Chapter Fifteen

Entering the house, automatically the energy in the air is off. I sense something is wrong and two point five seconds later my Uncle John shouts at Kyson about everything he's doing wrong or not doing. I hear a few snide remarks about the football game. I guess he's not happy with Kyson's performance even though we won the game. Helen's lips press into a tight line upon hearing the screaming match.

We exchange worried glances. Her eyes reflecting the same concern I felt as soon as I stepped into the foyer. The roaring anger of Uncle John is a thundering echo, filling the large entryway of the house with a tense energy that would send anyone running. "Every damn time you've got an excuse. It's always something with you. Since the day your mother introduced you into my life, you've been a real pain in my ass. Nothing but a goddamned disappointment. Do you even want to get signed to a good school?"

A wave of sympathy washes over me as I hear Kyson apologize for being such a disappointment. For not being the son he wanted. I find myself taking sides immediately with an irrational urge to protect Kyson overwhelming me.

Helen stares at her shoes, jaw set tight, unshed tears brimming at the creases of her eyes as I set my shopping bags down in the entryway, wondering if I should try to intervene.

"I'm not sure why I bother. It's like talking to a fucking wall," my uncle's voice booms so loudly I visibly jerk at the anger laced in his harsh tone.

"John!" Helen admonishes sharply, stepping forward decisively, her protective instincts flaring up the same way mine are.

The sound of a door slamming shut reverberates through the house, followed by defining silence.

"I'll deal with John," she says quietly, her voice strained.

I can tells she's trying hard to keep it together in front of me.

"Maybe I can talk Kyson into going for a walk around the neighborhood or something. Some fresh air could do him some good."

She turns to look at me, worry etched in the fine lines around her eyes, making her appear much older than she is. "Are you sure? My son can be… quite difficult when he's angry."

"I can handle him," I assure her, grabbing my bags to dump them in my room first. Kyson's anger isn't what concerns me. I've never heard John raise his voice quite like this before. However, I've never lived with them. Before, I was only here for quick visits. Now I'm here permanently. At least until the end of the school year.

After putting my bags into my room and placing my phone on charge, I approach Kyson's door. Taking a deep breath, I tap my fist, softly. "Can I come in?"

"Knock yourself out," his voice carries through the heavy wood in an acidic tone.

Twisting the knob, I quickly step in and close the door behind me. "Hey. You okay?"

His tortured gaze meets mine as he stops spinning in his computer chair. "Does it matter?"

"I asked, didn't I?" I try to make light of the situation. "Want to get out of the house? Take a walk or something?" I eye him, wondering what he's doing home on a Saturday night, anyway.

"A walk?" he snorts, like the suggestion is the most ludicrous thing he's ever heard.

"You know, going outside. Breathing fresh air. What are you doing home, anyway? Shouldn't you and your wolf pack be out on the prowl? Deflowering virgins. Robbing old ladies. Burning buildings."

"Is that what you think of me? Is your opinion of me that low?" He stares at me and if I didn't know any better, I'd believe he's genuinely hurt by the accusation.

"I was kidding. But seriously, what are you doing home?"

"I do live here."

I roll my eyes. "Obviously, but isn't there a party or something?"

"Or something, but that's much later." Before I can ask what that something is, he says, "you can't come if you're going to wear that."

I look down at my clothes. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" All he has on is a plain black tee and jeans.

"Take this how you will, but you're dressed like a good girl."

"And that's a bad thing …because?"

"Because," he hesitates and then murmurs, "you'll stand out like a sore thumb."

I frown, annoyed. "So you're saying I need to put on some slutty clothes to fit in with the crowd?"

His face darkens a little. "I'm only saying that people will make assumptions about you based on what you wear."

I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest. "Isn't that what you're doing right now?"

There's silence for a moment before he chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Touché, lil' doll. You're right. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe no one will care that you look like a Sunday school teacher, and they'll let you right in."

"Whatever. I don't care." While I wait for a smart retort from him, the uneasiness doesn't leave me. The room still feels heavy with tension from his argument with John. Breaking the silence, I suggest again, "Come for a walk with me."

This time he surprisingly agrees, and we leave the house without another word to each other.

As we wander aimlessly down the sidewalk, it occurs to me that Helen never came to ask Kyson for his side of things or to simply check in on her son to see if he was okay. Does she always side with John? Is avoidance her way of keeping the peace? To me, it appears she's only alienating him further.

I shake those bad thoughts away to focus on Kyson and calming the silent storm I'm certain is raging in his mind. "What was that about, anyway? Sounded intense," I note, broaching the subject with caution, afraid to set him off.

He doesn't respond right away. He walks to the end of the street, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and eyes watching the pavement as if it holds all the answers to his problems. "Doesn't matter," he finally murmurs, his voice low and graveled.

"It matters to me," I insist, hoping he'll trust me enough to confide this one thing. It's like he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. He's so tense and angry all the time. It breaks my heart a little for him.

He lets out a rueful chuckle, finally meeting my gaze. The intensity in his eyes takes my breath away and for a moment, we're just standing here, lost in each other's gazes.

