by M.A. Stacie
The churning in his stomach increased, and as another punch hit his temple, dots began to appear in front of his eyes. Kyran tried to blink them away unsuccessfully, which left him unprepared for another blow.
Staggering back, a fist connected with his ribs. He gagged, the acid bile burning its way up his throat. The alcohol sloshed in his gut. The cramps took his breath away, and Kyran was about thirty seconds from vomiting when a pair of hands gripped his biceps from behind. Dizzy, sick, and wincing in pain, Kyran was dragged from the mob around the ring and shoved into the locker room.
He fell to the floor; the cold tiles soothed his lacerated skin. Kyran’s body sagged in exhaustion. It gripped him so tightly he had to close his eyes. A buzzing had begun in his ears. It was so sharp he cringed.
“What the fuck were you doing?”
Kyran fought to block out the boom of Sam’s voice. There was someone else in the room with them; he could hear Sam muttering to whoever it was. Curious, Kyran cracked one eye open and closed it as soon as he saw who stood talking to Sam.
“Too late,” Trace said. “I caught you looking. Can you haul your ass up? We need to check your busted face.”
Kyran’s entire body throbbed, and his pulse grew stronger with each heartbeat. His abdomen clenched, still threatening to purge its contents. He wouldn’t answer Trace. The guy shouldn’t even be around him.
“Come on.” Trace grabbed onto his arms. “The self-hate thing you have going on isn’t working. Unless, of course, you hate yourself so much you actually want brain damage.” He dragged Kyran across the floor and lifted him with a groan into a chair.
Kyran slumped forward, his knuckles grazing the floor. “The alcohol wasn’t working. I’ve had more than enough to knock me flat on my ass, but I’m still fucking standing. I had to make it all go away.”
Trace squatted in front of him and lifted Kyran’s head. “Make what go away? And you sound like a girl, by the way.”
“Fuck off,” Kyran growled, wrenching his face from Trace’s hands.
The world tilted and three Traces appeared before him. “Go serve some drinks and get out of my face.”
“Ooh, snappy, aren’t we? You should be much nicer to the person who saved your skin.”
“Fuck. Off,” Kyran repeated as he attempted to push at Trace’s shoulder. He found out damn fast how much energy had been sapped from him. He couldn’t raise his fist. Not that his vision worked well enough to hit the guy anyway.
“You have a real dirty mouth, you know that?”
“Your sister liked it,” he responded, and fell to the floor when Trace shoved his shoulder.
“Watch your damn mouth, Reese.”
Kyran lay there, not even attempting to get up. The floor was cool on his overheated skin, and he wondered if Trace would just push him back down again. He shouldn’t have said that about Dale, but the alcohol had loosened his tongue.
“I suppose you want me to beat you, too.” Trace hunkered down and lifted Kyran under his arms until he sat up on the floor. “It’s not going to happen. I’ve got better things to do than pummel the crap out of you. Even though I want to after the way you treated my sister.” He rested him against the wall, allowing Sam to start the cleanup of his face.
Hissing, Kyran started to bitch. “What the fuck, Sam? You need to find some stuff that doesn’t hurt like hell.” It stung, which woke him from his trance for a moment. He didn’t want that. He enjoyed his drunk, bruised oblivion.
Sam ignored his protests, dabbing at his lip anyway.
Kyran’s thoughts drifted back to previous fights where Dale had been the one to clean his cuts. It all came back to Dale. He hated and loved it in equal amounts.
He’d called her cell so many times over the last few weeks. She hadn’t answered his call last night, but on other occasions she’d picked up the phone, her voice husky from sleep. Each time he had stayed silent. Dale knew who it was, unless she had deleted his number, but he hadn’t said a thing to her. It encouraged him when she didn’t hang up on him. They both stayed silent on the line, only the sounds of their breathing filling the stillness. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but nothing would come out of his mouth.
