Finding Kyler (The Kennedy Boys #1)

by Siobhan Davis

  “Why? Why would she say that? It makes no sense.” I implore him with my eyes. He must know the reason. Your only sibling, your only family, doesn’t cut you out of her life without justifiable cause.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say, Faye. She never explained herself. All she told me was that she was happily married, and she had put her past behind her. She never even mentioned you.” He stares at the empty fireplace as he speaks.

  I slouch in my chair as a wave of rejection washes over me.

  James leans forward and touches my knee. “It’s not what you are thinking. She was protecting you.” I click my tongue. “From me.” My forehead furrows in confusion. “I told her I’d a wife and children, and she could see how devoted I was to my family. The triplets hadn’t been born yet, and Alex had only returned to work after Kalvin’s birth—the business had taken off by then—and I was a stay-at-home dad. We had more room here than we knew what to do with. I offered her the chance to move here, to be a family again, but she turned me down flat.”

  He clamps a hand over his mouth again and hangs his head. I’m sensing how difficult it is for him to relive this, but my thirst for information outweighs any guilt. James regains his composure after a bit. “Alex is an only child, and although she has plenty of distant relatives, you were my boys’ only real cousin. Saoirse knew I wouldn’t let it drop if I was aware of your existence, and I think that’s why she didn’t tell me.”

  He gets up and pours himself another drink.

  “Yet she requested you as my guardian?” Something about this whole scenario doesn’t add up.

  “I’m guessing she felt I was the lesser of two evils.”

  I jerk my head up at him.

  “She knew I wouldn’t turn you away, and she didn’t want you to be alone.”

  I knot and unknot my hands in my lap. A messy ball of emotion sits like a heavy load in my stomach. Subconsciously, I twirl a lock of hair around my finger as I grapple with my feelings.

  “You remind me of her so much. She used to do that, too.” He gestures at my finger, and I instantly cease twirling. He chugs his drink. The air is supercharged with heightened emotions, and I’m regretting ever asking.

  I’ve more questions now than I started with.

  Placing his empty glass on the table beside him, he opens one of the leather-bound albums, flipping through a few pages. “This is the last photo of us together,” he explains, pointing at a dog-eared creased photo. I gasp. It’s as he said—it’s like looking in the mirror. Her hair is bright red, and I instinctually touch my head. “She loved experimenting with her hair, and I was always handing over my hard-earned money so she could try out something new.” A wistful smile softens his features.

  We flick through the rest of the album in relative silence. At first, he is explaining the circumstances and regaling me with the stories behind the images, but after a while, his voice gets more strangled until gradually he stops talking altogether.

  A tidal wave of sorrow sweeps over me. Mum’s loss weighs heavy on James’ soul, and he’s been grieving for far longer than I have.

  I always thought Mum was an open book. Yes, she was cagey whenever I asked her about my grandparents, but I thought that was because it was too painful for her to recall details of the house fire they both perished in. She led me to believe she was all alone after that, but she wasn’t. James cared for her. Looked after her. Made sure she didn’t go without. Why would she hide that from me? Was my father even aware? With all I’ve learned this past week, I’m now questioning everything.

  On top of my grief is the sense that I didn’t know Mum at all. Because the mother who loved me with so much intensity and passion wouldn’t have lied to me about such important things.

  But the awful truth is that she did.

  And I want to know why.

  Chapter Nine

  A loud commotion from downstairs distracts us. James is up on his feet in a jiffy, dashing out of the study to investigate. I follow behind him at a more leisurely pace, gawping when I spot the scene at the entrance.

  “We need to speak to your father,” a well-built policeman in a black uniform is telling Kyler at the front door. His meaty hand rests solidly on Kent’s shoulder, and Kent’s arms are securely restrained behind his back. Keaton is shaking his head at his brother. Kalvin is lounging against the wall, failing to contain his laughter.

  James bounds down the stairs two at a time. “What have you done this time?” he fumes as he approaches his son.

