They all are.
“Here.” Cheryl hands me a fresh glass of wine. “You could probably use that. I know I would.”
“Thanks.” I take a healthy glug of the crisp white wine, but I barely taste it as it glides down my aching throat.
“I’m with Kent,” Kalvin says. “Whitney’s a conniving little bitch. I think she’s lying.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Kaden says.
“It fits her MO,” Keanu says. “She’ll do anything to cling to him. I wouldn’t put anything past Whitney.”
“She’s as big a whore as Kent is,” Kalvin says. “There’s a strong possibility she was fucking others at the same time she fucked him.”
“Jesus Christ, Stinky.” Lana elbows her husband in the ribs. “Show some tact.” She jerks her head in my direction.
“It’s okay,” I say even though it’s not. Implying my boyfriend is a whore suggests he’s fucking other women besides me, which I know he isn’t, and his brother shouldn’t be spouting shit like that. “Kent has told me about his past, and I know about him and Whitney.”
“I apologize, Presley,” Kalvin says, looking contrite. “That was disrespectful. I only meant to suggest that Kent is probably one of any number.”
Lana shakes her head before snatching her glass, guzzling wine like Whitney was earlier.
Remembering how she was knocking back glass after glass makes me sick. How can she be so irresponsible? So negligent of the life growing inside her. I swallow another large mouthful of wine, willing the knots in my stomach to unravel because I don’t know how much longer I can sit here and pretend like I’m dealing with this.
“I’m going to check on the kids,” Eva says, tapping my arm. “Would you like to come with me?”
I latch on to the lifeline she’s throwing me. “Sure.” Eva turns to her husband. “Can you check on Matthew? He’s asleep in your old room. Just make sure he’s not burning up again.”
“Of course.” Kaden kisses her before shooting me a pitying look I hate.
Selena stands as I walk by, reaching for me. “He’s going to need you no matter how this plays out,” she whispers. “And we’ll be here for both of you.” Her eyes search mine, and her features soften. “It will be okay. I know it might not seem like that now, but we’ll all help you through it.”
Keanu stands, hugging me. “Hang in there, Presley.”
Their kindness almost undoes me, but I soldier on, walking with Eva outside to the impressive rear garden. They have a large fenced-in pool, various sporting areas and courts, a massive forested area at the very back of the property, and a vast children’s playground with swings, slides, climbing frames, and various other little people activities. The five kids are being supervised by an older woman who smiles at us as we approach.
“Mommy.” Milly comes bounding toward Eva, flinging herself into her arms, her brown curls bouncing up and down. “Where’s Matty?”
“Still sleeping.” Eva lifts her up, and her small legs wrap around her mom.
“Presley.” Milly’s blue eyes are big and clear as she smiles shyly at me. “Are you going to marry Uncle Kent?”
For once, I’m speechless.
“Hey, you little busybody.” Eva tweaks her nose, and she giggles. “That’s private.”
She pouts, and the cutest little frown appears between her brows. “Whitney used to say she was gonna marry Uncle Kent, but now Uncle Kent likes Presley, so does that mean he’s gonna marry Whitney or Presley? I’m cu-fused.”
Eva grimaces, mouthing “sorry” at me.
“That’s grown-up stuff,” Eva says, placing her daughter back down on the ground. “And not something you should be talking about. Go back and play with your cousins.”
“’Kay.” She runs off before changing her mind, doing a fast U-turn, and barreling in my direction. She throws herself at my legs, wrapping her skinny arms around my limbs. “I like you the mostest, Presley. And you’re so pretty. I’m gonna ask the fairy queen to make Uncle Kent marry you.”
I’m all choked up, and I can’t even acknowledge the child before she runs off to join her cousins.
“I’m sorry about that. She’s—” Eva stops talking, her eyes creasing at the corners. “Oh, Presley. Please don’t cry. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.” She scans my face with concern, and I realize silent tears are rolling down my face.
I swipe at the dampness on my cheeks, and I can scarcely force words from my throat. “It’s okay, and I’m fine,” I lie because I’m the furthest from fine a person can be.