"Kyson," I prompt him. "You can talk to me. I won't break your trust," I promise, knowing that if the situation were reversed, this boy would likely break mine. He'd find some way to use anything I say against me.

"He hates me," he confesses abruptly, breaking our connection as quickly as it formed.

"Why though?" I ask, although I already have an idea what his answer will be. "There has to be more to it than that, surely. It was only a game."

"Not to him."

"Okay but still, there's got to be another reason he's riding you so hard."

"Yeah," he agrees with a sigh, running a hand through his unruly hair.

We cross the street to a small park that has a few swings and a couple slides. Kyson takes up the swing next to mine but neither of us push off. "Everyone has secrets and I happen to know one that would make my mom want to leave him if she were exposed to the truth."

"What do you mean?" I grip the metal chains, twisting in place, rubbing the toes of my shoes in the dirt. "Why would she leave him…oh. Oh," I say, again more pointedly, recalling her stop at the sexy underwear store. "He's cheating on her."

"Do you really think he's bowling all the time?"

"And she doesn't suspect it?" I push off, but don't go very high.

He shrugs. "Doubtful. Mom loves him, but honestly, I think she doesn't want to be alone. He has this hold on her. She has blinders on when it comes to him. Always believes him over me."

He takes off on his swing, launching himself higher and higher as I chew on his words.

I'm not sure how to respond to this information. I try to choose my response carefully. I never know what will set him off. "That's a heavy burden to carry, Kyson," I start, my voice barely above a whisper. "But it's not your responsibility to protect them. They're the adults. Have you thought about telling her?"

He stops swinging and snorts, shaking his head. "And break her heart even more? No, I can't do that. She's already had enough heartbreak. Besides, she'd shoot the messenger, and he'd find a way to make me the bad guy. She already despises me enough."

"But she deserves to know the truth," I argue gently, placing my hand on his arm. "Trust me. I get it. I watched my dad go through it with my stepmother. It was awful, but he got over it."

Kyson shrugs off my hand, stepping away from the swings, taking a few steps away from me. His expression is hard and unreadable as he looks back at me. "You don't understand. This… this would destroy her. I can't be the reason for another heartbreak in her life. The last time nearly killed her."

"And carrying this secret isn't destroying you?" I counter, my voice thick with emotions that I don't even fully understand. Why do I want to wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his neck right now? Why does he think his mother hates him and blames him for something? Does he think what happened to his father is somehow his fault? Is that what he means?

"It's not your problem," he retorts harshly, causing me to flinch.

"But it is," I insist, not ready to give up as I follow him.

He leaves the park, returning to the sidewalk. "It's none of your business."

"I worry about what this is doing to you?"

"Why?"

I swallow hard under his scrutiny as he searches my face for an answer.

"Kyson, you must realize that I care about you." Perhaps more than I should. I keep that thought to myself. Is this why he lashes out?

Silence stretches between us, filled only by the faint sounds of distant traffic and the whispering wind rustling the leaves above us. Finally, he looks at me. "You shouldn't."

"Good thing that's my choice to make."

He lets out a sigh, heavy with a frustration I can't fully understand.

Rubbing his face, he says, "I wish…" the rest of his thought dies on his tongue abruptly. He shakes his head, as if to clear the words away and starts walking back toward the house.

I tug on his hand to stop him and force some honesty out of him. "What do you wish?" I feel as though I'm finally getting somewhere with him. He's co close to opening up to me more than he ever has since I've met him. We're teetering on an edge and I'm not sure if we're about to fall or fly.

"I wish things were different," he mumbles, staring at his shoes. His hand comes up to run through his unkempt hair again. A habit I've noticed that he does when he's nervous or upset.

"They can be different." He has no idea how I wish they were. "But you have to be willing to make a tough choice and tell your mother the truth about John." I want to slap myself. I'm not the one who should be giving advice on honesty when I can't even tell Matt the truth. I'm no better than John. The thought sickens me. I'm a cheater.

He laughs, but it's devoid of any humor. "You honestly believe that? The world doesn't operate that way. If I tell her and she kicks him out on his ass, where will that leave you?"

"I don't know, but that's for me to worry about."

"You going to go live with the mother who didn't want you?" His harsh words strike me right in the gut as he intended them to.

I wince, stung by the bitterness in his voice. "That's not fair, Kyson." I take a deep, shuddering breath. "We all have our burdens to bear, but we can't let them define us. We have to want better. We have to choose to be better."

He scoffs, a half-hearted attempt to mask the guilt creeping into his eyes. "Did you get that off of a card or some self-help website? It's all bullshit. We're all just products of our circumstances, aren't we?"

"No." I reject his cynicism immediately, stepping closer to him. "I can tell that something is tearing you apart You don't have to suffer like this." There's something he's not sharing.

"Easy for you to say," he snaps back, crossing his arms defensively. "You're not the one stuck in a broken home watching your mother melt away with every lie the man she loves feeds her."