  Kent’s swagger doesn’t fade as he shoots his father a knowing look. “Ah, the usual. You know.”

  “Mr. Kennedy, sir,” the officer interjects. “Your son has been caught shoplifting again. This time the store is insisting on pressing charges, so we need to take Kent down to the station for formal processing.”

  “I appreciate you swinging by, Officer Hanks. I’ll follow you in my car.” James grabs his keys as he turns to Kyler. “Inform your mother, please.” He leaves, slamming the door shut behind him.

  My three cousins turn and face me.

  I prop myself up against the balustrade. “Shoplifting? Really?”

  “Don’t sweat it, cuz,” Kalvin says, sauntering toward me. “This is a regular occurrence. Dad will write a check, and the situation will be brushed under the carpet. Mom will have a few choice words for Kent when she gets home, and then it’ll be forgotten about, until next month, when the cops arrive on our doorstep again.”

  “Why on earth would he shoplift? You guys are totally loaded, and it’s not like he wants for anything. I don’t get it.”

  “It’s never about the stuff he steals,” Keaton says. “He never even attempts to conceal what he’s taking—he wants to get caught.”

  Kyler folds his arms over his chest, observing but not contributing to the conversation.

  “That’s a rather drastic way of ensuring attention.”

  “Kent’s all about the drama,” Keaton confirms.

  “And it’s a pointless exercise anyway,” Kalvin says, walking in front of me. “Mom’s engrossed in work, and Dad’s working on his handicap, so all he’s doing is pissing them off. Wait ‘til you see—they won’t pay him a blind bit of notice once this has blown over.”

  Sure enough, when James returns from the police station with Kent, I hear him tearing a few strips off him before telling him to get out of his sight. Later that night, Kent strolls out the door to meet his friends as if he hasn’t a care in the world. Kyler tries to stop him, but James refuses to intervene, and Kent leaves looking like an earthquake is about to erupt inside him.

  I actually feel sorry for him.

  He must be feeling pretty lousy to resort to petty crime to garner attention. All the money in the world is no substitute for parental love. My parents weren’t well off, and I can remember plenty of times when penny-pinching was the order of the day, but I never wanted for anything, especially not love and affection.

  I haven’t lived here long, but James and Alex love their kids. I’ve seen enough to know that, but they aren’t around much, and that appears to be at the root cause of Kent’s issues. However, I’m curious to know if it’s more than what’s on the surface. How much have Alex and James invested in trying to uncover the truth behind their son’s behavior? Whatever Kent is trying to achieve, it’s clearly not working, and I wonder how long it’ll take him to bring things to the next level.

  I stand beside Kyler at the door, tracking Kent until he is gone from sight. “You’re worried about him,” I remark, not expecting him to reply.

  He sighs. “Yeah. Someone has to.” He casts a scathing look over his shoulder at his dad.

  “I’m sure your parents are worried about him, too. They probably just don’t know how to deal with it.”

  “Well, they should know. They’re supposed to be the grownups.”

  “T
hat doesn’t mean it’s any easier to be them than it is to be us. I think it’s hard for the older generation to truly understand what we’re going through, especially when we resort to desperate measures to show them how we’re feeling because we’re incapable of using our words.”

  His face turns a sickly green color, and I wonder what I said that apparently upset him. His eyes stare through me, as if I’m not even here. I lightly touch his arm. “Are you okay?”

  He emerges from that lost place in his head, with a familiar-looking snarl plastered across his face. “Well, Dr. Faye, considering you seem to know everything, why don’t you tell me?” His harsh glare is challenging, but it’ll take more than that to push me away.

  “You’re hurting.”

  “Give the girl a gold fucking medal,” he sneers.

  Ignoring his snippy tone and snide comment, I push on. “I’m a good listener, and I might understand more than you realize.”

