Court Kept (Court High 3)

My eyes shot open, my stomach dropping. December?

My steps hit the wood panel floor again, and the kid looked in the midst of a sprint before I grabbed him.

“December?” I asked, getting him by his lapels. Why were there fucking three of this kid now? I shook him. “Did you say December?”

His throat jumped. “Yes, do you want me to tell her to leave?”

He should tell her to leave. She needed to fucking leave.

“Bring her to my room.” I dropped him, my mind a blur when I slammed the door and immediately scanned my room. I had shit everywhere, glass everywhere, and I scraped it up enough to clear the door.

Why is she here?

Unable to breathe, I got the room in some kind of presentable state before thinking about myself. I wanted to shower. I needed to shower, but since I didn’t have time, I decided to assault my closet instead. I found a shirt I thought may be clean, and after working it over my head, I had just enough time to splash some water from a water bottle in my face before another more lively knock came down on the door. Lively was actually an understatement.

I was surprised she didn’t throw her fist through the wood.

“Royal!” Another slam and a smack this time like she bitch-slapped it. “Open this fucking door!”

She was angry at me, on fire, and though I’d given her more than one reason, I didn’t know why today. Maybe she was ready to finally hand my ass to me, blow up on me and let me know she was done with me and, hopefully, this town too.

Prepared for that and what I’d do to push her more, I opened the door, her hand poised in my direction. Hair down and cheeks flushed, December wore a big-ass coat that made her look like marshmallow fluff. It was white and everything, completely unbecoming, and she drowned in it.

Then why did she still look fucking gorgeous?

She looked like a damn cherub with that flush in her cheeks, her skin a cream-colored porcelain like one of my sister’s china-faced dolls. My dad never let the housekeepers put those away, there for his benefit as my sister hated those things. Even still, they were beautiful, ethereal.

Her hand falling, December stared at me too. I think, the two of us distracted by each other. I didn’t look my best, hair all over the place and shirt untucked. My jeans I pulled out of the hamper, and she followed me all the way up from them to my face. She came here to raise some hell, and I’d planned to give it to her right back.

So why did I just want to grab her instead?

I shouldn’t want that, not worthy of that. My sins were a mile long, and they’d only continue to grow. They had to in order to do what I needed to do.

“Okay,” I said, shrugging and dismissive about it. I propped a shoulder against the doorframe. “I opened the fucking door, now what?”

I wanted to piss her off. I wanted to push

her, and not only did I succeed, when her expression transformed, I got that when she physically pushed me inside my room. She slapped hands into my chest, little mitts that didn’t even hurt.

“What do I want?” She pushed again, another baby slap. “What do I want?”

She raised her hands, shoving me again, and I only didn’t fight back because I found I couldn’t. I couldn’t restrain her rage because I didn’t want to. I deserved every bit of it, physically unable to hurt her anymore. It was ripping me apart every day, so I let her jostle me.

“Where is he?” She gripped my shirt. “Where?”

“Who?”

The question enraged her more, her boots crunching on glass I missed picking up. She didn’t even notice it with how on fire she was. She shook me. “Don’t play with me—”

“I’m not,” I said, taking one hand and then the other. Backing her up, I kicked my door closed, then pressed her against it. This was easy because she was so tiny.

It was also easy because she smelled like fucking heaven.

Her flowery smell physically made my mouth water, all of this a bad idea when I lifted her hands. Pinning her, I got her beneath me, drunk off her.

“Now who, princess?” I asked her, my sins growing more when I leaned in. My nose brushed her ear, and I closed my eyes. “Who are you talking about?”

I needed to let go of her because if I didn’t, I knew what would happen. I’d let her in. I’d tell her everything if only to make the pain go away. It ripped me raw, worse and worse every day. Some days, I actually thought I’d buckle beneath it. She was the only thing that threatened my course of action, her and her damn flowers.