I snort a laugh, but there’s a hint of tenderness in his tone that makes my insides feel warm and fuzzy—like he cares about me as a person.
“Never panic, no matter what happens. You can always talk to me, Freckles.”
I look away from him briefly before turning back. “What if it’s embarrassing?”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Have you seen my parents?”
I let out another chuckle. “Okay, point taken.”
“I should tell you this in case it becomes public.” Closing his eyes briefly, Rhys rubs the bridge of his nose, then repositions his glasses. “Remember that so-called high school pregnancy thing?”
“Yeah. What happened? Did Jeremiah sort it out?”
He shakes his head. “First of all, she’s not a high school kid. She’s a twenty-six-year-old stripper. And it wasDad.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He slept with her…and gave hermyname when she asked.”
“What?Why would he do that?”
“Because he didn’t want Grandmother to find out about it.”
I stare. That’s…an interesting reason. I’m tempted to scoff, but after meeting Sorcha Kingswood, I can sort of empathize with his fear. Not that it lessens my disapproval. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I, believe me.”
I pat his shoulder. “Well…it’ll blow over.”
“Yeah, nobody’ll be talking about it once he gets into another scandal. It’ll probably be Mom’s turn next.” He sighs.
“Don’t be so pessimistic.”
“Realistic is the word here. I’m a realist.”
His resigned tone makes my chest ache. He couldn’t sound or look more vulnerable. A crazy urge to wrap my arms around him bursts through me, and it’s all I can do to pull back. It’s a bit too intimate—too real. He flicks a strand of my hair near my ear, his eyes lowered for a second. When he lifts them again to meet mine, his usual steady control is back. The sight squeezes my chest, even though I know it’s better to maintain some emotional boundaries.
The Cullinan stops and the partition comes down. Angelo turns in his seat. “We’re here.”
He gets out and opens the door. Rhys and I exit the car; he stops short, staring at the L-shaped two-story structure with a sort of horror.
“Damn. Could’ve done better than this.” He shakes his head. “Don’t you have insurance or something?”
“Yes, but the payout is limited. And so is my bank account.”
I start toward my unit on the first floor. Rhys and Angelo follow. “Doesn’t look safe,” the latter remarks, looking at the rusty stairs.
“I don’t need to go up there.” I open the door to reveal a modest room with threadbare carpet the color of dog vomit and a king-size bed. The small couch matches the carpet, although nothing really smells bad, just a bit musty.
Rhys shakes his head. “How can it lookworseinside? Wouldn’t surprise me if a roach flies smack into your face.”
I shudder. “Ugh. You’re going to make me puke.” I go to the bathroom to dump all my toiletries and dirty laundry intoa couple of shopping bags. I check the counter, and don’t see anything of mine.
Rhys grabs my clothes from the closet and drawers, draping them over his arm.
“Want me to carry them?” Angelo offers.
Rhys shakes his head. “It’s fine.” He turns to me. “Got everything?”