I need to get out of here.
Right now.
“I just need to use the bathroom.”
“Of course.” Her voice is gentle, her expression understanding. “The closest one is at the back of the entryway. Just walk through that door there.” She points at a door at the very back of the patio area. “Keep straight until you hit the lobby. The bathroom is on the right.”
I follow her directions, easily finding the bathroom, but I bypass it, heading straight for the front door. I slip outside, closing the door carefully behind me so I don’t make any noise.
I give no consideration to how I will get back to Boston. All I know is I need to get out of this house and never look back.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Presley
Tears stream down my face as I walk the long driveway, having given up fighting the memories assaulting my mind. I don’t indulge them often, because it’s too painful, but I’m powerless to deny them now. Seeing pregnant women or mothers with young babies is always hard for me, but knowing the guy I’m falling for may be having a baby with someone else is an entirely different level of pain.
A car draws up alongside me. The passenger side window lowers, and Keaton sticks his head out. “Get in. We’ll drive you home.”
I don’t bother protesting, opening the back door and climbing inside the luxury SUV. “Thank you,” I whisper.
Austen shoots me a sympathetic smile through the mirror as Keaton hands me my purse. “Can I sit beside you?” he asks, looking at me through the gap in the two front seats.
“I’m okay,” I sniffle, brushing my tears away.
“I don’t think you are.” His eyes are compassionate.
“No, I’m not.” I offer him a sad smile.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks as Austen puts the car into gear, driving slowly toward the front gate.
“Not really.”
Austen places a hand on Keaton’s knee, subtly shaking his head.
“Okay. We don’t have to talk about that.” Keaton puts the radio on, keeping it low. “Selena says you have plans to be a tattoo artist,” he adds. “Is that true?”
I’m grateful for the subject change, and the distraction, so I tell him about my plans. Austen smiles at me through the mirror as he drives, heading out onto the highway.
“Did Sel tell you Austen is training to be a professional tattoo artist in his spare time?” Keaton inquires.
I shake my head, my eyes popping wide. “She didn’t mention it.” I glance at Keaton’s fiancé. “When do you even find the time?” Austen is a professional football player and the current wide receiver for the Baltimore Ravens. Keaton has his own successful cooking show, which streams online, called The Queer Kitchen Revolution.
“I won’t when the season starts back, so I’m trying to fit in as many training hours as I can now,” Austen replies.
“He’s always drawing,” Keaton confirms, beaming proudly.
“Me too,” I admit.
“He designed and inked this.” Keaton rolls up his shirt, showing me the exquisite steering wheel and anchor tattoo on his arm.
I lean in closer to inspect it. “Get out. That is fucking incredible. Something tells me you don’t need much training.”
“I still have a lot to learn, but I took my time doing that,” Austen says. “I didn’t want to fuck up my fiancé’s arm. Especially when I’ll be looking at it for the
rest of my life,” he adds, grinning at Keaton.
“You couldn’t fuck it up.” Keaton places his hand on top of Austen’s over the stick shift. “That’s a virtual impossibility.” Austen takes his eyes off the road for a few seconds, and they share an intense look that is wholly intimate. The love between them is completely obvious, and it’s a thing of beauty.
All of Kent’s brothers seem crazy in love with their partners, and the way his parents are with one another is super sweet too. I can’t help wondering how Kent became so closed off to the idea of love when he’s surrounded with nothing but good examples.
“I’d like to see your work sometime,” Austen says, and I snap out of my thoughts, realizing they are staring at me.
“I can bring my sketchpad next time.”
If there is a next time, because everything is up in the air.
“That will probably be our wedding,” Keaton says.
Kent hasn’t mentioned one word to me about their upcoming wedding, which, now that I think about it, is really strange.
“Congrats on your engagement. I remember reading about it online.”
“Thanks.” Keaton’s grin is wide and proud. “We can’t wait.”
“Where are you planning on having it?”
