Reforming Kent: A Stand-Alone Angsty Bad Boy Romance (The Kennedy Boys Book 10)

by Siobhan Davis

  “I’m busy, Mom.” I stop at the corner, tucking myself against the wall.

  “So I’ve heard.” I can almost feel her smile.

  I grunt. “Keanu told you about Presley.”

  “He did, and I’m happy for you. That’s why I’m calling. I would like to invite her to Easter dinner.”

  “She’s got plans,” I automatically reply because I feel the need to keep her away from my family. It’s not that my family is horrible, but they’re a lot to take on. Besides, I’ve no clue how I’d explain the Keaton-Austen situation without coming across like a total douchebag.

  “What plans? Selena said she’s an orphan and she isn’t close to her foster parents.”

  “She’s having dinner with her friends,” I lie though it’s possibly the truth. We haven’t discussed next weekend, but we need to.

  “Send me her number,” Mom says, using that confrontational tone she deploys when she’s determined to get her own way.

  “Mom.” I enunciate the word. “Just drop it. I’ll bring her home some other time.”

  “I want to extend the invite, Kent. If she declines because she has other plans, that is fine, but I want her to know she is welcome at your home any time.”

  “I’ll relay the message,” I lie.

  “Nice try.” Mom is pouting. I can visualize her in my head. “But I don’t believe you. Text me her number or I’ll call Keven to retrieve it for me.”

  “You don’t play fair.”

  “I’ve never pretended to be an angel.”

  I roll my eyes even though she can’t see me. “I’ll invite her, and if she says no, I’ll get her to call you to explain.” There is no other way around it. Mom will not surrender until I do as she wants.

  “Excellent. Now, about you and Keaton.”

  “Mom, don’t.” I grind my teeth to my molars. “That has nothing to do with you or Dad. Just leave it be.”

  “It’s been over two years, Kent! And he’s getting married in June. I expect you to have patched up your differences by then. It’s time, Kent. This isn’t going on any longer. We miss you, and I want everyone to get along again. Please, honey. Please try for me.”

  I know I can’t avoid it forever, and maybe I can do this if Presley is with me. Maybe she’ll give me the strength I need to put it behind me and make amends with my brother. I do miss Keaton.

  “I’ll try.” It’s as much as I can promise.

  “Thank you, honey.”

  “Will Whitney be at Easter dinner?” I ask because I’ll need to warn Presley if she plans on coming.

  “Not this year. It’s their mom’s turn to have them for Easter dinner, so it will just be Adam joining us.”

  Relief threads through me. That makes it easier. “Okay. Let me go talk to Presley.”

  “Goodbye, love. See you next weekend.”

  I hang up, pushing off the wall when a familiar face slips out from the shadows.

  “Kennedy.”

  “Jet.”

  “You keeping a low profile or are you buying someplace else?” he asks.

  “I’m cutting back.” I haven’t popped anything since Presley and I had our chat, but I’m still smoking weed on the weekend. She doesn’t appear to mind that.

  Jet barks out a laugh. “Whatever you say, man.”

  “I’ll take some weed.” My supply is running low. “And some pills,” I add, knowing I will need something stronger to take the edge off next weekend.

  We conduct our business and part ways, and I head back into the bar to ask Presley if she wants to have Easter Sunday dinner at Chez Kennedy.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Kent

  “So, this is how the other half lives, huh?” Presley says as we drive up the winding driveway toward my family home on Easter Sunday morning.

  “This was normal to me growing up. We went to a private school, and all the kids were wealthy.”

  “Are you sure I’m dressed okay?” she asks, twitching in her seat. It’s unusual to see Presley rattled since she’s always so self-assured, but she’s definitely nervous. She’s been peppering me with questions about my family the entire journey from Boston.

  “Baby. You look gorgeous.” I slide my hand across the console, squeezing her bare thigh. She’s wearing a figure-hugging black dress with a gold stripe at the collar and the hem and long sleeves that flare at the end. The dress stops mid-thigh, and she is sexy and elegant and wholly fuckable. She’s wearing sky-high stilettos that accentuate her slim legs, and I’m having a hard time stopping my dick from jumping out of my pants and finding a home in her warm pussy. “Stop worrying. My family isn’t judgmental like that. Mom is going to take one look at you and proclaim you beautiful.”

