Say You Still Love Me

by Tucker, K. A.

  Kyle meets my gaze, this time with a flat look. “Who do you think, Piper?”

  I shake my head. There’s only one person who would do such a thing. The one man who could afford it, and who would be motivated to do so.

  “Fifty grand, to pack up and leave, and never contact you again.”

  “And you actually took it?”

  Kyle flinches. “Your father can be persuasive.”

  My pulse begins to race. I can’t believe my father would do this, and yet I don’t doubt for a second that he did.

  “When I saw you in the lobby the first time, I couldn’t figure out if you ever found out—”

  “When did this happen?” I demand.

  “That night. When you were leaving,” Kyle admits with a hint of reluctance. “While you were talking to Darian. He told me that someone would be by my apartment within the next day or two to give me money, and that if I was smart, I’d take it and get the hell out of your life for good, before I did something to ruin it.” He sighs. “And that if I didn’t take the money, he’d find a way to put me behind bars with the rest of my family, where I belonged.”

  “You’re lying,” I accuse, even though a voice inside my head demands that I listen. I fish out my phone, intent on dialing my father right then and there.

  “He’s not going to admit to it.”

  “Oh, yes, he will.” If Kieran is anything, it’s self-righteous. Everything I do—everything I’ve ever done over the years—I’ve done only with your best interest at heart. You know that, right? His words echo in my mind. Is that what Kieran Calloway thought paying the boy I loved to disappear was? In my best interest?

  “He doesn’t know I’m working in this building,” Kyle says, more urgently, with worry on his face. “I’m not sure how he’ll react to me showing up here again.” He hesitates. “But if you don’t care about that, then go ahead and tell him.”

  If what Kyle says is true, then I have a good idea how my dad will react. Kyle’s ass will be out on the sidewalk by this afternoon.

  I tuck my phone away, muttering, “He’s likely on a plane, anyway.” Despite everything, I don’t think there’s a situation where I wouldn’t care what happens to Kyle. I sigh heavily.

  “So . . . fifty thousand bucks. That’s my going rate.”

  Kyle’s eyes are on the thin navy carpet, as if he can’t face me. “He made it pretty clear that he’d do anything to make sure you and I were done the second you stepped off Wawa property. I think he actually used the words over my dead body. I figured if we were over anyway, that much money would give me and Jeremy a chance to get out of the hole we were living in. So I took it. I thought it was for the best for everyone.”

  That is a lot of money for anyone, but especially a seventeen-year-old going back to a roach-infested apartment above a 7-Eleven.

  “And your mother? What did she say?”

  “About the money?” He lets out a derisive laugh. “I never told her about it. She would have taken it and there was no way I trusted her with that much, not when my dad and brothers were asking for cash. God knows she’d find a way to smuggle it in for them. No . . . I decided that if I was gonna take money from your father, I was gonna make it matter. So I hid it. I used what I needed to get a decent car. We were already getting kicked out of our apartment, so I convinced Mom to go to California. We drove for two days straight, found a cheap apartment down there.” He shrugs. “I told her I earned the money from Wawa.”

  “And she believed that?” I ask doubtfully. I remember those pitiful paychecks.

  “Of course not. She figured I was doing something shady on the side, but she didn’t ask too many questions. She never did. As long as there was money at the end of it.” There’s no shortage of bitterness in his voice.

  I’ve often wondered what kind of woman gave birth to Kyle and his brothers. Now I’m not sure I ever want to find out.

  Uncomfortable silence lingers in the room as I try to process this bomb. “So that’s why you disappeared. It wasn’t because . . .” My words drift.

  “Because I didn’t care about you?” He looks steadily at me. “No. That’s not why.”

  And did you ever stop caring? I bite my tongue on that and ask instead, “My father . . . How do you feel about him?” I can’t even begin to wrap my head around how I feel about him right now, but if what Kyle is saying is true, then I have to wonder if him working here, in my father’s building—having easy access to him—is going to be a problem.

  And what happens when my father sees Kyle sitting in the lobby?

  What will he do if he recognizes him?

