Loving Kalvin (The Kennedy Boys Book 4)

by Siobhan Davis

He shakes his head. “It’s not. The tension is growing by the day, and shit’s going to hit the fan any day now.”

  “Maybe it needs to happen for all of you to move on.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Ky parks the car and gets out, coming with me to the departures area.

  They call my flight, and I get up. Ky stands, pulling me into a hug. “Call me after you talk to her.”

  “I will,” I promise, shucking out of his embrace.

  Ky plants his hands on my shoulders. “I mean it, bro. You’re not on your own with this. Faye and I will support you, no matter what.”

  “I appreciate that. A lot.”

  “We’ll hop on a plane anytime you need us. Just say the word.”

  “Thanks, man. And you promise you won’t say anything to the others. Not yet. Not until I know for sure.”

  “Of course not. We’ll figure this out together.”

  I get back on the plane, feeling slightly less alone than I did on the outbound journey.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lana

  It’s Sunday night, and I’ve decided to skip classes on Monday so I can stay home with Hewson for a little while longer. Thankfully, it wasn’t meningitis—just a very bad throat infection. But I’ll never forget the horrific terror I felt as we drove toward the hospital with my son burning up beside me, crying his little heart out. If anything had happened to him, I would’ve lost my mind.

  The hospital admitted him for a few hours to run tests, and I’d been frantic with worry. I actually burst out crying when they told me he was going to be fine. The sheer relief I felt almost took the legs out from under me. They gave him an intravenous injection of antibiotics and sent us home with instructions to give him plenty of fluids and pain medication. I moved my bed into his room, and I haven’t left his side since.

  Huge guilt chips away at me. I should’ve been here with him. Instead, I was out having fun while my baby was gravely ill. Not only that, if it had been something serious, his father wouldn’t have even known, and that’s not something I can live with anymore.

  I told Mom this morning that I’m telling Kal the truth. She was furious I’ve concealed the fact he’s at UF, and we had the mother of all fights. Now, she’s refusing to speak to me.

  Hewson is sleeping soundly, and I press a soft kiss to his forehead before stepping out onto the adjoining veranda. I sit down on the loveseat, staring out into the dark, still night air. I check my phone again. I’d texted Kal this morning to let him know everything was okay, but I haven’t heard a peep from him all day. He must be mad that I ran off on him like that. I send him another quick text, letting him know I won’t be returning until tomorrow night. I don’t want him hanging around outside my dorm waiting for me unnecessarily.

  I kick off my shoes and pull my feet up under me, tugging the blanket over my lower body. It’s starting to get a lot colder at night. I lean back and call my dad. He answers on the third ring.

  “Hi, honey. It’s good to hear from you.”

  “You too, Dad.” And it is. His strong, calm, self-assured voice has always had the power to soothe me. I can’t ever remember a time when he’s raised his voice at me or my mother. He reminds me of a gentle giant. Tall, strong, and protective with the heart of a big cuddly bear.

  My mother chose well.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “How do you know something’s wrong?”

  “I know every inflection of your voice, Lana. I know when something is bothering you. Is Hewson okay because your mother said it wasn’t meningitis.”

  I sit bolt upright. “You talked to Mom?”

  He exhales deeply. “Sweetheart, your mother and I are still very much together. We talk every day.”

  I swing my legs around, planting them flat on the hardwood floor. “What the what?”

  My grandmother agreed to take us in on a few conditions. One of which was that my mother walked away from her marriage. It seems the years haven’t endeared her to my father. I’ve been crippled with remorse and guilt at the thought I’d been indirectly responsible for breaking my parents up.

  It seems that emotion was misplaced.

  “Don’t be mad, honey. We didn’t tell you because we didn’t want you to have to lie to your grandparents. You didn’t need the additional burden.”

  “Let me get this straight. You and Mom haven’t split up?”

  “No. We did what we needed to do for you. So you and Hewson would be well cared for, and you could plan your future.”

