by D. L. Raver
So much had changed since that night. The girl who used to live in this room didn’t exist anymore. This beat down, busted up, shell of a woman replaced her. The scars that made up most of my new self were far deeper than I imagined possible.
“Are you comfortable, dear?” Mom asked, taking the pillow from my grip and placing it perfectly on the bed.
“Fine, Mom.” I blew out a frustrated breath. I knew she just wanted to help and take care of her little girl, but I was beginning to feel smothered. I wanted to yell at her and ask her if she had any idea what had happened to me, instead I kept silent, and endured my Mom’s love.
“Your Dad will be home early from the office just to see you.” She straightened her perfect designer dress, and then tucked a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. “We're so glad you're home, Kenna. We've missed you terribly.”
I wished I could take her sentiment to heart and let it erase the unease and unshed tears I saw in her green eyes. I hated that what happened to me, and my subsequent decisions, had given her lovely face a few more lines.
Suddenly, I regretted not coming home after Marcus’ death. Then, I remembered the pregnancy and the subsequent abortion, and I knew I had made the right decision. I couldn’t have done that here, without Sloan.
“I missed you too.” I forced a false smile to my face and hoped she didn’t look too closely at me. The mask I hid behind was flimsy at best.
I hadn’t expected coming home would be so hard. I thought being surrounded by my parents and all the things I loved would help me regain the person I’d lost. But as I looked around the room, I realized I just didn’t belong here anymore, and I didn’t belong at Sloan’s either. Maybe there was an Island of Misfit Toys—or the equivalent thereof—for people like me.
Busted.
Broken.
Misused.
Inside, my emotions began to roil, moving closer to the surface, causing me to take a few deep breaths to keep myself from erupting into an ugly, emotional volcano.
“Kenna, why didn't you tell us about Sloan?” Mom broke through my thoughts and sat on my bed.
I tugged at the hem of my ASU T-shirt and shrugged. “Because—because I just couldn’t.”
She crinkled her nose, and I braced myself or the forthcoming lecture.
“I'm sure Sloan is a perfectly wonderful man Kenna, but he is so much older than you. And quite frankly, he’s not like us. The fact that you couldn’t or wouldn’t tell us about him only proves you know he isn’t right for you.”
I held up my hands to stop her from expounding further.
“Like us, Mom? You mean people with money? Guess again, Sloan has plenty of money.” I retorted and tried not to glare at her.
“Why does he work for the Wilkes as a chauffeur, then? Or rather did, I guess.” She folded her arms over her chest, daring me to explain that away. I could, of course. I knew the reason he did what he did. But that was Sloan’s story to tell, and I wouldn’t betray his truth; a truth he had no idea I knew.
She hmphed when I didn’t explain, as if my silence proved her fucked-up point.
“Look Mom, age doesn't mean anything to me, and money doesn’t mean anything to me, either. I've known Sloan since I was sixteen and he's wonderful. He cares about me, and I care for him. He kept looking, Mom. For me. The entire time I was gone, he never stopped looking.”
“Neither did we, Kenna. We did all we could to find you.” There was hurt in her voice, but alongside it rode motherly concern and perhaps a little condemnation. “You hurt us when you didn’t come home. Your father and I have been worried sick about you, but we wanted to give you space. Quite frankly, the entire situation turns my stomach, and now I wonder why you decided to come home at all?”
I almost flinched at the question, but I held myself still.
“Because I missed you all, and I knew it wasn't fair to stay away. And I needed some time away from Sloan.”
“Tell me what happened, Kenna. Help me to understand.” Her demeanor softened, and she pushed some of my hair behind my ear and stroked my cheek.
I blinked rapidly to stave off the onslaught of yet more tears.
“No,” I whispered and shook my head. “I just can’t.”
Mom’s eyes considered me, and flashed with anger. This time I did flinch, even though I knew her anger had to do more with the situation and not me.
