Did that really happen?

That couldn’t have happened. I must have blacked out or had a psychotic episode.

Nervously, I peek over at him, but his eyes are glued to the road as he pulls out onto the busy highway. I gulp some air and shove my hands into the front pocket of my hoodie.

“Tor…?” I whisper.

He shakes his head back and forth, fast, as if he’s trying to deny hearing my voice, then takes a few deep breaths, like he’s about to be sick or pass out.

“Check the dog,” he says softly. “Please.”

I climb over the front seat and settle myself in the back next to the dog, who immediately lays his head on my lap and whimpers when he tries to move his body closer to me. If not so wet and dirty, he would be a beautiful animal and I hope he’s not hurt too badly inside. Even though he’s scared and in pain, he’s friendly, soaking up the attention I’m lavishing on him. He’s most likely someone’s lost family dog; he’s way too pretty and sweet to be a stray. I pet him softly and tell him how brave he is and how he’s going to be okay, and his tail thumps a few times while he licks my hand. When I look up, I catch Tor watching me in the rearview mirror. My heart immediately starts to beat faster in response, my lips tingling at the memory of his on mine. I’m disappointed when he quickly averts his eyes from mine and back to the road.

He kissed me.

Tor kissed me.

I keep chanting it over and over in my head, weighing the reality of it, as half of me believes it was a hallucination and the other half believes it was indeed, very real.

After we take the dog to the animal hospital and wait for him to be admitted, Tor drives me home. Wordlessly. It’s clear he’s uncomfortable, and I’m confused, unsure what to do or say. Shouldn’t we talk about what happened?

What did happen?

“Tor…should we…talk, maybe?” I ask tentatively.

His body goes rigid, his jaw clenches, and several incredibly long moments drag on before he finally speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

Sorry? Those words could mean anything, and everything – but I haven’t a clue what he wants them to mean.

I start to speak, but he puts his hand up, stopping me. “Please, Kenzi. I can’t.”

The torturous tone of his voice shreds my insides, rendering me utterly speechless and even more confused. I’ve never seen him like this before. All I want to do is reach out to him, make him talk to me like we always do, but he’s making it very clear that he can’t. Or won’t. He’s put a wall up, and I don’t know if I’m supposed to knock it down or let it stay there. Some walls need to be taken down, to get to a resolution. But other walls…those walls have to stay up to protect us.

I jump out of his truck without so much as a goodbye when he drops me off at home, I go straight up to my room, grateful that my father isn’t home yet because I don’t want to see or talk to anyone right now. I need to be alone with my feelings and try to calm my racing thoughts and shaking insides.

Everything’s suddenly been turned upside down.

He kissed me.

A real kiss, with passion and desire.

He growled at me.

A feral, lusty sound that I can still hear. And I want more.

A lot more.

10

Tor

Kenzi ~ age thirteen

Toren ~ age twenty-eight

It’s a beautiful, warm spring day as I ride my bicycle to his house. My basket is filled with milk, bread, some cans of soup, orange juice, and chocolate chip cookies because they’re his favorite.

I frown with worry when I see his truck in the driveway because it’s Wednesday afternoon and he should be at the shop working. Letting myself into his house with my key, I empty the shopping bag onto the counter and throw out the old food in his fridge before I put the new groceries in that I picked up for him.

“Uncle Tor?” I call down the hall. “I’m here. It’s my cleaning day.”

He doesn’t answer, and a quick check out the door to his back yard, and his bedroom turns up empty, but his bathroom door is partly closed.

“Tor?” I hesitate before I push the door further open, and it hits his body that’s sprawled out on the bathroom floor. My heart slams into my throat as I kneel down next to him on the tile. Relief washes over me when I see his chest moving up and down. He’s not dead.

“Tor!” I shake him harder than I should and he mumbles and grumbles at me. The stench of alcohol coming off him is overpowering.

“You’re drunk,” I observe, disgusted. “Get off the floor. You’re lying in your own puke.”