She was poetry.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jenna

  I was drooling.

  I knew it the second I shifted in my seat, my face coming up off Kellen’s shoulder just a breath. Just far enough to register the cold air on my saliva slicked cheek. To see the darkened pool of gray on Kellen’s hoodie.

  “Shit,” I muttered.

  Kellen moved, his face turning to look down at me. I didn’t dare look back.

  “Good morning, Sunshine,” he said softly, laughter lilting his deep voice.

  I groaned in disgust.

  I sat up and quickly wiped at my mouth uselessly.

  Who was I trying to hide it from? Dude knew I was drooling. Hell, he was wearing it.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Dandy.” I grimaced at him. “Sorry about your hoodie.”

  “Don’t sweat it. Your spit is probably the least objectionable fluid that’s ever been on this thing.”

  “That is a really troubling statement.”

  He shrugged. “I wear it to the gym. Spit, blood, sweat; it’s seen it all.”

  “And you wear it out in the world?”

  “It’s my favorite hoodie.”

  “How often do you wash it?”

  “It’s clean.”

  “How often?”

  “A lot,” he said defensively. “For someone who went full Niagara on it you’re being pretty judgmental. Don’t worry, you spit on a clean surface.”

  “I didn’t spit on it!”

  “Right, that’s right. You sprung a slow leak on it as you sawed logs for the better part of an hour.”

  I gasped – full soap opera, baby daddy reveal gasped. “I do not snore!”

  “You snore like John Goodman on Ambien.”

  “You fart like a diesel engine backfiring.”

  Kellen snickered, trying to contain his laughter, but it was pointless. People all over the plane were turning to look at us. Glare at us.

  “I’m beginning to think this is not a First Class conversation,” I spoke out of the side of my mouth.

  “First Class needs to calm its tits.”

  I burst into giggles, burying my face in Kellen’s shoulder before screeching and jerking back. I’d pressed my forehead into the cold wet of my own drool.

  “Karma,” he scolded lightly.

  I smiled, raising my hand to push my wild hair from my face. A flash of light on my left hand caught my eye.

  I paused to look at it. To process the ring on my finger. To relive the memory that felt like a dream my mind made up while I was snoring away on Kellen’s shoulder. That alone – being with him the way we were, the way we were always meant to be – felt illusory enough, but this… this was something else entirely. This was a dream inside a dream. A movie inside a movie.

  This was a duck shoved in a turkey’s ass.

  “Do you like it?” Kellen asked gently.

  My smile softened. “I love it.”

  “Sam helped me pick it out.”

  “She knows her stuff.”

  “Yes, she does.”

  Kellen laced his fingers through mine, the stone on my hand pressing between his large fingers. It was his right hand – his weak hand. His battered, broken hand that somehow he still boxed with. Not like before because nothing could be like it was, but that didn’t mean he did it with any less vigor. With any less passion and purpose, because you could break Kellen all day long and he’d still come out swinging.

  “Are you nervous?” he asked carefully.

  I didn’t look into his face. I knew it would give me nothing. The mask would be in place but what I could read, what he was telling me in his tone and the delicate feel of his palm against mine, was that he was scared.

  “No,” I swore soundly. “I’m not. Are you?”

  “No.”

  “But not being nervous makes you nervous, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  I rotated our hands, catching the light in the stone. “You can take it back at any time.”

  “I don’t want it back.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to feel safe.”

  Tears stung the backs of my eyes, pricked by the tender honesty of his words. It was the simplest of things to want but the desire behind it was so complex I knew I’d never fully understand it. I could see it, I could view the labyrinthine twists and turns that made up his emotions, his history, but I’d never navigate that maze. I wasn’t sure he would either.

  But I’d never stop trying. I’d never stop talking, never stop struggling to guide him out and up. Even though I knew it was a losing battle I’d never stop fighting it because I promised him. Because I loved him.

