by Meg Collett
four
Kyra woke the next morning feeling pretty good. She called her Aunt Carol first thing to ensure her that everything was fine, and her aunt took the opportunity to hassle her more about calling a therapist. Logically, she knew she should, because any little thing could trigger her and send her regressing on her recovery, but the thought of sitting and discussing her feelings made her fidget with her bracelets again. Maybe it was crazy, but Kyra really thought Canaan Island could heal her if she let it.
Forcing herself to think of other things, she walked out of the bathroom, and her eyes instantly settled on the surf through her bedroom window. It looked spectacular and inviting as it broke against the sand. Too inviting.
“You should be working, Kyra,” she murmured to herself, but it was no good. She quickly changed into her bikini and jogged down the stairs. The crew was already hard at work this morning with their hammering filling the house and the basement, where another half of the crew was working to fix beams or something that Kyra really didn’t understand.
“Hey, Chevy!” she called as she stepped into the construction zone.
“Morning, Miss Kyra.” Hale’s foreman scratched the top of his head when she breezed by, his eyes noticeably averted, which made her grin.
All around her, the sound of hammers stopped, but she didn’t pay any attention as she rounded the corner into the kitchen. Men had stared at her all her life. It used to bother her, but she’d stopped letting herself feel self-conscious about it years ago. Sure, she was pretty when her hair was fixed and her makeup was flawless—she was even pretty hot when she wore shorts and cropped tops or a bikini—but those men didn’t see her with sweaty hair or when she’d just woken up in the morning. They didn’t see all the active hours she spent during her day to keep her body in shape. They thought she was beautiful when she looked her best, but if they still stared when she was just her natural self, then she might look back.
Until then she’d wait, and wait she had. She’d dated, but she’d never had a real, steady boyfriend throughout high school or college. She’d been busy ensuring she’d be able to make a life for herself without depending on anyone else, especially anyone from her family. She’d paid her way through college with no debt, she had an amazing job, and she’d bought her first house.
If she was a twenty-four-year-old virgin because of it, so be it.
“Hey!”
Kyra jumped, her hand fumbling the surfboard she was pulling from the rack. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Hale storming out of the back door. The screen door slammed behind him.
“Hey?” she said, but she had a slight inkling that he wasn’t being friendly and saying good morning. Over her shoulder, a seagull squawked.
“You can’t just parade around in those skanky scraps of material in front of my men,” he said, his green eyes snapping with anger. She hadn’t remembered his eyes being so green before. Actually, she realized, this was the first time she noticed his eye color.
Her first reaction was to be angry, but Kyra forced herself to calm down. She didn’t want to snap at Hale. After her conversation with Cade yesterday, she wanted to be more understanding of him and cut him some slack.
“I’m sorry,” she said, but she had to force the apology just like she had to force herself to smile, “but I doubt they minded much.”
He clenched his jaw. “I don’t give a damn how much they minded. It’s a distraction.”
“For you or them?” She couldn’t help her small snort of laughter, but his anger was like a lash in the air, and she stepped back without meaning to. “Look, I’ll wear a coverup next time. Will that work?”
“Wear something is all I’m asking.”
Kyra’s patience wore thin. She wanted nothing more than to give Hale a piece of her mind, but she forced herself to think of Cade and what he’d asked of her. Keeping her smile plastered in place, she laughed like Hale had been joking. His eyes darkened.
“Sure thing!” she said brightly, picking her board back up. As she turned to walk away, she saw him roll his eyes at her before he went back inside the house. She didn’t know how it had happened, but somehow she’d made Hale Cooper hate her, she was certain of it. Even when she was to the edge of the lapping waves against the beach, she could hear him yelling at his guys.
She hated it when people didn’t like her. It felt like a failure, like she wasn’t good enough to meet their standards. The tears pricked against the back of her eyes, but she forced herself to not cry. It took all she had, but she made herself smile even though no one was around to see her fake show of happiness.
