I tail her like I’m trying to give her a ticket the whole way back to the ranch, throwing myself out of the door the second that the car’s in park and chasing her up the porch steps like I’m trying to fulfil an SAS operative.
Damn is she fast.
“I know that it’s my fault, Kitty,” I pant, taking the stairs two at a time whilst she sprints ahead like the Duracell bunny. “If I hadn’t been careless like that then you wouldn’t have been in harm’s way tonight, and then I wouldn’t have been all over you in public, and then Kaleb wouldn’t have confiscated his guitar-”
“Meaning that I can’t do my show, Madden! My one ticket to get me off of this ranch, slow but steady, and now it’s gone!”
She throws her hands up to her face, scrubbing away too many tears for me to handle, so I lean down to try and scoop her up before she can get through the front door. She swats me away like a fly.
“We had two days to go – only two days! And now you’re going to be back on the road, all buddy-buddy, and I’m going to be stuck here with no contest to go to, nothing to show for myself, nothing of my own, and nothing to make me happy.”
Fuck, I’m such an asshole. I tug hard at my hair, trying to think of a way around this.
The only solution that I come up with is her singing a-cappella, but half the point of the talent competition is showcasing layers of musical talent. Which she has. In fucking buckets. It would be an insult to even say it so I keep my mouth shut, racking my brain for another avenue.
Too slow. She yanks open the door and bolts straight up the stairs.
I’m about to start mounting after her when her mom appears at the gallery balcony. Sees Kitty’s tears, the blood on her cheek.
Gives me a look that says I’m about to be vaporised.
Kitty slams her bedroom door shut and her mom starts descending the stairs, her eyes swinging over the railing towards the pistol mounted on the wall.
Fair enough. I raise my hands in surrender for the second time tonight.
“I swear,” I start, shaking my head from side to side. “I swear that it’s not what it looks like.”
“If you laid a hand on my girl,” she whispers, eyes slicing me up like salami, “you’ll be leaving this property a couple muscles lighter.”
I don’t fucking doubt it. I nod in understanding.
“There was a car accident – no, an almost car accident,” I correct myself, then saying a quick thank you prayer to God. I shake my head, trying to clear the mist from my brain. “She was running over to me, it was streaking with rain, and this fucking lampshade with a licence-”
“Watch your mouth.”
“Sorry, ma’am. I mean, this guy who can’t tell his elbow from his earlobe spun out into the lot and Kitty had to throw herself down to avoid being hit. She…” I try not to let that painful bubble in my chest swell too high up my throat, an uncomfortable stinging feeling prickling behind my eyes. “She cut her cheek during the fall, but she didn’t let me check it out…”
Marie’s expression wavers a little, less enraged now that she knows that we didn’t just have a domestic. A perplexity still remains as she tries to work out the reason for Kitty’s anger.
I raise my hand, gesturing in the direction of Kitty’s bedroom door, and then, keeping my voice low, I say, “Kaleb found out about…”
Shit. Does Marie know? I can’t freaking remember. I know that Hardy knows, but I don’t exactly want to give Marie any more ammo for wanting to hack off my balls tonight.
Fuck it. Hardy will have told her.
“Kaleb found out about my… seeing your daughter,” I say, not sure of the best alternate verb for incessantly fucking. “And he won’t let Kitty use his guitar for her show anymore. Which means-”
Marie holds her palm up, nodding. She knows what it means.
It means that Kitty’s get-out plan is scuppered and it’s all my fucking fault.
“I want to talk to her,” I say, eyes on the upstairs corridor, but Marie shakes her head.
“I should talk to her first, try and calm her down a bit. Perhaps in the morning you can…”
A new realisation dawns on the both of us. I can’t stay here tonight.
Kaleb and I were only supposed to stay here until this Friday, but with the predicament that I’ve just put her daughter in, I have no right to stay under the Hanson Lu roof.
Where can I crash for a couple of nights?
I turn to look out of the window. My Wrangler shudders in the rain.
Great.
“I’ll come and collect my stuff in the morning,” I say, not wanting to even step inside the guest room tonight. I have well and truly outstayed my welcome.
Marie nods, a surprisingly compassionate look on her face.
She really is the mirror image of her daughter.
I look at her for one hard moment and then turn myself around, heading back out into the night.
*
I tap my thumbs on the steering wheel, my eyes glued to the bungalow in front of me.
My dad never sold it after my mom died. I mean, there was no need to down-size – it’s a bungalow for crying out loud – but even with the constant reminders of her, he decided to never close that door.
I chew at my lip-ring, unsure about whether I admire or pity him for that. Maybe both.
It’s almost six in the morning and I know that he’ll be up with the cawing crows, so I begrudgingly heave my aching body out of the Jeep and I start trudging my way up to the front door.
After all of these weeks of warmth my body is now freaking freezing, the sweat from last night’s show clinging to me like sticky ice water, and my car’s battery en route to death after power-blasting the heating system during the midnight storm.
I pound my fist on the door. A large shadow appears behind the frosted window.
