I shied away from human touch when I first escaped, and it’s taken years for me to accept what most take for granted. The only touch I ever felt truly comfortable with was Keanu’s, but even that had limitations.
“I’m so proud of you, Selena,” Mom whispers as she holds me close. “So proud of the strong, brave, courageous young woman you have become.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I slip out of her embrace, returning to my prep. “I’m proud of me too.” My therapist says I need to acknowledge my progress and praise myself with every new baby step. It goes a long way toward encouraging positive self-belief and self-love, apparently.
“I hope it’s okay,” Mom says, stirring the sauce in the pan. “But I asked Alex Kennedy to join us for dinner. We have some things to discuss in relation to the charity, and she wanted to see you as she’s missed you the last few times she’s dropped by.”
“That’s fine. I like Alex.” I have a lot to thank Keanu’s mom for, and although it’s sometimes painful seeing her—because it invariably reminds me of her son—I genuinely enjoy her company. She’s become a good friend to Mom.
After dinner is prepped and in the oven, I take a quick shower and change into my favorite knee-length pink skater-style dress and a white cardigan, slipping my feet into my ballet flats. I don’t bother with makeup, and I let my long blonde hair hang loose down my back, letting it dry naturally.
Mom has just uncorked a bottle of red wine when the doorbell chimes. She places it down on the wooden countertop, and we flip our gazes to the row of screens on the far wall of the kitchen, smiling as we watch Alex wiggling her fingers into the camera. “I’ll let her in,” I supply, my feet already moving toward the kitchen door.
Even though I know it’s only Alex standing on the porch of our brownstone, I still glance through the peephole before unchaining the deadbolt on the door.
Old habits die hard.
I swing the door open and smile at the woman I respect and admire. I step aside. “Hi, Alex.” I offer her a soft smile. “Come in.”
As soon as the door is locked, I turn to face our guest. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too, honey.” She places the bouquet of flowers and bottle of wine down on the hall table before opening her arms. “Would a hug be okay?” I step into her waiting arms, hugging her gently. “How are you?” she asks, when we break our embrace. “How is college?”
“I’m good, and great. Although the course load is heavy this year. I’m worried about fitting everything in.” We walk into the living room, where Mom is waiting.
“Alex. Thank you for coming.” They hug and Mom gratefully accepts the flowers and wine. “I already poured you a glass of shiraz,” Mom says, gesturing toward the large crystal goblet filled to the halfway point with deep, berry-red wine. “Why don’t you two catch up while I plate up?”
“Sounds good.” Alex smiles at Mom before sitting down on the couch, reaching for her wine.
I take a sip of my sparkling water before sitting down alongside her. “What’s new with you?”
“I’m keeping busy, which you know I love.” She waggles her brows. “Our interior design business is booming, so we’re expanding. We’ve just acquired a new building down by the harbor, and we’re recruiting a lot of new staff. Faye is helping us manage the process although I’m hoping she might want to come and work with us when she graduates next year. We will need a full-time human resources manager by then.”
I only briefly met her daughter-in-law Faye one time, by pure chance, on a busy Boston street. I was having a bit of a meltdown at the time, so it’s embarrassing to remember.
Keanu was fifteen when Faye was orphaned and came to live with his family. His dad, James, is her uncle. It was quite the scandal when it was revealed that Faye was dating Keanu’s brother, Kyler, even though they are only cousins by way of marriage and there are no blood ties as James isn’t Kyler’s bio dad. They got married last year, and the media made a big deal out of it again, but that’s to be expected. The level of public interest in the Kennedys has always been ridiculous.
“Do you think she’ll accept?” I ask.
“I’m not sure. Kyler and Faye have plans to travel for a year, so, if that happens, I will probably have to hire someone else.”
“It’s good the business is doing so well. Not that I’m surprised.” I smooth a hand down over my dress, clasping my hands in my lap. “And Mom told me about you and James. I’m happy for you.” Alex and James Kennedy have been separated for a few years, but they recently reunited.
