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“Lo? You still there?”
I clear my throat. “How is he?”
“He’s good. Dad’s new golden child. Said he’d like to meet up with you next time you’re over, though.”
Dread wraps itself tightly around my gut. I close my eyes and the memory of his face, contorted in pain, and covered in soot and blood almost steals my breath. “Yeah, maybe.”
“I’ll tell him you say hi. Right, I gotta get going, break’s over. I’ll message your appointment details when I get them. Love you, Lo.”
“Love you, Jay.” I drag myself back up off the sand and cut the call, my heartbeat already thumping too fast, claustrophobia wrapping my throat, a sticky darkness creeping around the edges of my vision. My breaths shorten. This—this—is why I had to step back from the kid. My shrink called it triggered PTSD. I call it what it is—my biggest fucking weakness. I close my eyes and focus on pulling in air through my nose, then releasing it slowly from my mouth, tapping my thumb against my forefinger.One. My middle finger.Two. Ring finger.Three. Pinky.Four. Then repeat with the other hand. Forefinger, middle finger, ring finger, pinkie. Focus. Count. Breathe. Focus. Count. Breathe.
FIVE
Kenzi
“And you haven’t told anybody yet?” My brother’s voice fills my bedroom from the hands-free speaker on my cell.
“Nope.” I pull the towel from my hair and sit at the dresser. I told him about the restaurant. He called, and honestly? I needed someone to tell me I’m not crazy, that I can do this before I go announcing my plans to the world—and my mom. “I have a meeting with the council next week. Then I’ll go see Mom about getting my money out of Gran’s trust.”
“It’s a big project. Have you checked out contractors? Architects?” Olly’s a year younger than me, but he’s always been the practical one—the brains of the family. Literally. He’s studying to be a brain surgeon at NYMC. “Scrub that, of course you have. You’ve probably got lists for days too, am I right?”
“I have a list.” It’s not a lie, so what if it’s two pages long? I drag a comb through my damp hair, glancing at the list in question on my vanity. Okay, three pages long.
“I think it’s a sound idea, Kenz. Not like the last few. Mom and Dad will see that too. You’ve got this.”
My gaze meets my own in the mirror. He’s right. So I took a couple—okay, like seven detours—to get here. It doesn’t matter. I can make this work. They will see that. I nod at my reflection. “Definitely got this.”
“Does it have a name?”
Banging on the front door stops me just as I’m about to admit that I don’t have a name. Not yet. My shoulders sag. “Olly, I gotta go. There’s someone at the door.” I frown at my cell’s screen when I cut the call. Two missed calls from Felix. One from Laia too. I’m not even late for our pamper night yet. She’s probably placing her ice cream order. It vibrates in my hand.
MYLO CALLING.
I frown at the flashing screen.
More loud rapping against my door.
I jump off the stool already lifting the cell to my ear. “Mylo, this isn’t a good time. Somebody’s at the—”
“Open the door, Kenzi.” His rough voice deadpans in stereo from my cell speaker and through the front door as I near it, and butterflies promptly lodge themselves in my throat. Yesterday, things felt—I shake my head. I will not go reading into things that aren’t there. Not this time.
The door opens before I can prepare myself for it—him—the Mylo effect. I’m not prepared. Not prepared at all. It’s his smell, I think. It’s spicy and beachy and clean, and it makes me nervous in all the right ways—or wrong ways. I need to stop breathing when I’m around him. Simple.
Cell phone still pressed to his ear, his gaze slips down to my red silk kimono before he jerks it back up to my face and clears his throat. “Baby’s here. I’m heading over now if you need a ride.”
“Laia had the baby already?” I push the door open wider, then spin on my fluffy green polka dot socks. “Why did nobody tell me?”
“She tried—we all did. Line’s been busy for over an hour. And you need to get this door fixed.”
“It works fine… most of the time.” I wrinkle my nose. Refocus on the important stuff. Laia’s peanut is finally here. “The door’s not important. How’s Laia? How’s baby?”
“Everybody is fine. It happened quick for a first baby,” he mutters, but he’s no longer paying attention to me. He’s got a hold of the door and is twisting the handle.
I roll my eyes but leave him to it. “Give me five.” I call over my shoulder, skip-running to my bedroom.
I shove on some underwear and my denim cutoffs from the top of my clean laundry pile, then grab a white tank. Flip-flops, quick ponytail and I’m done.
He’s not where I left him when I make it back to the living room. And its. Not. Cool.
