The Wrong Side of Kai Page 3

  “That’s good. I’m glad you’re having fun,” he says instead, and he gives me a sincere, inane smile before huddling back over that stupid fucking notebook again.

  I stare at him in disbelief.

  He looks – and smells, ew – as though he hasn’t showered in days. His hair is an untamed mess that constantly gets in his eyes. He hasn’t shaved in a couple weeks either – right now, his stubble is essentially a beard that extends all the way down his throat. And how have I never noticed how skinny he’s become? The pounds have been falling off him, and now his faded, tatty-at-the-edges sweatshirt hangs from his gaunt body, drowning him. I can’t remember the last time he bought himself some new jeans or went for a haircut.

  My dad is so far gone, so lost in his own head that it feels like he never notices me anymore. He doesn’t care. I’ve lost count of how many times I haven’t come home over the past year, and even when he has no clue where I’ve been, it’s still not enough for him to come out of his own bleak world and pay me any attention. I clench my jaw, digging my nails into my palm as I storm out of the kitchen and up to my room. I know I’m being dramatic, but I bet he doesn’t notice that either.

  I rub at my temples as I throw the bag of dirty clothes into my room, my bed still made from yesterday morning. I don’t stay, though, because I can hear Justin Bieber’s sweet, sweet voice calling out to me from Kennedy’s room. I thought the Bieber hype died years ago, but nope, not for Kennedy. I cross the hall and push open the door to her room, strolling straight on in without knocking. We don’t need to knock. We’re sisters. We bathed together until I was, like, eight, so it’s not like we need to be shy with each other.

  Kennedy is sitting at her dresser, carefully applying a coat of red polish to her nails underneath a small spotlight. Theo, our family tabby cat who adores my sister but despises me for some reason, is curled up asleep on the windowsill. Kennedy stops mouthing along to Justin and glances up. At first, she seems surprised to see me.

  I groan and throw myself down onto her bed, sprawling out on my stomach and grabbing a pillow to rest my chin on. “If Dad mentions one more thing about Ireland to me, I’m moving out. You coming with me?”

  Kennedy gives me a small, understanding smile over her shoulder then continues painting her nails. She hasn’t bothered to turn down the music yet. “Where did you go last night?” she asks. Her voice is curious, but also doubtful. At least someone around here cares enough to wonder whether or not I was lying dead in a gutter somewhere. Even if it is only my little baby freshman sister. She may only be fourteen, but she’s so incredibly wise for her age.

  “A party.”

  “Aaaand?” she urges, dipping the brush back into its pot and swiveling her chair around to face me. “Did you kiss anyone hot?” Her eyes are wide, because she knows the answer already.

  “Harrison Boyd. Again.” I haven’t mentioned Harrison to her directly, but it’s not like she doesn’t know I’ve had a thing going with him for the past couple months. Secrets are never really secrets in high school, are they? Gossip travels fast around here.

  “Oooo,” she squeals, as though she thinks Harrison and I are actually going somewhere. Nope. The only place we’re going is onto one another’s list of exes.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket, and my chest tightens a little when I reach for it and see Harrison’s name on my screen. Of course it’s him. “Crap, I guess I summoned him.”

  Just woke up and you’re already on my mind. Last night was fun. Wanna repeat it later? My place. I’ll let you know when my parents are asleep.

  “Summoned him to say what?” Kennedy asks.

  Looking at her eager face, I’m sure she’s hoping he’s declaring his undying love for me or something. She’s been a hopeless romantic since birth, thanks to her obsession with Cinderella when she was a kid, and thinks I’ll end up marrying every boy who so much as smiles in my direction.

  “He wants to see me tonight,” I say. I don’t mention the rest. There are some things I can’t talk to my little sister about, and what Harrison Boyd and I do behind closed doors is one of them. Nuh-uh.

  Her eyes grow wide. “Are you gonna see him then?”

  “Yep, but only to end things with him.” I type back a reply, my nails cracking too loudly against my screen. It’s short and simple:

  Can we just go for a drive instead?

