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He kept me trapped in his cousin’s guest bedroom, lecturing me about how he was starving me to help me lose weight. The next four days were torture: He wouldn’t let me eat or use the bathroom unless he said it was okay. I immediately knew I had made a mistake coming there. He never raised his voice as he berated me. That made him angry-and when he was angry, he’d speak in this really measured creepy way. We went to his cousin’s home, where I finally asked him about the hit-and-run. He may have sensed this because he quickly slipped it into his coat pocket. As he wrapped his arms around me, I noticed he had a Ziploc bag with all his belongings, including his Kimber. When I picked him up at the precinct in Vegas, he was so happy to see me.
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I felt betrayed-why didn’t he tell me about the hit and run? His cousin picked me up at the airport and told me that Kenny was being charged with a DUI and a hit-and-run. He just kept apologizing profusely and then asked me to help him. “I’m so sorry I got so upset when I met your family.” Kenny had been arrested for a DUI. ”I’m in trouble,” Kenny said through the receiver. An inmate at the Clark County Jail in Las Vegas was attempting to contact me. I was awakened by a phone call from an automated operator. He was still furious at me and left messages through the night berating me. When I called him, begging him to return, he said he was heading to Vegas to see his cousin. But now I realize she saw through his facade. My mother said, “Courtney, if you stay with him, he will kill you.”Īt the time, I thought she was trying to sabotage my happiness. By the time I came back inside, he had taken off in his truck. My mother defended me, and I felt so overwhelmed that I went outside to have a cigarette, which made Kenny furious. I was stunned when he chastised me in front of her for leaving Seattle to pursue my career. Still, I was nervous to introduce him to my mom. He had moved in with me and things were serious between us. Kenny said that he fell in love with me for my voice, but he started making jealous remarks about my fans.įor Thanksgiving, I invited him to Seattle to meet my family. In 2009, I played 97 gigs, my personal record. I blamed that for his bizarre behavior in Las Vegas. He had lost his IT job and, I learned, was about to lose his house. I kept reassuring myself: He would never hurt me.īy the end of October, he had moved to California looking for a fresh start. I finally left the room to get dinner on my own and calm down. He never pointed it at me, but I was scared.
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Then he grabbed his gun-he always carried it on him-and started pacing the room again, berating me. “How could you be so selfish?” he screamed. When I asked if he wanted to get something to eat, he flipped out. I kept reassuring myself: He would never hurt me.īack in our hotel room, he continued to rant. He said that he liked to debate and I shouldn’t engage in political discourse with him if I couldn’t “handle it.” We went out for dinner, but I left in tears before the food was even served because he’d started arguing with me. He got a penthouse room and made dinner plans, but then we saw on the news that a tsunami had hit Pago Pago. I didn’t think about the gun during those early months-not until we went to Las Vegas for a tattoo convention slated to happen in early October. I told him that story, but he reassured me that he had been extensively trained, and that his gun was for our protection. ”This will keep us safer,” he promised. My uncle killed himself with a gun when I was 9, so I’ve always been scared of them. It was on that trip, barreling down the highway in his diesel pickup, when he told me he had a concealed carry license.
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We stayed in touch, and “officially” started dating in July when he invited me to Utah. He had worked in IT, but when we met, he was looking for new opportunities. He told me a bit about his life: half-Samoan, he was born in Pago Pago, the capital of American Samoa, but was raised a Mormon in California and Hawaii before going to Brigham Young University. He lived in Utah and was just visiting, so I spent the next few days taking him to a local oyster festival and my favorite beaches. I was also attracted to his intelligence-we talked in a deep, philosophical way that first night. A mutual friend introduced us, and Kenny told me that he loved my voice. I am a blues singer-he’d seen me at one of the many gigs I played that year in California, where I was living at the time.