"And you're not the one who was abandoned by her mother when you needed one," I snap back, my words ringing out sharply in the quiet night as twilight falls upon us. My heart pounds even faster in my chest as I step back from him, creating distance between us. Why do I let him get under my skin like this?

Kyson blinks at me, taken aback by my outburst. "My mother is far from perfect. You think you know everything, don't you? Think you can fix me? Save me from myself. It's too late for any of that, Dahlia."

"You know what? Forget it." I stomp away from him, needing some space when he wrenches my arm back, yanking me into his hard body. I twist into his hold, met with the fury on his face and this blazing need in his eyes.

I lick my lips and wonder if he's going to kiss me here on the street, where anyone might see to shut me up and keep me near.

"Where are you going?" he demands, his grip tightening on my arm. His fingers dig into my skin hard enough to leave a mark.

"I'm done with this conversation," I retort. "Unlike you, I don't want to wallow in self-pity and hurl insults at people who care about me."

His eyes flicker with something akin to remorse before he promptly covers it up with another scowl. "So I'm back to being the bad guy for you too, huh?"

"You tell me, Kyson," I challenge him, yanking my arm free from his grasp. "You're the one pushing everyone away. You're the one who makes it so hard for anyone to get close."

"Like you know anything about honesty. You're so fucking clueless. You've got no idea!" He lashes out, his words ringing in the chilly night air. "Poor perfect Dahlia lost her daddy," he clips. "His death wasn't an accident. He wanted die. They only told you that bullshit story to protect your delicate feelings. He hung himself."

The painful sob that rips from my throat at the stinging and cold words he'd just uttered slices through air. Tears prick at my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him. I refuse to let him see me cry.

"You're lying."

"If I'm a liar, why are you still standing here?" His voice is softer now, but filled with such a palpable bitterness that it makes my heart clench. He runs a hand through his hair once again, clearly regretting his harsh words. I can see the remorse on his face, but he does what he always does and imparts more cruel words on me as he pulls me in close, his lips hovering so close and yet too far away from mine. "Ask me how I know and what we have in common, lil' dolly. Go ahead. Ask me what really happened to your mother."

My pulse rings in my ears and my knees threaten to buckle right here. "I don't think I want to."

"I know you can't sleep at night."

"Shut up."

"You can't go live with your mother because she's dead."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Kyson."

"You're right. I made it up. Just go. It was a mistake to involve you in all this." He leans in closer, so close that I'm afraid to breathe. Afraid that one wrong move will have him bleeding me dry right here.

I stare back at him, on the verge of falling apart and needing him to put me back together.

"Kyson," I whisper his name and close the gap between our lips and an evil grin crosses his features as he pulls away from me rejecting my kiss.

"Did you think I was going to say sorry and kiss you? Clue in, lil' dolly. I have to be fucked up to be attracted to you."

"I hate you," I return with a shaky voice, backing away from him. "But remember, you didn't involve me. I chose to be here tonight for you because I thought maybe." I shake my head as my voice cracks.

"You thought what?" he clips.

"I thought you were worth the effort. But I guess we were both wrong." With those words, I turn on my heel and start jogging away from him. The silence of the night seems to stretch out endlessly around me, punctuated only by the sound of my retreating footsteps. The lump in my throat feels like a golf ball I'm unable to swallow, but I keep running away from him, pushing his words about my parents to the back of my mind, burying them deep.

I can feel Kyson's eyes burning into my back, but he doesn't stop me. He doesn't call out or run after me. The fact that he doesn't care enough hurts more than anything else. He truly believes he doesn't deserve love. That he doesn't deserve any good in his life.

Or maybe he doesn't want it from me. Even now after I've tried so hard to understand him. Took his brutal words because I know it's a defense mechanism. To hurt me before I land the first strike. Hurt me before I can hurt him.

As I reach the driveway, I glance back, and what I see breaks my heart even though it shouldn't. I shouldn't give a damn about Kyson Allen, but I can't look away.

He's standing there in the same spot I left him in all broody and moody, still as a statue beneath the streetlight. His shoulders are slumped, his head bowed low. He's alone. As he intended so he can rule his lonely kingdom and hide behind the walls he's built to isolate himself from anyone who might possibly give a damn about him.

I blink back the tears welling in my eyes, forcing myself to look away. I have to walk away even though every bone in my body urges me to run to him and kiss away his pain and beg him to take away mine in return. I don't want to allow him to push me away, not when he needs someone the most, but more than that I want him to realize that I won't be his emotional punching bag for him to dole out punishments on to avoid his own feelings.

Although it kills me to do so, I take the last steps into the house and rush the stairs and only in the privacy of my room do I let my tears fall.

I swipe at my runny nose with the sleeve of my sweater and suck in my shuddering breaths as my heart beats rapidly and wild like the wings of a hummingbird.

My father didn't kill himself.

He didn't.

Kyson only said that to upset me and push me away.

I hope he's happy.

I'm giving him what he wants.

I'm leaving him alone.

My new phone buzzing on my nightstand breaks me out of wallowing in self-pity.