Celia Campbell was a fixer—that was her job. Unfortunately, she couldn't fix this one.
“You can talk to me, Kenna. Anytime.” She dropped her gaze to her dress and picked at some invisible lint her before her gaze met mine. “You know that, right?”
I took her hand in mine, purposefully changing the subject because I couldn’t stand the tension that tightened her cultured features.
“I'm sorry about Emme, Mom. Sorry she's gone. Sorry I wasn’t here for you and for Irelyn when it happened. I'm just sorry all the way around.”
Her eyes filled with tears and they fled down her cheeks. I grabbed a tissue and handed it to her.
“I'll never understand why Jacob did what he did. To the end of my days, I will always mourn my good friend’s senseless death.”
I nodded since my own words were trapped in my throat. We would never again have another of our mother and daughter’s luncheon like we used to have with Emme, Barbie, Rachel, and Irelyn.
“And my poor Irelyn. Her life will never be the same without her. It’s just not right.” She dabbed at her eyes. “She and Zolt will have beautiful babies and Emme will never see them.”
My heart clenched at the thought of Irelyn with a baby. I squeezed my middle and told myself I had made the right decision.
“I have to believe that Emme is watching over Irelyn. She’ll see her grand babies, Mom. I just know it.”
“I hope you’re right, Kenna.” Mom kissed my cheek then left me alone to take a nap. I had successfully turned the tide of the conversation away from me, giving me time to adjust to being home.
After I rested, I spent the remainder of the day hanging with my Mom and waiting for Dad to come home. When he did, Peter Campbell pulled me into a gigantic hug. He squeezed me so tightly it made my healed ribs ache all over again.
“Oh, how I've missed you K-girl,” his gruff, now trembling voice said as he kissed my head, my cheeks, my nose, and my chin while tears fell from his eyes. “I promise that will never happen to you again Kenna. Ever. But you should’ve come home. Staying away hurt us.”
I didn't say anything in return, I just let my dad hold me the way I used to when I was a little girl. I smiled at him and wrapped my arms around his neck.
My father was still handsome, tall and lean. But his sandy hair had sprinklings of gray on the sides, and like Mom, more lines characterized his face. We had always been really close, but now I felt removed, and a part of me wanted to run.
I hated my parents kept staring at me with a look of sadness and apprehension—as if I was made of glass and might shatter at any moment. They were right, of course, but seeing it on their faces, and in their actions, made me want to scream.
That night, I laid in bed and tried to sleep, but I had grown used to being next to Sloan. Without him here, I wasn't sure I could allow myself to relax enough to fall asleep.
He was my guardian—my protector, and I was lost without him.
Since coming home, we hadn’t spoken. But that didn’t mean I didn’t stare at my phone, longing for it to ring with a call or a text from him. I missed his sexy Irish accent, and I missed the way his body curled perfectly around mine while we slept.
I scrolled through the pictures of Sloan and me together. These pictures were the only evidence I had left we had ever been together. Looking at them was akin to picking at a barely healed scab. The wound would keep bleeding if I didn't leave it alone, but I had become addicted to the pain, so I scratched it raw.
With a sigh, I pushed my self-torture to a new level and texted him good night before turning off the light and clos
ing my eyes. When my phone beeped with an incoming text, I grabbed my phone and read the two-word message.
Good night.
My heart sunk a little at seeing just two words. Stupid me for thinking he’d say more to me if I just reached out.
Our problems were bigger than what a text could handle. We had both walked away, but part of me wanted him to go against his normal type and fight for us. If only he could be finally be the man I needed him to be; the man I loved.
The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I loved Sloan for himself or for the man I wished he could be. If it was the former, and not the later, then leaving had been the right decision even if I felt like I couldn’t breathe without him.
During the next week, I registered for classes, and I went about doing all the things I used to do before the kidnapping. I told myself if I acted normal, I would be normal. Going back to how my life had been was impossible. Even if normal came up and licked me in the face, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t recognize it.