  It’s the truth. Presley is stunning, and I’m bowled over by her effortless beauty. Her hair is down in soft waves, and though she’s wearing more makeup today than she normally wears, there is no disguising her natural beauty. Her full lips are painted in a warm peachy color, and her high cheekbones are accentuated with a subtle blush. Smoky eyeshadow behind thick black lashes makes her big brown eyes seem even bigger.

  “I don’t want to let you down. I know this is a big deal for you,” she says, squeezing my fingers.

  I stop the car to the left of the front door, put it in park, and kill the engine. Leaning over the console, I kiss my girl. “That’s an impossibility. You could never let me down. Thank you for coming with me.” I’m glad she is here, and I’m determined to be a model boyfriend.

  “Thank you for wanting me here.” She runs her fingers through my hair. “By the way, you look gorgeous all dressed up.” I’m wearing dress pants and a fitted black dress shirt because Mom expects all of us to make an effort for the big family occasions.

  “Stop stealing my lines.” I kiss her softly.

  “Before we go in,” she says, rummaging in her bag. “I want to give you this.”

  “What is it?” I ask, taking the silver-wrapped square package from her hand.

  “Open it and see.” She smiles, pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, and watches me tear at the wrapping.

  I stare at the picture while my stomach turns cartwheels and my heart beats to a new rhythm. She has framed the picture of us that was online. It’s the only one the paparazzi scum has managed to take as we’ve been discreet anytime we’ve gone out since.

  “I made the frame,” she says, sounding nervous. “And I have a matching one by my bed. I thought you’d like a copy.”

  “I love it.” My ecstatic smile is genuine. “It’s a good picture of us.” I love the way we are looking at one another in this shot. Like we exist only for each other. And it was our very first date, proving the connection and the chemistry has been there from the very start.

  “I know it’s not much, but I wanted to do something for you because you are always showering me with flowers and gifts.”

  “I like spoiling you,” I admit, as the front door opens. I was wondering how long it would take Mom to make an appearance. She’s not known for her patience.

  “The firing squad has arrived,” I joke, jerking my head in the direction of my parents.

  “Stop that.” She nudges me in the ribs. “Your mom was lovely on the phone, and Selena loves her to bits. You make her sound like an ogre when I know that’s not the truth.”

  “Stay there,” I tell her, deliberately not responding to her statements. “I’ll get your door.” I climb out of the car, nodding in my parents’ direction as I round the hood and open Presley’s door for her. Placing my hands on her hips, I lift her down, grasping her hand firmly as she grabs her bag and the large wrapped present she brought for my parents. I told her she didn’t need to bring anything, but she insisted.

  After tucking the present under one arm, I hold her hand as I guide her toward my family home.

  “Darling.” Mom steps forward, kissing me on both cheeks. “It’s so good to have you home.” She turns her attention to Presley, beaming at her. “And you must be
Presley.” She pulls Pres forward, hugging her without invitation. “We are so happy to have you here. Thank you for joining us.”

  “The pleasure is all mine. Thank you for the invite.”

  “James.” Mom yanks Dad forward. “Come say hi to Presley. Isn’t she stunning?”

  I smirk as Presley’s cheeks flush. She’ll soon get used to my crazy-ass family.

  “That she is. Our sons are all lucky bastards.” Dad takes Presley’s hand, raising it to his lips for a kiss. “Welcome, Presley. I’ve got to admit I’m intrigued to meet the woman who’s managed to tame our Kent.”

  I scowl at my dad, flipping him the bird behind Presley’s back.

  “I haven’t tamed Kent,” Presley says, squeezing my hand. “Nor would I want to. I like him just the way he is.”

  Mom positively glows, and Pres really couldn’t have said anything more perfect. “I love her already,” Mom tells me, not even attempting to hide that comment from my girlfriend. “Come on in. Most of the others are inside.”

  “This is from Pres,” I tell Mom, thrusting the present at her.

  “You didn’t need to do this,” Mom says, taking the large package. “But thank you. It’s most thoughtful.”

