k is for kyle

She wouldn’t be happy to see him. Nor would she pretend to be.

He knew his Catie.

And she’d be well beyond livid if she knew he still thought of her as his. Especially since they’d not spoken in nearly two years. No phone calls. No texts. No emails. Not even a postcard.

She’d be good and pissed.

And there was something seriously wrong with him when a woman’s vicious temper brought a smile to his face.

There was just enough of her father in her, just enough Irish blood in Catriona Davina Garcon to mesh with that haughty French lineage to make a fine bit of temper.

Sure, he thought, Isabel’s temper sparked much more quickly and could be, at times, more lethal, but Catie’s … hers was so sporadic that it seemed much more volatile. Isa’s dissipated quickly. Cate’s lingered. And lingered. And it took a helluva long time to weaken.

He’d be lucky if he got a chillingly polite, “How do you do?”

The fact that he’d cut off his hair and ditched the sloppy clothing, thus appearing to be the clean-cut sort, that wasn’t going to help.

That he was traveling around like a nomad, never staying in one place for more than six months, building houses and tinkering with cars, when his friends were of the impression that he wanted to be some bad-assed musician, which is what he’d fled town to do, that wasn’t going to fly, either.

They were expecting him to be the same youthful, carefree, day-dreaming drifter.

The drifter part stuck, but the rest … not so much.

He leaned forward slightly to look out the small window at the densely packed trees of Houston’s landscape as the plane descended.

So flat. And not nearly as green as Oregon. Here, barely June, the grass had already become the dried, pale gold of summer. White, puffy clouds dotted the blue of the sky, but he doubted it’d rained in some time. He was not eager to step out of the plane. The heat and humidity would seep into the walkway leading from the plane to the terminal, making the air stagnant and stuffy.

When the wheels touched down and the plane approached, Kyle leaned back in his seat, eyes closed, and waited.

She would be pissed.

And the girls would gang up on him, of course. Isabel and August would guard Cate like that three-headed dog from mythology. Or Harry Potter.

Any conversation he might hope to have with Cate would practically have to be approved by them first.

And since Isabel and Reese were tying the knot, he didn’t expect to get much help from him.

Matt, on the other hand, Matt would stick by him.

Of course, Matt wasn’t the best of allies. Sure, they were best friends, and had known each other for nearly a decade, but when your best friend screws around on his girl, who was also a long-time friend of yours, having him on your side didn’t mean too much.

Not that he was hoping to rekindle anything with Cate.

That would just be stupid, really. Especially since he’d be leaving again so soon.

They’d want to know why he couldn’t do the building and the tinkering here. Why he hadn’t come back sooner. Why he wasn’t going to stay.

The moment the plane reached the gate, the passengers were up, bags in hand, eager to deboard, either because friends and family were waiting patiently or because they had other flights to catch. He sat until those before him had cleared the aisle well enough that he could collect his things and exit. He wasn’t in a hurry to get out. He wasn’t in a hurry to be stifled by the heat … of Houston. Of Cate's temper.

As happy as he was for Isa and Reese, as pleased as he’d been to learn that they wanted him to be here for this occasion, he wasn’t sure coming home was such a great idea.

And allowing for so much time here, that was probably pretty stupid, too.

So he sauntered down the walkway, through the terminal, to the escalators that brought him to the baggage claim one floor below. He waited, hands in his pockets, his eyes on the silver conveyor belt that would show off the various black bags people were carting along.

She’d be pissed.

And for once, he wasn’t sure how to handle it. How to handle her.

When his bag finally did come around, he hefted it, raised the handle that allowed him to pull it behind him, and made his way outside to wait for his friends.

Who were already there. Of course, they were. He should’ve known they would be. He should’ve figured Reese would be the driver. Now he hurried over to them, a huge grin spreading across his face.

Reese climbed out to give him a quick hug and take his bag, which he set in the back. Matt stayed in the truck, but had shifted in his seat so that he could get a good look at Kyle as he settled in.

“Hey,” Matt said, grinning. “Cate’s gonna be pissed.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Reese put the truck in gear, glanced in the rearview at Kyle, then at the road leading to Kennedy Boulevard. “You’re walking with August.”

“I figured that, too.”

“You’re sitting with Zoe at the rehearsal dinner and the reception,” they said, almost in unison.

“Fantastic. So glad I came home.”

read about the gang. click here.

(c) twenty-eleven. jennifer k. griffin, otherwise known as c.c. this publication is the exclusive property of c.c. and is protected under the united states copyright act of nineteen seventy-six and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws. the contents of this post, and any other c.c.-crafted picky post for that matter, may not be reproduced as a whole or in part, by any means whatsoever, without c.c.'s consent. all rights reserved. in other words, steal this, and i will follow you to the depths of hell and the edge of forever and kick your puny, thieving ass. thanks. :]

this was a (very hastily written) matlock project. learn about that here.