“Thank you, Selena.” Her face glows, radiating happiness. “Life is better than ever right now, and I’ve a lot to be thankful for.” Her eyes penetrate mine. “We are renewing our vows in a small private ceremony in November,” she adds. “I would love you to come with your Mom. It’s just family and close friends.”
I bite down on my lip, swallowing painfully. “I—” My mouth turns dry, and the words flitter away. I hate disappointing her, because she has helped me in so many ways, but I can’t be there for her. Not with Keanu there. What if he brings a date? How embarrassing would it be if I had a panic attack in front of his entire family? It’s one of the reasons why I never went to his house, never formally met his family, when we were dating. The only members of his family I’ve met are Alex, Kent, Keaton, Kyler, and Faye, but in the latter three cases, it’s only been fleeting.
“It’s okay, honey.” She reaches her hand out instinctively, withdrawing it to her side almost as fast. “I understand.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “If it counts, I wish I could be there.”
“I know, sweetie.” She shoots me a smile loaded with compassion. “This may not be my place to say it, but he still misses you. Still loves you. There hasn’t been anyone else.”
I know he hasn’t been a saint, because I’ve heard rumors of him hooking up with a couple of models, but I’ve often wondered if he’d found a new girlfriend.
How can my heart rejoice and feel sad hearing that at the same time?
I don’t like to think about Keanu finding another woman to love, but I don’t like to think about him alone either, because a guy like Keanu deserves to love and be loved.
“I still miss him too,” I truthfully admit. “And there hasn’t been anyone else for me either.” There never will be, but that’s too pathetic to admit out loud.
She nods, sympathy etched all over her face. “I’m still rooting for you two, you know. I never thought James and I would get back together or that I would end up believing the years we spent apart were the best thing to ever happen to us, but the truth is, it was.” Hope dances in her eyes. “And I think you and my son needed that too. I understand and respect how much you need to do this for yourself. But I still believe you two belong together, and if it’s meant to be, you will find your way back to one another.”
My therapist has echoed those same sentiments to me in the past.
And if I’m being honest, it’s a truth I hold precious in my heart.
One day, hopefully not too far in the distant future, I pray we can move forward and live the life we both deserve.
It’s the only thought that keeps me going on bad days, when I question the decisions I’ve made in my life and wish things could be different. That belief keeps me strong on days where I long to rush back into the security of his arms, because it keeps me focused on why I did it in the first place and it stops me from undoing all my hard work.
I only hope that, by the time I’m ready to win back his heart, that it isn’t too late.
2
Keanu
The girl with the purple hair and “fuck me” eyes has finished explaining the setup and confirmed my times, and I finally escape to the safety of the changing area.
I didn’t want to be in New York this weekend, but that asshole Frankie booked this show against my wishes. I know it’s one of the busiest weeks in the fashion industry and me being here boosts my visibility and strengthens my brand.
I know he thinks he’s helping, but he’s just getting on my every last nerve. Or maybe it’s just I’m getting sick of the whole scene.
Perhaps I’ll do what Selena does: just focus on photoshoots and refuse the catwalk. It would mean less trips to New York, which would give me more time to focus on my studies. Sophomore year is already kicking my butt, and it’s only week three.
Or maybe I’ll just retire completely. Honestly, I don’t get much of a kick out of modeling anymore. Not when I’m no longer modeling with Sel.
“Sup, man.” Travis Kenna raises his fist for a knuckle touch, and I reluctantly oblige even though the guy is a class-A douche. Courting enemies within the industry is a surefire way of invoking drama, which I like to avoid like the plague. So, I usually keep my head down and focus on the work. “Didn’t know you were booked for this show.”
