“How long have you owned this bar?” she asks.
“A few years.”
“Didn’t you used to play some kind of professional sport?”
Her question makes me laugh. Maybe because my short two-year stint as an NFL player is usually the only thing people around here want to talk about with me, but Kenna makes it seem like a passing thought. “Yeah. Football for the Broncos.”
“Were you any good?”
I shrug. “I mean, I made it to the NFL, so I didn’t suck. But I wasn’t good enough to get my contract renewed.”
“Scotty was proud of you,” she says. She looks down at her drink and cups her hands around it.
She was pretty closed off the first night she came in, but her personality is starting to slip here and there. She eats her cherry and then takes a sip of the coffee.
I want to tell her she can go upstairs to the apartment Roman stays in so she can dry her clothes, but it feels wrong being nice to her. It’s been a constant battle in my head for the last couple of days, wondering how I can be attracted to someone I’ve hated for so long.
Maybe it’s because the attraction happened last Friday, before I knew who she was.
Or maybe it’s because I’m starting to question my reasons for having hated her for so long.
“You don’t have friends in this town who can give you a ride home from work? Family?”
She sets down her coffee. “I know two people in this town. One of them is my daughter, but she’s only four and can’t drive yet. The other one is you.”
I don’t like that her sarcasm somehow makes her more attractive. I need to stop interacting with her. I don’t need her to be here in this bar. Someone might see me talking to her, and word could get back to Grace and Patrick. “I’ll give you a ride home when you finish your coffee.”
I walk to the other end of the bar just to get away from her.
Kenna and I head outside to my truck about half an hour later. The bar closes in an hour, but Roman said he’d take care of it. I just need to get Kenna out of the bar, and out of my presence so no one can tie us together.
It’s still raining, so I grab an umbrella and I hold it over her. Not that it’ll make a huge difference. She’s still soaking wet from her walk here.
I open the passenger door for her, and she climbs inside the truck. It’s awkward when we make eye contact, because there’s no way we aren’t both thinking about the last time we were together on this side of the truck.
I shut her door and try not to think about that night, or what I thought of her, or how she tasted.
Her feet are against the dash when I settle into the driver’s seat. She’s fidgeting with Diem’s hair scrunchie as I pull onto the street.
I can’t stop thinking about what she said—about Diem being the only person in this town she knows besides me. If that’s true, Diem isn’t even really someone she knows. She just knows Diem is here and that she exists, but the only person she really knows in this town is me.
I don’t like that.
People need people.
Where is her family? Where is her mother? Why has none of her family tried to reach out and get to know Diem? I’ve always wondered why no one, not even another grandparent or aunt or uncle, has tried contacting Grace or Patrick about meeting Diem.
And if she doesn’t have a cell phone, who does she talk to?
“Do you regret kissing me?” she asks.
My focus swings from the road and over to her as soon as she asks that. She’s staring at me expectantly, so I look at the road again, gripping my steering wheel.
I nod, because I do regret it. Maybe not for the reasons she thinks I regret it, but I regret it all the same.
It’s quiet all the way to her apartment after that. I put my truck in park and glance over at her. She’s looking down at the scrunchie in her hand. She slides it onto her wrist, and without even making eye contact with me, she mutters, “Thanks for the ride.” She opens her door and is out of my truck before I find my voice to tell her good night.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
KENNA
I think about kidnapping Diem sometimes. I’m not sure why I don’t follow through with it. It’s not like there’s a worse life for me than the one I’m currently living. At least when I was in prison, I had a reason I was unable to see my daughter.
But right now, the only reason is the people raising her. And it hurts to hate the people raising her. I don’t want to hate them. When I was in prison, it was harder to blame them, because I was so grateful she had people who were taking care of her.