  “What?” Kennedy shoots bolt upright in her chair, looking utterly disgusted at my choices. “But he’s so fucking hot! And if you got together you could fix me up with his brother. And then we could go on double dates. And then we could go on vacations together to the Bahamas.” Her gaze wanders off, her mind wrapped up in innocent fantasy.

  My phone’s still in my hand and I can barely look away, chewing at my lip while I wait for Harrison’s reply. I wonder if he can tell by my message that something’s up, that I’m not as keen as I usually am. “Hey. You’re right, he totally is hot, but drop the cussing,” I tell Kennedy, flashing her a scolding glance. “And you’re way too young to be fixed up with anyone.”

  She rolls her eyes and blows on her freshly painted nails. “Okay, Dad.”

  The irony is that Dad would never give her trouble for casually dropping an F-bomb like that. It’s not just that, but it feels like I do all the parenting around here, at least for the past couple of years. I was the one who ran a mile to the store to grab sanitary pads when she first started her period and was a sobbing mess in the bathroom. I was the one who took her on a marathon shopping spree around Target to pick out school supplies ahead of starting high school in the summer. I was the one who held her in my arms when she experienced her first breakup and thought she would never be happy again. I promised her she would be, even though I know we will both forever have a broken heart. And not because of boys.

  Mom is gone and Dad may be around physically, but emotionally, he couldn’t be more absent if he tried.

  Kennedy turns back to her dresser, examining her nails underneath the spotlight, checking for blotches. She doesn’t know it, but when Mom died, I made a promise to myself that I would always protect her no matter what. It’s a lonely place to be, because I’m now the only one who can.

  My phone buzzes again.

  I like your thinking . . . Pick you up at nine.

  *

  “I’m going out, Dad.”

  Dad glances briefly over his shoulder. He’s standing in the kitchen, laptop open and a pot of ramen noodles boiling in front of him. His gaze is so empty, a deserted wasteland every time he looks at me. “Do you want dinner?”

  “I already ate,” I say with a shrug. Guess he didn’t notice the microwave spaghetti and meatballs I was scarfing down an hour ago a mere fifteen feet away from him. I can’t cook to save my life – and no one in this house is going to fix that anytime soon – but at least I keep myself and Kennedy fed with microwave meals, which is more than he tends to do. “And so did Kennedy.”

  “Oh. You guys did? Okay.” He turns back to the pot and keeps on stirring in silence. His voice used to be so vibrant and booming with joy that it would piss me off if he spoke for too long. Now I would give anything to hear him talk for hours on end the way he used to about the thrill of a big drugs bust at work, or his dream of owning a Porsche 911, or how he’d beaten his friends at poker again.

  I hover for such a long moment that it hurts. This waiting for something, anything is agonizing. Why can’t he just give me a firm warning not to stay out too late? Even just a reminder that I have school in the morning? But I get nothing. Nothing.

  And I have been used to nothing for so long, but it still hurts every time I find myself faced with it.

  So, I don’t say anything more either. I grab my keys, slip my feet into a battered pair of Converse by the door, and head outside. It’s just after nine, and of course, Harrison is bang on time. His truck is parked outside, its engine purring and its headlights illuminating the street. I bet he can’t wait to see me, which makes this suck even more
. But it’s not like I haven’t done this before. Breaking boys’ hearts has almost become standard.

  I have to protect myself, but I’ve even made it more bearable for him. No makeup, so my eyes are sunken and tired. My hair thrown back into a ponytail with too many loose strands to count. An old hoodie with a hole in the sleeve that’s three sizes too big for me. My worst-fitting jeans. Not a single spritz of perfume. I figure it’ll hurt him less if I look like crap.

  My steps are lethargic as I trail across the lawn and pull open the door of his truck. I yank myself up into the passenger seat, then look over. God, Kennedy is so right: he is gorgeous. Like, Greek-god gorgeous. A groan rises in my throat, but I fight hard to suppress it. Why couldn’t he have been happy with just hooking up and nothing more? Now I have to turn down those bright blue eyes, chest made of stone, and sandy blond hair.