Dale had ended each call. She was the one to say good-bye. When he’d called last night, he let it ring, falling asleep as he listened to her voice mail, holding the phone to his ear.
“What the hell did you drink tonight?” Sam asked. “And why the death wish?”
“Doesn’t matter, old man. Neither one of you should have pulled me out of there. I was doing just fine.”
Trace laughed. “Sure you were. If being pounded to death is you doing fine, then yeah, you did that.”
Kyran shifted his gaze to Trace . . . one of the Traces, anyway. There were still four of him. “Who says that wasn’t my goal?”
“You’re drunk.”
Sam moved back, assessing Kyran’s face. “He did a number on your lip, kid.”
Kyran rolled his eyes and cringed as the pounding of his headache increased. “Just leave me alone.”
“To go back into the bar and fight some more? Not going to happen,”
said Sam.
Trace tried to stop him, too. “Dale wouldn’t let you do this.”
“Dale isn’t here.” Kyran tried to stand up but failed.
“Maybe not, but I still can’t let you do it. She’d never forgive me.”
Kyran huffed. “She has nothing to forgive you for. It’s not like she’s going to see me again. Your sister made that very clear.”
Sam walked over to the sink and began changing the water in the bowl he had used to clean Kyran’s cuts.
Trace shook his head, a smile still playing across his lips. “We both know that’s not D’s fault, don’t we?”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, my sister came to see me a couple of days before she left. I know how she feels about you. I know you don’t feel the same. So essentially, I have no clue why you’re getting drunk and sulking about it all now.”
“I’m not sulking.”
Kyran tried again to stand up, this time succeeding. His head spun, his vision blurred, but he refused to back down. Trace could say what he liked about his relationship with Dale. They knew the truth. He hadn’t run when Dale confessed her feelings. He had tried to work out a way they could move forward. Dale had ended their relationship. It was Dale who had ended the phone calls. He tried, though it seemed he failed her.
“Look, I can’t say I understand what she sees in you, but it’s not my choice. Dale was hurt by two people she loved the most, then weeks later you roll into her life and fuck her up again. It’s no wonder she needed out.”
Kyran wobbled on his feet. His chest constricted until it became difficult to breathe. Words Trace had spoken earlier came back to him, the dots connecting in his head. “Dale’s gone?”
Shoving the sleeves of his black shirt up, Trace nodded. “She went on Wednesday. She didn’t tell you?”
“No.” He tore the bandages from his knuckles and tossed them to the floor. “She hasn’t turned up at the office or spoken to me on the phone.
When I went by her apartment, there was no answer. Guess I know why now.”
“Do you blame her? She needed space. You offered her the earth and then snatched it away.”
“I promised nothing.” Kyran lied, his vision beginning to clear.
Trace sneered. “So that absolves you, does it? You seriously believe that because the words didn’t leave your mouth you’re okay and all the blame gets pushed to my sister? Christ, you’re a real piece of work, Reese.
I really don’t know what she sees in you.”
His disgust was clear, and Trace did nothing to hide it. Kyran’s mind raced, his stomach still felt off. It was no wonder her only word to him during their phone calls had been good-bye. He had just let her walk out of his life without any kind of fight. Kyran regretted it then and had ever since.
The night of the b
enefit had been their last. It had gone wrong, all because he hadn’t been honest with her—about Taylor, about their relationship, and about what he felt for her. Kyran had tried, although it seemed she’d either missed what he was trying to say, or she had never received his attempts in the first place. He needed to find out which.
Trace wondered why he was sulking. It was the same reason he’d started drinking, the same reason he came to the club and didn’t raise his fists in a fight.
Kyran wanted to feel something other than the soul-deep hurt he felt because she no longer lit up his world . . . and that was what Dale had done.
The woman had wobbled into his life on her silly heels, volleying his sharp comments right back at him and giving as good as she got. Her smile |
brightened his mood, her giggle made him hard. Dale’s glow contrasted with his darkness. He hadn’t been quite ready to verbalize it until now. The thought of being without her was just too much.
