“I saw you while I was driving by just now,” she says, staring at me with her intense brown eyes and I roll mine at her. “Is there something I can help you with?” she asks, and I snap.
“Go home, Bradshaw.”
She draws closer to where I’m sitting. That’s the opposite of what I said. Why the fuck is she so damn stubborn all the time?
“Is this why you ran out this evening? To come out here and chill out on your bag?” There’s a trace of anger in her voice. I scoff at how lightly she put it, knowing just how much detail she’s missing from the middle.
“Look, let’s just forget about what happened,” I grumble and I can see her recoil, but I can only deal with one demon at a time. Right now I don’t have the energy for the doe-eyed brunette following me around all the time, trying to make a hero out of the villain life has dictated I become.
“Fine,” she pouts, pulling her coat tighter as she stands up to walk away. But then a switch goes off in her head and she spins around, throwing daggers at me. Throwing fucking daggers at me like I’m not already in the shittiest spot imaginable. “You know what, Kace. This is bullshit. All I’ve ever done is try to help you. All I’ve ever been is nice to you.” She shakes her head at me and washes her hands over her face. I’ve never seen Janey Bradshaw look so damn frustrated in her life. Maybe someone should have taught her that there’s no purpose in beating a dead horse.
“CJ was so fucking wrong,” she huffs before taking one step and then another away from me.
Who the fuck is CJ and why was she talking to him about me? I decide that I don’t care and say nothing to her as she stomps off into the darkness. I pull my sweater over my head and make up my mind to not die on this damn bench.
As I start dozing off, I hear a small voice behind me. I should have known better than to think she’d actually leave. “Do you need a ride home?” she asks and so many things inside of me shatter.
“Go away,” I grumble. Tears prick my eyes and I do everything in my power not to let them slip because I am not this person.
“I know you have your pride. I know you’re a hard-ass. But let’s be honest, a dead hard-ass is far less menacing.”
I turn to face her. Why do you have to care, Janey? Why can’t you just be like everyone else? Why can’t you just fuck all the way off?
“What’s it to you?” I hiss, keeping up the front I’ve been playing for longer than I can remember.
Janey shrugs, then rests her hands on her hips. “Beats me. You don’t deserve it at this point, but I guess I’m committed.”
“You should really find yourself another hobby.” I force a smile. It’s shaky on my lips, falling as soon as I’ve stretched it into place.
Janey nods in agreement before sitting back down on the bench. “Do you need a ride home?”
I sigh, sitting up and running my hands through my hair. “I don’t know where that is right now,” I admit and add a small laugh that’s just as humorless as this entire situation I’ve gotten myself into.
“What?” she asks. There’s pure concern etched into every corner of her face. No kid her age is supposed to be able to show this kind of compassion. Truth is, she could teach the people who should actually care, a thing or two.
“I got kicked out.”
Her jaw muscles tense, but the pity I hate doesn’t find its way into her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I hold up my hand to stop her and she shakes her head.
“It’s my fault, isn’t it? That’s why you bolted out of the bookroom this evening.”
I shake my head at her. Even the asshole in me knows that the last thing she needs is to feel guilty. I don’t want that for her. I certainly don’t blame her. “My brothers are always looking for a reason to get rid of me. They’ve finally succeeded.”
“Still-”
“No,” I cut her off and she goes quiet.
“Fine,” she whispers after a few moments of eerie silence. “What’s your plan?” She asks the question like it’s just that simple. For Janey, I guess it would be. She’d map things out, decide on North or South and make a move that wouldn’t fail her. For me, it seems as though every move I make is the wrong one.
“I’m cold,” she says, when I don’t answer.
I shrug. “You should probably get home.”
She rolls her eyes at me. The look on her face tells me that she’s thoroughly annoyed. Even though I can understand why, it doesn’t mean I’ll budge. “I’m cold and I’m wearing a jacket. I’ve also only been here for a few minutes,” she says. “If you stay out here all night -”
“I’ll be fine,” I assure her, surprising myself with how convincing I sound. I’m not even sure I’m lying. Dying of my own accord is a heck of a lot better than dying by the hands of my brother. Maybe I’m okay with that. Maybe.