  I’m speechless. My parents never cease to amaze me. A few months ago, I would’ve told you I couldn’t imagine how they could continue to put my needs before their own, especially after I disappointed them. However, now I’m a mom myself, I understand it. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t sacrifice for Hewson. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t need to say anything, honey. I hate being away from your mother, from you, but this is only temporary until you graduate and get a job. Then we can be together again.”

  “I’ve felt so guilty,” I admit. “I thought I’d split you up.”

  “I’m sorry, Lana. Perhaps we made the wrong decision not telling you. I didn’t consider you might feel like that.”

  “I love you, Dad, and I miss you so much.”

  “Me too, sweetheart.”

  Now, I feel terrible for arguing with Mom earlier. “Dad? Can I ask you something?”

  “You can ask me anything, pumpkin.”

  I tell him about Kal turning up in UF in the hopes of finding me and how I’ve struggled with the secret I’m keeping from him. He doesn’t say a word. Just listens as I explain everything. “I want to tell him, Dad. He has a right to know he has a son. I was wrong to keep this from him.”

  “No, Lana. We were wrong. You’ve always wanted to tell him, and we should’ve respected your wishes, but we were worried.”

  “That his mom would take the baby, I know.”

  “Not about that. At least, not on my side. This is the one thing your mother and I disagree on. Alexandra Kennedy is a lot of things, but she would never deprive a mother of her son. You don’t remember this because you were too young, but that lady sacrificed a lot so she could build her fashion business and provide a comfortable life for her family. I remember her tears every Sunday night when she left on a business trip. It broke her heart to be away from those boys. That’s why I’m sure she’d never do that to you.”

  I’m quiet as I mull over what he’s said. “Why then, Dad? Why strong arm me into keeping this a secret from him?”

  “I can only speak for myself. You’ll need to ask your mother, but I was trying to protect you. From him. You think I didn’t know how much my little girl was in love with that boy? I’ve stood by for years and watched you pine after him. Watched him struggle with his emotions, hurting you in the process. I can’t bear to watch it again. I’m worried Kalvin isn’t mature enough to deal with this, Lana, and I fear you’re going to get hurt again. I wanted to spare you that.”

  A slicing pain stabs me clear through the heart. Is he right? Will Kal crumble when he finds out? “Irrespective of how he reacts, he still needs to know.”

  “I agree,” Dad says.

  “You do?” After his last statement, I’m surprised.

  “Yes. And I also believe you’re strong enough to handle this. I’m hoping he proves me wrong. I know he has feelings for you, Lana. I just don’t know if they’re strong enough to be who you need him to be.”

  “He came after me, Dad, and he’s different. He’s changed. He’s grown up.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, Lana, and I’m hoping it works out for you, but you’ve got to be realistic. Don’t set yourself up for a fall. That little baby needs you. If Kalvin can’t man up and support you and his son, then you are better off without him anyway.”


  I check in on Hewson again before hunting Mom down. He’s still fast asleep with the covers kicked off.

  Mom is sitting on the balcony outside her bedroom, drinking a glass of wine. “Mom? Can we talk?”

  “Of course, sweetheart.” She pats the space beside her. “Come join me.” I sit down on the wicker couch alongside her. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

  I almost fall onto the floor. “What?” I splutter.

  A small smile plays over her lips. “I think we might need it for this conversation. If you’re old enough to be a mother, you’re old enough to have a glass of wine.”

  “Okay.”

  She pours the wine, handing the glass to me. “I’m sorry for what I said this morning,” she admits, speaking first. “All my life I’ve tried to do the right thing by you, but you’re an adult now. A mother. I’ve got to let you make your own decisions.”

  “Dad told me. About you two.” I take her hand in my free one. “I’m so glad. I hated the thought that I’d split you up.”

  She squeezes my hand. “I love your father too much to give him up just because my tyrant of a mother demanded it.”

  “Why, Mom? Why did we do this? Why did we come here?” I mean, I know why, but all the reasons that seemed logical last Christmas aren’t so plausible now. “I could have waited another year and then applied for a scholarship. We could be with Dad now.”