“Initially, we were thinking of going abroad, but planning an overseas wedding in three months is a tall order. One even Bridezilla wasn’t keen to take on.”
“Bridezilla?” I quirk a brow.
“Alex.” Austen flashes me a blinding smile, and I can totally see how Keaton fell for this guy.
“Mom loves planning shit,” Keaton explains. “But she gave an Italian wedding the thumbs-down unless we wanted to postpone it to next year.”
“Which we don’t,” Austen cuts in. “Because we just want to be married. It doesn’t really matter where we do it as long as the people we care about are with us.”
Keaton darts forward and pecks him quickly on the lips before he sits back in his seat, smiling at me. “So, we’re having it in this gorgeous castle resort and spa, nestled in the Green Mountains in Vermont. We’ve rented out the entire place so we have complete privacy.”
“It sounds fantastic.”
“It will be, and we hope to see you there.”
We chat casually about all manner of things the rest of the journey, and by the time we reach the triple-decker I call home, I am a die-hard Austen and Keaton fan. It helps that they’ve distracted me from the anguished thoughts in my head, but there will be no stopping the onslaught once I reach my apartment.
“Thank you so much for the ride,” I tell Austen, grabbing my purse.
“Anytime, Presley.”
Keaton opens my car door, taking my hand as I climb out. If the triplets are any gauge, all the Kennedy men have exemplary manners. “Thank you, Keaton.”
He closes the door, keeping my hand in his. “I don’t know if Kent has explained that we’re not talking.”
“He briefly mentioned it at the house.”
Keaton’s lips turn down. “And he didn’t even mention the wedding to you, did he?”
I shake my head. “He didn’t, but he’s not really the type to plan far ahead. He only mentioned Easter dinner to me last week.”
Keaton drags a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to speak out of turn, but we haven’t spoken in a long time, and I miss him. I was really hoping to clear the air before the wedding, but this situation with Whitney has thrown a wrench in the works. And I’m worried about how this will affect him.”
“You think the baby is his?”
“I don’t want to speculate, and neither should you until we find out for sure, but either way, this has the potential to derail Kent. He seemed so happy today. At least, until the She-Devil arrived.” He shoves his hands deep in his pockets, staring me straight in the face. “I have no right to ask anything of you, Presley, and I can tell this has been upsetting, but don’t give up on him. I know my brother, and he cares about you. It’s blatantly obvious. Don’t let Whitney come between you, because I’ve no doubt that’s her plan.”
I wave them off with a heavy heart before heading inside.
The second I switch off the alarm and close my door, I give in to the grief devouring me from the inside, crumpling to the floor and sobbing as images of my tiny little daughter flash before my eyes, and it’s as if I’m losing her all over again.
***
Pounding on my front door rouses me from sleep, and I lift my head from my pillow, dragging my drunk ass out of bed. The room spins as I stand, and I take a few moments to steady myself before heading to the front door to let Kent in.
I’ve been expecting him.
I swing the door open, stepping aside so he can enter.
He looks like shit. His hair is sticking up everywhere, like he’s been pulling fistfuls of it for hours. His eyes are red-rimmed, and the scent of Mary J clings to his wrinkled clothes. A purplish bruise mars his left cheek, and there’s a small swelling on his right cheekbone.
Catching sight of my reflection in the mirror, I realize I’m in no position to judge. I’m still wearing the dress I wore to dinner, and it’s creased to fuck. My hair is wild, my usual smooth waves tangled in knots. Mascara stains have dried on my face, and I’m sporting a classic case of panda eyes.
“You left,” he says, pinning me with a pained gaze.
“I couldn’t stay there.” I walk to the kitchen, groaning when I open the fridge door and the bright light stabs me through the eyes. I extract two waters, handing one to him.
“Were you crying?” he asks, inspecting my face.
I nod.
“Come here.” He opens his arms, walking toward me, and I sink into his embrace. Closing my eyes, I bury my face in his shirt, clutching him for dear life. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “That’s not how I wanted today to go.”
I snort because way to state the obvious. He presses kisses into my hair, and I sober up real fast. Looking up at him, I ask, “Is the baby yours?”
