How I Lost You (9 page)

“Yeah, you will.” I gently pushed her back. One of the first times I'd ever broken a hug first. “No offense, Kya, but you stink.”

“I know. I'm even kind of offending myself.” She dropped her head to her chest again and sighed.

“You're lucky we found you when we did,” I warned her. She glanced at me, a question burning in her eyes, but I looked away. “Steve and his friends are assholes.”

“Lucas is a good guy, but Steve. Ugh.” She got up from the bed, walked to my mirror, and stuck her nose up to it. “I look like hell.”

“What makes Lucas such a good guy?” I asked. “He fed you too much alcohol and he was there when his friend gave you pills.”

She picked at her skin. “He's okay, Gracie. He has good manners and stuff.” She laughed but it died quickly. “He had no control over my drinking.” She smiled but that failed too. “At least he's hot?” she tried.

I pressed my lips tight to keep my opinion to myself. At least with her track record, he wouldn't be around for long anyhow.

“What about you?” She licked her lips and attempted another smile. “You were having coffee with a real live boy? My Skanklet on a date.” The grin didn't reach her eyes and she rubbed her temples with her fingers. “God, my head hurts.”

I gave her a dirty look.

“No, no, it's good. He's cute. And your type? I mean”—she paused—“do you even have a type? He sucked at paintball.”

“He was better than Lucas.” I pretended to study the poster of Keely Watson, my favorite paintball player of all time.

“Oh my God, look at your face. You do like him!”

“I do not.” I covered my warm cheeks with my hands but didn't even convince myself.

“I want to be happier for you, I do, but it's hard to process the fact that you had a date.”

“Thanks,” I said dryly.

“You know what I mean. You're the pickiest person in the world.” She puckered her lips up and made kissy noises but it was half an effort. “Did he kiss you?”

“We had coffee.” I glared at her. “And then we had to leave to go on an adventure to find you, remember? Not terribly romantic, rescuing your drunk friend.”

Her face crumpled.

“Sorry,” I said. “I mean, it's true. But I didn't mean to sound so bitchy about it.” We both stared down at our feet. After a pause, I said. “He's a nice guy.” I was throwing her a bone to ease the tension a little.

She smacked me on the arm, leaving an imprint of fingers. “Well, that's practically a declaration of love for you.” Her voice reeked of forced cheer, both of us trying to act as if everything was fine.

“Hardly.” My stomach swooped though, thinking of Levi.

“Well, it's weird, right? The whole cousin thing. Maybe we can double-date!” She grinned as I bounced up off the bed, not wanting to even go there in my head. Kya tilted her chin up, watching me. “Well, it's good. I mean kind of serendipitous. He led you to me, after all.”

“God looks after drunks and fools,” I said, repeating one of Dad's favorite quotes. He'd seen a lot of weird stuff while he was a cop.

“I guess I qualify for both.”

I smiled and patted her shoulder. “Temporarily. I mean, at least you were being watched over.”

She grabbed the neck of James's oversized T-shirt she wore and peered under it at her bathing suit. “I guess Levi doesn't have a great first impression of me.” She winked but the sickly look on her face detracted from her attempt to joke. “Unless he likes drunken girls in bikinis.”

“Who doesn't?” He'd seen more than her swimsuit. I leaned close to her, pressing my shoulder against her, ignoring the fumes wafting off her. She rubbed at her eyes.

“James, for one.” She ran her fingers through her hair and shook her head. She plopped her butt down into the beanbag chair in the corner of my room by the dresser. “God. I don't even remember being at a pool. I'm lucky I didn't drown.”

“I don't think you actually got around to swimming.” An image of her on the chair dancing and taking off her top made me cringe. “What happened, Kya?” I said quietly.

She shook her head and pressed her eyes shut. “God, Grace. I don't want to talk about it.”

“Kya? You need to deal with this. And not this way.” I lifted my hand up and tilted my head back, pretending to chug a drink. “Talk to me.” I said. “Please.”

She sighed so deeply it seemed to come from the bottom of her toes. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back against the beanbag chair. She swallowed and blew out a breath of air.