Some people hid their issues with anger or aloofness, but she chose to smile and laugh. When the sadness threatened to be too much some days, she would force herself to smile and pretend to be as happy as possible. Slowly, it would make her feel better until she genuinely believed everything was okay.
So with a sigh, she forced herself to forget Hale’s cruelty. She focused on the soothing water and paddling out past the shore break, but the short hour in the water didn’t do much good. As soon as Kyra walked into her kitchen after waxing and putting her board away, the tension was back, her thoughts on Hale’s pissy attitude.
Apparently everyone was at lunch, so she took the opportunity to sneak back to her bedroom and close the door. She hid in there for the rest of the day, only emerging into her own house after she was certain Hale and his crew were gone.
***
Kyra hid in her room most of the next day too. She’d caught up on all her work and was actually getting ahead on the next week when she started to grow angry. This was her house. Hale was intimidating when he was mad, but that didn’t mean that she should hide out in her bedroom all day.
When her stomach rumbled with hunger, she decided to leave. She wouldn’t be a prisoner in her own house. When she went downstairs, she didn’t bother to look around for Hale. Most of the demo was done in the main rooms, and the crew was in the basement to get things ready for the plumber and electrician.
Today was a good day to ride her bike, so she unloaded it from the back of the Jeep and took off down the street. Since it was summertime, she passed a lot of kids playing street hockey or zipping around on rollerblades; they all waved cheerily as she passed. Once in town, she stopped at an organic deli and ordered a veggie sandwich, which she ate outside at a small table. Propping her feet up on the chair beside her, she enjoyed the laid-back hustle and bustle of the small island’s town life. She took a big bite of her lunch and munched as she thought. Her eyes landed on a bakery called Maggie’s Sweets and inspiration struck.
Hale’s crew would be in her house for weeks, so she might as well be friendly. She could take them some cookies and lemonade to win them over to her side since Hale hated her so much. She pictured his scowl, and she liked her idea even better.
She finished her sandwich and crossed the street, aiming for the bakery. The door let out a sweet chiming noise when she opened it, and the scent of lemon and what could only be the smell of honey buns blasted her in the face as she stepped inside. A younger lady, presumably the Maggie in Maggie’s Bakery, looked up from the back of the shop, where her kitchen was out in the open for all to see. She smiled at Kyra and swiped a hand over her brow, spreading flour above her eye.
“Hey there!” she called from the back. “I’m Maggie. Let me know if I can help you with anything.”
“Nice to meet you, Maggie,” Kyra said. “Your shop smells amazing!”
Maggie laughed, the sound as bright and cheery as the bells above her shop’s door. “It’s those new lemon cookies I put out. They’re divine.”
Kyra spotted the cookies in question. They were round and plump with a dollop of lemon icing pressed in the middle, and her mouth watered just looking at them. She picked up a boxed dozen and grabbed a jug of fresh-squeezed lemonade from the cooler section. Tossing a package of plastic cups onto the pile, she smiled with satisfaction.
“That was fast!” Maggie
said, coming to the register.
Kyra smiled. “I wanted some treats for the crew at my house.”
Maggie started ringing up Kyra’s purchases. “You just moved here?”
“Yes, ma’am!” Kyra chimed. “I bought the old house out on Gardenia Street.”
Maggie’s face lit up with recognition. “I’ve always said that house would be beautiful once it was renovated. Good bones and all that.”
“I think so too.” Kyra pulled out her wallet and paid for her purchases. Maggie leaned her arms on the counter and examined her.
“You’re awfully young to be buying a house. You must be a smart girl.”
Her words made Kyra beam; she was proud of her accomplishments. “Thank you. I hope it’s going to be a good investment and not just a money pit.”
Maggie leaned back and waved her arm in the air like she was shooing away the nonsensical thought. “All old houses are money pits, but they’re worth it,” she said with a wink.
“I hope so. Well, I better get these cookies to the guys. I’ll be back soon, I’m sure.”