  I turned my face toward his, my eyes on the ground, unseeing and unfocused. He leaned his head down until his cheek rested against my forehead and his breath blew warm and steady across my face.

  “I’ll be your home, Kellen,” I vowed in a whisper. “I’ll be your friend and your family, and I’ll be here. Unmoving as stone. Constant as gravity. Eternal as the stars, and when you lose your way I’ll bring you back. I’ll bring you home to me.”

  He didn’t move and he didn’t answer, but his breath against my face changed. It became short, shallow, and I knew he was struggling with something. Some emotion he felt ill equipped to feel, and I stayed carefully still as he worked his way through it. As he squeezed my hand tightly, took a shuddering breath, and kissed my forehead; light and lingering.

  “Mon amie,” he breathed unevenly. “Mon amour. Ma nord.”

  My friend. My love. My north.

  ***

  Customs was a pain. It almost made me want to try to smuggle something through just to make it more exciting. I didn’t tell Kellen that, though, because I was pretty sure it would freak him out and he was already on the edge. Had been ever since we touched down in Ireland and it got worse the deeper into the airport we traveled.

  Being in Ireland, prepping to meet his family – it was all tethered to his mom, and while he had a lot of love for her, he also harbored doubts. He had questions about so many things, most of which centered around his dad, and while the man was alive and Kellen could contact him at any time, he didn’t. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t, not ever. While he had love and doubts about his mom, he had nothing but anger and resentment about his dad.

  Kellen’s phone buzzed in his pocket as we scooted two steps forward in an unending line.

  “It’s Owen,” he said blandly. “He’s here. He’s waiting at baggage claim.”

  “He’s one of your uncles?”

  “So I’m told.”

  “Do you want to perform a DNA test before we get in the car with him?”

  “Wouldn’t hurt,” he grumbled, stuffing his cell back in his pocket.

  “I forgot to bring a swab.”

  “Damn.”

  “Looks like we’ll have to trust him.”

  He smirked, moving a step forward in line. “Yeah, because I’m so adept at that.”

  “How about I’ll trust him and you trust me?”

  “You want me to trust him by proxy?”

  I laughed. “You still sound like a lawyer sometimes.”

  “Is it sexy?” he asked, nudging me roughly in the hip. “Does it do it for you?”

  “I like it when you sound like a fighter better.”

  “You mean when I’m talking about running and my weight and BMI and bench pressing?”

  “No. I like it when you talk like you can’t lose, even when you know you can.”

  “You like that, huh?” he chuckled.

  “I love it. I love that side of you. The part that can’t quit, that never lets up. Never lets go. The part that goes up against the ropes and keeps on swinging.”

  He looked at me heavily. “That’s a pretty angry part of me. A pretty big, angry part.”

  “I know. And I love it,” I reaffirmed. “I love it because it’s you, Kel.”

  His eyes stayed with me until the line moved again. We moved forward with it, silent and steady.

  It took almost forty minutes to get through Customs. Not uncommon but still a pain in the ass. Kellen was quiet through most of it, only taking a break from his anxious hand flexing to chuckle when I reminded him of our last family trip to Greece three years ago.

  “What do they think I’m going to sneak out of this country?” Mom had complained as we cruised through the airport. “The stench? The heat?”

  “Fruit,” Dad explained patiently, barely listening. “Vegetables. Bugs.”

  “Why would I smuggle bugs?”

  “Not intentionally.”

  “Weapons,” I added wearily, sick to shit of hearing her and Laney complain for the last two weeks. “Knives. Guns. Grenades.”

  “Probably not prudent to say all of those words out loud in the middle of an airport.”

  “Bombs.”

  “Jesus, Jenna.”

  “No one is bringing a bomb into the States,” Mom snapped sharply.

  Laney looked up from her phone, tension etched in every line of her face. “It’s not a bong. It’s a vase, I friggin’ told you!”

