Kingston’s not being mean, or overly friendly. He’s simply indifferent. He says “hello” and “goodbye” when we cross paths at home, or school—much like you’d expect from a foreign exchange student merely taking up residence down the hall. It’s hard to explain, even to myself. There’s nothing wrong between us—no jabs, or air of animosity—but something’s shifted, and it’s both palpable and painful.
And on Thursday, when he sits down across from me at dinner, I feel like I no longer have the leeway to ask him why he has a black eye.
My father, however, doesn’t suffer from the same affliction.
“What happened to your eye?” he asks, anger and suspicion carrying his tone.
“I convinced some of my new mates to try out rugby.” Kingston lets out a chuckle, but I hear the deceit in it, loud and clear. “I should’ve been more specific on the rules, it seems.”
My father’s eyes slant with skepticism, but he nods. “It would seem. Glad to hear you weren’t in a fight. Don’t think I need to tell you that it wouldn’t be tolerated in this house.”
“Of course,” Kingston agrees. “I assure you, sir, there was no brawl of any sort.”
“Mm-hmm.” My dad hums his doubt, but lets it go.
The rest of dinner continues in an uncomfortable silence, aside from a few funny comments from Sammy. And by the time I rise to help my mother clear the table, I still haven’t met Kingston’s eyes once.
~~~~~
The next few weeks go by without any incident worth attention—in fact, if it weren’t for Sebastian’s absence, I’d think things were completely back to normal. I fall back into my usual routine of school, homework, and practice, occasionally trading short pleasantries with the foreign exchange student who now…feels foreign.
He must be making plenty of new friends and finding things to do, though, because he’s never home until minutes before dinner during the week, or curfew on the weekends. He carries out the few chores my father assigns him, and thanks my mother for every meal. I’ve even seen him emerge from the pavilion with Sammy a few times. But other than that, one can almost convince themselves he’s not even here.
And yet, on the rare occasion our gazes have locked and lingered a little too long to belong to the strangers we’re acting like, I think I see the same dazed confusion in his eyes that I feel. That odd, almost-instant comfort and familiarity we once enjoyed is still there—still electric—and I know that if I initiated a conversation or even asked a favor of him, it’d be granted immediately, and without resistance.
But I also know, deep down, that’s the exact cause of the now-gaping hole between us: resistance. His eyes tell me he knows the same, and that maybe—just maybe—he, too, misses the camaraderie we shared not so long ago. It’s a shame we seemed to have ruined that, because I really do miss him.
I miss the quickly blooming friendship that felt effortless. I miss the way we were when no one was looking: a fun duel of flirty wit. I miss our texts. I even miss the touch of his lips on mine—our sole kiss that caused this great divide. And I especially, to the point of actual physical pain in my chest, miss my shower notes.
And then, one night, fate throws us back together.
“Echo…don’t be scared, Love. It’s me. It’s Kingston. I’ve got you.”
My eyes open, and I slowly come out from under the fog of sleep.
“What’s happening?” I ask heavily.
“Shh,” he whispers as he holds my body in his strong arms, which create a sturdy cradle that makes me feel safe. “Let’s not wake your parents.”
He walks from the landing at the top of the stairs toward my room, and I’m suddenly cognitive as the pieces start falling into place.
“Your black eye,” I murmur as he shuts my door quietly with his foot.
“We can chat tomorrow.” He lays me down in my bed, then pulls the covers up to my chin. “Go back to sleep. I’ll sit here until you do.”
“No.” I pop up, unwilling to let this go. “I want to talk—for a minute, at least. Please.”
He sighs, scrubbing the back of his neck. “Did you forget to drink your tea tonight?”
“What?” I squeak. How does he know that?
“Shall I sneak down and make you some?”
“No—and now I really want to talk. And yes, I forgot. I’ve just been…out of sorts, I guess.”
“The feeling is mutual.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m so sorry. Please believe me when I tell you that nothing I’ve done has been to upset you.”