“I need to see her,” he said, shaking his head as he battled for some focus.
Trace quirked a brow. “Why? Haven’t you tortured her enough?”
“I have to talk to her, Trace. I have to . . . straighten things out. Your sister thinks she knows what’s going on, but she isn’t seeing the whole picture.” He swallowed, an acrid taste filling his mouth.
Trace’s eyes drifted over him from head to toe. He took his time, and for the first time in his life, Kyran cowered under a man’s scrutiny. If their roles were reversed, Kyran knew he would act the exact same way. The guy was looking out for his sister—his sister, whose heart had been broken twice in six months.
“She wants you to leave her alone.”
Kyran started to speak, to defend himself, when Sam walked over to them and interrupted. “Trace, ask yourself what Dale would want.”
“I am, and she wants to be left alone. She needs time to think—to heal her broken heart.”
Sam cocked his head toward Kyran. “What if he could do that?”
“He’s the one who broke it.”
“Maybe, but I get the feeling he’ll walk over hot coals to fix it.”
Both men stared at Kyran, waiting for his confirmation, but it would have to wait. Kyran threw up across the floor. Spasms tormented his gut, causing the dry heaves to continue. His throat burned, his eyes watered, and everything he had drunk within the last three hours exited his body.
“I’ll put him out of his misery,” Trace said. “Once he’s sober enough to take D’s wrath.” He patted Kyran on the back. “Come and see me once you can stand up straight. We’ll continue this talk.”
Kyran vomited again and prayed he missed Trace’s shoes.
Chapter 24
Dale hugged her knees closer to her chest, staring out across the ocean as she sat on the beach. The heat prickled at her skin. She had applied sunscreen earlier, but had been out on the beach for so long she knew she should reapply it. Her thoughts had consumed her, causing the world around her to dissipate.
Spending time with her father was wonderful, and something she never knew she missed until they’d arrived there. That didn’t stop her from needing time alone; the dull ache still pounded away in her chest. Her heart still longed for someone she just couldn’t have.
Her father asked her constant questions, sensing she was upset. She never told him. Telling him she had agreed to a sexual relationship with her boss would be nothing short of awkward. Telling him would not change anything, so she remained quiet.
During the day she kept busy, cleaning the house, washing the clothes and bedding, or cooking food for them when sandwiches would have sufficed. Anything to stop her focusing on the upset.
Tired of her detachment, her father had shooed her out the door this morning, telling her to go and have fun. She hated keeping her heartache from him, but she wasn’t ready to hear the words ‘What did you expect’ or ‘I told you so.’ She had already said them to herself a million times, and right now the best thing for her was space from Kyran.
Dale would have to find a new job when she got back home. Her savings would only stretch so far, and her rent was expensive. There had been a brief moment early this morning when she had considered moving back to the island. She would be away from Kyran and have somewhere to live. All she’d need would be a job.
Dale sighed. It sounded so good, and yet there was no way she would follow through with that plan. Living on Barren Island became stifling after a time. People knew too much about other people’s business and always had something to say about the way they lived their lives. Dale loved getting lost in a large community. Her days as a resident there were over.
Everything had a warm, orange glow thanks to the evening sun. Time had slipped by while she felt sorry for herself, and she was no nearer to working out the answers to her many problems.
The air had started to cool, enough to make her shiver. Dale’s legs grew cold in her shorts, but then she hadn’t intended to stay on the beach until dusk. A few people were still wandering around, so she wasn’t alone, even though she felt it.
The days had started to blur together—a series of long, sleepless nights followed by monotonous days. Dale would feel far worse if she was still at home. She wouldn’t have been able to look at her bed without recalling the time she and Kyran had spent rolling around in it. The distance from her apartment was needed, though she had left in such a hurry that she hadn’t even washed that morning’s dishes. Dale had, however, collected her mail on the way out of the building, finding two more of the odd blank sheets of card. They were starting to annoy her—mainly because she didn’t understand them or why they were being sent to her.