Brody called me every day and we talked, but I couldn't do what he wanted me to do. Delving into the dark depths of my memories scared the hell out of me, so I left them alone to fester and rot.
I existed in limbo—not living in the past, but not living in the present either.
I thought about going back to my Tae Kwon Do classes, but I felt like a failure. Charlie Denton, my instructor, had called several times asking me to call him, but I never did. How could I when I had let things happen to me a person with my training and knowledge—a person with a red belt, one belt removed from black—should never have let happen. Besides, playing the blame game had become a habit of mine, and it was so much easier than facing the truth.
I blamed Sloan for always walking away and not fighting for us. I blamed myself for not being more aware of my surroundings. I blamed Marcus for being a monster. And I blamed Chris for bringing said monster into our lives in the first place.
It was stupid of course. Chris certainly wasn't to blame, and Sloan wasn't either. He'd told me from the beginning he didn't have time for me to be in his life. Recently, he claimed I was the most important person to him, but none of his actions seemed to confirm his words. So in the end, when it came down to it, I had no one to blame but myself, and that left one nasty taste in my mouth.
My coming home hadn’t been the panacea I had hoped it would be. Being here had left me feeling resentful and bitter people had continued on without me.
Rachel, in particular, became the focus of my negative feelings. I hated myself for being petty and for pushing both her and Cory out of my life. But her easy breezy ways, and the way she flitted through life comme ci, comme ça, turned me green with envy.
I’d give anything to be so care-free.
On the way home one night after a day at the University, I found myself pulling my Lexus LFA into the Bad Idea Bar and Grill, a seedy bar located in a questionable neighborhood just east of the campus.
I don't know what compelled me to go in there, and I knew it had a bad reputation. As soon as I opened the door and walked inside, the entire bar turned and stared. I must have stuck out like a white unicorn in a herd of gray donkeys.
I ignored the stares and the crude remarks and found a place at the bar. Smoothing my flippy skirt under my ass, I perched on a bar stool and ordered a shot of tequila, then proceeded to order several more.
As the alcohol coursed through my body, making me gloriously numb, a voice in the back of my head said “this was a bad idea.” The kind of idea that might bring me face to face with scum like Joe Franklin as this was exactly the kind of dive I could imagine him frequenting. Still, I ignored the warning signs that said get the hell out of there.
I had to admit the dangerous vibe and the scary clientele gave me a thrill. Anything could happen at a moment’s notice, and I kind of hoped it would.
So maybe this was why I did what I did next. Why I let a man who had been staring at me over the top of his beer approach me, and why I let him buy me an untold number of shots.
He was the kind of man I normally ignored. There wasn’t anything attractive about him. He was, all things considered, the exact opposite of Sloan. So maybe that’s why I let him take me in the back room alone.
Even as I followed him, I knew only a fucking idiot allowed such a man to put his greedy hands all over them. And only a fucking idiot let the situation get out of hand without realizing they might be helpless to stop it.
His large, dominating form reminded me of Joe, and he reeked of day-old beer and too many unfiltered cigarettes. All of that should have been enough to bring me to my senses and have me running away.
Instead, I focused my eyes on the flashing green exit sign in the corner and let him do whatever it was he was going to do. Just as his hand reached under my skirt to pull my panties down, the man was jerked from me and went flying across the room.
A furious Sloan towered over him, and for a minute, I worried he might actually kill him. My really-bad-idea hookup must have recognized the murderous glint in Sloan’s glare because he quickly scrambled to his feet and fled the room without saying a word.
The patrons murmured and watched as Sloan dragged me out of the bar, but no one made a move to stop him. Apparently, they had an innate sense of self-preservation I seemed to have lost.
“Why are you here?” I slurred as Sloan put me in his car, and then got in himself. The alcohol in my bloodstream still swirled about my brain, making me hazy. “Are you following me?”
“What do you think Kenna?” The anger and hurt in his voice drove me to the opposite side of the car.
