When Tomorrow Starts Without me Page 22

  Kenna

  I stretch out across the couch, exhausted from the day. Despite everyone's best efforts, all I could think about was how my life is spiraling out of control. I love them for trying, but some things can't be fixed with movies and chocolate.

  Everyone stayed in my room for hours as we watched three movies and binged on foreign candies. Now it's just Rogan and me in the living room.

  "Do you want to go to bed?" He rests his hand on my knee and glances over at me.

  "I'm not sure." Even though I'm about ready to fall asleep, I don't want to be alone.

  "In that case…" Rogan gets up. A few moments later, he tucks a pillow under my head and covers me with a blanket.

  "Thanks." It's like he can read my thoughts.

  He sits on the floor and holds my gaze at eye level. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"

  "I'm a wreck right now."

  Rogan runs his fingers along my cheek. "Could've fooled me."

  I can't respond.

  He presses his lips against mine, tasting of popcorn and root beer. "Everything will get better. I promise."

  "How can you know that?"

  "Because it always does."

  "Maybe for you. Not for me."

  Rogan frowns, his eyes full of sadness. "You can't mean that."

  "Look at my life."

  "I'm looking at you." He traces my jawline with his thumb, then moves to my mouth, lingering.

  He kisses me again, this time taking it deeper right away.

  My heart leaps into my throat and my pulse races. I push myself up to sitting. Rogan moves in sync with me, our lips never parting. He sits on the edge of the couch and pulls me close to him.

  I cling to him, never wanting to let go. I need this moment to last forever. He kisses me with such passion I can barely breathe. My arms clutch his sides, but he keeps his hands on my shoulders.

  Part of me wants him to move them somewhere more dangerous but that thought drives terror right through me. I'm broken and always will be. What will I ever be able to offer him?

  As if to answer my question, he pulls closer to me, pressing himself completely against me. His hands move to my cheeks and he rubs my skin with his thumbs.

  Rogan's willing to show me how much he loves and wants me, but at the same time, he's willing to hold back because of the damage others have inflicted on me. He's full of passion, yet at the same time completely in control. Somehow the two exist in the same person at the same time.

  He pulls away and holds my gaze. "Is this okay?"

  I answer by taking possession of his mouth. He slides his hands down my back, resting them above my waist.

  A moment later, he pulls back and gasps for air. "You're intoxicating."

  I grab onto his shirt and yank him closer. "Then don't stop."

  "Believe me, I don't want to but I need to. You need me to."

  "No." I shake my head. "I don't."

  Rogan brushes his lips gently over mine. "You do, after everything you've been through the last couple of days."

  "Really, I don't."

  He scoots over next to me and fixes the blanket before taking my hand and lacing his fingers through mine. "Anything you want to watch?"

  "Not really."

  Rogan squeezes my hand, then flips through the channels and stops on some movie where things are blowing up.

  My heavy eyelids close almost immediately. Instead of my dreams offering an escape, they haunt me. My mind concocts a gory image of Caroline hanging from her ceiling. Theo chases me with a baseball bat in one hand and a camera in the other. Tiana appears and offers me beer as she drops pills into it. Off to the side, Dad glares at me from his recliner, telling me how lazy and worthless I am. Then random people appear and call me all kinds of hideous names. I look down and find myself without clothes again. Everyone laughs and snaps pictures.

  I sit up, gasping for air.

  Rogan is sleeping against the arm of the couch, and a cheesy black-and-white western plays on the TV.

  I pull the blanket close and squeeze it. Even my dreams don't offer me escape. Why won't they let me think of Rogan and his kisses? It's like I'm destined to live a life remembering only the bad stuff, and there's so much of it!

  What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to go on? I thought I could start over with Rogan but only managed to find myself an enemy, and then everything blew up in the worst way. Now his band is screwed up, and he's not getting the agent he wants.

  I lie back down and watch the movie, hoping it'll put me back to sleep. Maybe I can manage more pleasant dreams—things like chocolate and new friends.