  “Trying to raise a baby on a scholarship is a hardship I didn’t want for you, Lana. It’s difficult enough as it is. And I know how much it’s hurting you to be away from Hewson during the week, but I also know how smart, hardworking, and talented you are, and I know you’ll get that degree in next to no time. I want you to have options, honey. Options I didn’t have.”

  “Do you regret it? The choices you made.”

  She puts her glass down, before doing the same with mine. She clasps both my hands in hers. “Never. I don’t ever regret having you or loving your father. Your father has been my whole life, and I will be by his side until I no longer exist. I’ve been blessed with the love of a good man. Blessed with an amazing daughter.”

  “But?” I ask, because I sense one coming.

  “But I regret that I left myself with limited options. Do you think I wanted to wait hand and foot on the Kennedys? I’m better than that, but I never got to go to college, so I had to take whatever opportunities I could. And, to be fair, we were lucky they took a chance on us and gave us somewhere nice to live. It wasn’t all bad, but I regret not doing more with my life.”

  “I can’t believe your parents have all this money and they denounced you in such a horrible manner.”

  “You’ve seen for yourself what my parents are like. Daddy, God bless him, isn’t a bad man. He has a good heart, but she bullies him. He has lost control of his own mind. He has no opinion. No say. No power. My mother was always a cold, calculating woman. I often wonder if I was a mistake, if my mother hadn’t intended on having children at all. Growing up, she threw herself into the business. I was raised by a succession of nannies and household staff. Mother paraded me about when it suited her. She sent me to the best school, and I would’ve gone to an Ivy League college if I hadn’t gotten pregnant. She wanted me to mix in the right circles. To marry into old money. She was disgusted when I fell for the butler’s son. I will never forget the look on her face when I told her I was pregnant with his baby.”

  A tear slides down her cheek. “She slapped me. Imagine if I’d slapped you when you told me you were pregnant.”

  I lean over and hug her. While my parents were shocked and upset when I told them I was pregnant, and we had a difference of opinion on how to deal with it, they have never been cruel or unkind. Instead, they have been supportive and self-sacrificing. I’m only just beginning to understand how very difficult it was for my mother to come back here.

  “Mom, do you genuinely believe Kal’s mom would take Hewson?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t honestly know. I hope not, but she likes to be in control too.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Mom,” I say softly, “but it’s possible you’re projecting feelings of your own mother onto her. Alexandra isn’t Grandmother. Yes, they are both snobs and workaholics, but the key difference is that Alex would do anything for her children. She wouldn’t abandon them like your mother did you.”

  She says nothing, but I see the enhanced rise and fall of her chest, and I know I’ve struck a chord. I don’t want to upset her, but, the more I think about it, the more my father’s point of view makes sense. Not that I’m letting that cloud my judgment either way. I’m telling Kal even if his mother tries to gain custody. That’s a battle for another day.

  “I don’t want to stay here any longer.” She opens her mouth, but I shake my head, stalling her objections. “I’m telling Kal because he deserves to know. I’m not sure how he’s going to react. I think he’ll probably hate me, but I can live with that once he does right by his son.” I’ve given a lot of thought to this in the last few hours. “Hewson is the only priority in all this. At the very least, he will provide for him financially. I know what you think of Kal, Mom, and I’m not going to deny that some of that is true, but it’s only part of who he is. He cares for me, and he has a good heart. He’ll do the right thing.”

  A throat clears behind us. “Excuse me, ma’am. Miss.” The butler bows at both of us. It’s ridiculous and archaic and it makes me hugely uncomfortable but the tyrant insists. “I apologize for interrupting, but there is a young man at the front gate asking to be let in. He refuses to leave until he speaks to Miss Lana.”

  My stomach plummets to my toes, and I think I’m going to be sick.

  “Is his name Kalvin Kennedy?” I ask, although I already know the answer.

  “It is, Miss Lana.”

