by Amy McKinley
“Tell me about the bruises.” His voice was whisper-soft, but I knew that was when he was his most dangerous.
My spine snapped straight, and in my mind, I looked back to when I’d put the makeup on, examining every inch of my face and neck. I’d covered it all. How does he know? Did I rub some off while I was talking with Mrs. Simon? “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve never worn that much makeup before—”
“Maybe that’s because we haven’t been around each other since high school. Specifically, the night we were together. Not even at Kieran’s funeral. So how would you know how much makeup I wear?” I countered.
A sad half smile curved his mouth. “Because I know you. And there are also faint shadows beneath the makeup on your neck. I suspect there are more. What happened?”
I stomped down on the panic before it could take over. I was safe. He couldn’t have known. Then my eyes narrowed at the obvious way he’d ignored my digs about when we’d stopped talking. “I had a run-in with my board when I was surfing last week.” I offered a chilly smile that didn’t encourage further questions. “It’s nothing.”
His phone beeped, and he broke eye contact to glance at the screen. A fierce frown marred his face, and I couldn’t stop the stab of concern. I hadn’t talked with Xander for long that day at the beach, but I assumed both he and Tyler were still in the Navy. Whether his brothers were okay or not had to have been a constant worry for Jaxon since he was out.
“What is it?” Before I could stop myself, I reached out and covered his hand. He flipped his over so that his palm was against mine then laced our fingers together. It was a simple touch, but it meant everything to me. And my traitorous heart sped up at the realization.
When his troubled gaze met mine, I knew I would do whatever it took to help him. I would even bury my hurt and betrayal over the circumstances of our lack of communication over the years.
“It was a news alert. Several explosions happened at the same time.”
A mask fell over his features, hiding his troubled expression, and I leaned forward and placed my hand on his tense forearm. Jaxon wasn’t built like most men. He was a warrior, a SEAL, former or not. He had an innate moral code to defend, to save. And while he didn’t say it, we were both thinking the news alert he’d mentioned was possibly a terrorist attack.
He stood and pulled me from my chair, drawing me close. When he wrapped his arms around me, and I rested against his solid chest, I felt safe for the first time that week. We had our differences, too many to count, but maybe there was a way he could help me without me telling him what happened. I wound my arms around his waist and offered him the same comfort he’d given me as an idea of how he could help me formed.
3
Jaxon
Kayla and I parted ways soon after I got the alert on my phone. She climbed into her car to go to her parents’ house, and I got in the squad car and headed for the station. I’d wanted to grill her over what was going on, especially after she’d all but admitted that my guess about the bruising was true. It had been more than a guess, actually—the side of her neck was tinged green, and I saw it when the breeze blew her hair back. The discussion wasn’t over. I knew where to find her.
The sound of the phones ringing and conversations vying to be heard enveloped me as I stepped inside the station, along with the scent of coffee. I shifted into work mode, promising myself I would see her soon.
Several officers crowded around a TV airing a repeat of the three explosions caught on pedestrians’ video. Fiery flames consumed the front portion of a floral shop and a car in front of a breakfast joint, and a third video captured the aftermath of a residential explosion. Only the homeowners’ names had been released so far. With the unrest in South America, my mind pinpointed a potential militia group responsible for the American deaths. There had to have been a connection.
“Matheson”—my gut screamed to get involved in the investigation and that I was missing some vital piece of information that would tie it all together—“who’s the detective on this?”
He let out a gusty breath before heading back to his desk, tossing a name over his shoulder before he sat: “Nolan.”
“Has any more information come through on the victims?” I tore my gaze from the horrifying images on the screen to comb the station, looking for the lead detective, who resented my presence and close connection to the chief.
Nolan and I didn’t get along on the best of days—he inaccurately thought I was gunning for his job. I pressed Matheson for details, and fortunately, he complied. “The residence belonged to the Greers. Both were inside, and neither made it. We don’t know yet about the florist. If they’ve found anyone, I’d imagine they’re waiting to inform family first.” His chair groaned under his weight, and he bent his head to two-finger type whatever report he was working on. “The only evidence that I know of was a gas-company truck parked on the curb outside the residence yesterday. Nolan would have more details.”
I grunted. Nolan wouldn’t share information with a beat cop he harbored distrust for, even if his so-called reasons were far from the truth. I couldn’t wait to turn in my badge and get on with my next endeavor.
My cell phone rang, and I moved to a relatively quiet corner of the station to answer when Xander’s name popped up on the screen. He and Riley were still on their honeymoon in the Cook Islands and not due back for a few weeks. “Hey.”
“Jax.” The sound of lapping water surrounding their over-water bungalow filtered through the line along with Riley’s “hello” in the background, which I reciprocated. “We caught some footage of the explosions. Know anything?”
I rubbed a hand across my forehead. “No. Have you checked in with Tyler?”
“He’s not back yet, so no.”
“The timing’s shit.” We couldn’t talk about what was going on with the mission Ty’s SEAL team was on—neither of us had re-upped. I could have fought my honorable medical discharge, but I hadn’t. It had been time for a change.
We knew enough from being in the Navy. Especially Xander, as his return to civilian life was recent.