“Me either,” I say, walking in the direction of the petite girl with the clipboard, snapping at some poor sap cowering in the corner. The noise levels in the room are almost deafening, as staff with fixed earpieces rushes around the space barking out orders and models gossip as they rotate between the myriad of stylists lined up to prep us for the show. My nostrils twitch as the overpowering scent of cologne, perfume, and hairspray swirls through the air, aggravating all my senses.
“Kennedy can give you the lowdown,” Travis says to Ren Rivera as clipboard girl glares at me while pointing toward a rack of clothes.
“Lowdown on what?” I ask as I head toward the clothing assigned to me.
“Selena Douglas,” Ren coolly replies, sniffing audibly.
I slam to a halt mid-step, grinding my teeth to my molars, silently urging myself to calm the fuck down before I turn to face the two douches. “Why do you want to know?” I inquire even though I can guess.
“I want to take her out, but she keeps shooting me down.”
That’s my girl.
Except she isn’t.
Not anymore.
The only place where that still holds court is in the fantasy land in my head.
Rivera rubs at his nostrils, sniffing again, and it’s so fucking obvious he’s just done a line or two. Asshole still has a spot of white powder under his nose. Not that anyone will care. Cocaine use is rampant within the industry, and it’s not unusual for models to abuse it before a runway walk.
I’ve never touched the stuff, and what happened to Sel is a big part of the reason why. For years, she was forcibly drugged, and she told me it was hell detoxing. But she did it. And she hasn’t touched any illegal substances since. That takes iron-strong willpower, and I figured the least I could do was support her by never touching the stuff either. So, even on my darkest days, after we first broke up, when I inhaled JD as if it was oxygen, I was never tempted to turn to drugs.
Travis chuckles, raking a hand through his jet-black hair. “Say what you mean, man.” A malicious glint flares to life in his eyes as he looks to Rivera. “You want to fuck her until she can’t walk straight.” He smirks, and my fists clench into balls at my side.
The rumor mill has plenty to say about my ex, and speculation has been intense over what went down between us, something these fuckwits know.
It’s common knowledge that Selena is guarded and private, and I’ve heard all manner of shit spoken about her. Hearing some sleazeball say he wants to fuck her is nothing new, but Travis Kenna speaking about her like that has blood rushing to my ears and adrenaline spiking in my veins.
He put his hands on her at a Kennedy Apparel party one time, and Selena had a full-blown panic attack. Since then, he’s gone out of his way to spread shit about her, and he never loses an opportunity to wind me up.
“Stay away from Selena.” I drill a warning look at Rivera. “She doesn’t date within the industry.” I’d like to think she doesn’t date, period, but I still have nightmares about that nerd Todd she was with last year when Kent and I bumped into her at Torment. Seeing her in a nightclub was already a shock to my system, but seeing her with another guy leveled me, and I haven’t been the same since.
“She dated you.” Rivera is fishing. But I’m giving him jack.
“Leave her alone,” I warn before turning my back on him.
“Kennedy’s just jealous he never got to sample that virgin pussy. Wasn’t for lack of trying,” Travis sneers.
My jaw tightens, and every muscle in my body locks up tight. Travis is talking out of his ass, and he has no clue what he’s saying. I turn around slowly, putting myself all up in his face. “You still sore over the fact she rejected you years ago? Because that’s fucking pathetic. As is your need to badmouth her any chance you get. Get over it already.”
Heat flashes behind his retinas. “I always thought she was a stuck-up prissy bitch, but it’s more than that. She’s a fucking nutjob. She proved it that night.”
He smirks, and I’ve never wanted to punch the fuck out of someone as badly as I want to punch Travis right now. “You know nothing, asshole.” My fists clench and unclench at my side, and I’m conscious we’re drawing attention from other parts of the room. “And I’m sick of your bullshit. For the last time, leave Selena alone.” I put my face right up in his. “If I have to warn you again, I won’t be using words to do it.”
He pushes me in the chest. “You think you’re so fucking hard, but everyone knows you’re just a sad little mommy’s boy who couldn’t even nail the broken bitch he was dating.”
