Bringing It Home (The King Brothers Book 2)

by Teagan Kade

  Nolan points to a cardboard box by the wall. “Courier dude just dropped it off. If it’s a sex doll, better keep it away from Phoenix. No one likes sloppy seconds.”

  “True that.” I pick up the box, taking it back upstairs to my room and cut it open with a Swiss Army knife Dad gave me when I was six. The words ‘Never give in, never back down’ are etched into the handle. We’ve all got one, even Nolan, and I’m pretty sure he’s allergic to the outdoors.

  It doesn’t take me long to work out what’s inside the mystery box. I pick up the note that’s damn near a novel on top and start to read through the terse words Maya wrote. She really doesn’t beat around the bush, which I suppose was to be expected, but I didn’t expect her to go this far. She claims she doesn’t want anything from me, and I’m fine with that.

  I put the note aside and breathe in, looking down into dark interior of the box.

  The cynical side of me is thinking she boxed up a bunch of her things pretending I gave them to her, to somehow lend an air of authenticity to her story, but who fucking knows.

  I start to unpack hoping something will jog my memory so I can sort this shit out once and for all. It’s mostly junk—random clothes and a gas station teddy bear anyone could have bought. Nothing looks familiar until I get to the bottom and find a small box. I pick it up and open it, finding a ring inside, and I know immediately.

  Fuck me.

  It’s one of my mother’s.

  She left a ring for each of us boys to give to our future wives. You can imagine how that went down when Dad told us. We joked about it afterwards, but there’s no doubt in my mind this is the ring she gave me. I’d know it anywhere.

  I have to sit down from the shock of seeing it.

  How the hell did Maya get hold of it? Did she steal in somehow? Would she really go to that length to sell this thing?

  I’ve got to see her, press and push until she tells me. I have to know.

  “Woah, woah, where the fuck you going in such a hurry?” asks Nolan as I whip past him on my way to the garage.

  I don’t have time to answer. I get into the Mustang and start it up, making for Maya’s and hopefully an answer to this.

  To everything.

  *

  I’m less certain as I make my way up the stairs to Maya’s apartment, but I’ve come too far now.

  I knock on the door and wait.

  Chrissy answers eyeing me and blocking off the doorway. “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Congeniality. Dare I ask what brings you back to our humble abode?”

  I’m blunt. “I need to see Maya.”

  “I don’t think she needs to see you.”

  I have neither the time nor patience to get into this. “Let me in. There’s something I need to talk to her about.”

  Chrissy prods me with a finger. “You keep using that N-word, but I’m telling you, she’s got nothing to say. Why don’t you trot off now, find someone else’s heart to break?”

  “It’s okay.” Maya appears in the hallway. “Let him in.”

  Chrissy steps aside reluctantly. “I guess I’m going out for a walk.” She looks to Maya. “You need anything, you call, okay? Happy to pick up some pepper spray.”

  “Thanks,” Maya replies, her eyes not wavering from mine.

  As soon as Chrissy’s gone, I start forward with my hands out. “I come in peace, but I do come with questions.”

  Maya folds her arms and all I want to do is pull them apart and sweep her up, smell her and kiss her and bury my face against her, but I need answers first. “Tell me about it. Make me believe.”

  She sighs and I hear the exhaustion in it. There’s authenticity to it. “I told you, I don’t know how, Titus. What do you want me to tell you, because it seems like you want me to say something in particular?”

  “Come on. You can’t expect me to believe any of this without proof.”

  She scratches at her hairline. “But that’s just it. What we had, there are no words for it. How do you want me to quantify my love for you, your love for me?” She’s begun to cry and I’m not doing a damn thing about it. “I can’t prove what you can’t see, Titus, and it’s killing me.”

  “How am I supposed to reply to that?” I’m circling her around the room, don’t know where to go. I pull the box and open it, taking out the ring and jabbing it in her direction. “Where did you get this from? Tell me.”

  She looks to the roof sobbing freely.

  “Tell me. The truth, please.”

  She looks down, looks right at me.