  “I like this carefree vibe you’ve got going on,” Harrison says, his eyes sweeping over me, taking in my newfound style. I dress casual at school, but I never dress scruffy. “Makes you look young. It’s cute.”

  “What?” I’m literally trying to be the exact opposite of desirable right now. I sit up straight in my seat and angle my body to face him, narrowing my eyes. I wonder if he can tell by the abrupt tone of my voice that I’m not here to fool around. “And you seriously think I look cute without eyelashes?”

  Harrison pouts, disappointed by my attitude. “You’re no fun tonight. I’ll fix that.”

  Obviously, he doesn’t notice that I’m not in the mood for fooling around. Doesn’t notice that I haven’t flashed him my coy smile yet. Doesn’t notice that I haven’t instantly placed my hand on his upper thigh. “Heritage Park should be a nice spot to park up,” he says as he begins to drive.

  Great. Heritage Park, Westerville’s prime hookup spot on the edge of town where half the school hangs out on weekends in the backseat of their moms’ cars. At least Harrison’s truck is his own. But what does it matter? There will be absolutely no action for us tonight, that’s for sure. Not because I don’t want to, but because I’m determined not to give Harrison false hope that there could ever be anything more between us than late night kisses.

  “Harrison . . .” I say, but he doesn’t hear me because he’s already turned up the music. He places his hand on my knee, his grip firm, and I stare at the grazes on his knuckles while he drives. Somehow I can’t resist placing my hand atop his, intertwining our fingers. My other hand is in my hair, massaging my head as I think. Could it hurt to kiss him one more time? I told myself last night was it, never again, but . . .

  God, I hate myself for even getting into these situations in the first place.

  “So . . . Did you enjoy the party last night?” Harrison asks after we’ve driven in silence for a while. We don’t talk, not really, and if we do it’s only ever to flirt. I don’t know much about him, just that he’s Harrison Boyd, that he’s on the football team, that we’ve shared classes over the years, and he must be smart because I’ve never once seen him fail a test. We don’t talk about anything important. I don’t actually know him. He doesn’t know much about me either.

  I’m still staring at my hand on his, trying my hardest not to flirt, not to deliberately turn him on even now. “Yeah. Did you?”

  “Yeah.”

  More awkward silence. It’s like we’re trying to pass time until we’re able to get our hands on each other, because we don’t know how to interact when we’re stone-cold sober and not making out. It makes me question why Harrison would even invite me on that ski trip with him. What would we even talk about? How cold the snow is?

  Out of habit, I lift his hand and kiss those grazes on his knuckles. I know I shouldn’t be leading him on, but I’m going to miss this. I’m trying to appreciate it while I still can. Harrison drives with one hand on the wheel, the other interlocked with mine, letting me kiss my way down his bare arm. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye every once in a while, his gaze growing more and more heated.

  We make it to Heritage Park and follow the quiet road up through the trees to the secluded parking lot, and there’s only one other car parked in the distance. Lights off. Shadows moving inside. I look away, back to Harrison as he rolls the truck to a slow halt, tires crunching against the gravel. I know I should tell him right now, before things go too far, but when his smoldering eyes meet mine, I can’t resist.

  I drop his hand and reach out for him, pressing my lips to his. In another world, one where I didn’t believe that all relationships were doomed from the get-go and where I wasn’t so terrified of losing the person I loved, perhaps I’d be more open to getting to know Harrison better. Maybe I’d even be excited about the idea of heading off on a ski trip together.

  Harrison might not know much about me, but he knows how to do everything right. His fingers are tangled in my hair, teasing more strands loose from my ponytail, and he’s tugging at my waist, desperate to bring me closer.

  We’ve never hooked up in his truck before, and I feel awkward and clumsy as I climb over the center console and onto his lap. How do people do this? I’m locked between his chest and the steering wheel and I’m wondering how the hell the logistics of this can even work when I remind myself that, no, I’m not doing that. There’s no seduction here. I am not hooking up with Harrison tonight.

