Page 58 of My Fight

Me: Keep me posted on Conor.

I waited for a reply from Chrissy, but by the time Ryan pulled into his driveway, I hadn't received one.

When Ryan shut the truck off, he peeked over for the first time and ended the long silence.

"Kenna," he said, drawing me out of my worried mind about Conor doing something he'd regret because that's who Conor was—a react-first and think-later kind of guy.

I love him.I loved that he was so protective of me and that he loved so fiercely, but that was also what made him react dangerously.

“Kenna,” Ryan said my name again, and I turned to face him. "Are you okay?" Concerned etched his voice.

"Yup." I turned, opened the door, then walked up the three steps to the front door and turned to wait for Ryan, who was right behind me. Before he unlocked the door, he placed his hand on my hip.

"Let me take a quick shower, and then I'm all yours."

All mine . . . Is he really all mine? Or is he going to pull back further, further than he did the past week?I shook my head as I entered Ryan's home, trying to clear my mind.

Ryan walked to the back of the house, where his bedroom and bathroom were located, and I turned toward the living room. I took my guitar from the corner of the room and sat on the sofa. Pulling the hair tie from my wrist, I threw my hair up into a messy bun and set my guitar on my lap.

Slowly, I started to strum the chords. As I continued to play, the words started to overtake me.

Words of love. Words of protection. Words of fighting. And words of strength.

A piece of hair fell out of the hair tie and into my face. I blew it away and continued to strum the guitar strings, humming the words that were entering my mind. The more the words came to me, the quicker I hummed, eventually putting the words into verses.

The first verse came to me, and I sang it aloud, and then the second verse came, and I began to sing that one too. I continued to sing verse after verse, completely lost in my own musical world.

25

RYAN

Stepping under the hot water from the shower head, I scrubbed a hand down my face. I had barely slept the past week. Every time I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep, the same nightmare played out in my mind. I was returning to the mobile home I grew up in, reliving the horrible night I lost my mother. I ran, dirt kicking up from my beat-up shoes on the dirt roads where the homes were placed. The cop tried to stop me from getting to her.

There she was, lying on the kitchen floor, covered in blood, but only this time, and every night for the past week, it wasn't my mother—it was Kenna, lying there lifeless.

I could never save my mother—would never save her—from the monster in her life.

Kenna, my strong Kenna. She had fought back and saved herself.

I tried not to feel like I failed her, but it was impossible.

Each night, I woke up from the vision of the girl I loved dead on the floor, and there was nothing I could do. Each night when I opened my eyes and saw her next to me in bed, I was thankful. I breathed a sigh of relief.

I loved her. I had always loved her. Hell, I knew I’d always love her. But I didn't deserve her. I wasn't able to protect her.

Shutting the shower off, stepping out, and grabbing the terry cloth towel from the hook, I wrapped it around my waist. I heard the strumming of the guitar and knew that Kenna was playing. I looked at myself in the steam-fogged mirror, disgusted with myself. I knew I should let Kenna go and be with someone who was better than me, but I was selfish. I had to keep her.

She’s mine.

Stepping from the bathroom to my room, I grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a tank. Throwing them on, I listened to the soft voice of the strong and beautiful woman in my living room. I couldn't make out the words, but the sounds drew me from my room to the doorway of the living room. I leaned against the doorjamb, watching the beauty sitting on the sofa with the guitar I had seen in her arms since we were both teenagers.

"You don't need to fight for me, just adore me." Her voice hit perfect pitch, even under the emotional strain. "I don't need you to fight for me. I just need you to love me. It's your love. It's your love that gives me strength. This is my fight. My fight to win with your love."

I pushed away from the door jam and made my way toward her.

Her love and her strength pulled me forward.

Kenna looked up from the guitar, her beautiful emerald eyes on me. She lifted her lips into a smile.

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