really the only time I’d sensed he’d been unintentionally reactive. But even that wasn’t much—nothing compared to the dozens of times he’d seen me irritated.
I ruminated on this during the flight, letting my brain obsess—not bothering to attempt to mitigate the fixation. I promised myself I’d get my shit together when I landed, but in that moment, I needed to think about Steven.
It killed me to think he’d been harboring those doubts and feelings about me all this time—that my bisexuality was a point of concern, that he’d secretly hated what I was. If that was true, if he did, then there was no hope. No amount of love I had for him was going to change it.
The alternative was that he said what he had because he wanted to hurt me, and he knew me well enough to know exactly what would break me.
Either scenario was abhorrent. In one, he fundamentally distrusted me and there was nothing I could do to change it. In the other, he wanted to hurt me enough to drive me away. Where was the hope? I had none. Whatever Steven was feeling for me, it was negative enough to push me away.
Why? I wondered. Did he not feel what I felt? We were so good together. There was so much affection—physical and emotional affection. I refused to believe I was the only one moved, the only one whose world had been irrevocably changed, the only one whose heart was made full by our time together. But what else could I think?
He threw me away, I thought, my throat closing on a silent sob. I felt a tear trickle down my face, and I turned my body into the window, unwilling to let the women in my row see my emotional struggle. I was sweating with the effort of keeping it inside, keeping it silent.
I cursed myself for not giving over to this earlier. Once I’d left his building, once the cool night air hit me like a slap, I bottled up my sadness with a cork of righteous anger. But compartmentalizing, bottling, and focused avoidance was only resulting in a public meltdown. I refused to let it happen. I never cried, and if I did, it sure as hell wasn’t in public.
Hearts are made to be broken. Hearts are made to be broken. Hearts are made to be broken.
Screw you, Wilde. The heart was made to pump blood. Aside from a temporary increase in pulse rate, it was functioning just fine. My brain, on the other hand, was sending out distress signals: tears, nausea, sweat. Anguished sounds wanted to burst forth, and I had a compulsion to run. Literally run. I promised myself when I returned to Chicago, I was going to run the lakefront as long and as hard as I could until I was exhausted. Maybe then I’d sleep. And if I slept, maybe my brain could rest and stop sending out distress signals to my organ systems.
By the time the plane had landed, I’d composed myself. I turned my phone back on while I was waiting to disembark. There were a few missed calls and texts.
None were from Steven.
All were from Kari.
Without listening to the messages or reading the texts, I disembarked, eager to get this day over with. I was going to fake the hell out of this day or maybe even have a huge screaming match with my sister. Either way, I wanted it over. And to get through it, I was going to fixate on that run. I’d imagine the rhythmic pounding of my feet on the paved path, the rhythm of my audible breaths and it would soothe me. Stride, stride, stride, stride.
It was much more effective and pleasant than Oscar Wilde.
Walking down the jet-bridge, my phone rang. It was Kari.
“Hello.”
“Has your plane landed? Are you here? I came to pick you up.” Dammit. I told her yesterday not to pick me up. I wanted to show up at the tailor’s, do my duty, and be off with as little stressful interaction as possible. But now that plan was toast.
“I’m walking into the airport as we speak,” I replied. “Where are you?”
She gave me directions and I found her. She was smiling, but there was a hesitancy about it. The hesitancy made me feel better somehow, as if it gave me permission to not be a total liar for the afternoon. We didn’t have to pretend everything was fine. I breathed a sigh and relaxed a measure.
“Hey there,” she said, embracing me in a hug. I gave her an extra, indulgent squeeze before releasing her, enjoying the brief contact. I needed a hug, I thought, then chastised myself. Buck up, man, you’re mad at her.
She was dressed casually in faded jeans and a fitted blouse. She was also wearing her signature Chucks. Her job as her school district’s superintendent, required her to dress professionally. She maintained that when she was off the clock, she was wearing comfortable shoes.
“Well, Dr. Miles,” she said with a small grin. “You are looking very handsome with your shaggy hair.”
I touched my over-grown hair and realized my slight waves were probably askew and ridiculous. I hadn’t combed it before I left the apartment. I didn’t think I’d so much as glanced at myself in the mirror. I’d also been running my hands through it all morning, so I was sure it was a mess.
“Time for a cut then?” I asked.
Her grin fell as she realized I wasn’t going to harass her about her EdD. I didn’t feel up to espousing the superiority of my degrees compared with hers, I just didn’t have it in me to joke.
“Eh, it looks cute. You’d look cute bald,” she said somewhat grumpily.
I snorted. “Come on, let’s get this fitting over.” I headed to the exit, then followed her to her car.
We didn’t speak until she maneuvered onto the freeway.
“When is your flight today?”
“Four-thirty.” It was nearing eleven and I realized I had to spend around four hours with her. I desperately wanted to get out of it. “But don’t worry, I can take a cab from the shop and see myself off,” I assured her, hoping she’d take the out I was handing her. “You don’t need to babysit me or chauffeur me around.”