“Let’s go,” she says firmly, slicing right into my thoughts.
I look up at her, certain that now I’m the one who looks like the deer staring into the headlights of an oncoming train wreck. “What?”
“I’m not letting you freeze because of me.”
“Again! This has nothing to do with you.”
“Okay. Fine. I still can’t leave you out here.”
“Why not?”
“You almost broke a guy’s nose for me.” She smiles shyly and I huff a laugh at the memory. “Just think about it before you tell me no,” she adds, looking over at me. I can tell she’s really cold, yet here she is, expecting me to turn down whatever it is that she’s offering, but waiting anyway.
I nod. “What’s your offer?”
“Stay with me.”
Three words.
“What?” I can barely recognize my voice. It’s rugged and raw as I wrap my mind around how easily that offer left her lips.
“You could shower at my house,” she continues. She’s actually serious about this? “And there’s food… but there’s also one problem. My parents rarely use the garage, so it’d probably be safe if you stayed in my car…at least to begin with. It sucks because there’s like… a ton of extra room inside, but my mom is... well I already told you what my mom’s like. But my dad’s a pretty nice guy. But even he has his limits. He works late, though, so he’s no problem and there’s an elevator that leads directly to my floor so you-”
“There’s a what?”
She looks embarrassed and I’m confused as to why that would bother her. She has a fucking elevator in her mansion. I’m not sure if there’s anything in this world that should bother her. Ever!
“I have my own studio,” she continues, listing off just another thing that is so far from the poverty line that it might as well be on Mars. What’s impressive to note, however, is the fact that she’s not bragging. She’s just working through a plan out loud, completely oblivious to how spoilt it makes her sound. “I could figure something out. The point is, you can’t stay out here. So I guess what I’m saying is that my offer is for you to stay with me.” I shake my head and she holds up her hand. “You said you’d think about it before you say no. You haven’t thought about it.”
“I have thought about it and my answer is no. I don’t need your pity, Janey.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake, shut up, Kace!” She throws her tiny hands up in the air in exasperation. “This isn’t pity. This is gratitude.” She stands up and glares down at me, looking anything but grateful. “Not many people are quick to defend me the way you did. I don’t take gestures like those lightly. It doesn’t matter to me if you do. I don’t. Please, just let me thank you.” She looks frustrated and I look at my duffel pillow sitting on the concrete bench.
“I suppose you could have it count as the first step to your rebellion,” I grunt after a while, unwilling to seem too relieved at her offer even though I am. A car would be better than this junk and Lucas wouldn’t think to look for me in her zip code. Hell, I wouldn’t think to look for me in her zip code.
People like us would stand out like shit on a stick in her neck of th
e woods.
“One night,” I say and I’m pretty sure her grin has sound effects.
Standing now, Janey is not really trying to hide the smile on her face as she starts to walk away. I follow closely behind her, hefting the duffel bag over my shoulder. It’s a heavy load to carry, because inside that bag isn’t just the materials that will keep me clothed for the next few days. Instead, it feels like it contains the weight of Josh’s death, the weight of my mother’s losses. Hell, the weight of the entire world.
I think about Abby as I stroll behind Janey. This is the kind of person I want her to grow up to be. Smart. Caring. Successful. I’d never admit it out loud, but Janey is actually pretty fucking dope. She might just be too dope to be duplicated, but if Abby can grow up to be even half the woman she is, then she’d be pretty set.
I just need to get my shit together so I can get her out of Kensington. Away from all the soot and smoke rising up from the ashes of lost dreams. With me not being there, she’s more exposed to harm and I hate myself for letting this happen in the first place, but Janey is right, a dead hard-ass is pretty useless. So I just have to figure out how to get my life back, and as we drive back to her place, and I watch the landscape gradually change, I finally realize that this is what Janey has been offering me all along.