  “I made it myself,” Presley says, and I arch a brow. She wouldn’t tell me what it was. “I hope you like it.”

  “Presley is an amazing artist,” I tell my parents.

  “Then I can’t wait to see what this is.”

  I deliberately hold Presley back, letting my parents walk ahead. “I didn’t mention that things are strained between me and Keaton because it’s complicated,” I say, only being half truthful. I’ve had plenty of opportunities to tell her about the rift with my brother, but I’ve purposely held back because I promised I wouldn’t lie to her and I’m not ready to tell her the real reason we’re not talking. “I’m just mentioning it in case things get tense.”

  She frowns a little. “Okay.”

  “Oh, my word,” Mom exclaims from the living room just as we enter the large space. My nephew Hewson is helping her remove the wrapping from Presley’s present, eagerly tearing at the silver paper, throwing it on the ground. At seven—eight next month—Lana and Kalvin’s firstborn is the eldest grandchild, and Mom spoils him rotten. “This is exquisite, Presley.”

  Every head in the room turns in our direction, and I feel for my girl. She clings to my hand so tight I wonder if any blood flow can get through.

  “I’m glad you think so.” She holds her head up, smothering her nerves, and warmth spreads across my chest. I love how much of a fighter she is. I know this is stretching her out of her comfort zone, and the fact she’s willing to do this for me blows my mind. I must have done something right in my messed-up life to deserve a woman like her.

  Mom holds the white-framed glass box aloft, and my brothers and sisters-in-law all huddle around, oohing and ahhing. It’s striking. Presley has drawn a phoenix—similar to the one inked on my skin—and filled it in with red, yellow, and gold dried flowers.

  “Are these pressed flowers?” Mom asks.

  “Yes. I’ve been pressing all the flowers Kent sends me and making art with them. I don’t like throwing anything away, especially something so pretty.”

  My nephew Cathal wriggles in Kyler’s arms as my brother turns to face us with a big smug smirk on his face. “Kent has been sending you flowers, huh?”

  “Yes.” Presley’s brows knit together as she glances between me and my brother, unsure if she’s said something wrong.

  “How romantic,” Kalvin adds, rubbing a hand across his chest. “How long have you two been dating again?” he asks, turning the full extent of his charm on Presley.

  “A few weeks,” she confirms.

  “And you’re pussy-whipped already.” Kalvin slaps me on the back. “Hah. Payback is a bitch, bro.” He rubs his hands in glee. “This dinner just got infinitely more entertaining.” He slides his arm around Presley’s shoulder. “I want to hear everything.”

  Presley laughs, and I know she gets it because I told her I gave my brothers crap for years.

  “Fuck off,” I hiss, yanking Presley away from him. “Go paw at your own woman.”

  A chorus of chuckles rings out around the room.

  “Pay up,” Keven says, eyeballing Kaden. Cheryl—Kev’s wife—rolls her eyes. Those two are always betting on ridiculous shit, and the rest of my idiot brothers usually wade in too. It’s family tradition at this stage.

  “You owe me,” Kade says, drilling me with a look as he slaps a hundred-dollar bill into Kev’s palm.

  “I owe you shit.”

  “Kent!” Faye shrieks, blocking Ciara’s ears. “Watch your language!” Ciara and Cathal are Ky and Faye’s boisterous twins. I haven’t seen them in ages, and they’ve gotten much bigger. They turn two next month, and it’s hard to believe. All the kids are growing up so fast.

  “You do know you have zero chance of keeping little ears protected from cussing in this house, right?” Lana says, rubbing chocolate off her three-year-old daughter Hayley’s mouth.

  “You’re the dumbass who made that stupid bet,” Keaton says to Kade. “I told you Kent would be the most romantic one as soon as he found the right girl.” He smiles at me, and I grind my teeth.

  I know he means well, and it’s his way of extending an olive branch, but every time I look at him with Austen, animosity flares. Pressing my lips tight, I contain the snarl forming on my tongue. Tension filters into the air, and my instinct is to grab Presley, turn on my heels, and hightail it back to Boston.

  “You look so much like Kent and Keanu,” Presley says, smiling at Keaton as she attempts to cut through the strained atmosphere.