  No such luck. My mind is racing, and sleep feels miles away.

  A phone buzzes. I want to ignore it, but part of me—probably a self-destructive part—won't let me leave it alone. After a second buzz, I get up and check my phone which Rogan put out of reach from the couch.

  The text isn't for me. I pick up his phone to silence it, but as I do, the message shows on the screen. I don't mean to read it, but I can't help it. It's from Ashton, and he says that the agents keep rescinding their offers.

  My stomach squeezes. It's all my fault. If Rogan had never met me, none of this would've happened. I really have ruined his life.

  It's only a matter of time before he realizes it too.

  Kenna

  The next week or so goes by in a blur. I'm just as miserable as before. Rogan takes me to the shooting range a few times, which I find more cathartic than usual. When he goes to practice with the band, completely undeterred by the agents pulling back, he always makes sure either Sutton or Poppy are with me.

  Sutton takes me for walks around the lake a few times, and Poppy drags me to the movie theater practically every day. I wear a sunhat and dark glasses so nobody recognizes me.

  Today is Caroline's funeral.

  Rogan thinks he's taking me.

  He couldn't be more wrong.

  Knock, knock.

  "I'm not going!" I pull the covers over my head.

  Footsteps sound.

  I hold perfectly still.

  "Get up." It's Sutton's voice, not Rogan's.

  "I'm not going anywhere."

  The covers fly off me, breaking free of my hold. Sutton stands over me in a lacy black dress. "You're still in your pajamas? If you don't get in the shower, we're going to be late."

  "We're going to be really late because I'm not going!" I sit up and pull the covers to my chin.

  "You're going."

  "You're younger than me. You can't tell me what to do."

  "That's the dumbest logic I've ever heard. Get in the shower."

  "No." I cling to the blankets.

  "It's your mother's memorial service. You have to go."

  "She's not my mom—she didn't even want me! And besides, it was a black market adoption. It's not even legal. She adopted me, but really she didn't."

  "Look, she's your mom. You're going. Don't make me drag you into the shower and hold you down."

  I glare at her.

  "I'll do it."

  "You'll mess up your hair."

  She shrugs. "As long as you go."

  "Has anyone ever told you how annoying you are?"

  "Yep. Come on." She grabs my arm and pulls. "Rogan!"

  I glare at her. "You wouldn't."

  "Sure, I would. Rogan!"

  He appears in my doorway, wearing slacks and a dress jacket with a dark tie.

  My heart stops. I can't take my eyes off him.

  Sutton yanks me off the bed. "Yeah, yeah. He cleans up nice. Don't lock the bathroom door. I'll bring in some clothes for you. Go."

  I stumble but regain my footing.

  Rogan glances at his phone. "You'd better hurry, or we're going to be late."

  "Does it matter?"

  He just nods.

  Sutton shoves me out into the hall and into the bathroom.

  I don't take my gaze off Rogan until he's out of sight.

  "Do I need
to start the shower?" Sutton puts her hands on her hips.

  "No. I'll do it."

  She smiles, then steps back into the hall. "I knew seeing Rogan dressed up would change your mind."

  I spin around and start the shower, refusing to admit she's right. Once I get out, a shimmery black dress is hanging on the door. I put it on and get ready, trying not to think about where we're going.

  When I step into the hall, Rogan is standing only a couple feet away. He looks me over and lets out a low whistle.

  I glance away. "Is this really the time for that?"

  "When you look like that, it is." He loops his arm through mine, and we make our way downstairs.

  Sutton attaches a silver flower clip to my hair. "Perfect."

  Their mom appears around the corner. "Look at you three. Can I get a picture?" She doesn't wait for us to give our permission.

  She whips out a big camera with an even bigger lens and takes several pictures.

  When I blink, all I can see is a bunch of bright white dots.

  "Thanks, Mom." Rogan rubs his eyes. "Now I'm blind and can't drive."