Not pity, but options. The option to choose the terms on which I want to live my life.
Nobody else has ever been in a position to make me that offer before.
No fucking wonder I missed it.
24
Janey
As I toss and turn in the comfort of my room, the awareness that Kace Da’Costa is in my garage, hopefully sound asleep in my car, has me sleepless. I’ve counted all the sheep my mind can conjure up. I’ve read my physics textbook and I’ve done yoga.
Still nothing.
Another half an hour passes and I’m done trying. I pick up my phone and respond to CJ’s text to let him know that I’m okay before texting the person I really want to talk to, to see if he’s awake. He replies after a few minutes which is a shock in and of itself.
This is all so surreal. Sad and surreal.
‘A delinquent most people in this entire would call the cops on is living in your car.’ I can almost hear my mother saying the words. She’ll rip me a new one if she ever finds out, that much is for sure.
I dismiss the air of judgment and focus on the end game. There’s no reason someone as smart as Kace should fall victim to whatever the hell is going on in his life. I might not be his keeper, he might not even consider me a friend, but seriously, if I don’t help him, who will?
Grabbing a coat, my slippers and my car keys, I head to the kitchen to make two cups of dad’s famous hot cocoa. I scan the floors to make sure no one is up and just as expected, it seems as though I’m the only disturbance in this ever-silent house. The water boils and I grab two tiny plates and cut slices of cake to go with our tea.
When I’m sure that it’s all clear, I head down. My padded slippers clap lightly as I descend the steps and Kace opens the door for me when I tap the window with the mug.
“What’s this?” he asks, eyeing my treat suspiciously.
I roll my eyes. “Cyanide,” I respond, handing it to him. “Bon Appetit”
“Have you always been like this?” he asks dryly, and I have no idea what he means.
“Been like what?”
“Pushy.” He raises an eyebrow at me, and I feel chastised.
“Have you always been this dubious?” I shoot back.
H shrugs. “It comes with the territory.” I can tell he’s being frank, which does everything to break my heart.
“It’s hot cocoa and coconut cake,” I offer because I don’t want to take advantage of his incremental trust.
He nods and takes a sip. “It’s pretty good. Thanks.”
“Dad’s recipe.”
When he looks at me again I can tell he wants to ask me a question. I’m not exactly an open book, but if he’s willing, maybe I’ll allow him to flip a few pages and see what he finds. You have to give in order to get, right? “What is it?” I nudge.
“What’s it like?” he asks, his eyes trained on the mug pressed between his palms.
“What’s what like?”
“Having parents who give a damn about you so much.”
I look at him, carefully trying to decide on my answer. I can feel him isolating me again. Making an us vs them situation even out of this gesture. That seems to be his default setting. Hopefully I can help him see that we’re not all like that.
“Loving parents...I don’t know. I know what it’s like to have a super cool dad who happens to be my ultimate bestie, cheerleader and supporter.” I shrug and I can see him drifting away from me. “I don’t know what having a mom like that is like,” I continue, and his eyebrows go up.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
I take his empty mug and saucer from him and deposit them into the food basket on the floor.
“Did you forget about our earlier conversation and your very eloquent summation of who she is?” I gasp, feigning surprise and he smirks. “Saying that my mom and I don’t get along would be the understatement of the year. It still hurts to think about it, so I try not to give it too much thought.” I shrug, feeling horribly exposed from all these confessions I’ve made today. “What’s your mom like?” I ask and his smile tells me that I went with the right parent.
“She’s remarkable. There’s nothing in this world that she wouldn’t do for me. She’s tied at the top with my other favorite person.”
“Who’s that?” I ask, grateful that he’s talking.
“My baby sister, Abby.”
“Oh. How many siblings do you have?” I ask the question, thinking that maybe this is just one more level we can connect on. I tell him about my siblings, he tells me about his and soon enough he’ll realize that despite the elevator and the Bentley parked out front, we’re not as different as he thinks.
