Page 32 of Torn

Kenzi—age seven

Toren—age twenty-two

I let go of her hand for one second to pay the guy in the ice cream truck, and when I turn around, she’s gone. I stare around wildly, trying to find her in the crowded park. She was right next to me a second ago.

“Kenzi!”

My heart pounds faster and my chest tightens when she doesn’t come to me. She’s nowhere. She’s gone.

I run to the other side of the truck, but she’s not there.

“Kenzi!” The wind whips my hair into my face and when I shake it back, there she is, standing innocently right in front of me.

“Where were you? You can’t do that, Kenzi. You have to stay by me.”

She takes the ice cream cone from me and gives it a lick. “I just went over there for a second. There was a man with a cat on a leash.”

“I don’t care if it was a monkey driving a car. You don’t run away from me. Ever. Okay?”

She puts her hand on her hip and rolls her eyes. “Monkeys can’t drive, Uncle Tor.”

The way she’s staring up at me, I swear she can see right into my soul and it rattles the hell out of me.

“You look like you need to sit for a minute and handle your shit,” she finally says matter-of-factly.

Fuck. She’s been hanging around all of us for way too long. She has the vocabulary of a twenty-year-old.

“Don’t say ‘shit,’ Kenzi. And I’m fine. You just scared me. I thought I lost you.”

“You can’t ever lose me, Uncle Tor. You’re my favorite person in the whole world.”

I’ve never been anyone’s favorite anything.

TOR

“What are you doing there, handsome?” Lisa sidles up to me, pool stick in her hand, and glances down at the cell phone in my hand.

“Texting my niece.”

“The rock star’s kid?”

“Yup.”

“She’s cute.”

Nodding, I shove my phone back in my pocket. “Yeah, she is.”

She leans closer to me, her breasts pressing against my arm. “You want to head out of here?” Her voice is low, riddled with unspoken but undeniably clear offers.

I search the crowded bar for her friend, whose name I can’t remember, and find her making out with some guy in a dark booth near the back of the bar.

“What about your friend?”

She glances over in their direction. “Something tells me she’ll be busy for a while. She’ll be all right. I’d rather you drive me home.”

I put our sticks back on the rack, mulling it over in my mind. The loud music and people yelling to be heard are starting to make my head throb. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

After paying our tab, I lead her out to my truck, my hand onthe small of her back, and she beams at me when I open the passenger door for her.