  He leans into my face in a deliberately intimidating move. His closeness does twisty things to my stomach that aren’t in any way unpleasant. My breath hitches as he stares deep into my eyes. I’m not sure that was the desired effect. “You know jack shit about me, and that’s exactly the way it’ll stay. Stop prying into stuff that doesn’t concern you. We may have no choice when it comes to you living here, but that doesn’t mean we’re all going to join hands around the campfire and sing Kumbaya. Butt out, Faye, or you’ll be sorry.”

  Before I’ve even had a chance to respond, he pushes past me out the door like a tornado hell-bent on inflicting the worst possible destruction. I’m left standing there in his wake, wondering what the hell I said that was so wrong.

  James’ history lesson and that awful conversation with Kyler sends me into a depression of sorts, and I spend the next few days skulking around the house like I have the weight of the world on my shoulders. Everything is still so alien, and I feel like a stranger in my own skin. I don’t know if I’ll ever settle here or if I’ll always feel like an outsider.

  Alex and Keanu are still MIA, and Kent and Kyler barely acknowledge my existence. Kalvin has been conspicuous by his absence. I’ve no idea what he’s up to, but I’ve hardly seen him since our little “show” in the kitchen.

  James drags me out to lunch one of the days and tries to get me to open up, but I deflect all his efforts. My head isn’t a groovy place right now, and I just want to be left alone to work through my crap in my own time.

  I meet with the principal of Wellesley Old Colonial High School, and I guess I must meet his approval because he sanctions my enrollment before I leave. Not that I can summon much enthusiasm. The school has the best of facilities, and I’ll want for nothing here, but a stuffy, snobby, off-putting aura in the air seems to linger on my skin, aggravating me. Maybe it’s true what some people say. That buildings do emit vibes, because this place doesn’t give me a warm and cozy feeling. I console myself with the fact that I’ll only have to stomach it until January.

  Keaton manages to coax me from my room to the pool most days, but I’m quiet and withdrawn, and after a while, even he gives up trying to tempt me out of my vegetative state.

  It’s Thursday, and I’m lying on a lounger attempting to read a book when Kyler steps out onto the patio. Wearing a towel over one shoulder and black swim shorts that rest above his knee, he looks like he’s just stepped off the pages of a sports magazine. I try not to look, but my eyes have a plan of their own. To be honest, he’s the first thing to spark any modicum of interest in days, and I welcome the distraction, even if I am still pissy at him over the way he spoke to me the last time.

  Dropping the towel on a lounger across from me, he casually looks me up and down, his gaze lingering briefly on my bikini top. Little fluttery sensations twist in my stomach, and my mouth feels unnaturally dry. I shift around on my chair, but I don’t avert my gaze. It’s as if someone’s cast a spell over me.

  It’s been the same with us all week.

  No words are spoken, but I intercept his heated glances, as he no doubt catches mine. And it’s much more than his blatant warning to stay out of his way. There’s no denying there’s some weird attraction between us even though we are consciously avoiding one another.

  Kyler dives into the pool in one skillful movement, and I’m mesmerized by the sight. He cuts through the water with precise, measured strokes. Muscles flex in his back and bulge in his arms as he glides up and down the length of the pool.

  Watching him is turning me on, and I’m feeling hot and bothered—I need to cool down. Without overthinking it, I shuck out of my shorts and pad toward the other side of the pool and dive in. The water soothes my skin, but my body still burns hot for him. Wishing he didn’t affect me so potently, I deliberately avoid looking at him. I stick to my side of the pool, but I’m hyperaware of his attention. His eyes trail a scorching path along my body as I push myself to my limits. I swim harder than I’ve swum in ages, and the agonizing ache in my limbs is like a balm to my fragile state of mind. I’d almost forgotten how exhilarating being in the water can be. How much it strengthens body and mind.

  The pitter-patter of wet feet on asphalt brings me back into the moment. I glance up in time to see a dripping wet Kyler walk into the house. My body sags in relief and a tinge of disappointment. I stretch my arms out on the edge of the pool, lean my head back, and close my eyes. Extending my body in the water, so I’m stretched out in one even length, I lift my legs slowly up and down, stretching my tired muscles. The water laps at my body like a gentle caress.