I nod. “I know that. It is what it is. I get it.” I hate it, but I get it. “How’d you know about my tea?”
He laughs, soft and hollow. “I know lots of things about you, Echo.”
“I blacked your eye, didn’t I?”
“You did.” He takes my hand, massaging my palm with his thumb. “But the fault is mine. I didn’t know it was ill-advised to try and wake a sleepwalker, at the time.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He touches a finger to my mouth and smiles.
“Not necessary. Like I said, my fault. And tonight…well, I had no choice but to wake you, all the while watching for your right hook. I couldn’t have you taking a tumble down the stairs.”
“How…how long have you known?”
“Since my second night here.”
My lips part. I’m stunned he’s never mentioned it. I sigh, ready to apologize again, when he explains further.
“Most nights, you walk straight to my room, which leads me to believe Sebastian must have known.” He tilts his head in question.
“Yes, but our parents don’t.” My eyes zap onto his, begging him to keep the secret. “They’d never let me perform again, high in the air, if they thought there was something wrong with me. And my dad…” I swallow a sob. “He’d ask questions, which I’d answer honestly, and then he’d blame himself.”
“Why, because it’s his job to take care of you? I can see that. He’s a very protective father.”
“He is, but—”
I can’t pull my gaze from his and begin to chew my lip, hesitant to unbury the past.
He squeezes my hand. “Tell me.”
I don’t ask him to swear not to mention it, or judge. I already know he won’t do either. And, miraculously, I don’t feel like I’m betraying my father by confiding in Kingston. I simply feel like I’m again—finally—sharing thoughts with my friend.
“My father used to…” I lower my head, mumbling the next word. “Drink. He’s been sober for years, and was never a mean drunk.” I look up as I clarify that important point. “I just worried about him—wanted to check on him during the night.
“That somehow morphed into sleepwalking once he got sober. Even after all these years of sobriety, I guess my subconscious still thinks I need to make sure he’s okay…and yet also somehow knows he is, because I now walk to Seb instead of him.” I exhale. “I know it sounds crazy. I don’t understand it either. If I did, I’d make it stop.”
“That certainly explains a lot about your father,” Kingston replies after a short silence. “But I have to wonder: If Sebastian is so protective over you, how’d he possibly think it was safe for you to have the room with the balcony?”
“He puts a bar through the handles. Didn’t you see it under my bed when you snooped around?”
“Ah.” He smiles grimly, understanding. “But why aren’t we still doing that? A bloody lot of good it does under your bed.”
“Because he’s not here to do it.” I hear the nonsense in my answer, but it’s the truth. I don’t put the bar there because Sebastian is gone, and my refusal to do it for him gives me a small sense of pride that I am managing and controlling things myself. “And my mom wanted me, the girl, to have the room with the balcony. This has always been my room, my entire life, so I couldn’t very well ask to switch without raising suspicions.”
“And the stairs? So dangerous. Any precautions you’re refusing to take there that I
might talk you back into using?”
I fiddle with my blanket, staring at it rather than him. “I had a bell on my door. I swear, Sebastian could hear that thing before it even really rang. But when he left, I took it down. Wouldn’t be anyone to hear it then but my parents, and that wasn’t happening. And when I found out you’d be staying here, it really wasn’t going back up. I…didn’t want you to know. Damn tea. Guess I’ll start doubling my dose.”
He chuckles, jiggling my hand to pull my gaze to his. “No need for all that. It hasn’t been every night. I know things are complicated—making you restless.”
And…? I wait, but I guess he’s not going to offer a solution. So I dash the hope and respond accordingly.
“Thank you for your help…and for not saying anything.”
“Echo.” He moves closer, cupping my cheek with a timid touch. “It’s no trouble. Yes, things are a bit off between us, but I would never let any harm come to you. Surely you never doubted that.”