  I watch Kyle carefully, to see if I can read the lies in his answer.

  He surprises me by smiling softly. “You know, it’s funny—ironic, actually . . . As much as I hated him back then for making me leave you like that,” his somber eyes flash to mine, “that money changed our lives. I got Jeremy away from Poughkeepsie, away from prison, away from all of it, before he could get himself into trouble. A fresh start in San Diego turned out to be the best thing for us. Jer has no interest in getting dragged down with the rest of our family, either.”

  “That’s good. I guess.” At least something positive came from my heartbreak.

  He opens his mouth to speak but then stops.

  I have more questions, but right now I need time to think. I need time to calm this inner turmoil down.

  “So . . .” He hesitates, watching me through wary eyes, as if trying to weigh my thoughts. “I guess I’ll see you around?”

  “Until my father recognizes you.”

  A grim smile touches his lips. “Right.”

  “Don’t worry, though. I’m sure if you play it right, you could make a cool million off him this time around.” I say it flippantly, knowing I don’t need a harsh tone to hit my mark.

  The muscles in Kyle’s square jaw tense. He nods once. “Fair enough. I deserved that,” he mutters. “But I promise you, I’m never taking another dime from that man again. And if you want me gone, just say the word. I’ll put in a transfer request. Hell, I’ll quit. It was worth it, just to see you again.” With that, he smoothly exits, leaving the delicate masculine scent of sandalwood and musk trailing behind.

  I keep my back to the elevator, waiting for the ping of the doors, a storm of emotions brewing inside me.

  Am I even angry with Kyle for taking the money? I can’t imagine what it must have been like, a seventeen-year-old boy facing off with Kieran Calloway, who was basically blackmailing him. What should he have done?

  I know what my sixteen-year-old self would have expected him to do—tell my dad to shove the money up his ass. Or take the money and then tell me what my father had done, so we could hide our relationship from him.

  How could my father do something like that, in the name of protecting me? I was an emotional wreck in the months after Wawa. I couldn’t get Kyle out of my head. All those nights of falling asleep wrapped in desolation, wondering where Kyle was, what happened to him. Replaying every word, every touch, every promise, wondering what I’d done to make him behave so cruelly toward me. All the anger I learned to wield against happy memories of us, just long enough to help me let go, to heal, to finally move on.

  Dad offered me sad smiles and calm hugs, and kept telling me that I was beautiful and smart, and that hooligan didn’t deserve a Calloway.

  My teeth are clenched so tight that my jaw begins to ache. I should have known.

  Do I confront my father now, though? Or should I wait until he recognizes Kyle and blows up, sends him packing?

  Kismet or not, coming to this building was a ballsy move on Kyle’s part, given the risk.

  Is he just stupid? Or does he think the risk is worth the potential reward? And what is that reward, exactly? Is it working with me again? A friendship with me?

  Or more?

  My stomach flutters.

  Kyle is single.

  He moved here, in part, because he wants to be in my life again.r />
  And the only reason he ever left in the first place is because of my father.

  Three truths I need to decide what the hell I’m going to do with.

  “You want me to help you poach Jack’s assistant?” I glare at David in disbelief as we ride the elevator down to the lobby. I was almost successful in ducking out without notice, until David came barreling out of the restroom and crossed my path.

  “She doesn’t want to work for that stooge,” he argues. “She basically told me as much.”

  “No, she did not.” Cheryl is the minutes taker for the Monthly Women’s Network meetings I lead at CG and a sweet, single thirty-eight-year-old mom who I suspect is in love with her boss—our CFO, and a married man. Then again, maybe that’s why she’d want to move desks—unrequited love is unenjoyable, but especially so when you have to face it day in, day out.

  “Just ask her, would ya?” David pleads.

  “Why me?”

  “Because, I can’t! Obviously. Jack would kill me. And you’re . . . you! And a woman, and, I don’t know . . .” He throws his hands up in the air, as if giving up. “It’s what you women do!”

  I roll my eyes as the elevator door opens. “See you tomorrow, David.”

  “Wait. Where are you going?”