She shot me an irritated glance. “I can take you to the airport, Ken. And I think we should talk. Let’s have lunch or go to my place when we’re done.”
Fan-fucking-tastic. Not only was she refusing to take the out, she was apparently going to make the day a thousand times more unpleasant.
When we arrived at the shop, she stopped the car and looked at me. She still wore the hesitant, sadness-tinged smile. “How was your marathon?”
“It was a half marathon, and I made good time,” I shrugged. “It was fine.” I didn’t want to think about the race because thinking about the race meant thinking about Steven waiting for me at the finish line, Steven doting on me and massaging me. I shut my eyes against the memory.
He was going to invade my brain today whether I wanted him to or not. I’d already let twinges of worry set in over King—let myself wonder if Quinn Sullivan was going to honor my request and heed my warning. What if he’d shrugged it off? What if he’d gone to Steven and let him downplay it? What if right now, Steven was outside alone, being followed and menaced? My stomach hurt to think about it, and my heart hurt to know I wasn’t allowed to be there for him anymore.
Kari lapsed into silence and simply stare
d at me. No doubt trying to read whatever the hell was going on with my face. The quiet of the car and her perusal pissed me off so I snapped, “Can we just get this finished, please?”
“Yeah,” she nodded. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
*DKM*
The fitting took almost no time and before I knew it, we were back in the car, headed to the house she shared with Brandon.
I don’t want to do this today, I thought, sulking out the window.
“Too bad. We’re having this conversation.” I realized I’d spoken aloud and cursed myself. Her tone brooked no refusals and she wore a determined expression.
It annoyed me.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” I snapped. “I just had my fitting, I’m participating in this wedding, you’re getting your way. Do you really want to rock the boat right now?” I felt like the emotional precipice I was on was a dangerous place, especially for her. She didn’t know it, but I was on the razor’s edge of backing out. Only Steven’s voice warning me that I’d regret it in the long run kept me from unleashing on her.
Regret, I snorted at the thought. I wondered if Steven had regrets. I wondered if he even thought about calling me. He set us on fire with an ease that was nearly pathological. I guess I understood that. I was ready to do it with Kari.
The more she quietly seethed at my comment, the more mellow I felt. I was probably sick in some way from finding my sibling’s turmoil gratifying.
When we arrived, she didn’t speak to me until we’d entered the house. Her body was taut and tense and she threw her purse onto the kitchen counter with force.
Turning to me she said, “I’m not fine with an uneasy truce, Ken. I want this settled. I want to know we’re okay.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “So, talk.” As far as I was concerned, I’d said my piece and extended the olive branch. Any further effort needed to be hers. But I knew her, she was going to start by going on the defensive and justifying her shittiness. What I needed was some heartfelt apologies, acknowledgment, and validation. Not demands for me to see it her way.
I was in no mood to hear it.
She inhaled deeply and blurted, “I’m a huge bitch,” her body deflating with the announcement.
A booming laugh erupted from me. I hadn’t been expecting it, and her words struck me as hilarious. I mean, she said it like it was a deep, dark secret that needed confessing—like it was a huge relief to admit—like it was something I didn’t already know.
“I’m serious here, Ken,” she asserted loudly—and angrily—over my laughter.
My humor tapered. “Please, continue,” I prompted once I’d composed myself.
“That wasn’t funny. Why are you laughing? Why did you laugh? I’m trying to be serious, jackass.”
I pressed my lips together, trying to hold in another bout of laughter. She was pissed. It wasn’t easy for us Miles to apologize, or to keep our tempers in check while we issued those apologies. It was kind of ridiculous. She was ridiculous. I was ridiculous. Was this what Steven saw when he looked at me? Someone who took themselves way too seriously? Someone who took everything too personally and was too reactionary? No wonder he said I had personality defects. He probably felt like having a conversation with me was the mental equivalent to whiplash. Nice, pissy. Contrite, pissy. How had he tolerated it? Oh, wait, he didn’t, I reminded myself.
With those thoughts, my humor fled. “We had to come all the way to your house for you to tell me something I already know?” I snapped. Yep, I’m a dick.
“Argh!” She threw her hands up in frustration. “What I mean to say is that I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for saying the awful shit I said.” She reached one hand out as if to touch me, but she didn’t make the connection. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t confide in me or be yourself with me or that I need you to live your life a certain way to suit me.” She paused only long enough to draw a breath and bring that hovering hand to her chest. “And I’m so sorry I said you’d be a spectacle.” She rolled her lips in and flinched, closing her eyes tight. After a second, she smoothed out her features, looking me in the eye earnestly. “That was beyond horrible. No one who is going to be at that wedding is more important to me than you. If everybody talks, they talk. As long as you’re standing up with us, I’m happy. As long as you are happy, I’m happy. Bring Steven next weekend, let’s meet—”
“Wow!” I cut her off, halting talk of meetings. “Okay, hold on, calm down.” Kari’s eyes were welling with tears and I could feel the emotion and sadness rolling off her. As much as I wanted to be bitter and hang on to my anger, I hated to see her cry. I pulled her into a hug and held her for a moment before I heard a car door shut.