“Dad?” I call out loudly, aware that we hadn’t properly arranged a catch-up before my show last night.
He pulls open the door. I’m met with eyes not unlike my own.
He tilts his head behind him, offering me to come inside.
I nod in response and kick my shoes off before I enter.
The second that I step foot inside I’m sucker-punched with the memory of my mom. The embossed wallpaper, the framed family photos, even that freaking buttery-citrus scent. Glass shards pierce the backs of my eyes but I squeeze the pain aside as I duck under the door frame and into the kitchen.
My dad does the same. We are two tall dudes.
His brain is clearly on the same pathway as mine.
“Too tall for this place,” he grumbles, sliding his chair out from under the little table with a loud scrape and then spreading his thighs ten metres apart. He pulls his plate closer to his body and stuffs a wedge of bagel into his mouth.
I check the label on the jelly next to his plate.
Peach. Nice.
“Well, sit down,” he says, pronouncing it siddown with his deep officer drawl.
I sit and he grabs a spare glass, shoving it across the tabletop for me to pour some orange juice into.
My heart tightens in my chest. Why didn’t I visit him sooner?
I breathe out a sharp exhale. He squares his shoulders like I’m about to give him the name of his next inmate.
I let out a grunt of discomfort. Then, thinking that I should start light, I ask, “How’re things?”
He rolls his eyes as if my two year disappearance act didn’t even happen, just as at ease with me now as he was when I was a full-time resident. “You’re twitchin’ kid. To answer your Q, same old same old. But let’s cut the crap, and tell me what’s on your mind.”
Thank God we both hate small-talk.
“There’s this girl,” I say, dropping my head into my hands.
I swear I hear him chuckle lightly. The room suddenly grows ten shades lighter.
“What about her?” he asks.
I lift my head and watch as he toys distractedly with the little spoon in the sugar bowl.
Jesus Christ, I remember the day that my mom bought that thing. It’s a vintage ceramic affair covered in birds and ribbons, and when she took it to the till I thought that it was so ugly that I cried.
Seeing it right now I’ve never been happier.
“She’s my best friend’s sister,” I say, keeping my eyes on the bowl.
He lets out a low whistle.
Yeah. I know.
“She like you back?” he asks, his stare warm on my face.
I hesitate, then nod.
“And it’s the brother who don’t want y’all together?” he continues, Detective Montgomery over here.
I nod again.
Then he surprises me by saying, “Well, what’s his freaking problem? You like her, she likes you, and I know I raised you to treat your woman good. Why the hell’s he throwing his toys out of the pram?”
I bury my face harder into my hands, squeezing my eyes shut. “Sibling rivalry? Jealousy? Ownership? I don’t know, dad, I’m not a psychologist.”
He gives me a sceptical look and mumbles, “Kinda sound like one to me.”
I breathe out a laugh and meet his stare, looking away quickly because he is one intimidating guy.
“I work with her brother – he’s the lead singer in our band. And the weird thing is that he’s taking this whole thing out on her instead of me. Plus, I’m meant to be leaving town this weekend, meaning that this whole thing with her will be getting put on pause anyway…”
My dad remains silent for so long that I finally have to look at him again. His eyebrows are raised high and there’s a disbelieving curve to his lip.
It takes me a moment, but then I finally understand.
Why the hell would I put my relationship with Kitty on pause?
Why, when I finally can have her, and when I can maybe help her achieve her dreams, would I ever leave her again?
I slap my hand on the table, ideas exploding in my mind like meteorites.
“I’ve gotta do some things. I’ll be back after your shift, Pops.”
I see his mouth curve into a smile and then I race from the house, straight to my car. My head is whirring with the names of the people who I need to get in touch with, but I try and compartmentalise all of that so that I can focus on the task at hand.
I have a lot of calls to make this morning, to a lot of people who won’t be expecting to hear from me.
When I get back to the ranch, Marie’s outside the barn, her head turned in my direction as soon as I dismount the SUV.
“Morning, ma’am. Is Kitty up?” I ask, breathless and pumped up on adrenaline.
She frowns slightly, her tone cautious. “She’s sleeping in today. You’re not going to try and talk to her, are you?”
I shake my head. “No, ma’am, I’m here to collect my things.”
Well, most of my things.
When she gives me the go-ahead to let myself inside I tread fast but quietly to the guest room. I shove all of my stuff into my bag and then throw it straight into the back of my car, going quick so that Kitty can’t catch me in the act.
She’s not going to fight me on this one.
Once my bag is down I look at the item laid next to it, allowing myself to feel a wash of nostalgia and finality before I pick it up. I stride silently into the cabin and up to the corridor outside of Kitty’s bedroom.
I hover outside of her door for a moment, wishing that I could tell her that I’ve found a way out for us, but I decide that I can wait for the right moment, once she’s ready and it’s all sunk in.
I hold up a scrap of paper against the wall and then scribble out a quick note, saying all that needs to be said.
Then I lay my guitar outside of her room and place the note on top.
All that it says is “what’s mine is yours”.