  “Home.”

  He checks his watch. “It’s only three!”

  “I have a headache,” I lie, and am saved from further conversation as the elevator doors close, carrying my personal pain-in-the-ass back upstairs. The truth is, I’m going home to curl up under my covers and ponder this morning’s revelations. I’m going home to hide from life, and from my father before he gets back from LA this afternoon, until I decide how best to address his deep betrayal.

  “You’re off early for a change,” Gus notes as I push through the security gate, my laptop bag strap already digging into my shoulder.

  “Long day.” I steal a glance at Kyle, who’s occupied with a phone call, his free arm settled across his chest, making his bicep bulge. He was lean when I knew him, but far from scrawny. Now, though . . . what would it feel like to smooth my hands over his sculpted body like I used to do?

  Kyle is available, that voice in the back of my mind reminds me, and with it brings that familiar flutter in my stomach.

  “Nothing like that’s been delivered yet, ma’am,” I hear him say politely, his golden gaze settling on me. “Sure thing. I’ll keep an eye out for that cookie platter . . .” His lips curl into a smile and, for the first time in years, I see it actually reaching his eyes. Reminding me just how much I always loved feeling his smiles on me. “No, I’ll make sure Gus doesn’t eat any of them this time.”

  “What’s she goin’ on about! I’ve never stolen anyone’s cookies!” Gus sputters, but it’s followed up with a sheepish grin. “I may have sampled one or two.” He winks at me before his brown eyes shift behind me. “Good to see you again, sir. Hope your trip was successful. Where were you this time?”

  “Chicago, to look at an investment property,” comes my dad’s gruff response.

  He wasn’t supposed to be back for another hour.

  And I thought he was in LA?

  My heart begins pounding in my chest as I smooth my expression and turn to meet my father’s stern face.

  Is it true? Did you pay Kyle to break my heart?

  I’ve always known that there is this hard, controlling side to him. I’ve just been fortunate enough to avoid its wrath. Or so I thought.

  “Piper?” He frowns curiously. “You okay?”

  I force a smile. I guess this confrontation is happening now after all. Because Kyle is standing right there. The boy he paid off is only a few feet away.

  I brace myself, waiting for him to look at Kyle, waiting for those harsh features to scowl with recognition when it clicks.

  Dad checks his watch. “You meeting someone?”

  “No. Headache.” My blood is racing with the anticipation of what’s to come. What will I do? How will I react?

  “Hmmm . . .” His brow furrows. “Go home and get some rest, then.”

  “Yeah. That’s the plan.”

  He cocks his head curiously at me, but then, as if deciding something, turns his attention away.

  To Kyle.

  His eyes narrow, and I hold my breath, preparing myself to intervene before my father causes a scene in our building’s lobby.

  “There’s a panhandler near the east entrance. I’m assuming you can’t see him on the security feed and that’s why you haven’t done anything about it?”

  Kyle averts his gaze to one of the monitors on the desk. “You’re right. He’s in a blind spot.”

  “Well, would you please help him relocate? Immediately?”

  “Yes, sir,” Kyle says, his eyes still on the screen, his face stoic. Does it burn his pride to call my father sir, I wonder?

  Dad’s gaze drifts over Kyle’s sleeve of tattoos, his distaste for them clear. And then he turns to me, dismissing Kyle entirely. “Go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Nodding at Gus, he swipes his badge and marches toward the bank of elevators.

  Kyle exhales slowly. He meets my eyes and I can see his thoughts in them. They’re the same as mine: Kieran Calloway doesn’t recognize him.

  Whether it’s the “Stewart” on his name badge, or thirteen years and thirty pounds of muscle, or simply the fact that Kyle was nothing more than an ant to squash, a pest for my father to swiftly deal with, I can’t say. Likely all of the above.

  Either way, Kyle is safe from my father’s ire. For now.

  I release a lung’s worth of air, relieved to have bought myself some time to figure out how—and if—to confront him for what he did to us.

  “You want to kindly escort our friend to another corner, or should I?” Gus peers up at Kyle.