Douche is really pressing my buttons today.
I have never used my mother to further my modeling career.
Everything I have achieved has been due to my own determination and hard work. Sure, I could have taken an easier route and got Mom to use her connections, but I’ve always wanted to do this on my own. “If she’s so broken, in your opinion, why are you wasting any time on her?” I challenge.
“Step down.” A burly security guard materializes at our side, and I’m guessing clipboard girl called for backup.
Travis leans forward, pressing his mouth close to my ear. “Because fucking the stupid bitch up will bring me satisfaction, and I can’t wait to see the look on your face when I take the one thing you wanted but could never have.”
Red coats my vision, and I lose it. Grabbing hold of his neck with both hands, I squeeze tight before I slam him up against the wall and pummel my fist in his face. I know he baited me on purpose. To get me kicked off the show. But I don’t fucking care. No one gets to talk about Selena like that and get away with it.
* * *
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I mumble to myself as I’m forced to park my X5 at the side of the road. I have an assigned space in the small parking garage underneath the building where we live. But some asshole is in my spot, leaving me with no choice but to park outside.
There are only four condos in this private six-story building. All condos are spread over three levels, so there are two condos occupying the bottom three floors and two on the top. It’s a very modern design and not at all usual for this part of town, which is mainly full of student rentals.
We only moved in three months ago, and it’s great having a place to call our own.
When we turned eighteen, we received the first lump sum from our trust fund, which gave us the funds to buy our first home. Next year, on our twenty-first birthday, we’re due to come into the bulk of the inheritance our grandfather left us.
During freshman year, my brother Kent and I stayed in an apartment belonging to our parents. Our other brother Keaton was supposed to be living with us too, but he ditched Harvard for Berkeley, surprising the hell out of Kent and me.
As triplets, and the youngest in the family, we’re close. Closer than I am to any of my other four brothers. Our plan had always been to attend Harvard together. Until Keaton made alternative plans without letting Kent or me in on the secret. We were more than a little pissed, but we’ve gotten over it.
And sophomore year is off to a good start now we have our own place. I love the independence that comes with
home ownership.
I glance up at the impressive gray stone façade, grateful we found something like this so close to campus. My brother Kalvin was the one who discovered it. He’s in his last year of his architecture degree program at the University of Florida, and he clearly has his finger on the pulse of the Boston market. I suspect he’s planning to move back to Massachusetts when he and his wife Lana graduate next summer. It’s just a hunch, but why else would he know enough to recommend this project and an up-and-coming new architectural firm if he hadn’t already been scouting the market back home?
Kent and I own and share the top left-hand space of the building.
A space that is currently lit up like a fucking Christmas tree even though it’s after two a.m.
I climb out of the car and sigh. Can’t say I’m surprised. I’m used to my brother’s party boy lifestyle by now. Weary resignation settles over me as the thumping beats of loud music instantly greet my ears. We are lucky we live on a side street in a part of Cambridge notorious for its student population. Otherwise, I’m sure we’d regularly have the cops beating down our door.
I grab my duffel from the trunk, lock the car, and head into the building.
The dark cloud hovering over my head grows thicker and blacker with every step I take. I pause outside the door to our condo, resting my forehead on the door, preparing myself for what I’ll find when I cross the threshold.
Kent has a tendency to throw last-minute parties at the drop of a hat, and I’m getting really fucking sick of this shit. Sick of random strangers passed out all over the lower level of our place. Sick of cleaning up puke, filthy cigarette butts, and piss-filled bottles and clearing away evidence of drug use.
For a time, when Sel and I first split up, I lost myself in Kent’s world. Drinking myself into oblivion. Fucking nameless, faceless women. And partying like it was my new career. But it’s getting old lately, and the stuff we got up to on Nantucket a couple months ago, when we were there for my brother Kalvin’s wedding to his childhood sweetheart Lana, put the final nail in the coffin.
Releasing Keanu Page 2