“Brandon’s home, I guess,” I said, releasing her.
She wiped her eyes and sniffled. “Uhhhmmmm…” a distinctly guilty look crossed her features and I had a bad, bad feeling.
I peeked out her front window to see my parents and my grandmother exiting my mom’s BMW.
“Nana?!” I asked, nearly baring my teeth in a snarl. “You’re ambushing me with them and Nana?” I stalked toward her, all good feeling forgotten. “What kind of sadistic she-devil are you? You’re diabolical, you know that?”
“We need to air this out!” she shouted.
“Do they know why they’re here, or are you ambushing them too?” I ran both of my hands through my hair, panic beginning to set in. My sister wasn’t a she-devil, she was the devil.
“They know,” she replied, her chin jutting defiantly. “They want to talk to you, too.”
Without a knock or a ring, they came through the front door, my Nana leading the charge. She was a short woman, nearing eighty, but neither of those things made her less commanding. She had a sharp mind and took absolutely no shit from anyone. Don’t get me wrong, she was my Nana and she was sweet to me, but I didn’t want to be on her bad side.
“Nana!” I greeted, stooping down for a hug.
“Oh, my, Kenny. It’s been too damn long since I’ve seen you.” She patted my face with her soft, wrinkled hand and smiled at me. “But now, honey,” she smacked me lightly on the cheek and her smile dropped. “You and your sister need to sit your keisters down on that Chesterfield so we can get this mess sorted.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I turned from Nana, not sparing my parents a glance. I did, however, give Kari a withering glare—a silent promise of retribution.
As the two of us sat on her loveseat together, I whispered, “You’re dead to me.”
Kari held back a laugh, but a snort came through and Nana honed on it. “Is anything funny about this situation to you, young lady?”
I nudged Kari’s leg with my own, letting her know I was enjoying watching her get reprimanded by our grandmother. She nudged me back harder.
“No, ma’am,” Kari retorted confidently, unfazed by Nana’s sharp tone. “If you recall, this intervention was my plan. I know how serious this is.”
“Dead. To. Me,” I whispered again, this time in earnest. The word intervention made me angry. It implied I was doing something I shouldn’t and needed to be taken to task for it—which was complete horseshit.
I looked to my mother to gauge her demeanor. She was standing apart from my dad, arms crossed over her chest. Her brows were furrowed, and her mouth drawn in a severe frown. My stomach plummeted with the realization that my mother was angry. I’d held out some hope that maybe her feelings about me weren’t as negative as Dad’s or Kari’s had been, but she seemed just as upset.
For his part, Dad looked a little…beleaguered. He appeared a lot older than he had the last time I saw him—which had been at Christmastime—and his hair, still thick and dark, was practically standing on end, like he’d not combed it in days. His eyes were tired, and his slightly slumped posture made him seem deflated or subdued.
My parents were clearly not themselves today.
“Well, then, maybe you should start us off.” Nana crossed to the couch
and settled herself in the middle. She made a sweeping gesture to my parents to join her. Dad moved to sit, but Mom stayed standing.
“I think Robert should be the one to start, since this is all his fault.”
My mother’s words, said with such venom, shocked me. I realized her anger wasn’t aimed at me—she was furious with my dad. I didn’t think I’d ever seen such a thing before. She was looking at him like he was a piece of poop on her shoe and he was looking at the floor to avoid facing her censure.
Part of me thought I should be taking pleasure from the situation—that seeing my dad brought low by my mother’s anger on my behalf ought to have given me some satisfaction…but it didn’t. I didn’t enjoy seeing their discord, didn’t enjoy knowing I was a party to unhappiness.
My grandmother huffed out a sigh. “Or you can start, Julia. That works, too.”
Mom took a seat next to Nana but didn’t speak.
There was a lengthy silence, so I spoke up. “How about I start. I don’t have all day to hash this out, and frankly, I don’t care to. You’re all here, but no one is saying anything, so maybe you don’t care to either. That’s fine. Kari and I have started to work things out. I’m not disrupting the wedding plans or anything, so there’s no need to worry.” I was watching my mother as I said this, and her face, which had smoothed out, pursed up again as if what I said infuriated her.
She turned in her seat and leaned over Nana, putting her face close to Dad’s. “Do you hear that, Robert?” she ground out. “Ken doesn’t want you to worry. How does it feel knowing your son thinks your only concern is the disruption of plans?”
This time Dad did meet her gaze and they had a stare-off until Nana pushed Mom back to her side of the couch.
“Yes,” Nana added. “I’d like to know the answer to that, too, Robert.”
I swear, in that moment, I felt sorry for my old man. In all my life, he’d never been anything but confident and articulate. But there he was, speechless and cowed by the shame these two women were making him feel. It was a surreal moment, and damn painful to witness.
Sticking to the Script: Cipher Office Book #2 Page 24