  “You proposed to me, Titus. Did I tell you that? You gave that ring, your mother’s, to me.”

  I laugh because the notion seems so completely preposterous she may as well have told me I’m an astronaut. I put the ring back and close the box with a sharp snap. “There is no way I’d ever want to get married. You’ve met my dad, right? Look how well matrimony’s worked out for him.”

  “Titus—”

  “If you’re using this pregnancy to force me to propose, for money, I swear to god…”

  “You said you didn’t want to be your father,” she cuts in, crying freely, “that it would be different. You said I was all you needed.” She’s wiping her face and struggling to keep control of herself. I’ve got to admit, if this is a farce, she deserves a fucking Oscar.

  She uses both hands to clean her face, pulling in a deep breath and leans against the back of the sofa. I don’t know if she’s defeated or simply tired, but her whole demeanor seems to soften. She speaks with new clarity, words clear and easy. Her eyes meet mine and for the first time in a long time I don’t see deceit in them. “You proposed weeks before I found out I was pregnant, and now you need to leave.”

  I don’t know what to make of this, for her sudden shift, but I don’t think I’m doing either of us good by staying. “You want me to go?”

  She sniffs and nods.

  “Fuck. Fine.”

  I head back for the door, pulling it open slower than I should and waiting for her to fight, for us, to try and convince me, but she’s dead silent, and maybe that says it all.

  I step out and close the door, standing there with one hand against it shaking my head. I don’t know why, but I feel oddly hurt by that. If anything, though, her refusal to argue otherwise is all the confirmation I need it’s a set-up on her part, a scam.

  I walk off thinking that’s it, end of the story.

  But I’m pretty sure we’re far from over yet.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  MAYA

  I tap my pen on the list I’m writing. It’s a near perfect day outside but here I am, inside, whittling away my life trying to work out what the hell to do with myself.

  Without him.

  I’m doing my best to come up with a plan that doesn’t involve Titus. I’ve spent weeks now trying to hold myself together. There’s been complete radio silence from his end—not a call, text, nothing. So I have to move on. It’s the only way forward.

  Chrissy places a mug of coffee on the table beside me, seating herself with her own. “If you stare at that thing long enough maybe it’ll write itself,” she tells me, sipping.

  “If only it were that easy.”

  Chrissy points behind herself. “I’ve got a Magic Eight Ball in the cupboard that might help.”

  “Probably has more sense in it than I do right about now.”

  She rocks forward holding her mug with two hands. “Still no word, huh?”

  I shake my head.

  “How’s the future World’s Most Adorable Baby coming along?”

  I reach down to my ballooning belly growing more and more conscious there’s a new life inside me. “Growing. Fast.”

  “Can’t say I’ve noticed any weird cravings yet.”

  “Probably because I feel like puking up anything that isn’t a nice shade of boring.”

  Chrissy nods. “Ah, the carb diet. I know it well. Pretty much all I ate was bread growing up. My folks probably felt like they were raising an orphan in
1800s London.”

  “You turned out okay,” I smile.

  She almost spits out her coffee, smiling back. “Babe, if I’m your measure of ‘okay’, maybe you’re the one who got hit in the head.”

  “Sometimes I wish it was me,” I reply.

  “Don’t say that.”

  “No, seriously. Then I wouldn’t have to go through this whole painful process of trying to forget him.”

  Chrissy places her mug back down. “I know they say ignorance is bliss, but if it was, why isn’t the world a happier place?”

  “It could be,” I say.

  Chrissy smiles. “Now there’s a glimmer of optimism I haven’t seen in a while. Maybe you really are ready to move on.”

  “It’s just…”

  “The baby, I know, but you don’t have to give birth to get a DNA sample. You know that, right?”

  I’ve been over and over this, but it’s helpful verbalizing it. “I know a DNA test will prove it’s his baby, but I’m irrational enough not to want to force him to give us anything, even money, so it’s going to be a ‘no’ on that front.”

  “Just something to think about.”

  “Like my head isn’t already about to pop.”