A vein pops in his neck, his jaw tightens, and anger blazes in his eyes. “She says it is.”
“But you don’t believe her.”
“I don’t.” Taking my hand, he guides me into the living room. We sit side by side on the couch. He drags a hand through his hair, rubbing at his eyes. “We’ve grown up in the public eye, and one thing Dad drilled into us was there will always be people who try to take advantage of us. Girls who will try to trap us with pregnancy, so we’ve always been careful. Especially me, because I’m usually trashed when I have sex, so I’ve trained myself to always, always, always wear a condom.” He taps the side of his head. “It’s ingrained in me, and I have never, ever, fucked Whitney without one.”
“That doesn’t mean she couldn’t get pregnant. It could have broken—”
“Or she could have tampered with it,” he finishes for me, pointing at the swelling on his right cheekbone. “When I made that suggestion, Adam got another punch in.”
“That man is a delusional jackass, and I can’t believe he hit you again. It’s so wrong.” I’m aggrieved on his behalf.
A smirk ghosts over his mouth. “Don’t worry. Dad lost it, and he punched him. I think his nose might be broken.”
“It would serve him right.” I have zero sympathy—except for Faye. She is trapped in the middle, and it was obvious she was upset earlier.
“Mom made them leave after that, and I don’t think either of them will be welcome in our house again.”
“I wouldn’t want them back in my home.” I wet my dry lips, asking the all-important question. “What are you going to do?” I knot my hands in my lap, wishing I had the half-empty bottle of tequila lying on my bed beside me.
“I want her to do a paternity test. I Googled it, and there are three different tests you can get done while the baby is in the womb. She would only have to wait a few weeks to take one, but she’s refusing, citing risk to the baby.”
“Now she cares about her child,” I mumble,
still furious with her drinking at dinner.
“Mom tried to talk her into agreeing to meet with a specialist to run through her options. There is a noninvasive procedure that poses no risk to the baby, but she’s insisting it’s her choice and she doesn’t want to do it.”
“Because she knows it’s not yours?” I peer into his eyes.
He exhales heavily. “Or she wants to make me sweat for another thirty-four weeks. Whitney has a real nasty streak, and this is her way of punishing me for you. I want to believe it’s because the baby isn’t mine, but the honest truth is it could be. She had a report from her doctor and an ultrasound pic, and the time line stacks up.”
Air flees his mouth in shaky spurts, and he hangs his head. Stress seeps from every pore, and I wish I could wipe it all away. The air is heavy with so many unspoken words, and he still doesn’t know of my internal torment.
“So, what now?” I ask when I can no longer stand the silence.
He lifts his head, stabbing me with his penetrating gaze. His eyes plead with me for understanding. “I can’t abandon her when there’s a chance the baby is mine. You saw what she was like today. If that’s my kid, I can’t risk her going completely off the rails. I’ll need to be with her every step of the way.”
That shouldn’t be necessary, but I expect Whitney will milk every situation until she has driven Kent insane. “And if it turns out the baby isn’t yours?”
“Then I’ll fucking throttle her with my bare hands,” he hisses.
I gulp over the messy ball of emotion in my throat. “Okay. I understand.” I stand, offering him a shaky smile. “I’ll see you out.”
“Sit the fuck back down, Pres.” His tone and his expression brook no argument, so I plop back down.
Pursing my lips, I look anywhere but at him. His fingers brush against my chin, sending delicious tremors skating across my face, and I automatically lean into his touch, craving his comfort. He tilts my head around so I’m looking directly into his eyes. “I know it won’t be easy.” He barks out a bitter laugh. “Fuck, that’s the understatement of the century. She will go out of her way to cause problems for us.” All humor fades from his face. “I know it’ll be tough, but I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you. Not when we’re only just beginning. Not when I know how great we can be. Not when I need you,” he adds, whispering the last part.
Reforming Kent: A Stand-Alone Angsty Bad Boy Romance (The Kennedy Boys Book 10) Page 15