My nose stung as tears threatened to form. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fuckin’ fine, Kennedy.”
“Stop.”
He sighed. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, yeah? I’ll give you space, but I’m here when you’re ready.”
“I will never be ready, Mouse. That’s what you’re not getting.”
He shook his head. “I call bullshit.”
I dropped my face in my hands with a groan. “Why do you always call bullshit when I’m spilling my heart out to you?”
“Oh, is that what you’re doing?”
“Are you seriously saying that to me?”
“What have you told me that I didn’t already know?” he challenged.
I hated how well he knew me. He knew me better than my own parents did. To be honest, I think he knew me better than I knew myself.
“I don’t really know what else to say,” I whispered. “But I’d appreciate it if you gave me space.”
“You’re heading to your ski thing in a little over a week, right? That’s enough space.”
“Ah, sure, I guess,” I fibbed. I was leaving earlier than that, but hadn’t filled him in on my plans.
“Where are you going this year?”
“That falls under the ‘space’ moniker.” I’d purposely not told him where I was going, mostly because I was going alone and if he found that out, he’d lose his shit. I sighed. “Just give me some time, okay?”
“I can do that,” he said. “After dessert.”
“What makes you think there’s dessert?”
“Because you’re Kennedy.”
I sighed. “Salted caramel cupcakes.”
“Fuck, yes. My favorite.”
Oh, I knew they were his favorite. His second favorite dessert was my cheesecake. He was always very vocal about how appreciative he was whenever I made anything, so it was easy to figure out.
We headed back to the kitchen and he ate six cupcakes. When he reached for the seventh, I was concerned he might have a sugar crash while he was on his bike, so I insisted he take the rest home with him.
I walked Mouse to the door and locked up behind him just as my phone pealed in the silence. It was Remington.
“Hey, Rem.”
“Hi, honey. I’m sorry it’s taken me forever to call you back.”
“It’s all good,” I said. “How are you and Finch? How’s ballet?”
Remington was an incredible dancer, and she lived and breathed ballet. She’d been offered a position with a ballet company in Portland, and she was thriving.
“We’re good. Ballet’s amazing. Cassidy’s conservatory is exploding. We have a two-year waiting list and more and more heavy hitters are applying to dance for her.”
“That’s amazing,” I breathed out.
“Yeah. But enough about me,” she said. “Why did they fire you?”
“Cutbacks,” I said. “They laid off thirty of us.”
“Jebus,” she breathed out. “Right before Christmas. How nice of them.”
“Yeah. They’re assholes. But I knew that already and I really just needed a shove out the door anyway.”
“You always have such a good attitude when life fucks you up the ass.”
“Right?” I chuckled without mirth. “I’m the poster child for optimism.”
She laughed. “Okay, maybe I was being a little too encouraging.”
“I keep you around because you are the sunshine in my cave.”
Remington snorted. “Oh my god, if that’s true, you’re screwed.”
“No doubt.”
“What are you going to do about your family without family trip?”
Ever since I was ten, my parents had taken us kids somewhere snowy right before Christmas. The last few years, however, we’d kind of gone our separate ways, but we always congregated at Mom and Dad’s on Christmas day.
This year, however, my parents had celebrated their fortieth wedding anniversary, so they were going to head out on a cruise to the Mediterranean for the entire month of December. I’d decided there was no way in hell I was missing my ski time, so I was flying to Colorado for a week.
“I’m going a week early. I might stay a few days longer. Not sure yet,” I said.
“Did you tell—?”
“If you seriously ask me if I told Mouse, I will reach through this phone and smack you upside the head.”
She chuckled. “Okay, fine. But I’m concerned you’re going alone.”
“Babe, Skeeter will be there. I’ve already let him know when I’m coming and he’s going to be on the runs I’m on, so he’ll watch out for me.”
Skeeter was from California, and the quintessential surfer dude, who worked winters teaching the rich to ski so he could chase the waves the rest of the year.
“And does Mouse—”
“I will maim you, Remington.”
She sighed. “At what point are you going to admit you love the man and just go with it?”
“There’s nothing to admit.”
“Uh-huh, right.”
I sighed. “I should get going. My flight leaves early and I still need to pack.”
“Okay, honey. Text me when you leave and when you get there—”
“And text you the room number and everything else,” I interrupted. “I know the drill.”
She chuckled. “Good.”
“Don’t say anything to Mouse, okay?”
“Just let the record reflect I’m doing that under duress.”
“So noted,” I said.
“Okay, have fun and be safe.”
“I will,” I promised, then hung up and finalized my packing, grateful that the next two weeks would be biker-free.
Mouse
Monday morning, I woke up with the hangover from hell. After leaving Kennedy’s place, I’d walked into the barn to find Olivia and a couple of the old ladies attempting to add yet more decorations to the tree. Drunk.
Their husbands were trying to help, but by the time Olivia started giggling, it was like a domino effect, and their feminine guffaws lasted long enough for the men to tap a keg and join them. I grabbed a solo cup, filled it to the brim, and partied with my club, trying my damndest not to text Kennedy to make sure she was okay.
Last night, I’d come to the conclusion, in my beer haze, that I had to give her space, not because I believed she really wanted it, but because she’d asked for it.
Today, however, I’d decided all of it was bullshit. The last thing Kennedy needed was space. She spiraled when she was alone, and I’d made a promise to Remington I’d keep an eye