  "Oh, that'll fade in a minute." She gives them both a kiss on the cheek, then me too. "I'm really sorry about your mom, Kenna. My offer to talk at any hour of the day still stands."

  I try to smile. "Thanks, Mrs. Scott."

  "How many times do I have to tell you? Call me Rori."

  "Okay."

  Rogan opens the door. "We need to leave."

  "Call me if you need anything."

  "Just my vision."

  Once we're on the road, I turn to Rogan. "I don't want to stay long. After the service is over, we leave."

  "You don't want to try to talk to anyone? What if it turns out she has parents or siblings? They might be able to tell you something."

  "I doubt it. They probably blame me. It's my fault."

  "Would you stop?" Sutton exclaims from the back. "It's not your fault!"

  Rogan turns the wheel as we turn right. "She's right, but even if she wasn't, nobody else knows we were there before she did it. They can't blame you."

  I sigh dramatically. "Fine. Are you happy?"

  He squeezes my hand. "I'll be happy when you have the answers you need and can move on from this. I hate seeing you so miserable."

  Has he seen me anything other than that? We met because I was so alone in the world that I was trying to take my life. Our entire relationship is based on how miserable I am, and now I've passed that onto him in the form of his band. He should want to get rid of me, to get me so far out of his life that he never sees me again, but for some reason, he still hasn't.

  "I can talk to people." Sutton's face appears between my seat and Rogan's. "Nobody there will have any idea who I am."

  "If you want."

  "I'm offering, aren't I?"

  "Thanks. I'm just saying you don't have to."

  "I know I don't have to. I want to."

  Rogan pulls into a parking lot, and it's close to full. My stomach lurches. Will I remember anyone? Will they recognize me? And more importantly, what will I say when people ask my relation to her? What if people in her new life don't know about me?

  What if she has more kids?

  That thought makes me lightheaded.

  Rogan and Sutton are talking, but I can hardly pay attention. I climb out of the car, using most of my effort to keep whatever I ate last down.

  Conversation sounds closer to the building. Even some laughter. At a funeral? That can't be appropriate, can it? I feel like I should say something in defense of my only mom, but I have no idea if she'd be okay with it. Maybe people are recalling a good memory of her.

  One that I ruined, being the person that pushed her to death's door. She thought there was no other option because of me.

  I turn to Rogan. "I can't do this."

  He puts his arm around me and stares into my eyes. "Yes, you can."

  What else did I expect? That we would turn around and go back home?

  "Okay." It's like admitting defeat.

  Rogan takes my hand, and the three of us continue walking down the walkway toward the little white building. Under any other circumstances, I'd think it was cute. Now, it just looks suffocating, like it can actually choke the air right out of me.

  Maybe it can.

  I step a little closer to Rogan. Nobody pays us any attention as we enter the building. A few people are grouped together, talking in low voices, but most people are in the Sanctuary.

  Sutton takes my free hand and squeezes. She gives me a little smile and leads Rogan and me into the other room. "Where do you want to sit?"

  There aren't a lot of places to choose from, as the service is about to start.

  Rogan kisses my forehead. "Front, middle, or back?"

  "Back." I say it almost before he's done asking. The fewer eyes on me, the better. More importantly, we might be able to escape without talking to anyone after.

  We sit in the third-to-last row just as someone steps up to the microphone and starts talking. I try to focus on what he says, but my mind is spinning out of control.

  Both Sutton and Rogan grab my hands.

  Rogan

  My phone keeps buzzing in my pocket with texts. I hope Kenna doesn't notice. If she does, she doesn't say anything.

  The rest of the band is practicing the songs, but they've had questions for me all afternoon. I told them to leave me alone while I'm at the funeral, but they can't follow one simple direction.

  It's no wonder we can't land an agent. I'm not saying we're bad. We're not. It's just a matter of getting our rhythm together. And I haven't been able to put in the time necessary for that to happen yet.

