Page 151 of Torn
“Thank you for putting her to sleep. I’m sorry I got stuck on the phone with my sister.”
“It’s okay. She went right to sleep. No crying.”
“She always does for you,” she says with a smile. “You don’t have to stay in here. You can go hang out with Ash. He’s home now.”
I stand and walk over to the crib. Leaning down, I gently rub my finger over the baby’s tiny hand curled up into a tiny fist next to her face. “I like watching her sleep. She’s so peaceful,” I say.
That’s true, but I don’t tell Ember that I saw a show about SIDS and now I’m petrified of Kenzi never waking up. I lie awake at night worrying about it, and always end up watching her sleep if I’m hanging out at Asher’s place.
“She is. I didn’t know I could love her so much.”
I didn’t know I could, either.
KENZI
Of course I don’t go to bed like my father told me to. I sit in the dim living room with a small Tiffany lamp giving off the only light and stare at my parents’ wedding picture hanging over the fireplace. I wait almost two hours, never expecting him to come home with a bloody nose and swollen eye.
“Oh my God,” I gasp. “He hit you?”
“I hit him first,” he answers, wiping at his face with a dish towel he must have taken from the kitchen on his way in here. Like it matters who hit who first. My heart is pounding with fear and anger that they would actually resort to hitting each other. Stupidly, I had hoped they would just talk like adults.
“Dad!” I burst into tears. “I don’t want you guys to hurt each other. Why can’t you just talk?”
He falls onto the couch next to me. “This goes beyond talking. I’m furious with him and I want to hurt him.”
“I don’t like you this way,” I sob. “This isn’t you at all. Mom would hate to see you this way. Both of you.”
He puts his arm around me, pulling me until my cheek is resting on his chest. He gently rubs the back of my head.
“I know, Kenz,” he answers softly. “I hate this, too. It’s killing every part of me.”
“How bad did you hurt him? Is he okay?” I ask, crying against his chest. I can’t bear the thought of Tor being in any more pain. I want to get in my car right now and drive over to his house and never leave him again.
His chest heaves beneath me. “Don’t worry about him. He’s a big boy.”
“I want to go see him. I have to make sure he’s all right. He just got out of the hospital—” I try to sit up, but he holds me against him.
“No,” he answers firmly.
“Please, Dad. Don’t be like this.”
His hand continues to slowly rub the back of my head. “I want you to stay away from him, Kenzi.” His voice is low and gravelly from yelling and I pray it doesn’t affect his upcoming tour. “It’s for the best, trust me. I know you don’t believe me, but you’re too young to be in a serious relationship with an older man. Especially one who practically raised you. He’s got your head all messed up.”
“He doesn’t. Not at all,” I protest.
“I want you to grow up and find yourself, Kenzi. Have fun. Date guys your age. Find something you want to do. Come on tour with me if you want. Just give yourself time to live before you make such huge commitments. You’ll thank me someday.”
“Do you regret me and Mom?” I demand quietly, wondering if he regrets getting married and having a family so young. Maybe he was never as happy as he appeared to be. “Is that why you’re being this way?”
His lips touch the top of my head before he replies. “I don’t regret one moment. You and Mom are everything to me.”
“Then why can’t you believe that me and Tor can have the same?”
His heartbeat hammers against my cheek. “Because it’s wrong. He’s too old for you. You called him your uncle for almost your entire life. He babysat you. It’s perverted, Kenzi. I feel sick just thinking about it.” He pauses and his hand stills on the back of my head. “Did he ever touch you when you were younger? Make you do things? Maybe play odd games?”
I lift my head up and stare at him, horrified at the mere ideaof any of that. “Never. How can you even think that? He’s your best friend, Dad. I know he took care of me but our relationship changed. We became more like friends as I got older. And then that slowly turned into more. It happened over the course of eighteen years. It grew and changed and evolved. None of those feelings were there when I was five, or ten, or fifteen. I know deep down you know that. You or Mom would have known. And I would tell you if I had any memories at all that were creepy. There aren’t any. Not one. You have to believe that.”
“I’m trying to.”