  “I used to think that when I first moved here,” Faye says, letting Ciara down so she can run off with the other kids. “But once you get to know the triplets, you’ll see the differences.” She walks to Presley, thrusting out her hand. “I’m Faye. Nice to meet you.”

  That sets off a round of introductions as each of my brothers and their girls formally says hi.

  “Where’s Red and Brad?” I inquire not seeing Kyler’s best buddy and his wife or their daughter, Elodie.

  “They’re in Ireland,” Kyler says. “Brad’s been based in the UK for the past few weeks, so it made sense for them to celebrate Easter with Rachel’s dad.”

  “Ah, great. Our last guest has arrived,” Mom says as a sleek silver BMW pulls up outside the living room window.

  My heart drops to my feet when two car doors open. I curse under my breath at the sight of Whitney’s long purple hair and the predictable scowl on her face. I spin around, pinning a fierce look at Mom. “I thought you said Adam was coming alone?”

  Everyone trades wary expressions.

  “Whitney is supposed to be at her mom’s,” Faye says, responding before Mom can. She sends me an apologetic look that is of fuck all use to me.

  “We can leave,” I tell Presley, because I won’t subject her to this shitshow.

  “It’s okay,” she says, reassuring me with her eyes. “I can be in the same room as your ex if she’s okay with me.”

  A collective groan rings out because the rest of us knows the truth—there is no time in existence, either now or in the future, where Whitney will ever be okay with Presley.

  “Whitney will be on her best behavior,” Mom says, patting Presley’s arms. “I’ll make sure of it. Don’t worry about a thing.”

  Mom storms out of the living room, dragging Dad with her.

  “I’d love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation,” Kyler says, grinning.

  Faye elbows him. “Don’t be mean. She can’t help how she feels.”

  “She can help how she acts though,” Kyler murmurs, and isn’t that the truth.

  I know Faye wants to see the good in her half-sister and she tries not to take sides, but Whitney acts like an immature spoiled brat a lot of the time, and it’s one of the reasons why things would never have gotten serious between us. She d
rives me insane with her whining, and it’s why I can only tolerate her in short spurts. I know this makes me sound like a prick, and it’s not like I haven’t had my immature bratty moments, but I’m moving forward, where Whitney seems stuck in her rebellious teenage phase.

  Faye walks toward us, leveling Pres with a direct look. “My sister can be a real bitch, and she’s possessive about Kent even though he’s told her repeatedly where they stand. I’m not as delusional as Alex. She’ll be mean, but let it float over your head. It’s nothing personal.”

  “Wow. Make my girl feel at ease, why don’t ya.” I wrap my arm more protectively around Presley, working hard not to glare at Faye. If I glare at Faye, Kyler’s claws will come out, and before you know it, we’ll be fighting. I’m determined to take the moral high ground today, because I don’t want Presley to be uncomfortable.

  Or any more uncomfortable than she’s about to be.

  “It’s okay,” Presley reassures me, sliding her arm around my back, clutching my waist. “I appreciate the warning.” She smiles at Faye. “I’ll try to bite my tongue.”

  “No tongue biting is allowed,” Kalvin says, practically frothing at the mouth. “Give her hell, Presley.”

  “Ignore him,” his wife, Lana, says. “We all do.”

  Eva sidles up next to us with Matthew cradled in her arms. He’s sick with a chest infection and on antibiotics that make him sleepy. “Make sure you are sitting beside us at the table. I’ll act as a buffer.”

  “She’s really that bad?” Presley asks.

  “She can be,” Eva confirms, grimacing as she looks over our shoulders.

  “I need to speak to you!” Whitney roars, storming into the room like a raging tornado, making a beeline for me.

  I turn around, with my arm still around Presley, bracing myself for it.

  “Whitney.” Adam catches up to her, whispering furiously in her ear.

  Steam practically billows out of her ears as she listens to whatever her dad is saying, and her nostrils flare with unconcealed anger. “Fine.” She stomps her foot, folding her arms around herself as she shoots daggers at Presley. “It can wait till after dinner.” She moves forward, encroaching on our personal space, jabbing her finger in my chest. “But we are talking.”