Come Back To Me (3 page)

freak out that he somehow knows what I’m thinking, has

read my mind.

‘Being free. Being eighteen,’ he says, seeing my confu-

sion.

‘Well, I have one more week of school,’ I tell him. ‘Then

the whole summer. And then I start college.’

Kit tilts his head to one side. ‘USC?’

‘No. USD,’ I answer. I waved goodbye to that dream.

It’s University of San Diego for me.

‘I thought you wanted to go to LA?’ Kit says now. ‘I

thought there was a drama course at USC there you were

really into.’

My gaze flies instinctively to the window, to my father

who is still busy with the dancing flames. He’s yelling

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Mila Gray

something at Riley. ‘Well, you know how it is,’ I say, wish-

ing I hadn’t brought it up. ‘My dad wanted me to go to

USD. It’s closer. I can live at home.’

Kit looks at me disbelieving, a flash of disappoint-

ment in his eyes that makes my insides curl up. Trust Kit

to remember that I wanted to go to the University of

Southern California. He was the first person I told about

my dream to go to USC’s School of Dramatic Arts. That

was last time he was back on leave. I’d been fighting with

my dad over my test scores, then I’d gone down to the

beach and run into Kit. We’d started talking and next

thing you know I was telling him everything. Kit was the

first person who actually asked me what it was I wanted

to do with my life.
If you had one dream, what would it be?

he’d asked.

I told him I’d go to USC to study drama. He was so

interested, so enthusiastic about the idea, that I started

to get excited too – to actually start contemplating it.

Then I got home, still high on our conversation, ready to

start researching the application process, and found my

dad waiting for me with a fully drawn-up schedule of

after-school tutoring and a brochure for USD. But I don’t

want to think about any of that today. It’s my birth-

day. Kit’s scowling now. He glances around the room. I

follow his gaze to the window. My father is standing

with charred tongs in one hand glaring through the

glass. His eyes are narrowed like laser sights. Suddenly,

though, his view is blocked by Didi, who stands before

him holding a bowl of marinated chicken like it’s John

the Baptist’s head.

‘I better go,’ I hear Kit say.

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I spin around. ‘No,’ I say quickly, grabbing for his

wrist. ‘Please stay.’

Kit stares down at my fingers circling his arm. He

doesn’t say anything, but when he looks up my pulse

quickens as I see the expression in his eyes. It’s unmistak-

able. I’m not inventing this or imagining it. I see the

desire, bright as a flame. I drop his wrist in surprise, my

fingers burning.

‘I don’t want to get court-martialled,’ he murmurs,

jerking his head softly in the direction of the window.

‘Oh, just ignore him,’ I say, sounding breathless and

cursing myself for it. ‘He’s just out of sorts. You know

what he’s like.’ I hate making excuses for my father but

I’m used to it. I’ve been doing it most of my life.

‘Yeah, well,’ Kit says, ‘I don’t want him sending me on

a one-man mission to Somalia or Afghanistan. Or worse,

making me clean the latrines at the base for the rest of my

life.’

Kit looks down at my hand which rests just inches

away from his own. He glances up and his gaze rests for a

moment on my lips. ‘I best be going,’ he says quietly.

I swallow.
No.
Don’t go
, I want to say. I want to take

hold of his wrist again. I want to see that look in his eye

one more time. Just to be sure, because already I’m won-

dering if I imagined it. But I don’t. I just nod. He steps

back towards the door. ‘Tell Riley I’ll call him later.’

I nod again. For some reason tears burn the backs of

my eyes. I blame it on the smoke from the grill that’s

wafting through the open French doors. Why does my

dad have to always go and ruin everything? And more

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Mila Gray

annoyingly, why don’t I ever stand up to him? I’m

eighteen now. I shouldn’t be scared any more.

‘I’ll see you around, Jessa,’ Kit says. He grabs a couple

of cupcakes from the plate on the table, grins at me, and

disappears. A few seconds later I hear the front door

slam.

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Kit

I shouldn’t have left. If Colonel
I’m a dickhead
Kingsley

hadn’t pointed those tongs at me like he was aiming a

sub-machine gun at my head then maybe I would have

stuck around. I swear it was crossing his mind to use my

face as fuel for the grill. Whatever. What was I expecting?

It’s not like I’ve ever been welcome in their house. Well,

OK, that’s not strictly true. I’m welcome there whenever

he’s not around. Riley, Jessa and their mom have always

gone out of their way to make me feel at home. I think

they feel guilty for how he treats me. I know Riley thinks

his dad is an asshole, but he can’t say anything. Guess I

wouldn’t either in his shoes.

I swing my leg over my bike with a sigh and rev the

engine. While I was away the two things I missed the

most and fantasized about so regularly that I earned

the title of Corporal Space Cadet from my unit were this

bike and Jessa Kingsley. OK and a ribeye steak from

Fleming’s, cooked medium rare. But mainly Jessa, it has

to be said. And holy shit, yeah, now I remember exactly

why and simultaneously realize how much my imagin-

ation short-changed me. I didn’t have a photograph of

her with me – didn’t want Riley to have occasion to ask

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Mila Gray

me what the fuck I was doing with a picture of his sister

in my wallet, for obvious reasons, namely wanting to

keep possession of my balls. Next time, though, I’m

taking a photograph. Balls be damned.

