It’s also strange thinking you know someone but then later realizing maybe you didn’t know them at all. I feel that with Leah, and I’m starting to feel that about Kenna, but in the opposite way. With Kenna, I feel like I judged her too poorly in the beginning. With Leah, I feel like I judged her too favorably.
I probably should have texted Kenna to let her know I was on my way, because I spot her walking alone on the side of the road about a quarter of a mile away from the store. Her head is down, and she’s got both hands gripping the strap of her tote bag on her shoulder. I pull over on the opposite side of the road, but she doesn’t even notice my truck, so I tap on the horn. It gets her attention. She looks both ways and then crosses the road and climbs into my truck.
A heavy sigh emanates from her when she closes her door. She smells like apples, just like she smelled last night in the doorway of her apartment.
I could fucking punch myself for last night.
She drops her bag between us and pulls an envelope out of it. She shoves it at me. “I got it. The restraining order. I was served as I was walking out of the store to put groceries into someone’s car. It was mortifying, Ledger.”
I read over the forms, and I’m confused about how a judge even granted it, but when I see Grady’s name, it all makes sense. He probably vouched for Patrick and Grace and might have even embellished the truth a little bit. He’s that type. I bet his wife is loving this. I’m surprised she didn’t bring it up at the ball field today.
I fold it back up and stick it in her purse. “It doesn’t mean anything,” I say, attempting to comfort her with my lie.
“It means everything. It’s a message. They want me to know they aren’t changing their minds.” She pulls on her seat belt. Her eyes and cheeks are red, but she isn’t crying. It looks like she’s probably cried it out already, and I got to her in the aftermath.
I pull back onto the road feeling heavy. What I said last night about feeling useless—it’s the most accurate term for what I am right now. I can’t help Kenna, other than how I’m already helping her.
Patrick and Grace aren’t changing their minds, and any time I try to approach the subject with them, they’re immediately defensive. It’s difficult, because I agree with why they don’t want Kenna around, but I also vehemently disagree.
They would cut me out of Diem’s life before they would agree to add Kenna into it. That’s what scares me the most. If I push the subject too much, or if they find out I’m even remotely on Kenna’s side, I’m afraid they’ll start viewing me as a threat, the same way they view Kenna.
The worst part is, I don’t blame them for how they feel about Kenna. The impact of her choices has been detrimental to their lives. But the impact of their choices is becoming detrimental to her life.
Fuck. There’s no good answer. I’ve somehow immersed myself in the depths of an impossible situation. One that doesn’t leave a single solution that won’t lead to at least one person suffering.
“Do you want to take the night off work?” I completely understand if she doesn’t feel up to it, but she shakes her head.
“I need the hours. I’ll be fine. It was just embarrassing, even though I knew it was coming.”
“Yeah, but I figured Grady would have the decency to serve you at home. It’s not like your home address isn’t at the top of the order.” I turn right at the next light to get to the bar, but something tells me Kenna might need an hour or so before she moves from one shift to the next. “You want a snow cone?”
I’m not sure if that’s a stupid resolution to an issue this serious, but snow cones are always the answer for me and Diem.
Kenna nods, and I think I might even see a hint of a smile. “Yeah. A snow cone sounds perfect.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
KENNA
I’m leaning my head against the passenger window of his truck, watching him stride up to the snow cone stand with his tattoos and his sex appeal to order two rainbow snow cones. Why does he have to do nice things that make him so attractive?
I came here once with Scotty, but Scotty didn’t look out of place ordering snow cones. We sat at a picnic table that used to be to the left of the snow cone stand, but it’s a parking lot now, and the picnic table is nowhere to be seen. All the seating areas have been replaced by plastic tables with pink umbrellas.
I only texted Ledger and asked for a ride because of Amy.
She found me in the bathroom about to have a panic attack and asked what was wrong. I couldn’t bear to tell her someone had filed a restraining order against me. Instead, I just told her the truth. That I sometimes have panic attacks, but that it would pass, and I was sorry, and then I pathetically begged her not to fire me.