Page 1 of Chasing Kit

1

KIT UHLIG

I groaned, dropping my forehead onto the gray marble kitchen island. “Mornings suck ass.”

The smell of coffee tickling my nose made everything worse. My stomach was already doing that thing where it felt like it was slowly eating itself, and had been since I’d woken up, all because of today’s “Crimes Against Humanity” exam. Yes, it was a class, not just a card game. I didn’t know why I got so worked up about my grades. None of my friends did. Apparently, I was an all-around nerd who couldn’t even find my people.

Laughter filled the kitchen. I raised my head at the gentle clink of a bowl placed in front of my crossed arms. Dad winked at me, looking impeccable as usual in a navy blue suit with faint gray pinstripes. I didn’t understand how I was his son. I’d never been as suave as him. He was a businessman who had taken New Gothenburg by storm, and I was lucky to have a quarter of his charisma.

“It’s not that bad, kid. You’re fine,” he said.

“Fine? Fine? Dad, I have a test today worth twenty percent of my final grade. And it’s for my class about genocide. The prof has it out for me!” My eyes widened. “We’re barely a month into the new semester. I don’t think I’m prepared.”

He nudged the oatmeal toward me. “Eat. Stop stressing. You’re the smartest kid I know, and I’m proud of you. You study a hell of a lot more than I ever did.”

I took the spoon, grunting. Easy for him to say. He had the looks and the charm—the whole Italian inheritance of dark waves with silver at the temples and a perfect beard that had skipped me entirely. I’d gotten Mom’s softer features, his brow, and his ears.

“I’m not ready,” I said, staring down at my spoon. I was an anxious ball disguised as a human. But Dad? I’d never seen the man break a sweat.

Dad shook his head and grabbed his bowl. He turned, leaning his lower back against the kitchen counter near the double sink, and shoved a spoonful of oatmeal in his mouth. After he swallowed, he stared directly at me.

“Kit, you’re prepared. You do this every time you have a test, and you always ace it, don’t you?” he asked.

I grumbled, stirring my breakfast, the thick goo swirling around my spoon. I couldn’t eat. The thought of food made me queasy.

Dad’s gaze narrowed as he sighed. “Where’s your mom this week?”

“Off to London for her boyfriend’s new play.” I scrunched my nose, picturing Niall, Mom’s new “sugar boy.” “Sugar daddy” was more accurate. He had money and spoiled her. “She called a few nights ago to tell me he got her a boob job.”

“Of course he did.” Dad rolled his eyes. He ate carefully to avoid staining his suit. The man possessed far more elegance than I did. I was like a flailing mouse at the best of times. The differences between us made me wonder if I was even his son. “You only have to look at his last girlfriend.”

I made a noise of disgust, and Dad laughed.

“What are you learning in school, anyway? I feel like we haven’t talked much lately.”

We hadn’t. He was busy with work, and at twenty-two, I didn’t need a babysitter. His absence just meant I could have friends over without the embarrassment of admitting I still lived with my dad on Angel Perch Drive, near the bluffs.

Well, I could if I had friends.

I hated that I came from money despite knowing I’d been kissed on the forehead by luck. We didn’t live on Vert Island, but we were only a step down. Dad could live with the other overzealous rich people if he wanted, but he chose not to—something Mom had always hated. She liked spending money. He didn’t.

“I’m taking an interesting class about the history of organized crime.” I grinned at him and put down my spoon. Realistically, I wasn’t going to eat this morning before the test. My stomach was already in knots at the thought of a bad grade. “We’re learning about American mobs and where they came from—like the Black Hand in Italy and the old gang wars in New York. We even have an expert coming in to talk today. He’s written a couple of books on it.”

“Yeah?” Dad turned, set his bowl on the counter, and then grabbed a mug of coffee. He took a sip, humming in delight. “Who is that?”

“Dr. Vail Mifflin. He’s from New York City and used to teach at MCU.”

Dad choked on his coffee, and I frowned as he thumped his chest.

“Are you okay?”

He coughed, then smacked his mug against the counter with a clatter. Turning his back to me, he continued to clear his throat. “Fuck.”

I straightened in the tall chair and cocked my head. “Do you know him?”

“Nope.” He spun toward me, offering a strained, tight-lipped smile that made me uneasy. “Never heard of the man. When is that class?”

“Later this afternoon. It’s my three o’clock lecture.”