  Lathe has to be dealing with the same problem, except that he already has Frost Amberley and all the time in the world. They probably jam for hours every day.

  I realize everyone is praying, so I lower my head and then say "Amen" with everyone at the end.

  An usher turns to me from the aisle. "There's a meal and fellowship downstairs. Everyone is welcome."

  "Thank you." I turn to Kenna. "Did you hear that?"

  "I'm not hungry."

  "You don't have to eat. It'll be the perfect opportunity to talk to people."

  "Which I don't want to do."

  "You'll be glad you did."

  "Until someone blames me for what happened."

  "Nobody will." When will she stop taking responsibility for everyone else's actions? Does she know nothing else because of growing up with Merle and his new family blaming her for everything?

  I need to find a way to break that horrible habit of hers. It's going to crush her someday, and I won't be able to handle it if anything happens to her.

  "Come on, you guys." Sutton glares at me as she tugs on Kenna's arm. "Before people start leaving. You two take forever for everything."

  Kenna sighs, but finally rises to her feet. My sister and I walk on either side of her as we head downstairs. I'm not sure if I'm more worried about her collapsing or making a break for it.

  Downstairs, the aromas from the potluck make my mouth water. Most everyone is lined up at two long tables full of food.

  Kenna stops. "I'm not hungry."

  "You should eat," I insist. "You'll feel better."

  She turns to me, tears shining in her eyes. "I'm at my mother's funeral, and you think food will help?"

  "I just meant—"

  "You're Caroline's daughter?" A woman who looks strikingly like her turns to us. "Kenna?"

  Kenna nods, keeping her gaze low.

  "I haven't seen you since you were just a little girl." The woman hugs Kenna, pulling her away from me. "I don't know if you remember me. I was your Aunt Kendra—your namesake. Kenna is always what those closest to me have called me. Caroline came up with it, actually."

  "Oh." Kenna nods.

  "I think you still are her aunt." I clear my throat, then extend my hand. "I'm Rogan Scott, and this is my sister, Sutton."

  Kendra shakes
our hands before turning back to Kenna. "How are you, dear?"

  I put my arm around Kenna. "She's having a hard time with the news, understandably."

  "Of course. Poor Caroline was never the same after being with Merle. I never could figure out if it was because she had to leave you behind, dear, or if it was from putting up with him all those years. I never could stand to be in a room with his chauvinistic attitudes for more than a couple minutes. I wouldn't put up with his comments for even a minute. Needless to say, he hated me." She chuckles somewhat bitterly. "Tell me, does he wallow in misery? I see he didn't bother coming out today."

  Kenna stands taller and looks her aunt in the eyes. "What do you know about my adoption?"

  "Oh, honey." Kendra puts her hand on Kenna's shoulder. "Let's grab some food and talk over the meal."

  We get into one of the lines, and Kenna fills her plate without complaint. Sutton and I exchange a glance. We're both glad we made her come. Hopefully, her aunt can tell her something useful, or at the very least, put her mind to ease and stop her self-blaming.

  We all sit at a table away from others, who have mostly gathered near the food.

  Kendra sits across from Kenna. "I wish I knew more about your adoption. Caroline was pretty tight-lipped about it, even after leaving Merle. I'm not sure why she was determined to keep it a secret. I always suspected he had threatened her about something. My sister has always been jumpy when it comes to that jerk. Bring up his name, and she gets as skittish as a church mouse. All I know is that it's a closed adoption without the possibility of being opened."

  The table is silent. I'm trying to figure out what to say when Kenna finally speaks.

  "My identity is fake, Aunt Kendra."

  Her brows come together, and she tilts her head. "Are you sure?"

  "I've had it confirmed."

  Kendra leans over the table. "A black market adoption?"

  "That's my guess." Kenna frowns.

  "No wonder Caroline never wanted to talk about it. Do you think your birth parents actually died overseas?"

  More silence.

  Kenna pushes food around her plate and then speaks up. "Did Mom ever remarry? Have kids?"