Instead, his face grows sour and I can tell that I’ve hit a nerve that produces nothing but pain. So much so that I’m almost surprised that he decides to answer. “Yeah. That’s a can of fucking worms you really don’t want to open after such great dessert.”
“That bad, huh?” I ask and he actually laughs at me. “What? My siblings and I argue all the time!”
“I’m sure,” he responds sarcastically. “My eldest brother and my other brother kicked me out of the house after my other brother was killed. They blame me.”
It’s not what he said or how he said it that knocks the wind right out of my chest. It’s a combination of the two, cemented with the look on his face as the words leave his lips. I haven’t the slightest clue how to process any of it. He only recently got kicked out though, so did his brother just die?
“Is this in the same incident as Bubba?” I ask, carefully, cautiously, and he shakes his head.
“No. It’s related, but not the same.”
“When did your brother get killed?” I ask, staring earnestly into his eyes.
He pauses and dread takes root in the pit of my stomach.
“Tonight,” he responds, and I’m immediately washed by a wave of guilt. Even though he’s not saying it, I know that him running out of the bookroom the way he did had something to do with his brother. Had he just gotten the news? Did he miss saying his final goodbyes because he was holed up in a room with me?
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
“Don’t do that,” he points at me. “I don’t want that.”
“What?” I ask, a bit shocked by his outburst.
“Your pity. I don’t want it,” he growls.
“Christ, Kace. Don’t you know the difference between pity, concern, guilt and sadness? They’re all different.”
He stares at me without saying a word for a while and I’m afraid I was too direct.
“Can we leave for a second?” he asks.
“Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t kn
ow. Just anywhere, I guess.”
“Do you know the area?”
Kace gives me the ‘really?’ look. But at least that’s complemented with the slightest of laughs.
“Not much,” he responds dryly.
“We have GPS. You drive.” I toss my keys to him and he sits there staring at me in what I can only categorize as stunned silence.
“What?” he asks finally.
“Drive?” Using my hands, I imitate turning a wheel and he rolls his eyes at me.
“No shit, Janey. Why?”
I shrug. “I really don’t feel like driving.”
“That’s not what I’m asking,” he blushes, and I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen him do that.
Something explodes in my lungs and I have to take a deep breath. He’s so handsome. So breathtakingly handsome and so heart-stoppingly broken. What a wicked sight the two of those things make.
“What are you asking?” I ask in a hushed voice, staring at him.
“Why are you trusting me with your car?” His voice is soft, and I can tell that as trivial as this seems to me, this is a big deal to him.
“I don’t understand,” I confess. “I know you can drive. Unless I have you confused with someone else.”
“I can drive...it’s just that people like you often tend to assume that I’m going to steal their car. No one has ever offered me their keys before.”
“Who do you mean when you say people like me?” I ask and he snorts.
“People with hot indoor running water, multiple car garages, a bloody home elevator, you know? Those kinds of people.” He scowls and I cringe inwardly.
“They’re just things,” I whisper, ignoring the list of things he charted off because what exactly could my rebuttal be? I don’t just seem like a spoilt brat. I am exactly that. If only he knew how little of an effect money has on mending a shattered heart.
“That’s easy to say when you have a lot of it,” he snorts and I know I have to tread lightly on this topic.
“Kace,” I say, making sure that I hold his gaze. He nods and arches an eyebrow at me, but there’s a softness in his eyes that lets me know he’s listening with more than just his ears. “My father grew up poor. He shared a room with his three siblings and a cousin for years before earning a scholarship and being shipped off to boarding school. That was the first time he had his own bed and he still slept along the edge for months. He decided that he was going to turn things around for himself and that whenever he had kids, they would never be without anything.” Kace looks surprised. Almost as surprised as I looked when I first heard the story.
Infinite Fury (High School Bully Romance) Page 18