His smile grows as I lean my face into his hand. “I didn’t. Not for a second,” I admit, hushed. “So, how have you been?” I ask with no shame. He knows my darkest secret, so there’s no sense hiding anything else now. And I have truly been wondering.
“Ask me, Love. Ask me, and I’ll tell you the truth.”
I’m not imagining the plea in his words.
“Did…do you miss me, Kingston?”
“Very much,” he says as though a huge burden has been lifted. He raises his other hand, to hold both sides of my face. “Don’t think me a cad, but I was almost thankful for your sleepwalking. At least I got to see you then—hold you, carry you back to bed. A few times I’d thought you’d woken, whispering my name, but you hadn’t. You were saying it in your sleep—my name.” His fingertips brush along my skin reverently, and he follows their path with his eyes. “And I used that to get me through—a bit unfair, I admit, as is what I’m doing right now.”
He stands suddenly. My cheeks feel an immediate chill from the loss of his hands, which now tug at his own hair.
“I’ll always keep you safe, Echo. And if you need anything, anything at all,” he says, his voice sinking, “do let me know. But this…”
He pauses, then shakes his head.
“Sleep well, Love.”
Long after he walks out, I still sit rooted in place, stunned. No one would be able to keep up with the crushing, disorienting, infuriating game of back-and-forth he plays.
Kingston giveth, Kingston taketh away.
Masochist.
Chapter 20
I head to the pavilion to practice—not on “his” dance, although I’ve almost perfected it anyway (set to “Powerful,” by Ellie Goulding).
One step from entering, I freeze at the sound of Savannah’s voice.
I’m always begging her to practice, only to be dismissed with how she’s “too busy.” But today, it appears she’s taking the initiative herself, and I’m more than a little surprised.
But I’m glad she’s here, since we obviously need to talk—not just about the party, but her antics over the entire night, starting with her promise to not abandon me (which took all of five steps inside the door for her to break) and ending somewhere around her reeking of booze and eagerly awaiting guys who weren’t my brother to dare her to do God only knows what.
Savannah’s voice escalates, frantic and shrill, and I’m just about to run in and see who else is in there when her shrieking is suddenly joined by my mother’s.
I stand completely still outside the tarp, to…well, for lack of a better term, eavesdrop.
“You have a lot of nerve, Savannah Turner!” Why is my mother shouting? “I can’t believe you’re even here—that you’ve been here, as if nothing’s wrong. It was hard enough for me to remain kind to you with what I thought had happened. But now?”
“Now what?” Oh hell no. Savannah better snip the snippiness in her tone real quick. I won’t stand for her talking to my mom like that too much damn longer. “Nothing’s changed, Julie. Please, you’re like a second mother to me. I love your family. Can’t you just let it go? Why are you dredging it up again?”
Dredging what up again?
My breathing is ragged and legs shaking, as I’m unsure where this conversation is headed. I know I shouldn’t keep listening; if either of them thought I needed to know, they would’ve told me. But here I stand, firmly in place, hanging on for their next words.
“Savannah, this is Kelly Springs. My last name is Kelly. Eventually, everything in this town comes out, and it always comes back to my family first. It’s one of the perks—or, in this case, drawbacks—of the heritage. You had to know I’d find out sooner or later.”
I’ve never heard my mother speak with the venom that’s coating her voice now.
“I know you knew!” Savannah yells. That’s strike two with disrespecting my mom. The girl is seriously testing my limits. “Sebastian told me he confided in you. He said that’s why you were so on board with him getting out of here for a while. It felt more like you were pushing him away from me, but you’re his mom—who was I to disagree with you? But he’s gone, so again, why are we rehashing this?”
“Because you’re a liar,” my mom states bluntly. I stumble back on one foot, her boldness literally shocking me off balance. “My son told me, all right—what you told him. And now I know it was all lies.”
“W-what do you mean?”
I lean in closer, recognizing the dropped octave and stutter in Savannah’s voice to mean one thing: My mother’s right—she’s definitely lying about something. And whatever it is, Mom’s got her cornered.