“Thanks for stopping by! Enjoy this beautiful day.”
Kyra waved and turned to leave as the door chimed again to announce a new customer. She adjusted her grip and looked up, already smiling. But her smile faltered.
The lady didn’t even look her way, but she didn’t need to. Kyra recognized that haughty look and disdainful chin lift from anywhere. The older lady was already bossing Maggie around, ordering her to pick out the baked goods as she rattled them off. Maggie rushed around, picking up a box of this and a bag of that.
Kyra stood stunned for a moment, her mouth gaping open at the sheer rudeness of the familiar woman. As if she could feel her staring, the lady turned and glowered at her until recognition registered.
“Kyra?” the woman asked, shocked. She was a beautiful lady, and when her face wasn’t twisted into an expression of scorn, her wrinkles smoothed out and revealed regal features that could’ve been associated with a classic Hollywood actress.
“Grandmother,” Kyra said.
Florence Aberdeen’s brilliant blue eyes snapped at the endearment she’d never appreciated, even though she hadn’t been around much for Kyra to use it. “But what are you doing here?”
Straight to the point, Kyra thought. No niceties for the granddaughter Florence had never wanted. “I’m great! Thanks for asking. I hope you’re well, Grandmother.” She turned to go, her hand on the door. She looked over her shoulder. “Oh, but haven’t you heard? I bought the white Victorian on Gardenia. I believe it was once your house, right?”
Florence’s face paled, and she looked very unladylike with her mouth hanging open like that. Kyra almost felt guilty, because the old woman appeared a breath away from a heart attack. But her guilt was short-lived. When her mother had died, Florence and her husband, Garlan, had refused to adopt Kyra, which is why her aunt and uncle had to raise her.
Of course, she was too young to remember the slight, but it still stung when she thought about it. She’d been lucky, though. Her life with Aunt Carol and Uncle Tom had been as good a childhood as any, but she would never forgive Florence for disowning her mother and doing the same to her.
She shoved the door open, sending the chimes squealing, and headed out into the fresh air. She jogged to her bike and plopped her purchases into the basket. She peddled faster than necessary, but feeling the exertion in her muscles and the breeze in her hair helped calm her. Once she was out of town, she slowed and let herself take a deep breath.
There was a little fact about Kyra that she never told anyone. Long after Florence and Garlan Aberdeen had disowned their daughter for her insatiable use of drugs, Kyra’s mother had been busted for felony possession of drugs with the intent to sell. She was pregnant at the time, which no one knew. Nine months later, Kyra had been born in prison. It was in prison that Lila Aberdeen had killed herself. Kyra had no memories of her.
“Come on, Kyra,” she muttered to herself. Let the bad thoughts go, she thought. She stood up on her pedals and pushed the bike faster. The street was empty, so she closed her eyes and let her head fall back, the breeze playing through her hair. This place was her home now, and she would belong here. A laugh already formed in her throat, and a smile stretched across her lips.
She looked back to the road just in time to see the large black truck backing out of the alley next to her house. She squeezed the brakes on her bike before she collided into the metal. The truck screeched to a stop, but it was too late.
She catapulted over the handlebars and hit the asphalt.
five
Kyra vaguely heard a car door open and then hurried, heavy steps. A shadow stretched over her, blocking the sun. “Are you fucking crazy?”
She groaned, her breath knocked out of her. She knew that voice. It took a special hatefulness to be mean to the person you almost turned into a greasy spot on the road.
Cracking an eye at Hale, she confirmed his grumpy expression and promptly closed her eye. “What the hell are you thinking, riding that fast down this street? Were you even watching where you were going?”
“My eyes…” Kyra sucked in a breath. “Were closed.”
“Oh, that’s even better,” he spat.
Her breath slowly returned, and she opened her eyes, blinking into the sun beaming around Hale’s tall silhouette. After struggling to sit up without his help, she examined her legs. Both knees were torn to bloody shreds, as were her elbows and palms. She fingered her chin, which was unscathed. Once she confirmed that she hadn’t broken anything, she let her anger loose.