“I’m worried about Ty,” he said.
I was too. “I’m going to put a call into Jack, see if he has any intel.” Jack Davis ran a team of former SEALs who did mostly rescue and recovery missions. He was a friend, and I would soon join his company’s ranks on an as-needed basis. Xander too. Jack had CIA and fed connections who could have relevant information.
Water splashed in the background, and I figured it was Riley jumping off the deck, into the lagoon. “Keep me informed.”
“Goes without saying.” I could sense Xander’s grin without having to see him. Not much would have gotten him to call during his honeymoon. But a possible terrorist attack, especially one that coincided with our baby brother on a mission to South America, did. “How are things with Riley?” My new sister-in-law and I hadn’t met under the best of circumstances. She’d been the victim of several break-ins, and we’d almost lost her at one point. I hadn’t been a fan at first. The friction had been because I’d been so worried about my brother when Riley was the focus of the suspicious incidents, but that was over, and Xander loved her. She was family, one of us now, and I couldn’t have been happier for them.
“Riles took about a billion pictures just this morning.” Contentment bled from Xander’s voice. “We’re going snorkeling later today then on a party boat. Three weeks isn’t long enough. We’re doing all the cliché tourist things that I swore I never would. But man, I get the appeal by her reactions alone. How the hell did a week pass already?”
We had our own piece of paradise on the island our family owned, but it wasn’t the same as getting away. Xander and Riley deserved it. She hadn’t done a lot of traveling. She was the perfect partner for my brother and fit right in with the rest of us too.
I couldn’t help thinking about Kayla joining our expanding family. I’d wanted her when we were younger, and I wanted her stil
l.
4
Kayla
After Jaxon left to go to the police station, I got behind the wheel with my to-go coffee. It was early, but I knew my parents would be awake. Even though it was risky, I needed to see them.
I hadn’t expected to run into Jaxon so soon or to have the memories of our only night together crowd my mind. In person, I couldn’t fight the images or the magnetic attraction that had always existed between us, even when we were miles or continents apart. How I felt near him and linked through our past didn’t matter—he’d betrayed my brother and me. I’d moved on.
I inched through the traffic, thick with people rushing to work, and realized I had to alter my way of thinking if I wanted to keep my parents safe and make it harder for Roy to find me. As a professional fighter, he had the stamina and zealous devotion to see things through when he put his mind to what he wanted. I only hoped he didn’t want me back as badly as I feared he did.
Twenty minutes later and out of the crush of commuters, I wove through the neighboring streets then pulled to the curb in front of my childhood home. I had another sip of my lukewarm coffee and took a moment to enjoy the tropical plants, the bay window, and the walkway.
I left my luggage in the backseat and climbed out. It was a quaint neighborhood with immaculate lawns and pretty flowerbeds that ran the length of the house. Mom kept everything weeded and beautiful, while Dad maintained the lawn. Hot pink, fuchsia, purple, and a wide array of green leaves were a tribute to Mom’s capable gardening skills.
My gaze tripped over a sign in the yard that hadn’t been there before. What the hell is that? I couldn’t quite believe it and climbed out to take a closer look as I made my way up the driveway. They’re selling the house?
Denial and devastation at the thought of losing another connection to my brother weighed heavily in my heart. I staggered to the front door and leaned against the brick, taking a moment to corral my ping-ponging emotions.
There had to have been an explanation, and I vowed to listen to it with a calm mind, even though I wanted to scream at them not to sell our home, the place where my brother and I had created so many memories. But I couldn’t—Dad’s heart surgery was a bigger fear. The idea of causing him distress wasn’t a good one. He needed to fully recover because I couldn’t lose him too.
Wiping any traces of what I was feeling from my face, I rapped my knuckles on the door before using my key to enter. “Aloha.”
Hibiscus intermingled with the lemony smell of furniture cleaner, both familiar and heartwarming. They symbolized home and were a comforting scent from my past.
“Kayla!” Mom shrieked as she rounded the corner and pulled me in for a hug. “I didn’t know you were coming.” She patted my cheek, smiling from ear to ear. “Come to the kitchen. We have a coffee cake I pulled out of the oven ten minutes ago, and your father is in there, drinking decaf.” Her voice hushed to a conspiratorial whisper.
My eyebrows rose practically to my hairline. “How did you manage that?” Dad was a coffee addict like I was. We snubbed decaf.
She smirked. “I told him it was a new flavor. I kept the decaf part to myself.”
“That’s downright evil.” I grinned back at her while making a mental note to check what coffee pods were the decaf ones so she didn’t pull that trick on me too.
I followed her, resisting the urge to tug on one of the strands of her wildly curly hair, which fell just past her mid-back. When I was young, I used to do that, fascinated by how her curls would spring right back into the corkscrew shape they were always in.
We were the same height, mirror images of one another minus wavy hair against her curls and despite the age difference and the few extra pounds Mom carried, which made her all the more beautiful. We’d grown closer since Kieran died. He was her angel, and I was the apple of my father’s eye.
Things had changed after that night—more than love and family bound the three of us. We were tied together in grief and survival, relying on each other to stay afloat. We’d done a pretty good job of it, too, except for my recent relationship with Roy, which I hoped they never found out about.