  Chrissy stands and strokes my hair back. “Plenty of room in this noggin for critical thought.”

  I scoff. “‘Critical’ sounds about the right. A meltdown is imminent and it ain’t going to be pretty.”

  “Boy, he really did a number on you with that enchanted wang of his, didn’t he?”

  I smile at the thought of Titus and me, together, making love, though it was different—just plain ol’ raw and dirty fucking. I liked both in their own ways, and boy could Titus do raw and dirty well.

  Chrissy heads off to the bathroom while I sit there staring at the blank sheet of paper before me. Well, I’ve put in bullet points and made nice columns, but there’s no substance, no plan per se.

  I hate the idea this baby will grow up without a father, but on the other hand it’s better not to have a father who’s going to resent you. No child deserves that.

  I place the pen down and rake my fingers through my hair, groaning, lost.

  *

  A lot can change in a week. It’s strange, but I woke up one morning not feeling sick. The nausea was gone and in its place hunger—sweet, beautiful, miraculous hunger. Chrissy cooked me an English breakfast to feed a small army. My debit card got a workout at the bakery following that, the two of us basically working our way down Main Street stuffing our faces.

  Chrissy’s holding her belly beside me as we walk. “Think I’ve got a baby of my own going on here.”

  I stop next to a storefront. “Oooo, Chinese. I could really go some for dim sum. How about you?”

  She’s still holding her stomach. “Babe, anything more for me and I am going to be the one painting the pavement, but you go ahead, feed the xenomorph.”

  “She heard that, you know.”

  “It’s a she?”

  I shrug. “I’m not detecting a penis, put it that way.”

  “Probably just as well. There’s enough pricks in this town already.”

  Titus.

  The name brings back a momentary flutter of pain, but I’ve learned to live with it. I tug Chrissy into the restaurant. “Come on. Fried food is calling.”

  Chrissy makes a retching sound. “Yeah, calling and telling us to stay the fuck away.”

  Back home, we recover on the sofa watching the new season of The Bachelor both nursing our respective bellies.

  “Eating junk, watching junk,” I muse. “Next thing you know I’ll be coming home with a six pack of Coors looking for a lighter.”

  Chrissy tilts her head back. “So. Much. Food. It’s going to take my poor body weeks to digest this monstrosity.”

  I laugh. “Good thing we’re on break.”

  “Good thing I’m not at Crestfall. I’d be kicked out looking more like an airship than an athlete.”

  “And yet you’ll wake up tomorrow looking like a supermodel again.”

  My cell starts to ring on the sofa arm. I pick it up and don’t recognize the number, showing it to Chrissy, who shrugs her shoulders in response.

  I answer. “Maya speaking.”

  Chrissy watches me as I talk, shifting closer and closer until she’s basically taking the phone out of my hand.

  “Yes, thank you,” I finish. “Looking forward to it.”

  I hang up.

  “The job?”

  “Yeah,” I reply. “I accepted. I start after graduation.”

  “Guess it’s final then. You’re moving to Boston.”

  I smile at the thought of it, still holding my belly. “I guess we are, yeah.”

  “Baked beans, Fenway Park, and the bar from Cheers. Can’t wait to come say hi.”

  “I’ll make sure there’s a bed for you, or fold-out, or cardboard box, or corner…”

  She slaps me lightly on the shoulder, groaning. “Hey, I’ll sleep outside if it means escaping this place for a while.”

  “You do know how cold it gets in Boston, right?”

  “I’ll find some dreamy guitar-swinging musician to keep me warm.”

  “You would,” I joke.

  We’re quiet for a moment considering everything. Maybe for the first time in a long time I’m excited because there’s a real, planned path forward, a way to navigate out of my old life here and start new.

  It’s scary—terrifying, really—but it’s right, for me and the baby.

  *

  It’s the day before the Big Move. My things are packed, my accommodation in Boston has been arranged. It’s final. Tomorrow I’ll be a Bostonian.

  Chrissy has been helping me sort everything out. We’ve just come out of the bank, having closed my account. She checks her watch. “I’ve got to go, babe. You good?”