  “Bomb, not bong,” Kellen explained quietly.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  Dad ushered us forward impatiently. “Why don’t we all just shut up, shall we?”

  “We were lucky we didn’t get stopped for questioning,” Kellen chuckled.

  I smiled deviously. “I wouldn’t have minded if Laney had been.”

  “She was in rare form on that trip.”

  “Meaning she was evil on a stick.”

  “She nearly slapped that kid on the tour bus.”

  “In her defense he did lean over and lick her ice cream.”

  “He was five.”

  “Still a dick move.”

  “I won’t argue that,” Kellen replied vacantly.

  We had reached the baggage claim. His eyes were scanning the crowd, searching for something, for someone he had no chance of recognizing. They were a stranger and they were family. They were his blood and they were no one.

  Gently I touched his arm and pointed to the far left. “There.”

  He froze when his eyes found the man with the sign standing by the door.

  Kellen Coulter was scribbled across a sheet a paper held up between the hands of an older man. He had light hair, brown and graying beautifully in a salt and pepper pattern that rose from his temples. His face was lined hard around his eyes that shone dark and keen as they spotted us.

  He smiled, lowering the sign and making his way through the crowd neatly the way only a person accustomed to crowds could.

  “Kellen,” he called.

  His accent rolled Kellen’s name and made it something so beautiful I could never hear it the same again. I needed to always know it the way this man said it – warmly, thickly.

  He offered his hand to Kellen who took it without hesitation. He shook it firmly, nodding to the older, shorter man.

  “Owen,” he said by way of greeting.

  “It’s good to meet ya, lad. The family’s been talkin’ ‘bout yer visit for monts now.”

  “Thank you for having us.”

  “’Course! ‘Course. We’re delighted.” His eyes turned to me, his smile widening. “This is your gal, then?”

  I grinned, offering my hand. “Jenna. Nice to meet you, Owen.”

  “You as well, darlin’. Welcome to Ireland.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Well,” Owen said, smacking his hands together excitedly. “Shall we gather yer bags?”

  “We have them.” I gestured to my deep purple suitcase as proof.

  It pushed the limits of what qualified as a carry on, a shade larger than Kellen’s simple black bag, but it made it on the plane meaning we had no luggage to wait for. It also meant no luggage to lose, a nightmare I’d endured before and wasn’t looking to repeat.

  Nothing sucks like landing in Amsterdam with no underwear.

  “Ah yer coddin’ me,” Owen laughed.

  I shook my head, unsure what he meant.

  “It means yer puttin’ me on,” he clarified, nodding to my bag. “That canna’ be all ya brought with ya.”

  “It is.”

  “Ain’t that somethin’.” He slapped his hand on Kellen’s shoulder playfully. “She’s a fine one, Kellen. A real feek and one bag over the ocean? Keep hold of her if ya can, lad.”

  “I intend to,” he agreed with a squeeze of my fingers dangling next to his.

  I smiled at him, squeezing back.

  We followed Owen briskly out of the baggage area, out the doors, and into the fresh Irish air.

  And rain.

  Owen pulled the collar up on his dark jacket, guarding his neck against the wet wind that blew in under the overhang.

  “It’s to be bucketin’ down all day,” he explained, shouting over the drum of rain on the roof and road. “Wet and cold most the week. Ya bein’ from California I can only hope ya don’t drown.”

  Kellen pulled his hood up over his head. “We’re good swimmers,” he assured Owen.

  “Swimmin’s fine, but can ya run?”

  “We’re good at that too,” I promised.

  “Good. Grand. We gotta leg it now!”

  Owen broke into a run right out into the rain. Kellen and I hesitated only a second before we followed.

  I was drenched in a heartbeat. Just two steps into the torrent that was coming down outside that awning and I felt like I’d stepped into a shower fully dressed. My hair plastered to the top of my head, to my cheeks, and I squinted against the onslaught of plump, wet drops that battered against my face as we ran. Owen was a dark mass running ahead of me, Kellen a heady presence to my left, and all around me was the sound of water meeting the earth. I couldn’t even hear the sound of my bag rolling rapidly behind me and I looked back to check and make sure it was still there.