  I stand up, holding my spine straight. “Please let him in, Jerome. I’ll talk to him.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Kalvin

  I came straight to Lana’s grandparents’ house from the airport, having already showered and changed clothes before I left Harvard. As I stand outside the vast, ornate mahogany doors, my nerves are stretched to breaking point. My heart is racing like it’s doing a few laps around a Formula One track. I wipe sweaty palms down the front of my jeans as the door creaks open.

  Lana stands before me, dressed in a pair of cut-off denim shorts and a long-sleeved tight-fitting top with a pink-and-purple-butterfly pattern. Her legs and feet are bare, and her hair is pulled back in a ponytail. There isn’t a lick of makeup on her face. She looks so young, so beautiful. Exactly how I always picture her in my memories.

  Silently, she steps aside to let me in, but I’m rooted to the spot. Unable to move. I stare at her, noting the steely determination in her expression. Various emotions are etched across her face. She’s not hiding. Not anymore. My heart is thrashing against my ribcage as we continue looking at one another. Her gaze coasts over my face with concern. My eyes penetrate hers, seeking the answer I already know.

  “Is the baby mine?”

  “Yes.” Her voice is firm, confident. “We have a son, Kal.”

  My heart careers around my chest cavity, screaming, rejoicing, panicking. I stumble, reaching out and gripping the edge of the doorframe to steady myself.

  Oh fuck. Fuck. It’s true.

  I have a son.

  I’m a dad.

  I cling to the doorframe, digging my fingers in. My heart rate is elevated, my breathing exaggerated. I’m struggling to keep myself upright.

  The acknowledgment hits me harder than I imagined. I’m feeling so much.

  Too much.

  A strangled sound flies out of my mouth.

  She moves toward me, but I raise my hand, holding her back. “Is he … is he okay?” I haven’t forgotten the frantic cries I heard last night or Lana’s blatant fear. “Is he sick?”
>
  She nods, not looking too surprised, and it’s obvious she realizes how I’ve figured this out. My anxiety elevates a few notches. “Not seriously,” she rushes to add. “Mom thought it might’ve been meningitis, so we brought Hewson to the hospital, but he’s fine. He has a bad throat infection, and he’s been really sick, but he’s doing better the last couple hours.”

  “That’s … that’s good.” I barely recognize my own voice.

  “Would you like to see him? He’s sleeping but you can peek in.” Expectant eyes meet mine, and I swear she’s holding her breath for my response.

  My heart rate accelerates again. “I … yes. I’d like to see him.” Oh fuck.

  “Come in.” She gestures with a swish of her hand, and I step into the marble-tiled entranceway. A sweeping mahogany balustrade frames a long staircase on our left. Broad corridors extend in three different directions off the main lobby. A massive old-fashioned crystal chandelier hangs overhead. “Hewson’s room is this way.” She points at the stairs. “Follow me.”

  I walk after her like a zombie whose every move is instinctual rather than contrived. “Hewson?” I ask when we’re halfway up the stairs, as the name registers in my foggy brain. “You called him Hewson after Bono?” Bono’s real name is Paul Hewson, a fact Lana is well aware of having listened to me obsess nonstop over my favorite band for years.

  “Yes.” She stops at the top of the stairs, turning to offer me a shy smile. “I wanted him to have something of his father, so I named him Hewson Kalvin.”

  I can’t believe we’re having an almost normal conversation. I’ll add it to the list of surreal moments over the last twenty-four hours.

  “What’s his last name?”

  Her smile fades. “Williams,” she whispers, and I wonder if that was one of her grandmother’s conditions.

  I don’t like it. Don’t like it one bit, but I say nothing, locking it away in a mental cubbyhole along with a million other things we need to discuss.

  I trail after her, looking around anxiously. The hallway is dimly lit and painted in a drab green color. I’m half-expecting her grandfather to jump out with a loaded shotgun. “Eh, Lana?” I whisper, scrubbing a hand over my prickly jaw. “Your grandfather doesn’t really have a shotgun, does he?”