“Nope. It was more of an on-the-job training situation,” Walker answered.
Kota sucked in a breath. “At fifteen, I was getting driving lessons from our legally blind neighbor in exchange for cutting her lawn. Who did you kill?”
“My father,” Walker said, still as casual as a weather report.
Kota’s pulse jackrabbitted in his throat. “You killed your dad?”
The words hung between them, absurdly at odds with the smell of coffee and syrup and the clatter of dishes around them.
Walker shrugged. “To be fair, he was trying to kill me first.” A small smile played at the corner of his lips, like he was remembering something fondly. “He just brought a knife to a gun fight. Literally. He was mean, but, God, was he also stupid. Killing him was almost too easy.”
Walker sounded disappointed, like he’d expected more from the man. Like the memory didn’t haunt him in the slightest. Kota couldn’t relate. He was still haunted by the memory of once answering a work call by saying “Can you help me?” instead of “May I help you?”
Kota didn’t understand how people could just live their lives without any anxiety. Every error took permanent root in his psyche to be played back later whenever he needed to sleep soundly. Usually, around three in the morning when his brain decided embarrassment from seven years ago was suddenly an emergency.
Walker clearly didn’t have the same issue.
They did have one thing in common, though. Shitty parents. Or at leastashitty parent.
“I wish I’d known you when I was a kid,” Kota said wistfully. “Maybe you could have killed my mom, too.”
The joke came out lighter than the truth underneath it.
Walker looked at him in surprise. “Is that why you said we should be killing more people earlier?”
Kota nodded. “People think I should have cut her more slack because she was an addict, but the amount of times I almost died due to her neglect had nothing to do with her being a junkie and everything to do with her loser boyfriend who didn’t want me around.”
He reached for his drink, suddenly fascinated by the melting ice rattling inside. His voice stayed light, but bitterness sat heavy underneath it, old and familiar.
Walker gave him a thorough once-over that had the blood in his head rushing south. “Hard to imagine anyone not wanting you around.”
The words hit harder than they should have. Nobody had ever said things like that to him before. At least, not without immediately wanting something in return.
“Only ‘cause you don’t know me,” Kota said. “Give it a minute. You’ll wanna get rid of me, too. I’m annoying.”
Walker side-eyed him. “Says who?”
“Everyone,” Kota answered, trying to sound unbothered. “I don’t blame them. I make dumb decisions. I’m gullible. I fall forstupid shit all the time. No matter how many times I get burned, I still believe people—even murderers, apparently.”
Including the ridiculously attractive one currently staring at him from across the table.
“Trusting people doesn’t sound like a bad thing,” Walker said softly.
Trusting people had gotten him burned more times than he could remember, but not trusting people hadn’t worked out any better. Was it better to keep believing that eventually someone would mean it when they said they wanted to take care of him, or better to just believe that he was totally unlovable?
“I get taken advantage of a lot,” Kota admitted, cheeks flushing. “After the first few times, people stop being sympathetic and start thinking you either want to be taken advantage of or you deserve it for being such an easy mark.”
The confession felt ugly the second it left his mouth. Like he should have kept it to himself.
The muscle in Walker’s jaw ticked as he studied Kota. After a moment, he said, “The people who took advantage of that trust are the assholes, not you.”
There was no judgment in his voice. No pity either. If anything, he sounded angry. Not annoyed. Not inconvenienced.Angryon Kota’s behalf. Had anyone ever been angry on Kota’s behalf? Ever?
Somehow, that made it worse. Or maybe better. Kota couldn’t tell anymore. Because, for the first time in a very long time, someone was looking at him like the things that had happened to him weren’t his fault.
Kota’s laugh sounded bitter even to his own ears. “My mother said I was born a sucker, that I would easily let a stranger lure me into a van with talk of kittens or puppies.” He sighed heavily. “Joke’s on her, though. The guy who kidnapped me onlyhad to offer to buy me donuts. But in my defense, I hadn’t eaten in three days.”
The joke landed flat between them, weighed down by everything hiding underneath it.
