Page 73 of Keeping Kasey
“Once or twice a year. She remarried a few years after I left to a man with three daughters, and she made them her whole world. Last I heard, they were moving into an RV and homeschooling the girls for a year to travel the country.” Kasey shrugs. “The Mom I knew couldn’t place ten of the fifty states, and once said that homeschooling was a form of child abuse. I guess people change.”
Kasey still won’t meet my gaze, but that’s fine by me. I doubt I’m doing a very good job at disguising the contempt her words inspire.
Her mother—heronlyfamily—kicked her out and hit the reset button.
Kasey watched from afar as the one person who was supposed to love and protect her chose to start over with a new husband and finally be the devoted mother that she deserved.
It makes me think there’s more to her introversion than just not liking people. If her own mother could abandon her so easily, how could she trust anyone else to stay?
By the time we get to my hotel room—hand in hand—our usually playful mood is replaced by something heavier.
Something intimate.
When I lay Kasey on my bed, all our clothes scattered on the floor, she’s not only the fiery beauty that drives me insane every day.
She’s a daughter who learned to live in loneliness.
She’s a girl who fell in love with computers to avoid rejection.
She’s a woman who built walls of wit and sarcasm to protect herself from being hurt again.
But most importantly, she’s something I very much wish to keep.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Kasey
I lie in bed the next morning, waiting for regret to hit me.
I have never talked to anyone about my parents before, and I would’ve been perfectly content to keep it that way. But when Logan asked me about them, the idea of opening up to him didn’t sound so horrible.
And the regret never comes.
What does come, however, is the feeling that I’m in denial.
Without many companions, I’ve never had the luxury of lying to myself. If no one else is there to tell me the truth, it’s a role I have to fill myself.
As a result, I’ve never been prone to delusion.
But it’s starting to feel like I lie when I tell myself that things with Logan are purely physical, and I’m unwilling to force myself to figure out why.
So, I choose to throw myself into work instead.
We arrive at the base early, and Matteo immediately leaves us to meet with his father. Ford and I go to Brandon’s office—the cybersecurity supervisor at this base. He wasn’t around yesterday, but, according to Ford, he’ll be working in his office with us today.
This office is set up exactly the same as every other base we’ve been to, with several rolling chairs, monitors, and a couch against the back wall.
I sit in one of the chairs and fire up the desktop while Ford works on his laptop doing who-knows-what.
We’ve been working in silence for an hour when the door opens, and a tall, scrawny man stands in the doorway. He wears the same customary suit as every other Consoli soldier, though his jacket is wrinkled and slung over his shoulder. His sleeves are tugged up to reveal tattoos covering each arm.
When my eyes wander to his face, I find him watching me with something like contemplation. Just as quickly as I notice it, the expression vanishes, and he looks at his watch.
“About time you show up,” Ford mutters without looking up, and I can guess this is Brandon.
He strides into the room, taking a seat at the computer next to mine. “I was under the impression you’d be here at nine.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as a feeling like familiarity snakes up my spine. I give Brandon a quick once-over, but I’m positive I’ve never met him before.
