flightless ━ kevin day

IV. Jealousy, Jealousy

four                               jealousy, jealousy

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Ali had been living with her cousins for five years now, and in that time, she had come to understand the unspoken rules of their world. Nicky's lack of boundaries was as much a fixture of her life as the worn couch they all fought over; it simply had to be tolerated. The sharp tongues and jagged edges of their personalities, the endless back-and-forth of biting sarcasm, and the occasional punch thrown for good measure—they were no longer obstacles but terrain she had learned to navigate. But then, in the past few months, another factor was added to that equation: Kevin Day.

Kevin was something else entirely.

She hadn't said a word to him ever since they left the stadium, and she could tell that he was waiting for it. That he expected her to argue. And she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of being right, but she also didn't know for how long she could hold her tongue.

It all came to a boiling point not much later that night.

Abby could always tell when there was something going on between them, and she always tried to smooth things over. More often than not, she ended up having to chastise them as if they were still children, because they were both too stubborn to just accept whatever peace offering she could give them.

Ali had her foot on Abby's lap as she applied another coat of red nail polish on her toes. They both were taking up all the space on the couch, so Kevin sat on the floor with his back on the base of the arm rest while her cousins were scattered on their bean bag chairs, half-watching whatever movie was on TV.

"So," Abby started, fanning a magazine towards Ali's freshly done nails. "What did you guys do this afternoon?"

The question hung in the air like the sound of breaking glass. Across the room, Nicky looked up at them and turned down the volume of the TV.

"Why don't you ask Kevin," Ali suggested. "He can tell you."

Abby stopped fanning and put the magazine aside, looking at Ali with one quirked eyebrow, in an expression that Ali could only describe as "flummoxed". She slowly dragged her gaze to Kevin, who didn't even look at her before he said: "Nothing much."

And that was when Ali's resolve came crumbling down. She was going to pick that fight.

Abby watched them carefully as Ali pushed herself off the couch and stared down at Kevin, both of her hands on her waist, trying to maintain at least a little bit of the composure she had left.

"Kitchen," she said, grinding her teeth, and walked off without waiting for him, because she knew he would come.

Kevin crossed the kitchen and leaned against the counter, arms folded tightly over his chest, his expression unreadable.

"Why didn't you tell Abby about what you did to Neil today?" Ali asked, already struggling to keep her voice even. She clenched her fists on her waist.

"Because it's not relevant," he replied.

"She's the team's nurse, Kevin. If he had gotten hurt, I think it would have been fucking relevant."

"He didn't get hurt. And if he wants to play professionally, he needs to learn his limits," he said, letting some sort of unspoken accusation slip into his words. "I can't play with him otherwise."

Ali's chest tightened, anger bubbling up beneath the surface like magma threatening to erupt. She could feel it in the clench of her fists, nails digging into her palms in a desperate attempt to stay grounded. But the more Kevin spoke, the more his calmness fueled the fire inside her, her vision narrowing to the point that even the dim kitchen light seemed too harsh. How could he stand there, so composed, when he'd recklessly pushed Neil to the edge, all while acting like it didn't matter? His nonchalance, that subtle dismissal of her concerns, made her feel small, irrelevant, like she was the one overreacting. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she fought the urge to snap—no, to scream—because somehow, the indifference in his voice was worse than any insult. It felt personal, like he was daring her to lose control.