Ruined Castles (The Elite King's Club 8)

“Hey, I didn’t mention it to you, but I have my brother’s girl living with me now. She’s not going to be a problem.”

I push open the door, grabbing my bag from the back seat. “I didn’t know you had a brother?”

“Oh, I do.” Jesse flicks his keys between his fingers. “He’s in prison, and he’s, like always, left his mess on my doorstep.”

I pause, closing the door and making my way to him slowly as he closes the garage door with a push of a button. “Jesse, I’m really sorry to have barged into your life. Again.”

Jesse turns, bringing his arm around my shoulders while leading me to a door. “Hey now, you’re never a burden to me, Trouble. Just tell me you’ll stay a little longer this time?”

“Ah, careful what you wish for.”

He pushes open the door and waves his hand inside. “I’ll show you to your room. We only have one bathroom, but the water is always hot and the pressure is good, so there have been no complaints—yet.”

I chuckle, bumping his hip with mine as I find myself down a hallway. “You mean from girls, Jesse boy?”

He laughs, kicking the door closed behind him as I make my way down the corridor. Family photos hang on the walls, a mother and two boys. I don’t stop to look yet, but pass through and find myself in an open kitchen and living area. It’s small and cozy, but the furnishings are modern. With a leather three-seat sofa, a giant TV, and colorful canvas art hanging on each wall. One looks like Mr. Monopoly, only when you get closer his face turns into Freddy Krueger. There’s money sprayed in the background, with blood drops and knives. It’s so ruthless and unique, I instantly find myself drawn to it.

“You like it?” Jesse asks from behind me.

I turn to face him. “I do. Yours?”

He tips his non-existent hat. “Nah, a friend’s. Come on, you need a shower and I’ll get something cooked for you.”

I follow him to the bathroom, but it’s not until the door closes and the faucet is turned on that the reality of what I’ve done sinks into me.

I slide down the door, bringing my knees to my chest and let the tears roll down my cheeks. My lip quivers as my heart snaps in two. I let them silently go before rubbing everything off and finally stripping down and stepping into the scalding hot water. Resting beneath the heavy shower stream, I squeeze shampoo and conditioner into the palm of my hand, scrubbing my skin until it’s swollen and red. After thirty minutes, I turn the faucet off and step out of the glass shower stall, reaching for a clean towel. Shuffling through my bag, I pull out a spare change of clothes, placing them on the sink and rinsing my toothbrush.

I need to make this work. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I know I can’t trust what Bishop will do once he finds out that I’m pregnant. He thinks I cheated. He knows this baby could not be his. He hates me. Every single second after me telling him I cheated, he showed that. Now I have to do what I have to do, and deep down, I know this time, he’s not going to chase me. This time, he’s going to let me go.

After brushing my teeth and changing into a pair of sweatpants and a crop hoodie, I clean up after myself and make my way back out into the kitchen, placing my bag on the floor. The smell is what first hits me, and then it’s the music. Warmth blankets my heart, A warmth I haven’t felt in some time.

I close my eyes and sigh, giving myself a second.

A fucking second of normalcy.

Right now, that normalcy smells like crisp honeyed chicken and fresh vegetables. A soft reggae song is playing in the background, and when I turn the corner, Jesse is singing the lyrics under his breath, dishing up stir-fried noodles and marinated chicken onto waiting plates.

He turns, stopping when he sees me. “I made something quick and easy.”

“We could have gotten takeout, Jesse. You didn’t have to cook for me.”

He cocks a brow, his face scrunching in disgust. “Mad, I love you, but we don’t eat that shit in this house, unless it’s Burger Fuel, then we eat that.”

“Burger Fuel?” I ask, pulling out one of the metal barstools tucked beneath the counter.

“It’s a burger place, but they’re healthier.”

Now I’m the one scrunching my face.

He rolls his eyes, sliding a plate over to me. “No, dickhead. They’re real good. I’ll take you there tomorrow after work.” He rounds the kitchen island and takes the seat beside me. “You want wine?”

I shake my head. “I, uh…”

He slides over a jug of OJ. “Have juice.”