  “I’ve got it,” Kyle murmurs, rounding the desk. “See you tomorrow, Piper?” he asks softly, and I hear the real question behind those words.

  Do you want to see me here tomorrow?

  All I can manage is a nod.

  Because the simple truth is that I do.

  Chapter 14

  THEN

  2006, Camp Wawa, End of Week One

  Izzy’s round blue eyes are watery as she holds out her tiny hand, offering me a ball of hot pink gimp and beads in emerald green and aqua blue.

  “For me?”

  She nods. “I made it in art. So you can remember me.”

  I chuckle as I slide the bracelet onto my wrist. It’s too loose, but there’s not enough slack for two loops. “I doubt I’ll ever be able to forget you.”

  “Will you be my counselor again next year?”

  “I hope so!” If Camp Wawa allows counselors who have been on probation back. That was the final verdict Darian delivered early this morning, after last night’s golf-cart fiasco. Probation for all four of us—a permanent black mark on our camp counselor employment record—but not termination for Kyle and Eric. There is to be absolutely no “shenanigans” after lights-out. We’re to be in our cabins with our campers, asleep. If we’re caught breaking these rules, it will equal immediate dismissal, no questions asked.

  As much as mandatory nightly curfew sucks, it means I still get to spend my summer with Kyle. I had to fight the urge to hug Darian as she delivered our punishment to us.

  Izzy’s mouth splits into a wide, toothy grin. It’s been a mad flurry of activity and emotion at Wawa today, as kids pack up and part ways, in most cases with tears streaming down their cheeks and scraps of papers revealing email addresses and phone numbers, and promises to come back the same week next year.

  For these kids, summer camp is over. Meanwhile I’ve only survived the first week. I have seven more to go. Oddly enough, though, the idea of that isn’t nearly as dreadful as it was last Sunday, when I stood in this same spot, greeting frenzied children. Much of that has to do with a certain golden-eyed boy, but not all. Camp Wawa has begun to grow on me. The counselors are, for the most part, fun. Spending my days goofing o
ff with them and the campers almost doesn’t feel like work. And Mom was right: Russell’s chocolate pudding is prison-grade bribery quality.

  “Aren’t those your parents?” I point to the couple approaching.

  “Mommy!” Izzy shrieks, taking off across the field as fast as her little legs can carry her under the weight of her backpack, her sleeping bag dragging across the grass. And just like that, I’m a memory.

  “Hey.” Kyle sidles up beside me, his fingers discreetly skimming my outer thigh.

  I turn to meet his gaze. “Hey.”

  His eyes drop to my mouth, and I feel that instant urge to press my lips against his.

  His smirk says he feels it, too. “Last one?”

  “Yeah.” I smile, looking on as Izzy drops her things on the ground for her parents to collect and then skips along beside them, her arms gesticulating wildly in the air. “She’s so cute.”

  “You know who else is so cute?”

  “Eric?” I tease, feeling my cheeks flush.

  Kyle chuckles. “Nice.”

  I hold up my arm, letting the bracelet dangle. “Look what she made me.”

  “I got some, too.” Kyle holds his arm up to display six similar gimp-and-bead bracelets of varying sizes and colors, two of them all-pink. “This one is from Maddie, this one . . .” He goes through each bracelet, identifying which little girl made what.

  I roll my eyes. “Are you bragging because you have more than me?”

  He shrugs. “I can’t help it if I’m well liked.”

  “Nothing from your campers, though. Hmm . . . that says something.”

  “Oh, no. They left me with a gift all right,” he mutters, tipping his head.

  I burst out laughing at the countless specks of iridescent glitter clinging to the roots of his hair. How could I not have noticed them earlier? “That has to be half a bottle!”

  “It’s all over my pillow and in my bed, my sleeping bag. I’ve already had one shower. I’m going to need two more, probably.” He sighs heavily and shakes his head, but his easy smile tells me he’s not actually annoyed.

  “So?” I glance back once, in time to return Izzy’s frantic wave before she scrambles into the backseat of her parents’ car. The parking lot is mostly empty of camper vehicles. “What now?”