Page 4 of Finding Kyler
I roll my eyes.Seriously, is he thick?I elbow him in the ribs. “Don’t be an idiot, it’s obvious who he is, or were you not listening to a word I said last night?”
“I was too busy staring at your tits.”
Points for honesty but zilch for intelligence.
He’s clearly still drunk.
Mr. Kennedy looks like he’s seconds away from throwing Luke out on the street.
I’ll save him the hassle. “I think that’s your cue to leave.” I shove him gently. “Go on, go.”
He pins me with a contemptible look. “That’s not what you were saying last night.”
I thrust my hands in the air. Pressing my mouth to his ear, I hiss, “Whatever! You know I was drunk!” I glower at him again.
“I sincerely hope you didn’t take advantage of my niece,” my uncle says, in a weird half-Irish, half-American accent. He levels a stinging look at Luke. They face off for a couple of seconds, and my uncle’s look darkens in a nanosecond. It’s a pretty impressive look.
Once I’m not on the receiving end of it.
I take the opportunity to slyly study him. He’s tall and lean with an unassuming muscular look that indicates he works out but doesn’t take it to extremes. Wearing a navy and red long-sleeved polo shirt and dark denims, he’s stylishly dressed for an old dude. The polo is slim-fit and it hugs his defined chest like a second skin. His dark hair is slicked back off his forehead in a feigned effortless manner. My nostrils twitch as I pick up the musky scent of his aftershave.
He gives off an air of understated wealth that is disconcerting. I’m beginning to suspect that Rachel hit the nail on the head with her assessment.
If this is what my uncle looks like, I have a feeling my cousins are going to easily meet the fit-rich barometer she’s set.
Luke flips the covers off and stands. He gestures at his clothes. “Relax, I didn’t take advantage of her. I’d never hurt Faye—I love her.” He starts scanning the floor for his runners, conspicuously avoiding my gaze.
My uncle’s chin jerks up. “He’s your boyfriend?” He looks skeptical.
“Ex.”
Now he looks relieved.
Luke scowls as he sits on the edge of the bed, slipping his feet into his runners. He turns around to face me. “I guess this is goodbye?”
“Eh.” I rub my hand across the back of my head as I look to my uncle for confirmation. I have no idea what the plans are—whether he intends to hang around for a few days, or if we’ll be leaving immediately. Mr. Kennedy nods, and I turn to face Luke. “Yep. See ya, Luke.”
He leans over to kiss my cheek, and I pull him into a quick hug. A sad look briefly flitters across his eyes. “Take care, Faye. I’ll miss you.” He strolls out of the room with his shoulders hunched over.
A layer of tension immediately fills the empty space. My uncle looks at me, and I look back at him, and we just kinda stare at each other, neither one of us knowing what to say or do. His surprisingly familiar blue eyes are glued to mine, and a whole host of emotions skitters over his face. A muscle clenches in his jaw as he continues scrutinizing me, and I squirm uncomfortably. It’s too intrusive—awkward on so many different levels. I chew on the corner of my lip, but I refuse to divert my eyes, meeting his penetrating gaze dead-on.
After a couple of minutes, irritation starts to build. I feel like a monkey in a cage at Dublin Zoo. My patience snaps. “Weren’t you ever told it’s rude to stare?”
That breaks him out of his trance-like state. He rocks back on his heels, glancing sheepishly at me. “I apologize, Faye. And for turning up like this, but you missed the appointment at the attorneys, ah, solicitors”—he corrects himself when he sees my puzzled expression—“and I was worried.”
He slips his hands in his pockets, as I level him with a guarded look. “I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just…you look so much like…Saoirse.” He almost whispers her name. “You’re the spitting image of your mom at the same age.” As he places a hand across his chest, tears well in his eyes, he drops onto the corner of the bed, and hangs his head. His solid frame heaves as strong emotion rattles through him.
Unless this is an act, he genuinely seems to have cared for my mum.
Their relationship, or lack of one, is a mystery I wouldn’t mind unraveling sometime.
I don’t know what to do, whether I should reach out to comfort him or not, but he’s a stranger to me, and it doesn’t feel right, so I do nothing, letting him deal with whatever is going through his head in his own time.
A short while later, he looks up, and I’m startled to see so much devastation in his eyes. In this moment, he appears to have aged twenty years. Raw pain radiates from his eyes, and he doesn’t do a thing to shade it from me. I kinda like that. There’s an honest quality to it that endears him to me.
Slowly, I release my grip on the covers and slide out the side of the bed. I sit down beside him. “It’s true? You really are my mum’s brother?” Not that I need verification. He has the same color eyes, the same complexion, and similar little strips of fiery red trace a path through his dark hair. He’s like the male version of my mum. Tears gather in my eyes as her image surges to the forefront of my mind. I blink them away, but not before a sneaky beggar slips out, cascading down my cheek.
“Yes, and I’m James, by the way.” He extends his hand and I reluctantly shake it, feeling terribly awkward. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Faye. I’ve been distraught since I heard the news.” He scrubs a hand over his prickly jaw, and at this proximity, it’s easy to confirm that truth. Bruising purple shadows hang underneath his bloodshot eyes, and his skin has an unhealthy tinge to it. It’s clear he hasn’t slept in days.
