More Than This
Page 59

   “How, Mommy?”
   “From a kiss.”
   “But how?”
   “Your very first kiss with your prince will change your life. When your lips touch for the first time, the earth will feel like it has stopped moving, but at the same time the world around you spins. It’ll feel like fireworks in the night sky—a bright light in the darkness. You’ll feel your heart beat fast in your ears, but silence will surround you. When you pull apart and open your eyes and really see each other, you’ll know in that moment from that kiss that you’ve just let someone own a piece of your heart, and you’ll live happily ever after.”
 
 
FIFTY
MIKAYLA
   “Jesus Christ, Kayla. Where the fuck have you been? Where is your phone?” Jake puts out his hand, asking me to hand it to him. I get it out of my purse. It’s dead.
   I’ve just walked into the house after picking up my new car with Logan. Everyone else is here—Lucy, Cam, Heidi, and Dylan.
   Jake takes the phone from me and sees that it’s dead. He walks off to the bedroom in a huff, presumably to charge it. When he comes back, he still seems pissed. “Start charging your fucking phone, Kayla. I’m sick of this shit,” he growls.
   “Jake,” Cam says. It’s a warning.
   I look at Jake, confused. He’s never acted like this before . . . Except that one time when he thought Logan and I were messing around.
   Jake looks at Cam then at me, and his features even out. Something else takes over. He walks up to me and takes my hands. I’m wary, because I don’t know what the hell is going on. “I’m sorry, baby. We’ve just been trying to call you. Has no one contacted you today?”
   I look at him, brows furrowed in confusion. I glance at everyone. They’re watching me, waiting.
   Waiting for what?
   I slowly shake my head. “I’m scared, Jake. What’s going on?”
   Still holding me by the hand, he walks me to our bedroom, sits me on the edge of the bed, and starts pacing. He keeps looking up at me nervously, like he’s trying to find the right words to say next. It’s as though the conversation is playing out in his head, and he keeps restarting it. He’s opened his mouth three or four times already but keeps snapping it shut, changing his mind.
   What the fuck is going on?
   “Just say it already. You’re scaring me. Is it your parents? Did something happen? Julie?”
   “Shit!” he says. “No, baby. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. No, they’re all good. It’s not that. Sorry, babe.”
   “Then what is it? Just tell me. Please?”
   He sits on his heels in front of me, his head bowed. He holds both my hands, playing with the rings on my fingers—my mom’s and dad’s wedding and engagement rings.
   It’s about them.
   When he looks up, there are tears brimming in his eyes. “They caught him, Kayla. They found the asshole who killed your family.”
 
   I didn’t leave the bedroom for three days, and the whole time Jake was beside me, leaving only when absolutely necessary.
   I hate this stupid, broken me.
   I hate that Jake is back to being the guy who has to save me.
   And I hate him.
   I hate him so fucking much.
   Christopher Leon.
   That’s the asshole’s name.
   The murderer.
   The one who took everything.
   It shouldn’t matter that they caught him. I mean, it shouldn’t make me this upset, because whether they have him or not, it’s not going to bring back my family.
   Apparently, he was busted for breaking into another house, and the fingerprint DNA matched. Nathan keeps Jake up-to-date on the situation. He’s been keeping a close eye on the case to make sure the asshole doesn’t find any loopholes in the system and get less than what he fucking deserves.
   He’s a murderer.
   Our friends came around to check on me a few times, but I asked Jake to tell them that I wasn’t up for visitors. Even James came by once. I heard him and Jake having a proper, decent conversation—no name-calling or punching.
   Nothing like a fucked-up girl to bring peace between two enemies.
   For three days I cried, sulked, and went through the stages of grief all over again, like I was reliving their deaths. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. And today I woke up and reached the final stage. Acceptance.
   I was not going to let this asshole ruin me—not again.
   I just don’t think you should let bad people dictate whether you have a good life.
   Jake walks into the bedroom and pauses briefly when he sees me up and dressed. He’s been super wary of me, not wanting to suffocate me or push me far away.
   He has been perfect.
   My perfect boyfriend.
   He eyes me sideways, a little confused. I would be, too. I’m wearing yoga pants and one of his baseball jerseys and holding his bat. “Hey, baby.” I saunter over to him and kiss him—really kiss him.
   He kisses me back and cups my ass lightly. “Jesus, Kayla. I’ve missed you,” he says. He deepens the kiss, leading me toward the bed.
   I laugh into his mouth. “Jake, it’s been three days, not three years.”
   “I know, but it’s been hard . . . I was going to say it’s been hard keeping my hands off you, and I think I’ll leave it there. Yep, it’s just . . . hard.” He smirks, thrusting into me. I laugh out loud.
   “It’s so good to hear you laughing again.” He takes my face in his hands and looks into my eyes. “I so much more-than-a-lot love you, you know that, right?”
   I nod. I do know. And I so much more-than-a-lot love him, too.
   “So what’s with the outfit?” he asks. “Not that I don’t love it. Your wearing my jersey is hot, but why?”
   “I want you to pitch to me.” I throw him a baseball.
   “What?”
   “You’ve never pitched to me. I want to see if I can hit one. Please?”
   “You want me to go easy on you, or you want me to challenge you?”
   “Challenge me.”
   I drive us in my car, which I’ve only driven once before when I brought it home, over to the field near our house, and for an hour or so we take my mind off Christopher Leon. Pitch, hit, chase, repeat.
   “Hey, um, Mikayla?” Jake says. He barely ever calls me Mikayla, so I’m paying attention to whatever he’s about to say.