“The man who came for Pippen. He said I would never see you again if anything happened to him. I had no choice but to let him take Pippen.”
“King, I don’t know what the fuck you are talking about.” I was confused by what he said. No one had taken me. “I was sitting here watching television when Jingles dragged me to the clubhouse.”
“I know that now. But at the time, I thought Sinclair had taken you. That was why I reacted the way I did when I saw you. It was what I wanted to explain that night, but you wouldn’t let me in.”
I stood up and walked to the kitchen. I thought about making coffee, but I needed something stronger. Opening the freezer, I grabbed the bottle of vodka I kept there.
I didn’t bother with a glass. I twisted the top off and lifted the bottle to my mouth, taking a healthy swig and letting it burn down my throat.
I didn’t drink much. Especially around King. But sometimes you needed something to take the edge off, and smoking weed wasn’t an option. Not after my mother died of lung cancer.
She had never smoked a day in her life.
Dropping the bottle heavily onto the counter, I stared at nothing. I thought about that night. As soon as Jingles dragged me into church, King moved. He walked away from everyone and pulled me into his arms.
He kissed me. I remember thinking how it felt frantic. Full of emotion but not love. I couldn’t put my finger on it at the time.
It was fear.
He was afraid.
For me.
“Grace.”
His hands rested on my shoulders as he whispered my name.
I pulled away immediately and glared at him. “I can’t do this anymore.”
I took another gulp of the vodka. Liquid courage burned as I swallowed. Who fucking cared if I said more than I should? He deserved to hear the truth.
“I’ve been waiting two years for you to pull your head out of your ass.” His eyes closed, and I knew what his next words would be. “Don’t bother.” I shook my head. “You have to go. I can’t wait any longer. I have to get on with my life.”
“Grace.”
“No, King! I want a life. I want a husband and children. Can you give that to me?”
“I want to.” His eyes pleaded with me to understand, and I looked at him the same way. Silently begging him to love me. I wouldn’t ask him outright. I knew his answer.
It never changed.
One thing I could say about Kingston O’Rourke. He never wavered. He made his choices, and he owned them. Never backing down from what he perceived as right and wrong.
“You have to go. You can’t come back here again.”
“Grace, please. I need you.”
“But you don’t want me!” I shouted.
He slammed his fist on the counter. “Of course I fucking want you! I fucking love you!”
My eyes snapped to his. My lip trembled, and my eyes burned. “How fucking dare you!”
The alcohol forgotten, I marched over to him and lifted my hand. He grabbed my arm before I had a chance to swing. “Get out,” I hissed.
“No.”
I pulled away, but he held me in his grasp. His arms went around my waist, and I beat on his chest. The tears ran unbridled now. He didn’t move, letting me hurt him. Letting me beat on him until I lost my strength.