“I knew he was going to do it again. Because he got away with it once. The girl was crying on the phone. But she sounded hopeful that she'd make him pay. You know?” She shook her head, but her eyes stayed closed.

I went to the beanbag chair and crouched down beside her, but she pulled away from me. I plunked my butt down on the floor across from her.

“I told her never to call me again. I can't help her. I don't know legal stuff, but I know what they said. That it was my fault. I was found guilty. Not him.”

“It was not your fault!” My voice came out in a furious yelp. I swallowed and took a breath. “Kya, I'm sorry this is upsetting you. But it was NOT your fault.”

She tucked her hands under her legs. “Honestly, I don't want to talk about it anymore.” She shook her head, closing her eyes again.

I sighed. “Okay. But you know I'm here. Always, right?”

She nodded, chomping her bottom lip. Then she lifted her chin and opened her eyes. “I should probably get home.” She looked down at herself. “You told my parents I was at Lola's?”

I nodded.

“Then I probably shouldn't go home wearing James's clothes. That would require an explanation and I am far too hungover for that. Can you lend me something to wear?”

“Sure.” I went to my dresser to pull out some clean clothes. “You should probably shower too. Get rid of some of that stench.”

I pulled out a pair of yoga shorts and a tank top.

“And you need to go over and thank James later.” She shrugged and I gave her the evil eye as I thrust my clothes into her arms. “I want you two to make up.”

She rolled her eyes. “I'm sick of his shit.”

He said the same about her. A little more eloquently perhaps, but the same message.

“Yeah, well, he's sick of yours too. You forgive friends for their shit. That's what you do.”

She cleared her throat. “I hate how he looks down on me. He gets his jollies making me feel stupid. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of him.” She tugged at her hair and shifted back and forth on her feet.

I wasn't about to let her escape yet. “He doesn't look down on you. He loves you.” I stared at her, trying to get her to look at me. She owed me her ear for a moment at least.

“Grace, he's frickin' pretentious and he's getting worse. All he does is try to talk over people's heads. Use his big words to make himself sound smart. He likes to put me in my place.” The anger in her voice stirred up my own.

“Your place? You don't have a place. James doesn't think that way.”

“Not about you. He thinks you're closer to being his intellectual equal.”

“Kya.” I squeezed my hands into fists and my voice came out deeper than usual.

“Forget it. I don't want to talk about James.” She licked her lips and avoided looking into my eyes.

“He was there for you last night.”

Her eyes flashed and she finally met my gaze. “Was he? Or was he there for you? I think he only let me stay so you would be happy.”

I threw my hands up in the air. Given her current mood, it wasn't the time to argue James's insecurities versus hers. “Go get in the shower before Indie gets up.” I pointed at my door.

She shuffled out of my room, clutching the clothes in her hands as if they were a security blanket. She looked like a little kid, trying very hard to be brave.

I grabbed my laptop, flipped it open, and logged on to the Internet. Levi's name may have been typed into the search engine.

When Kya came back to the room, I slapped the cover down. She looked slightly better, with some color back in her cheeks. Wet hair made her look less shriveled and dehydrated. She tossed her bikini and James's clothes on the floor and sat on the edge of my bed.

“Gross. Put that in my laundry basket.”

“You throw your clothes on the floor all the time.”

“Yeah, but they're my clothes. Aren't you the neat freak in this relationship?”

Kya picked up the clothes and tossed them into my laundry bin. “You're right. I'm not myself.”

She sat on my bed with her legs crisscrossed and stared at me. “Do you think your dad would let you get a tattoo?”

I stared back. “Out of the blue much?”

She didn't glance down or look away from me.

“That's what you were contemplating in the shower?” I asked. “Not regret or thankfulness at how lucky you are to have me looking out for you?”

“Trust me. I have enough regret for both of us.” Then she grinned. “You know I love you. That's why I was thinking we should get tattoos. Because we're always there for each other. Thick and thin.” She raised her eyebrows. “So? Do you think you'd be allowed?”