A ball flew in front of her. Dale turned toward a small boy who had a mischievous smile.
“Sorry,” he said, blushing as he rushed to collect his ball.
“It’s okay.”
She watched his blond hair glisten in the light from the sunset. He let rip a loud giggle when his father began to chase after him, scooping him up and swinging him around. Dale would have given anything to feel that kind |
of happiness, but she was no longer a child and her happiness balanced on more than a kiss from Daddy.
Standing up, Dale dusted the sand from her shorts. It was ridiculous; the stuff got everywhere. She would need a shower to remove it all.
“Not like I have anything else to do,” she muttered to herself as she bent to collect her sandals.
A drop of rain landed on her shoulder, followed by another. The air cooled, warning her that she had better take cover and fast. The beach began to empty as the dark clouds rolled in, and when a loud crack of thunder hit the air, Dale began to sprint toward home.
**********
Kyran’s head throbbed, and the sickness in his stomach threatened to make an appearance. The shower he had taken earlier had made him look a little better, but he couldn’t hide the mess his face was in. The right side had swollen, his eyebrow and lips both sported deep gashes, and his left eye was purple. It wouldn’t stay that way. The blue aura that ringed it told him the bruise would turn many colors before fading.
Kyran’s talk with Trace made the pounding headache worse, but he was pretty sure they had reached an agreement. But only if Dale forgave him. A small part of him knew where she would run to, and Trace’s revelation had confirmed that. Dale’s brother had interrogated him, asking and probing until Kyran had no choice but to be honest and declare his feelings for Dale. The words sounded foreign on his tongue, so strange that he repeated them to Trace over and over. Uncertain whether or not Trace believed the confession, Kyran had continued his discussion for some time.
Kyran had walked out of Trace’s apartment feeling like they had reached a precarious agreement: to bring Dale home. He’d explained far more to Trace than he intended, some of those points entering his head and being verbalized for the first time. He had been so very blind, so locked in his control that the obvious passed him by. For him, there was now one option, and that was to right
a terrible wrong.
Kyran had slept on the couch last night, hugging a pillow close and fooling himself that he could still smell Dale. He’d hated vanilla before her, still hated it on anything but her. He felt the same when it came to Dale’s need for a label. He’d fought it and battled to make sure they remained on a sex-only basis. By doing that, Kyran was the one to give them a label. It was the wrong one, and he’d known it for some time. He’d been fighting almost every aspect of his life for so long that when the one person he should have welcomed with open arms arrived, he’d done everything within his power to push her away.
No more.
It had taken her departure, and a few sharp punches to the face, for him to open his eyes. Now Kyran had to do something about it. He had to bring her home, and if he had to, he would drag her kicking and screaming.
Switching the windshield wipers on, Kyran drove to the harbor. The onset of rain had darkened the landscape. There were very few boats moored, and the few that were had begun to toss in the turbulent water.
“Great. Just fucking great.”
He turned off the radio and checked his face again in the rearview mirror, hoping the swelling had gone down. No such luck. He would have to face Dale and explain exactly how messed up he’d been since she walked away from him.
Climbing out of the car, Kyran tugged his coat on and pulled it tight across his body. The wind had picked up, sending cold splashes of sea water into the air. It slapped his cheeks, chilling his bones and leaving a salty taste in his mouth. There was, however, a large plus to the frigid air: it numbed his bruises.
Kyran hadn’t thought this plan through at all; the drive to get to Dale had been too urgent to pause and plot. Trace had told him more about their childhood home and the small island where they had been raised. Going to Dale could have waited—after all, he knew where she was—but the urgency to get to her increased by the minute. Nevertheless, looking out |
across the sea now made him question his decision. The water was rough,, and he needed to figure out how he would get across to Barren Island.
