Page 24 of Lights, Camera, Love

When I clam up, he looks remorseful. ‘Sorry, that sounded nosy as fuck.’

‘No, it’s fine, it’s fine,’ I mumble. As direct as Kye is, I sense that he wouldn’t try to force me to speak about anything that makes me uncomfortable. And I think that’s the reason I always seem to want to.

A jagged breath cuts between my lips. ‘I … I saw my father this morning. At Village Pictures. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him in the flesh, and he … he saw me, and he walked right past me. He ignored me.’

The words come out blunt and matter-of-fact. Inside, though, I’m howling.

Kye lets out a coarse breath. ‘Fuck. I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘That’s rough.’ I stay quiet, and gently he adds, ‘This might sound like a stupid question, but would he recognise you?’

‘I don’t know,’ I whisper, tears springing to my eyes. ‘I don’t have a clue if he even knows what I look like. Isn’t that terrible?’

Kye’s brow tightens, and neither of us says anything for a while. The next song off the DLG album is playing when he asks, ‘What about your mum? What does your mum think?’

‘Oh, I haven’t told her about it, and I’m not even sure if I should.’ I run my fingers over a tiny scratch in the leather door. ‘Plus, she’s out with some guy tonight.’ I can’t help but add, ‘She does that a lot.’

After a moment, he says, ‘And you don’t like it?’

My chest expands with a weighty breath. That question is a mind-twister. I’m happy that my mum feels comfortable seeing who she wants and doing what she wants without any judgement or shame. That’s not the problem. It’s more that …

‘Sometimes I think my mum acts like, unless she’s got a man in her bed, she’s not good enough or something,’ I say clumsily, thinking this out as I go.

‘It’s difficult to describe, but it’s been going on for years now, and it’s …

it’s hard to watch. It’s as if she’s addicted to casual flings and hook-ups.

She’s never had trouble getting attention from men—some of them probably watched her on TV when she was a sitcom star.

And if I thought it made her genuinely happy, I wouldn’t care so much, but … I honestly don’t think it does.’

Mum’s grumpiness, her criticisms, her overspending … I don’t think she’s been happy for a very long time.

Kye’s gaze brushes the side of my face before returning to the road. ‘Can I say something that’s probably out of line?’

A chuckle of anticipation rises in my throat. ‘Sure, why not?’ Hit me with your best shot, Groucho.

‘Maybe it’s a way for your mum to protect herself. She can find connection and validation and desire without the possibility of being rejected or abandoned. Which, can I guess, might have happened with your father?’

I turn and settle my gaze on his handsome profile.

‘You a therapist, too?’ I tease. ‘What else can you do that I don’t know about? Dancer, manager, stylist, therapist … ’ I tap them out on my fingers.

A quiet laugh rumbles from him. ‘That’s pretty much the extent of my repertoire.’

The car pulls to a stop at a red light. ‘And what about you?’ I ask. ‘I feel like we’re always talking about my screwed-up family.’ The second I say those words, I want to shove them back into my mouth. ‘Oh, wait, sorry, I didn’t mean—’

‘It’s okay.’ He scratches his jaw, blinking at the windscreen.

Good one, Evie. Make light of the foster child’s traumatic past.

I sheepishly direct Kye to turn as we reach my street, and his mocha eyes slide back to mine. ‘Yeah, I know. I picked you up the other day, remember?’

‘Oh yeah.’ The smile I can’t help seems to summon his, and it’s so hard to look away.

He parks outside my building and switches off the engine. As I reach between my legs for my bag, he quietly says, ‘I have a brother. A half-brother.’

My fingers freeze around the strap. ‘You do?’

He nods silently, blinking down at the leather band circling his wrist. ‘He’s six years younger than me, and we grew up in separate foster homes. We also have different dads, neither of whom stuck around.’

I shift in my seat to face Kye. ‘Do you see him much?’

He swallows hard. ‘No. He’s, uh, he’s over at … Long Bay prison.’

My lips part. ‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. It is what it is.’

The mood has taken another downturn, so I make a desperate move to revive it. ‘We should just go to the pub if we’re going to keep having this conversation,’ I say lightly, my lips curling up. ‘Get us some more of those bourbons.’

He makes a warm, throaty sound. I stare at him as his eyes suddenly dim, then drop to his thighs.

‘I can’t,’ he says softly.

Something tells me he’s not only talking about the pub, so I nod slowly and look away, feeling the punch of rejection in my chest.

‘Okay, goodnight, then,’ I say. ‘Thanks so much for the lift.’

‘I’ll walk you in,’ Kye says, clicking open his door. ‘It’s late.’

When we’re standing outside the paint-chipped door to my apartment, I find myself saying, ‘Do you want to come in? I’m pretty sure my mum is still out.’

I regret the question instantly. He just said no about the pub, but the words burst out before I could stop them. I’m not ready to say goodnight yet; even though I can’t quite explain why, I feel so good when I’m around Kye—like the world is a little lighter.

At first he whitens, then he flushes. ‘I can’t … I—’

‘It’s okay,’ I recover, trying not to look embarrassed.

He reaches out to lightly trace a knuckle down my cheek, and our gazes bind together as I inhale a sharp breath.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he whispers, the tips of his fingers lightly grazing my chin.

‘Like what?’ The nonchalant tone of my voice is entirely forced.

His eyes move back and forth between my own. His trembling hand falls to his side, and he takes a step backwards. ‘I’ll talk to you soon, okay?’

‘Yeah, soon. Good stuff. Nighty night.’

What the hell am I saying?

But as awkward as I’m being, Kye’s eyes seem to shimmer as they linger on mine. Then, he turns and walks away.