It Matters To Me (The Wandering Hearts Book 2) (4 page)

“I guess you did,” I answer. “What kind of pictures do you take?”

He furrows his brow, “Does it matter?”

“Damn straight it matters!” I exclaim. “I’m not standing around all day helping you get some great dick pics.”

He laughs, and it’s the most likable he has seemed so far. “I promise, I’m not looking for a fluffer.”

“I’m not sure what that is, but I am pretty sure I don’t want to know,” I retort.

He laughs briefly and with a mischievous glare suggests, “Google it at your own risk.”

“Noted,” I respond, smiling. “So what would I be doing?”

“I promise, it’s nothing too hard. Keep my equipment functioning, adjust some lighting, but mostly you’re in charge of keeping the shoot running smoothly by keeping the subjects moving.”

“Like models?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, something like that.” He glances over his shoulder to see his burger has arrived at the counter. “So, see you Wednesday?”

The hair on the back of my neck stands up. My gut is screaming for me to tell him absolutely not, but my neck muscles apparently are not listening as I answer with a nod of my head. He’s up, and just as stealthily as he had moved into my booth, he is back on his stool at the counter. When I’m sure he’s not looking at me, I pull the card he’d given me away from my chest and look more closely at it.

Aiden Calloway

Photographer

I don’t recognize the address below his name—it’s in some commercial area. In fact, I’m not familiar with it at all except that I know it isn’t an area to go after dark. Everything about the well-designed dark gray card, from his name, all the way down to the letter-pressed font, tells me he is a professional. He knows how to project quality and a minimalist element of class. Thanks to a business degree I earned and have not yet found a job to use said skills, I know both these things are great components to have in marketing. It seemed like he exuded success from the way he carried himself, to his business cards, and the confident way he spoke.

Luckily for him, even though my stranger danger alarm bells were sounding, I was just desperate enough, and he had just the right amount of mystery to get a yes out of me.

Now, to brace myself for the eight-block walk in the rain to my parents. Technically, I could tell my mom I have a job, at least for a day. I get up to leave, surprised Aiden doesn’t even look at me as I exit. If it weren’t for the card wrapped in my hand I would wonder if our exchange even happened.

“H
AS SHE CALLED?”
M
OM ASKS,
squishing the meatball mixture between her fingers. Her oversized, dark brown eyes can’t help but reveal her concern.

I walk over, locking my arm around her shoulder, and press my lips into the back of her head. I let go. “We’ll be fine mom, we always are,” I reassure her.

She sighs, then scrapes the mixture into the loaf pan. “I don’t think you should be so sure, sweetie.” She glides to the sink, taking care to thoroughly wash the bits of raw meat off her hands.

I lean back against the counter, popping another grape into my mouth. “Why don’t you let me worry about my love life, okay?”

“Ben, I just don’t want you to do something you’ll regret,” she continues.

“Mom!” I exclaim. “I’m serious, stop. Kenzie needs to learn that she can’t just stomp off and pout every time she doesn’t get her way. I’ll let her sweat a little bit and then we’ll work it out.”

She bites the left side of her lip. It’s always the left side she bites. This isn’t just the normal overbearing interest of my protective Italian mother. There’s something more to her concern.

“Go on, say it, I can see it’s killing you to hold it in,” I allow at last.

She shakes her head, opens her mouth, then quickly closes it.

“No, come on,” I insist. “Spill it. I’d rather you get this out now, so we don’t have to talk about this again.”

“Leave the boy alone,” my dad yells from the living room where he’s been watching television since he got dressed.

“I got this,” I shout back, nodding in her direction. “Go ahead, what is it?”

She presses her lips together, placing a comforting hand on my arm. I look at the small and delicate fingers, wrapped around my flesh. The years of lines etched across her skin. The lifetime of caring for everyone else, hidden within every wrinkle. She’s trembling slightly.

“Mom,” I whisper, staring in her eyes. “I mean it, Kenzie and I are going to be fine.”

She opens her mouth, her voice cracking. “When she said goodbye to me, it was different.”

My chest aches when I see her moisture-filled stare, a slight quiver in her lip.

“Different?”

“I don’t know how to explain it, the tone, the way she looked at me, there was a finality to it all. I’ve seen that look before, when your brother—” Her voice cracks before disappearing completely.

Richard. My brother. Mom was certain when he said goodbye for his Afghanistan tour he knew he wouldn’t be returning. She has always regretted not listening to her intuition then, and as a result, the rest of the family gets to hear about every slight worry that crossed her mind now.