“A friend of mine is positive it was Clay who drove you to the clinic. Did you tell Sebastian that part?” Mom asks.
Savannah’s reply is loud and defensive. “No! But only because I knew he wouldn’t take me—wouldn’t support me—and I needed someone to drive! Sebastian would’ve wanted to do the right thing—to stand up and be the man you raised him to be. I couldn’t force his hand…take away his youth. School.”
“Oh, please.” I can hear my mother’s eyes roll—where do you think I got it from? “Kissing up to me will get you nowhere, especially when it’s just with more lies. This was about your youth, not my son’s. He owns his responsibilities.”
There’s a long pause and a heavy sigh before my mother speaks again.
“Savannah…I cared about you, and was prepared to welcome you into our family if you and Sebastian ever became that serious. So why didn’t you give us a chance to be there for you? We all, even Echo, would’ve supported you. You had no right to make such a huge decision without including my son in it; your body or not, he had rights too…unless there’s another reason you didn’t want him to know.”
“I just didn’t know how to handle it, okay?” Savannah replies, her voice low. “But right or wrong, it’s in the past now.”
A sharp pain slashes through my stomach, fear and betrayal facing off in a bitter battle. I’m not stupid, and I have a pretty good idea of what they’re talking about now. But the little things my mom’s insinuating—daring Savannah to admit—are what have the threat of bile making my throat sweat.
God, please let me be wrong.
“You’re right, it is, but explain one thing to me.” This time, my mom doesn’t “speak”—she snarls every word, offended fury fueling the scariest noise I’ve ever heard in my life. “And let’s try the truth this time. Why on Earth would Clay pay for it on his credit card?”
“Uh…um…well—”
Mom stops her from any further bullshit stalling, and says the one word I was praying I wouldn’t hear.
“Abortions cost a lot of money, Savannah. Money young men like Clay, who don’t have much of it, don’t go “loaning” out to abort other guys’—especially their best friends’—babies!”
The angry tears I’d held at bay break free and slowly begin cascading down my cheeks with a prickling sting. My chest aches, my heart breaking for my brother’s loss
.
“No, no.” Savannah’s crying now too, but as harsh as it is to think, her feelings mean jack shit to me at this point. “It’s not like that—what you’re thinking. We just both care about Sebastian. We were trying to protect him!”
“Then why tell him at all?” Mom fires back.
Exactly what I would’ve asked. My ears perk up for the answer.
“Because he deserved to know.”
“Deserved!?” my mom bellows. “He deserved a chance to make the decision with you! He deserved a girlfriend who would show a little respect! He deserved a loyal best friend! And most of all, he deserved all the facts—not an edited version you concocted to protect yourself!”
“Please,” Savannah sobs. “I know. You’re right, Julie. I was just trying to make it as easy on him as possible. Please, just let it go. We all need to move on. And when Sebastian comes home, I’ll make it up—”
“You’ll stay the hell away from my son! That’s exactly what you’ll do!”
“I love him!” Savannah’s voice is more than desperate. “We’ll get through this, and be stronger—”
Something stops her short, and I peek in to see that my mom is only inches from Savannah, holding up a finger to silence her.
“Listen to me, little lady, and listen good! As far as you’re concerned, Sebastian no longer exists.” She steps back and smooths her hands over her cardigan, reestablishing her ladylike decorum. “I’ve said my piece, and that’s all I’m gonna say. I’m not your mama—I’m Sebastian’s. He’s my only concern in all this, and I trust my boy’s instincts. You keep tellin’ your tales if you want. You have to live with yourself, not me. But I don’t ever want to see you on my land, or at my table, again.”
“I have performances here, and Echo…she’s my best friend.”
“My daughter is the only real friend you had in this town, but if you think for one second that she wouldn’t lay you flat on your ass for betraying her big brother, then you don’t know her at all. And you sure as hell don’t deserve her loyalty.”
Filthy Foreign Exchange Page 15