  Fingers brush against my collarbone, and my eyes snap open. Kyler is crouched over me, his wet hair pushed back off his face and his eyes piercing me with dark intensity. I stare back at him, feeling the warmth of his breath as it fans over my face. Tiny beads of water cling to his skin, and I eye them jealously. My fingers itch to roam all over him, and I’m shocked at the depth of my longing.

  My nipples harden under his keen gaze, and a throbbing sensation pulses low in my belly. The air is fraught with sexual tension, and there’s no way he’s not feeling this too.

  Wordlessly, he holds out a bottle of water. I accept it, and our fingers collide. That simple touch detonates fireworks inside me. My cheeks stain a delicate shade of red. “Thanks,” I croak, barely able to form a coherent word.

  His fingers still linger against my skin, burning through me, and my eyes alternate from his hand to his unreadable face. His fingers press into my shoulder more firmly, and my pulse throbs wildly in my neck. Tiny shivers rocket all over me, and I visibly shudder.

  Kyler jerks back, as if electrocuted. Turmoil mixes with fury in his expression as he runs his hands through his hair. Shooting me one last meaningful look, he grabs his towel and darts into the house.

  I release a shaky breath. Reaching up, I rest my palm against my collarbone, still feeling the searing heat from his hand.

  Bloody hell.

  What in God’s name was that?

  I’m lying on my bed a couple of hours later when there’s a loud rap on my door. “Faye?” Keaton calls out. “You decent?”

  I’m not in the mood for company, but I don’t want to ostracize my only real friend in the house. Besides, I’ve come to the conclusion that I can’t hide myself away forever. Wallowing in a pit of grief and despair is the last thing my parents would want for me. “Come in.”

  He swans into the room looking sharp. “It’s time to par-tay,” he exclaims. “You up for some fun?”

  I prop up on my elbows. “Whose party is it?”

  “Ours,” he mumbles, heading for my closet. “You need to wear something that makes a statement.”

  “Your dad’s letting you have a party here?” Disbelief resonates in my voice. He snickers. “Hell, no. We always use the guest house in the woods, and the oldies are none the wiser.” He flings some clothes at me. “Put these on and I’ll meet you out by the pool.”

>   Deciding against the little black dress Keaton picked out, I settle on my favorite skinny black jeans and a tight-fitting black leather paneled vest top. The back of the top is some kind of sheer mesh material and the straps of my bra are clearly visible through it. I’m trusting that’s enough of a statement for Keaton. Tipping my hair upside down, I coax it into an artfully messy style and spray a shit-ton of hairspray all over it. A slick of red lipstick, a dab of blush, and a thick coating of mascara complete my nighttime look. A light squirt of perfume and I’m out the door.

  Keaton lets out a low whistle when I emerge by the pool. He’s comfortably seated in a lounge chair, sipping from a bottle of beer.

  We trek across the lawn, following the cream-colored stone path to the edge of the woods. Keaton chatters non-stop as we walk through the forest. He’s such a sweetheart, and he already feels like the little brother I’ve never had.

  Fresh, earthy smells linger in the air. The path is clear and well lit. After a few meters, we approach a decent-sized bungalow nestled off to one side of the forest. A trail of smoke flitters out of the chimney, and though all the windows are draped, the house gives off a welcome, homely feel. “That’s Greta and John’s house,” he offers up when he notices me looking. “John is Greta’s husband, and he maintains the grounds,” he adds before I’ve even had time to pose the question.

  As we walk past the edge of the house, I spy a dark-haired girl peering out at us from the side window. I lift my hand and wave. She waves back. “Who’s that?”

  Keaton looks over. “That’s Lana. Their daughter. She goes to Wellesley Memorial High School. That’s the public school,” he adds for my benefit.

  She looks nice, normal, not all blonde hair, sleek curves, and fake smiles like some of the girls we encountered in town. My feet stall. “Should we invite her to come with us?”