We entered the kitchen, arm in arm. Dad sat at the round table with a steaming mug and plate with fruit, eggs, and a small slice of coffee cake. “Aloha, Dad.”
When he turned, I fought overwhelming emotion and sheer relief at seeing him so hale after a week of rest and recovery. I bent and gave him a gentle squeeze and was swallowed in his embrace. “You look wonderful.”
And he did. Dad was half Samoan, while Mom was not. He was big and muscular, and other than the small pouch from Mom’s fantastic cooking, he looked like a linebacker, with the tribal tats to match. Mom was the opposite, with her light skin, green eyes, and petite build. Kieran and I had the same eyes and smile, which we got from Mom. That was where the similarities ended. Kieran had been a replica of our dad, while I was Mom’s.
“Sit.” Mom motioned for me to take the chair across from Dad, so I released him and straightened. She already had a plate piled high with breakfast, and I did what she said and dug in.
“You’re too thin, Kayla.” Mom fluttered around, replacing my cold coffee with a fresh mug. I narrowed my eyes at her, and she shook her head, letting me know it wasn’t the same as what dad had. “Have you been skipping meals?”
I waved away the concern that etched lines around her mouth, despite the fact I truly hadn’t been eating much for the past week. “I’m fine. I eat. Promise. It’s because I can’t cook like you, so I don’t enjoy the food as much.”
“Such a flatterer.” But Mom’s cheeks were pink, and joy sparkled in her eyes as she sat to join us.
Dad draped an arm around the back of her chair, and his fingers played with one of her curls. Those two were always touching, always showing each other how much they loved one another. It’d been reassuring to Kieran and me, especially when so many of our friends’ parents divorced. There was never a worry that would happen to ours. They inspired us for what we wanted someday. Kieran had found that in his girlfriend, Leslie, and if he’d lived to someday marry her, he would have had it.
We were silent for a few moments as we tucked into our breakfast. When I finished, I pushed my plate away, tracing my finger over the chip in the table where Kieran had tried to gouge his name when we were young. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. They must have known my question was coming when I met their solemn gazes across the table. “Why are you selling?”
Mom wrung her hands but looked to my father as she said, “Your dad is retiring at the end of the year, and the house is too big for us. We want something smaller, easier, with less work.”
They embodied the image of young, hip parents. They’d fallen in love when they were eighteen and had Kieran and me a year later. Because of the way they minimized concerns and made everything look easy, I was forced to read between the lines: less stress, minimal yard work. “That makes sense. Will you stay in Honolulu?”
“Yes,” Dad answered. “We’re buying a condo from a friend at a steal of a price.”
I furrowed my brows but didn’t press for information. “I’ll help in any way I can.”
“That’s wonderful, darling. We could use help with packing everything up. We’re moving in three weeks.”
“So soon?” I couldn’t keep the surprise from my voice. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“We were going to call and let you know this week,” Dad explained. “But you’re here now.”
While my parents chatted about the neighbors and how their week was going, I wrestled with the coming change while making the appropriate nods and comments. I wasn’t paying close attention. My mind whirled with the looming loss of our childhood home, a place where I felt Kieran’s presence most deeply.
After I helped Mom clear the table, I wandered into my room, where they said there were empty boxes. They didn’t say it, but I knew it would be the same situation in Kieran’s room. We’d left it mostly untouched after he died. None o
f us could bring ourselves to get rid of anything.
That was where I would start.
It would be hard for me and devastating for them. I didn’t want them to have to carry that burden, especially after Dad’s surgery. I couldn’t lose them too.
I stepped into Kieran’s room, and it felt as if he was there with me. I could hear him laughing and giving my hair a slight tug while he tried to convince me to go to the beach with his friends, to let loose for a change. He was gone, but there was so much life in the room. Kieran had been jammed full of it.
I walked the perimeter of his room. The lack of clothes he’d always left all over every inch of the space and the made bed were the only things that seemed unnatural. I ran my hand across his dark-gray bedspread and fought the urge to curl on it and hug the pillow to my chest. I swiped at a tear. God, Kieran, I miss you.
“You, too, Little K.”
With a sigh, I ignored his voice in my head and got to work, sorting through his clothes in the closet, making two piles: one to donate and one to throw out. I checked all the pockets just in case there was anything secreted away. It took less time than I would have thought, probably because I was moving on autopilot.
As I moved onto Kieran’s shelves and desk cluttered with memorabilia, I couldn’t help but wonder who was selling our parents the condo. I needed to find out to make sure it was a good investment and that they would be safe.
But that was for later. My goal was to get through as much of my brother’s stuff as I could, because I didn’t know when I would be able to come back here.
His football trophies, awards, and team pictures went in another box, along with his high school yearbooks. Then there was the scholarship award and letter of admission for the university he never got to attend. Tears leaked from my eyes, and I swiped them away, taking some calming breaths. My parents wouldn’t want to get rid of any of it. My hands shook from the stolen dreams and years, the promise of Kieran’s potential snuffed too soon as I closed the box and wrote on the side what the contents were.