“Why Kenna? After everything you went through, why would you put yourself in that position?”
I didn't answer him because I didn't know what to say. But really, the answer was painfully obvious.
Because I want to forget. Because I can’t forget.
“Kenna!” His gaze flicked to mine, and then flicked back to the road. Red, hot anger stole all the air in the car, making it hard to breathe.
I put my hands to my neck and closed my eyes, letting the deafening silence between us kill the last remnants of our relationship.
Chapter Twenty
Sloan
THE SILENCE BETWEEN us as I drove her home was both a gift and a curse. It gave me time to formulate what I wanted to say to her, but it also gave me time to replay what had happened. Another man had his hands all over my Kenna, but what disturbed me more was the blank look on her face as she let him take advantage of her.
That man had been lucky the need to get Kenna the hell out of there trumped the need to beat the shit out of him.
I pulled the Challenger to a stop in front of her house, deciding not to take her back to the loft. She lived with her parents now and they’d been through enough. The last thing they needed was to find her bed empty in the morning.
Kenna unbuckled her seatbelt and moved to get out of the car, but I put my hand on her arm.
“Wait.” The light from the street light outside shone inside, and I saw the pain in her eyes when she turned to look at me.
“Why? You once said you weren’t my knight in shining armor, yet you rode in to save me anyway. You’ve done your job admirably regardless of your desire to do it at all.” Her calm, clear voice surprised me given the amount of alcohol I’d watched her consume.
“Kenna,” I said and tried to rub her arm but she pulled it away.
“What Sloan? What is it you have to say to me?” Her gaze narrowed, and she fisted a handful of her skirt.
Words failed me, and all I could do was stare at her. I was losing Kenna—our relationship disintegrated before my eyes. Even knowing this, the bravery required to alter our present, destructive course, eluded me.
“Well?” she asked impatiently, and crossed her arms over her chest.
The positioning of her arms perfectly accentuated her lovely tits, and I felt myself stir. I licked my lips reflexively.
Stupid dick! Now’s
not the time!
“I’m worried about you, M’fhíorghrá. You’re not acting like yourself.” I shifted uncomfortably in my seat to readjust myself.
“Don’t call me your true love when clearly I’m not, because if I was, you’d fight for us.”
“What do you think I just did? Why do you think I watch over you? I have to keep you safe. This isn’t you, Kenna,” I repeated.
“I’m sorry I’m not living up to your expectations Sloan.”
“That’s not what I mean. What were you doing in that bar? It’s called Bad Idea for a reason. Bad people looking to do bad things—people like Joe Franklin—frequent there. What if he would have been in there? What then?” I could hear the panic in my voice at the thought Joe might have actually been in there. I had, after all, seen him in there once. I knew if he ever got his grubby mitts on her again, Joe would kill her.
“Well?” I demanded.
Kenna shrugged but didn’t say anything.
“Please. Talk to me.” I couldn’t stand the tension between us. These were uncharted waters and I was ill equipped to navigate them. It killed me she didn’t see me fighting for us. Apparently, I needed to do a better job.
“What’s there to say? Do you want me to rehash everything that happened to me? Tell you all the things Joe did to me that keep me from sleeping at night? Do you want me to tell you that sometimes I’m so fucking mad at you I want to hurt you? Do you want to know that the other night while making love to the man I love my mind returned me to the time Joe raped me? Is that what you want? ”
Her face reddened and unshed tears glistened in her eyes. Kenna was so fucking beautiful in her pain, it made my heart ache.
No, I don’t want to hear any of that! But I needed to let her tell me regardless of how much it hurt.
“I want to help you, so yeah, I need to hear all of that.” I grabbed her hand and, this time, I didn’t let her pull away.
“No, you don’t. That implies we have a relationship, but we don’t. We’ve never had one. We've become little more than fuck buddies because you couldn't commit to more. It’s too late to want a relationship now.”
