Page 2 of Chasing Kit

He nodded, smoothing his hand down his burgundy tie. This time, his smile seemed more genuine and relaxed. “Sounds interesting, kiddo.”

His tone suggested otherwise, and I felt a pang of sympathy for him. What had him so frazzled?

“Sky texted last night,” I said, hoping to regain his attention. My younger brother had started backpacking around the country as soon as he’d turned eighteen. Dad had tried to prevent him from leaving, but no one could stop Sky from doing what he wanted. He’d always been my opposite—rebellious and carefree. The world was his oyster, and I was jealous I couldn’t be that way, too.

Dad hummed, half listening. Or perhaps he didn’t hear a word I’d said. I couldn’t tell. He’d turned his back to me again and was typing something on his phone.

“He’s in Louisiana. Can you imagine Sky in Louisiana?” I laughed. “He’s already complaining about the heat.”

I sighed at the constant clicking of Dad’s phone and rubbed the back of my neck, frowning.

“Sky’s knocked up. He’s carrying ten babies at once, and he thinks they belong to Mom’s new boyfriend. They had wild sex six months ago.” I chuckled.

Dad acknowledged me with another hum but kept his attention on his phone.

“The new boyfriend is really an alien, and he’s going to take Sky back to his home planet where they’re going to populate the planet’s army with their own little devil spawn.”

Still nothing more than a quiet, back-of-the-throat sound from him.

Finally, I gave up. Something had him rattled, and the stiffness in his spine was unsettling.

When the doorbell rang, Dad straightened and held a finger up at me as though I were still talking. He escaped the kitchen, and I watched him go, curious. I couldn’t help myself. I followed him through a short hallway to the tiny foyer of our small cottage.

He tossed open the wide, white wooden door, revealing a familiar tall man.

War was Dad’s head of security. I’d only ever seen him when Dad was dealing with “threats”—men who would show up smiling and leave with their shoulders slumped, their faces pale. I didn’t know the specifics, but I’d seen enough to know Dad didn’t just win arguments, he ruined lives.

War was a big man, a head taller than Dad, with thick muscles in his arms and chest. His white dress shirt was taut, straining against his pecs. I couldn’t help but admire the hard lines of his body and how his shoulders stretched the thin fabric. What gay man wouldn’t? I was always glad when he picked up Dad and opted not to wear his suit jacket.

My mouth watered, and I swallowed to avoid drooling like an idiot. He’d joined us for dinner and drinks a few times, and I couldn’t tear my attention away from him. He was the kind of eye candy I used for jerk-off fodder. It was hard to look at anything but him and his dark blond hair, styled in a long crew cut.

I offered him a smile, but he only gave me a curt nod. His lips were pursed, reminding me of a soldier standing at attention, as if a superior might bark orders at any moment. A silver chain peeked out from his collar, and the outline of dog tags pressed against the material at his chest.

“War, come inside.” Dad gestured him forward and stepped back. “I need to grab a few things from my office. Kit, why don’t you get War a drink while I gather my work?”

Dad didn’t wait for an answer. He left us and headed to his office, a small room to the right of the front door.

I grinned at War.

After closing the door, he dutifully shuffled behind me as I headed back to the kitchen. I grabbed the bowls of oatmeal, dumped them, and stacked the rinsed dishes neatly by the sink for our maid.

War always looked faintly offended whenever he entered our house, as if the soft colors and quiet domesticity were a personal insult. His lips thinned as he scanned the room, his gaze lingering on the family photos stuck to the fridge with magnets. There was a photo of me and Sky, at the age of ten and eight, smiling at the camera with big toothy grins. Another was of the three of us, when Sky and I were both early teens, and before the tension between Dad and Sky stretched into distance. The final photo was of me and Dad at my high school graduation.

“We don’t have any severed heads in the freezer, if that’s what you’re wondering,” I said.

He gave me a measured stare before taking a heavy seat at the kitchen island.

He didn’t laugh, but I hadn’t expected one. In all the time he’d driven Dad to and from work, I’d never seen him smile, let alone show any form of amusement. He was always serious, his vigilance a constant, sharp presence. He watched the doors and windows with an intensity that sent a shiver skating down my spine.

“I’ll get you some juice!” I bounced to the steel-gray fridge, opened it, and grabbed a carton of OJ and a glass from a cupboard. I set the glass on the island in front of him and filled it. “This is my favorite. Dad says it’s horrible, but what does that man know about taste, right?”

He answered the joke with another unblinking stare. I returned the carton to the fridge. He picked up the glass and took a slow sip as I settled into the tall chair beside him. There were white scars on his knuckles and across his hands, and even though I’d seen them numerous times before, I still stared. How did he get them? I’d never had the courage to ask him.

Leaning my elbow on the island and resting my face on my palm, I studied his strong cheekbones and the hard lines of his handsome face.

He cleared his throat. “How’s college?”

I perked up. “I have a test today. I’m scared I’ll mess up.”