“I see why you picked her, Kingston. None of the other Camelot Court girls could’ve spotted that distinction.” He reached above the door and ran his fingers along the frame, then smirked over his shoulder at me. “Or perhaps, they just never cared enough, as long as a Dread was in their beds.”
I narrowed my gaze on his eyes.
“Hey, I know you!” The dark brown hue and shape of his eyes struck me as familiar. Racking my brain, I pinpointed the memory. “You kicked me out of that creepy bedroom!”
“Ah.” He clicked his tongue and stepped beside Kingston, clapping him on the shoulder. “It’ll be her cleverness, then. God, mate, you’re so predictable.”
My head swiveled between them.
Kingston shirked Morty’s grip and stepped toward me. Morty clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on the balls of his feet like he hadn’t a care in the world.
“Quinn, this is Morty Dread.” Kingston shot him a glare over his shoulder before taking my hands. “Max’s brother.”
“Wait.” Morty scoffed, like the introduction irritated him, which made no sense to me. “Hegets to drop the family name and I don’t? That’s bullshit, Kingston.”
And I couldn’t help it.
Maybe it was hysteria, finally catching up to me in the midst of a totalwhat the fuckmoment.
Maybe I’d completely lost my mind.
But the way he said it removed any doubt that he was Max Dread’s brother.
So, I did the only thing I could.
I laughed.
Kingston
“Um…Is she going to be alright?”
I hardly spared Morty Dread a glance over my shoulder before turning back to Quinn.
Her body shook with the force of her laughter, tan arms wrapped around her middle as if she sought to contain it. Or perhaps it hurt. Judging by the way she shut her eyes intermittently, I assumed the latter.
Upon opening them, the deep brown sparkled with mirth.
And a bit of hysteria.
She pressed her lips together, their natural rouge lightening before regaining its color, as a warm hue appeared along her cheeks and chest. I wanted to sweep her dark brown hair behind her ears, but it would have been no use. Every few seconds, her fingers drifted to the locks the way they always did, her bracelet tangling with the strands as she ran her hands through and pulled.
Each tug echoed in my chest.
I weighed everything I shared with her carefully.
After carrying it alone for so long, handing even one small piece to her—I considered the heaviness of that.
And at each turn, she proved time and time again that she was strong enough to hold it with me.
It wasn’t easy, but it was what she wanted. What I wanted, too. Although I never really dreamed it possible.
I considered now how I might have gotten swept up in the feel of it. Howgoodit felt to not be alone anymore.
But it was heavy, facing it for the first time.
Over and over, I had to remind myself of that and hold the line between too much and not enough.
Her sudden burst of laughter, the strain in the corners of her eyes—I feared they were signs it was already heavier than expected and catching up to her.
