Page 55 of Known By You
Kenny stood just outside the building, gaze pinned to his shoes. His usual bounding energy was buttoned up inside whatever shroud of thought he was stuck in.
I was instantly and illogically furious the second I read the way his shoulders bowed inward instead of spreadingbroad and proud, the way he hunched in on himself like he might make himself smaller.
Kenny filled up a room just by entering it because he led with hard-won joy, and right now, his family’s presence here had stolen that.
“What can I do?” I said by way of greeting.Tell me what to do to make this easier for you.
He raised his head slowly, eyes sliding up my body and meeting mine. “Give me guac and call me pretty?”
A laugh burst out of me and my whole heart just glowed for him. “I can do that.”
He fluttered his lashes and grinned, but sobered quickly. “Thanks for coming. I don’t know what’s going on.”
I slipped my hand into his, grasping firmly to show him I was unequivocally on his team. “We’ll figure it out. And if all else fails, I’ll yell ‘fire’ and we’ll run.”
That gorgeous smile reemerged, and he nodded. “Deal.”
He squeezed my hand, then released it and took a big breath before charging forward into the restaurant. His family was already seated at a five-person round in a far corner. At least we weren’t right in the middle of the restaurant with more eyes on us. Apparently, even a Thursday night meant big business during ski season as every other table appeared to be full or sporting a little reserved sign on it.
“Glad you finally decided to show,” Glen Jr. said, leaning back with an arm around the empty chair next to him, a large margarita glass two-thirds empty.
I glanced at my watch—we were approximately two minutes early.
“Come sit, Ken. And, I’m so sorry, I’ve forgotten your name?”
His mother phrased this like a question with a sweetsmile. I wondered whether she had actually forgotten it or if this was a way of putting me—or Kenny—in my place.
Kenny pulled out the chair next to his mother for me, then sat by his brother. Glen Jr. shot him a disgusted look I couldn’t fathom. In what universe did a person sleep with their brother’s fiancée and then act like their brother was the problem?
A waiter arrived instantly and took our orders since apparently Kenny’s family had been here for a while based on the empty chip baskets he refilled, and the drinks they’d clearly been working on. If it were just me and him, I’d request the tableside guac and we’d gorge ourselves on that before our entrees came, but I felt a sense of urgency to eat and leave, so I just requested a side of the stuff in case Kenny’s order didn’t suffice for him.
The small talk starting out was nothing short of painful. Kenny asked how G was and why he hadn’t come. This earned a fair amount of scorn from Glen Jr.
He started by swearing and indicating what an idiot he thought his brother was, then proceeded to say, “He has school, you genius.” More expletives used in completely unoriginal ways.
I’d become inured to foul language in my line of work—in fact, I could use it in several languages and mostly chose not to. But nothing bothered me so much as uncreative uses of swearing, which in my mind only proved someone’s low IQ.
“Right, of course,” Kenny said, his cheeks pinking just slightly.
“So why did you all come to visit now, when he couldn’t come, too?” I asked, because I wasn’t going to sit here and pretend like any of this was normal, and I didn’t even fully grasp hownotnormal it was.
Glen Sr., predictably, said nothing and took a sip of his beer. The food arrived before Mandee could chime in, and we all dove in like we’d been starved for weeks once each of us had our plates.
Or, Kenny and I waited until everyone else had theirs, but notably, the other Carmichaels dove in the second their plates touched the table.
It was an odd, superficial thing to notice, but I did. Their manners weren’t simply poor in terms of etiquette—who really cared about that? They were poor in terms of considering other people. This was primarily astounding because Kenny was a man who was so deeply considerate of others, it made no sense.
How on earth had he come from these people?
Even as I posted the question internally, I knew the answer. He’d chosen to be different, and he’d worked hard to. Maybe some of his past had forced the change, but he’d also made the choice to be grateful instead of bitter, kind instead of angry, and empathetic instead of cold.
He was honestly a miracle.
“So, how long have you been friends with Jack McKean?” Glen Jr. asked, mouth full of his queso-covered beef taco.
Kenny didn’t miss a beat. “He’s an acquaintance from work.” Technically, he couldn’t reveal he was a client due to confidentiality, but in this case, there wasn’t a ton of room for creativity.
“And your work is Saint Security, right?” his mom asked.