“Mom, stop, don’t do this,” I beg her.

Her fingers tighten around my arm. “Just promise me you’ll try to call her.”

“Okay, fine,” I concede. “I promise. Is that better?” Placing a hand on my mom’s shoulder, I kiss her forehead and mutter, “I love you.” Then grab my lunch and make a break for the back door.

Mom doesn’t move, staring at the far wall, I assume lost in some memory of Rich. “See you at the shop, Dad,” I shout. I’m answered by an incoherent reply in the distance.

Opening the door, I pause, glancing one last time at my mom. She’s like a porcelain doll that has been shattered and glued back together. Ever since Rich died, she sees disaster lurking around every corner. But—something inside me worries that maybe she’s right about Kenz.

She has to be wrong, though. You can’t go through what Kenz and I have been through together and just throw it away. After my brother died, it was like we were all in this haze. It knocked the air out of our entire family, and it was as if we’d all forgotten how to breathe. We floundered, suffocating on our grief. Then Kenzie pulled us out. She helped my mom remember the simple things like bathing and eating. She cooked and cleaned for my dad and kept us to a routine that helped numbness wash over the grief. I don’t know how we would have made it through without her. You don’t just walk away from people you do that for, right?

A wave of memories and sadness crashes into me. Pulling out my phone, I type the letters, forming the words.

You okay?

I smile. Staring at the olive branch of a text, I remind myself we’ll be okay, pushing the doubt down underneath my boots as I stomp out the door.

I
STARE AT THE WORDS
on my screen.

You okay?

Is he serious? No, of course, I’m not okay. What does he expect me to say to that?

The phone vibrates in my hand, disrupting my thoughts. Anna’s number flashes across the screen, and I frown, realizing I’ve missed her call. I sigh, slide my finger across the glass, and lift the device to my ear to listen to her message after punching in my voicemail box code. The joy in Anna’s voice stabs at my heart, and I want more than anything to destroy the damn message and the phone along with it.

“I miss you so much Kenz! And Emily, I wish you could see how much she’s changing every day. I know you were just here, but she’s already impressing Holden with all her new grunts and giggles. Call me, okay?”

It’s not okay. It’s not okay that I’m not over the moon excited for my best friend in the entire world and the joy that she’s managed to find. It’s not okay that I broke up with Ben and haven’t told her. I tell her everything. It’s not okay that the idea of calling her makes my entire body ache.

Before I can dwell on it for much longer, I press the return call button on the face of my phone. The line is silent as it connects me to the international number.

“Kenz!” An excited voice shouts at the other end of the line.

“It’s me,” I confirm for Annabelle.

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. I thought you were going to call me when your flight got in?” I don’t reply, trying to decide if I should even tell her.

The silence lingers on for a few more moments before she asks, “Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” my voice is soft. “I’m here. Sorry, it was raining when I got in, and Ben wasn’t at the airport to get me,” I explain.

“Why wasn’t he there?”

I’ve been friends with Annabelle Hart longer than I have been friends with anyone in my life. I knew how this conversation was going to unfold before I ever hit send for the call. There’s no hiding the truth when it comes to her. “He said he had to work late.”

“You sound like you don’t believe him.”

“No, I do. It’s just—” I stop myself. Just what? What on earth was the straw that finally broke the back of this relationship? Was there really no coming back? Once I tell Anna, will this be the real end of us? After all, right now I’m just an angry girlfriend. When I tell my best friend in the entire world that I left the only man that I have ever loved, it becomes reality. It will be spoken into existence, forever imprinted in the air, a part of the universe.

“What is it?” She senses my hesitation. “Is something wrong?”

“I can’t do it anymore.” I choke, my voice trembling.

“Kenz, what’s happening? Did he do something?”

I rub my head with my free hand. “You mean other than be a complete uncaring and insensitive asshole?”

There’s a sigh on the other end of the line. I suddenly feel like I need to justify my statement.

“It’s not just that he didn’t pick me up at the airport!” I exclaim. “I got to his place, and he was playing video games.”

“So, he didn’t have to work late?”

“Well, no, he did,” I continue, wondering if I sound as crazy as I think I do. “He worked late, and then couldn’t make it to the airport in time, so he headed home.”

“And that’s why you’re mad at him?”

“I’m not mad,” I realize. And I’m not. “I’m ready for more.”

“More what?” Anna presses.