Jessa Kingsley has been my secret obsession for two

years. Thankfully for her she takes after her mom and not

her dad – pale blonde hair, creamy skin, eyes so green

you’d think they were contacts if you didn’t know other-

wise. One day she was this small, blonde kid, all elbows

and knees and braces, following the two of us around all

the time like a lemming, and then I go away to basic

training and come back to find she’s all grown up, with

eyes the size of dinner plates, hair hanging straight as a

sniper’s aim down her back and a smile that takes my

breath away every single time.

She never grew much, in fact she’s still short and

petite, but she’s got curves in all the right places. Though

it took a while to realize that, and by then it was more like

a bonus rather than the main attraction. She goes to a con-

vent school and the uniform is kind of like a nun’s habit.

And I think her dad has veto over her entire wardrobe as

she’s never showing much skin. I only realized how killer

her body was when I saw her at the beach wearing a

bikini. That sight was enough to push my obsession from

borderline to all-consuming.

Coming to her house was a dumb idea, though. Now

I’m not going to be able to get her out of my mind for the

next month. I guess half of me was hoping I’d go around

to visit and find out she’d gained five hundred pounds or

at the very least a boyfriend, which would kick all my

dreams into touch. Maybe she does have a boyfriend. The

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thought makes me almost skid into the kerb. Shit. I didn’t

ask. But no. I mean, if she had a boyfriend I would have

heard about it, right? Riley would have said something,

I’m sure of it. Any whiff of a guy making moves on his

sister and he’d know about it and put a stop to it, even

from as far away as Sudan. He’d find a way. Plus there’s

her father. I can’t see him allowing Jessa to date any time

this century. And I can’t imagine any guy meeting her

father and asking her out on a second date.

I can’t count the times I’ve thought about telling Jessa

how I feel, but to be honest I’ve never been sure if she’s

interested. And admitting something like that to some-

one is purely a one-time deal. If it’s not reciprocated then

not only do you look like a prize fool but you also lose

a friendship. I don’t care so much about the fool part

because she probably already figures me for one, but I do

care about losing Jessa as a friend. The thing is, in her

emails recently, if I’m not mistaken, she seemed to be flirt-

ing with me. And after seeing the way she looked at me

just now, and the not so subtle comments her friend was

making, I’m pretty sure she must have been. A buzz set-

tles in my chest just below my sternum, a jolt of energy

that spreads outwards, making my heart rate speed up.

I realize that I’m doing twenty over the speed limit

and grinning like a maniac on speed. I ease off the gas.

There’s a sign up ahead saying ‘No U-turns’. For a second

I contemplate it anyway. But then I tell myself to stay

away. Riley would kill me. Hell, her father would kill me

if he even suspected what I fantasize about regarding his

daughter. Actually he wouldn’t just kill me. He’d torture

me first, then kill me. It’s a bad idea. Jessa and I can’t ever

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Mila Gray

be together. Not long term. She’s off to college in the fall

and I’m leaving again in a month, need I remind myself.

I park up by the pier and lean over the railing for half

an hour, listening to the waves bash against the struts,

watching the kids playing on the swings at the top of the

boardwalk and the fishermen casting off again and again,

hoping to bag a catch. When I finally turn away the sun is

starting to sink over the ocean and I’ve decided what I’m

going to do. I grin, even though I know it might just be

the stupidest thing I’ve ever thought about doing. And

considering all the stupid things I’ve done in my life,

that’s pretty impressive.

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Jessa

I lie on my bed, playing with the necklace my mom just

gave me and staring up at the ceiling. It’s heart-shaped

(the necklace, not the ceiling) and as I play with it I can’t

stop thinking about Kit. Did I mistake the look in his

eyes? My stomach flutters with butterflies at the thought

that I didn’t. But then the butterflies are blown to

smithereens as I picture my father’s face staring at Kit

through the window and pointing that grill tong at him.

I mean, there are way too many obstacles in the way, not

even taking into account the number of guns and grill-

ing implements my father owns. I bury my head in a

pillow. I guess I can wave goodbye to ever knowing

what it’s like to kiss Kit. While I’m at it, I guess I can

wave goodbye to having a boyfriend before I turn thirty

or ever losing my virginity. I’ll be like the nuns who

teach us Religious Studies at school. In fact I may as well

just measure myself right now for a wimple and be done

with it.

I didn’t tell Kit about the fights that went down with

my dad over college. Actually ‘fights’ would be exagger-

ating. No one fights with my dad. He lays down the law.

We obey. My father has post-traumatic stress disorder,

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Mila Gray

which is a diagnosis Riley and I have made unofficially

because he refuses to see a ‘head doctor’ or talk about

his problems. We have to walk on eggshells for fear he

gets over-stressed or irritated, which is pretty much an

hourly occurrence. Even the sound of a kettle whistling

can set him off, which is why all our phones are set to

silent.

When he does have one of his episodes, it’s like a tor-

nado rampaging through the house. He’s never hit us,

but he’s destroyed a lot of furniture. Right now I can

hear him downstairs in his den, watching the game,

occasionally letting out the odd expletive or victory yell.

My stomach is tensed and I feel on edge, like I’m about

to take a test where the punishment for failing is death

by firing squad. With grim recognition, I realize that’s

how I always feel when he’s in the house. I don’t know

how my mom deals with it or why she hasn’t divorced

him. If I were in her shoes I would have by now. I make a

solemn promise to myself that I will never ever marry