I smirked. “Have you met my mom? Or my brother?”

She squished up her nose and nodded. A sleeve of tattoos covered Indie's arm. Mom had small tattoos on her shoulder and wrist. Surprisingly enough, it was my dad who was overly conservative about tattoo ink.

“I know. But would they let YOU get one? You know your dad. Different rules for you and Indie.”

She was right, but at the reminder, I snarled. “I can totally get one.”

“Yeah?” Her grin reached her eyes for the first time that morning. “What if we do it this summer? To mark our last year before college.” She pointed at her wrist and then grabbed my wrist and held it up. “Right here. Matching ones.”

I gently pulled my hand back. “I'm not sure about self-inflicted pain and all that.”

“Come on, Skanklet. You take paintball hits like they're nothing. You could handle a few needle pokes. We'd get something meaningful. Best friends. Buds before studs.” She grinned even wider and it looked like my friend was back, a thousand percent better than when she'd walked in my room this morning. “BBS. In a fancy font. I'm totally making an appointment.”

I smiled, but it was forced. There was desperation behind her giddiness, as if she needed me to prove I'd be there for her. Even when she screwed up, I had her back. I didn't necessarily need ink to remind me.

“I'll think about it,” I told her.

She squeed, because with her track record, she'd pretty much proved she could talk me into anything. “You'll be eighteen soon, so asking your dad is formality. I'll book at the Inkpot and get Wouter. He's the best.”

I shrugged. “Why don't you go home and get some more sleep before booking tattoo appointments?”

She rolled her eyes but pushed off the bed with a lighter step. She danced to the door and glanced back over her shoulder. “Buds before studs. Right, Grace?”

I lifted my fingers, twisted them together, and held them in the air until she breezed out the door. The empty space still smelled like shampoo. I stared at the void and a surge of protectiveness filled my chest. The pain from a few needles poking permanent ink in my body wouldn't hurt as much as what she had to deal with every day of her life.

She pretended to be tough. What happened to her was more permanent than a tattoo. She could never have the memory of the rape removed from her body.

A few minutes later, Dad knocked and stuck his head inside my room without waiting for an answer. He stared at me for a long moment and I barely resisted confessing everything I'd done wrong since I was ten years old. He was that good at the stare.

He nodded once though, releasing me from his gaze, and glanced down at his watch on his thick and hairy wrist. “You missed time with Lola.”

“I know.” I sat up and swung my legs over the end of the bed. “It wasn't a game. Just a practice.”

“Just? I have a feeling you wouldn't have missed if it wasn't for our friend Kya. Did you call Lola at least? Let her know you wouldn't be making it?”

“I texted her.” I stared at him, hoping he'd take the hint and leave.

He pressed his lips tight, and then he lifted his eyebrows to make me baste in my own sweat. Fortunately, dealing with parental guilt was old news for me. Practice makes perfect. Cliché. True.

“Is everything okay with Kya?”

Lying or making up a story wasn't how our relationship worked, but he also didn't need to know all the details. I pressed my back against the bed. “She's okay.” Honesty was the best policy. He'd forgive a lot more with the truth. “She had too much to drink last night so she stayed over at James's. She felt terrible when she got up and wanted to talk. So you know. Lesson learned and all that.”

Dad gave out lectures about the perils of being lured into drugs and drinking the way other dads gave out weekly allowance. Years of seeing too much as a cop.

He pushed the door open wider and leaned his hip against it. “I hope so.” He sighed. “I worry about that girl.”

Me too
, I thought. “She'll be okay, Dad.”

He pressed his lips tight. “Did she black out?”

I cringed and wondered for a second about the bliss of having a parent who lived in denial and believed if you didn't talk about things, then they weren't happening. That might be nice at times.

“She got some upsetting news and went a little overboard. That's all.”

“You let her off too easy, Grace. She kept you from making a commitment. I know how much you want to play with the Grinders. You don't want to miss opportunities because of your friend.” He paused and I could tell he was holding back his investigative skills and need to dive in with a lot more questions.