  The smell of freshly roasted coffee beans is luring me across the road. “Just going to grab a coffee and walk back. You want anything?”

  She shakes her head. “I’m about to work out until I pass out, so that’s a hard no, I’m afraid.”

  “Suit yourself,” I smile, staring across the road.

  The coffee shop, a relatively new establishment, is buzzing. Prior to this you were limited to the diner or the coffee truck up Mile End Road and both served up what was less like coffee and more like brown soup.

  I wait in line breathing it all in, taking in the people sitting around me talking and laughing and unwinding. I’ll miss this town in some ways, the community feel, the way Crestfall’s at the heart of everything.

  I’m about to step up to the counter when the person ordering turns.

  I freeze, my blood running cold.

  Because it’s Titus.

  He looks good, baseball cap on, that light three-day stubble I used to love against the side of my face—and thighs. His eyes haven’t changed, but something has.

  I don’t know what to do. He’s seen me. He’s looking right damn at me.

  A beat passes.

  Two.

  He looks away and walks on, right past me, without saying a word.

  I question if I should say something, but no, I’m not going to beg. I won’t do it after all this time. He doesn’t deserve it.

  I take a deep breath and try to compose myself, because I’m not going to break down into a pregnant puddle of emotion here in the middle of the coffee shop. I’m better than that.

  “Next.”

  I snap back into reality, put a smile on, and approach the counter confident I can get through this, that I’m making the right choice.

  “One decaf caramel macchiato, please.”

  I think of Titus once more.

  “To go,” I add.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  TITUS

  The last person I want to see is Jamie, but he’s there waiting for me after the game, slinking out from the shadows of the parking lot like a seasoned PI.

  He stops before me, scanning to make sur
e we’re alone. “I didn’t exactly want to publicize your shortcomings.”

  I dump my training bag on the ground. “My shortcomings?”

  “What the hell’s going on, Ti? You’re moving like molasses out there. You’re starting to look like John Gochnaur.”

  “That’s a low fucking blow and you know it. Yes, I’ve had a few bad runs of late, some unlucky plays, but I’m working on it. Cut me some fucking slack, will you?”

  His reply is short, quiet. “Fine, but you can’t tell me your game has gone seriously downhill of late. How am I going to get Boston to sign you when your stats are heading for a Wall Street nosedive?”

  I pick up my bag, too tired for this lecture now. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

  But he pushes me back when I try to move past him. “I don’t think you’re fully grasping of the gravity of the situation here. You’re heading in the wrong direction and soon I’m going to be fresh out of excuses. The deal with the Sox depends on you maintaining your numbers. That’s ‘maintaining,’ not sending them into the deep. You wanted to play in the big league, and we did it, but you’ve got to help me out here.”

  “I’ve got it,” I snarl, once again trying to walk around him, this time shouldering him out of the way.

  “Do you?” he shouts to my back. “Because I sure as hell hope so.”

  I leave him standing there, my head pounding from the game, the loss, the casual shitshow my life has become since this whole thing with Maya.

  The deal with the Red Sox was better than I ever could have imagined, a real homer for both Jamie and me, but he’s right. I’m bleeding out there on the field and soon the legal sharks are going to smell blood in the water and come in for the kill. I can’t have it. I need to get out of here.

  The clincher? Maya’s decided on Boston as well. I’ve heard as much, even getting a warm kind of fuzzy feeling thinking about it, but so what?

  Nothing fits anymore—that’s the real story here. It’s like someone has come in and moved my life two inches to the left. And I’ve got no idea how to set it right.

  I open the car door and throw my bag in, slamming it closed and pressing my forehead to the steering wheel.

  I close my eyes and see Maya, see all the happy times we spent together after my accident, and I can’t cast her away no matter how hard I try. I know I should approach her, say something, fucking anything, but I’m too damn stubborn to actually get off my ass and do it. That’s another win in the King genetic lottery: our absolute bone-headedness in situations like this. It’s probably why Dad’s heading for the double digits in wives.