  “Harrison, listen,” I say, breathless between our kisses. I hold his jaw, keeping his mouth away from mine so he can’t shut me up with his lips.

  His hands are already winding their way under my hoodie, caressing my chest. He can’t fight that sexy little smirk that always makes an appearance whenever we start touching each other, and he manages to bury his face into my neck, his breath hot against my skin as he leaves a trail of kisses behind.

  “Harrison,” I try again, but it’s more like a groan. I tilt my head back, giving him more access, closing my eyes. His mouth feels so good, his hands feel so good . . .

  No. I need to stop this.

  Abruptly, I push him away until he’s facing me. His lips are parted, his eyes glistening. “Listen to me,” I say, and then I let it all spill: “We can’t get together anymore. It’s over. We’re done.”

  The warmth of Harrison’s hands disappears from my body and the truck goes silent. All I can hear is his heart thumping, or maybe it’s mine. He blinks at me as though he can’t quite process what I’ve just told him. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, and it’s true: I am. “But I can’t . . . I don’t want to . . . date you.”

  He writhes beneath me, shoving me roughly off his lap, like I’m a parasite clinging to his body. When I slide back into the passenger seat, he grips the steering wheel, his jaw clenched.

  “Is this about the ski trip?” His voice is seething, dripping with a bitter humor that I can’t make sense of. “Because I wasn’t asking you on that trip as a date, Vanessa,” he snorts, like it’s the most absurd thing in the world. “I only wanted you to come on that trip so we could hook up. As if I’d want to date you either.”

  Oh.

  So he didn’t want our fling to be anything more than it was . . . Why did I read more into that ski trip idea? We could have continued exactly as we already were, but now I’ve made the whole thing beyond awkward. I fold my arms across my chest and sit back in the seat, trying to process this. I feel so stupid.

  “And even if I did want to date you . . .” Harrison continues, sitting forward to glare at me. “How come you get to just jump into my truck, kiss me like that, then tell me it’s over? Seriously, Vanessa?” He’s angry now. His eyes have lost all their sparkle, and suddenly he’s no longer that sexy, confident football player who I thought was so cool until approximately four seconds ago. “If that’s how easy you think it is to drop me, then there’s no way I’m signing up for this.”

  “Harrison, chill out,” I say, keeping my cool despite how massively uncomfortable he’s making me. I can’t look at him straight in the eye. “I misinterpreted something.
It happens. Now can we just get back to doing what we’re good at?”

  “Nah, screw you, Vanessa. Get the fuck out.” He points, nostrils flaring, and I hear the click of the doors unlocking.

  My eyes widen with shock and I glance outside. That car from before is still parked, but there’s no one else around. It’s dark, it’s late, and I’m miles from home. I look back at Harrison, my brows drawn together. “What? You’re kicking me out of your truck?”

  “You seriously think I’m giving you a ride home? After you want to mess me around? No way. Like you said, we’re done, babes,” he barks with laughter, shaking his head as he starts up the engine again.

  I look down at my fists clenched in my lap. How is he throwing this back in my face? “And what exactly are you going to do without me to keep you company?” I challenge, angry now too.

  “What – you think you’re the only girl I’ve got on speed dial?” he mutters under his breath, but I know he wants me to hear it, and of course I do.

  That’s what gets me out of the truck. I throw open the door, but not before I grab a handful of fast food wrappers from the glovebox and throw them at Harrison. Dick. I’ve barely slammed the door shut again before he speeds off, wheels screeching on the gravel. I grab a fistful of rocks and hurl them at his stupid goddamn truck before it can disappear, but once his taillights have faded away, I heave a sigh into the darkness. I really didn’t expect Harrison to explode on me like that.

  I sit down on the gravel and watch the lone car that remains here. Pretty sure it’s shaking in a very obvious rhythm. Pretty sure I look like a pervert. I call Chyna, because I know by now not to rely on Dad to be my savior, but she doesn’t answer. I try her a second time but to no avail, and I realize I have no other options. Sometimes I wish Kennedy was the older Murphy sibling so that she could rescue me at times like this, but no, she can’t freakin’ drive yet.