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I don’t even notice I have company until Jackson clinks the neck of his bottle against mine. “Everything okay, Mylo?”
I nod slowly, only just managing to drag my gaze from her to look at him. “Fine, man.” I take a long pull from my bottle.
He studies my face, his forehead furrowing. “So, you and Kenzi are a thing now?”
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache, but I nod.
“She’s like a sister to me. Don’t fuck it up.” He’s smirking now, but there’s no hiding the truth behind his words, it’s written in the steadiness of his stare. “She’s had her fair share of losers. It would be cool to see her with someone real.”
Kenzi’s eyes meet mine from across the party like she knows she’s being talked about. I lift my chin, but the smile she offers is filled with worry. Compassion. And a whole load of fucking pity. I sigh hard and turn back to Jackson. “I want the best for her too.” Even if that best isn’t me.
He regards me for a second longer than I’m comfortable with, frowning as if he senses something’s off even though he has no reason to doubt me.
“The girls are about to start their dance, Jackson.” A tall black-haired woman slides her arm around Jackson’s waist, leaning past him to smile at me. “Excuse me for interrupting.”
“Mylo. This is Maika.” Jackson steps back, allowing her to reach for my hand. “She teaches a dance team when she’s not off being New York’s best lawyer.” He kisses her cheek.
“Good to meet you.” I shake her offered hand.
“You too. I’ve heard a lot about you.” She touches the middle of Jackson’s chest and tilts her head to where the mayor is standing, getting ready to watch the group of little girls that have just walked into the middle of the lawn in long black, brightly embroidered skirts, their wrists jingling with silver bracelets. “Ian’s over there. Shall we?”
“Duty calls.” Jackson clasps my shoulder. “You coming?”
“Nah, man. I’ll watch from here.”
The almost tribal drumming starts up as the girls get into position, and I’m instantly reminded of the night Kenzi and her friends put on an impromptu show at the Beach Hut last year.
Kenzi’s hands are clasped at her chest, a grin on her face as she watches the little girls raise their arms getting into position and, in that moment, I’ve never been more certain of the fact that she needs to have this in her future. Children to beam over. A family to be proud of.
I place my beer on one of the white tablecloth-covered tables and turn to leave as the clapping starts up.
Kenzi
He’s leaving. Without me.
My eyes sting, but I’m already moving, already weaving through the party, trying not to overreact. The man has cancer. He could be dying. But he’s leaving—withoutme.
He’s by the car by the time I make it under the arch. My feet burn, my toes squished into the strap across them, but I keep on going, my heels unsteady on the natural stone of the path.
“You’re leaving?”
His back straightens, his hand falling from the door handle, but he doesn’t turn. Frozen. Every muscle in his massive back is tight beneath his dress jacket. My stomach knots, but I keep walking towards him.
I stop behind him, my chest heaving, my lips trembling, the warm floral breeze ruffling my hair nowhere near enough to stop my hands from shaking. “You were just going to leave?”
His fingers curl into fists, and his shoulders drop. “Kenzi. I can’t…”
“Can’t do what? Stay? Talk? Tell me what’s going on?”
He turns then but doesn’t look me in the face and my heart clenches in my chest.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I take a step closer to him, ignoring the people milling around, some guests, some just tourists enjoying the Clua sunshine, the soft jazz still playing distantly. “Orchiectomy? What is that? Where’s the cancer? Are you…?” I trail off. I can’t—won’t say the word. My pulse thumps in my throat, my nose buzzing. “You should have told me.”
His gray eyes meet mine then. Detached. Defensive. “I’m in remission.” The words hang in the air between us, and my brain struggles to catch up.
“Remission? That’s good, right? Then why? I don’t understand.” I reach for his big hand where it’s hanging loosely by his side.
He pulls it out of reach. I snatch my hand back and shake my head. “I don’t understand. Is it because I read the letter? I didn’t mean to. I—”