  That’s when I tripped.

  A curb came out of nowhere and tried to take me down. I lost my footing, started tumbling forward toward a massive puddle, when I felt a strong arm loop around my waist and pull me up.

  As fast as gravity was, Kellen was faster.

  He righted me on my feet, took my bag handle from my hand, and ushered me ahead of him with a gentle nudge.

  “Go,” he shouted over the din surrounding us. “I got it!”

  “I can take my own bag!”

  “Just let me help you!”

  “You don’t have to.”

  Kellen surprised me when he released both bags, took my face in his hands, and brought his lips down hard over mine. They were warm and wet, his skin cold against my face from the driving rain, but I melted against him as though it were a hot summer day.

  He released me, smiling down with only his eyes. “I like helping you. Stop fighting me on it.”

  I grinned, nodding my head between his hands. “Okay.”

  He kissed me again briefly. “Okay.”

  I could have stayed like that all day. There in the rain with Kellen and his eyes bright like I’d rarely seen. Most of the time they looked so dark you’d swear they were black, but in the gloom of that rainy day they looked brilliantly blue. Deep as the ocean, vibrant with sunlight that shone through them like crystals. I didn’t know for sure what caused the change. More than likely it was a trick of the light and that was all. But if I were to bet on it I’d say the difference was something so much simpler and still somehow impossibly complex. I’d say it was an aligning of the stars that sent a shift through the universe, through the world, through the sky, right down into the air around us that rode in on the rain.

  What I believed to be true was this – Kellen was happy.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kellen

  Owen was my mom’s half-brother, the youngest of three children my grandpa had with his wife before leaving her for a French prostitute. I’d always thought that part of the story was colored by my mom’s bitterness at a woman who’d cut and run before my mom hit puberty, but to hear Owen tell it I was wrong. My grandma was a true and honest whore.

  “Not a floozie, but a pro,” he clarified openly, darting us down a long, wet country road.

  We’d left Dublin quickly behind, ‘gettin’ beyond The Pale’ as Owen referred to it. He had explained it was an old saying that used to refer to the English occupied areas of Ireland where propriety and social regulations reigned. Now people used it to refer to Dublin, the largest city in all of Ireland.

  “He met her while he was fightin’ in Belfast,” Owen continued. “He lost, incidentally, and drowned his sorrows in a pint and her pristine Parisian box.” He paused, glancing over his shoulder at Jenna apologetically. “I’m sorry, darlin’. That was crude a me.”

  Jenna chuckled. “No worries. I work in a tattoo parlor. I’ve heard worse.”

  “Right, so he lost the match, lost his head, and nine monts later out pops yer ma. He never brought her round, though. Wasn’t till two years past we heard her name. Madeline, it was, wasn’t it? French name.”

  “Yeah,” I confirmed. “My grandma never spoke English. Only French. She taught it to my mom before she left. Then Mom and grandpa moved to Las Vegas.”

  “Is that where they went off to? Las Vegas? With the lights and the gamblin’?”

  “That’s the place.”

  “Aye, that’s bang on. If Da were to go anywhere it’d have to have gamblin’.”

  “You didn’t know that’s where he was?” Jenna asked.

  Owen shook his head. “We didn’t. Never a word from him after he left. It’s a shame. Young Madeline woulda had a home to come to had we known ‘bout her bein’ alone like she was.”

  “Your mom would have taken her in?”

  “She woulda. She was family.” Owen looked at me sideways, his sharp eyes taking in my rigid posture. I hadn’t realized I was tensing but the more we discussed my mom and what could have been the more I felt uncomfortable. Anxious. “Just as you’re family, lad.”

  I chuckled, trying to loosen myself. “Are you sure? As far as I can see I don’t look a thing like you.”