She was done being nice to Hale Cooper. He didn’t deserve it if he couldn’t even be nice to the person he almost killed. Thoughts of making Cade happy slipped to the far reaches of her mind, and she channeled all her inner hatefulness and glared at Hale.
“I’m fine,” she said, pleased that she sounded just as nasty as he did. “So thanks for asking, asshole.”
He scrunched up his nose like he smelled something disgusting. As if it burned his soul to do so, he stuck out his hand, offering to help her up. Kyra smacked it away before she stood up on her own, grimacing as the scraped skin stretched across her battered knee.
“I’m fucking fine.” Her voice rose; she never cursed. Furious tears from out of nowhere threatened to spill. “I don’t need your fucking help. And the next time you fucking swear at me and call me crazy, I’ll punch your fucking nose.”
Just then she caught sight of the crumpled box of cookies. The lemonade had busted and spilled across the road. So much for making Hale’s crew like her. She groaned and picked up the box.
“Hey, look, I’m sorry. You just scared me is all,” Hale said, his voice low and raspy.
Kyra turned around slowly, her eyes narrowing. “You were scared?” As she shouted the words, she practically itched with the neighbors’ eyes on her skin. She flung the crushed box of ruined cookies at him.
Satisfyingly enough, he was so surprised that he didn’t even deflect the box. It hit him square in the face, spilling cookie crumbles all down his shirt. Sputtering, he looked at her, anger resuming its normal place on his face.
“Oh, sorry,” Kyra said, smirking. “You surprised me.”
She picked up her bike and shouldered past him, her eye catching movement on Stevie’s porch. The redhead leaned against the railing while she sipped a tumbler of suspiciously dark liquid. Kyra suddenly remembered that today was Friday, and she was supposed to have dinner tonight with Stevie. The thought brightened her mood considerably.
“You go, girl!” Stevie called, raising her glass to Kyra.
Hale rolled his eyes and got back in his truck, squealing the tires on the road before he zoomed away. Kyra waved to her neighbor. “Thanks for the support, Stevie.”
“That was awesome. Best thing that’s happened all week.” Stevie thought for a moment. “I take that back. It’s the best thing since old Mr. Henderson mowed his yard naked after he took a Valium in
stead of his arthritis medicine.”
Kyra groaned. “Do you think everyone saw?”
“Oh, hell yeah. Expect a notice of improper cookie tossing to be posted on your door in the morning.” Stevie waved her arm at the houses across the street, sloshing the liquid over the rim. “Nothing gets past these bitches!”
Kyra laughed. “Are we still on for tonight?”
“Definitely. I want to hear all about Hale Cooper’s hospitality.” Kyra pushed her bike toward the front porch, flipping Stevie off as she went. “I saw that!” Stevie called.
Kyra spent the rest of the afternoon editing her videos. She took pride in her work, and she wanted everything she posted to be perfect. After catching up on her emails, she stood up and stretched. The sounds of the crew filled the house since everyone had returned from lunch, but she had no desire to venture downstairs.
Her knees and elbows were sore even after she’d put some ointment on them. She sighed heavily. Hale Cooper wasn’t just different; he was a douchebag. As much as she liked Cade, she wasn’t going to waste any more time being nice to Hale.
A while later, a knock sounded on her bedroom door, surprising her. Not knowing who to expect, she opened it and found Hale slouching on the other side. She let out a disappointed breath.
“What do you want?” she asked.
Hale sighed, raking his hand over his closely cropped brown hair. The motion made the gigantic muscles in his arms bulge. His shirt lifted, exposing a stretch of skin above his jeans and treating her to a full view of his delicious tapered, chiseled stomach. She hadn’t noticed until now how perfect his body was. He was built, like model built. He lowered his arm and coughed. She looked up, her cheeks flushing.
