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“Kingston, you have to go to the police. This is serious.”
“I know, but what if it makes things worse?” I look up at him, my hands in mock prayer, my lips pressed against the tips of my fingers. I need answers, a guiding light to tell me what the fuck to do.
“Kingston, we went down this fucking road, we let him win and we avoided getting her help. You and I both know going down that path isn’t the right way.” He’s right, I know he is but I can’t help but be weighed down by my selfish fear. Lana is finally living again, free from the chains.
“I know, I just don’t want to risk her happiness...more so her fucking safety. Obviously he isn’t sending this shit because he has a no contact order which tells me he has someone on the outside looking in, doing his fucking dirty work...damn pig.” My voice deepens, dead panning on what I’m saying.
“I get that, but honestly, she nearly died when we didn’t say anything. What makes you feel this will be different? Maybe you could contact her lawyer? Ask him what to do. That way we know our options. See if we contact the police here or back in Utah. Better yet, a detective. Or both? I don’t know, but one things for sure Kings, we have to tell someone. We need to protect her.” He leans against the wall, his eyes zeroed in on the floor, his arms
crossed at his chest. Trey is digesting everything, too. I know he’s right, I don’t have any option but to make sure I take care of her, keep her from harm’s way.
“You’re right. I will call Detective Henson, my dad’s buddy, see what our options are.”
“I agree, shit, I would be half way back to Utah if this was Shayla.”
“You have no idea how tempted I am, but she can’t know. This has to be our secret,” I finish, terminating the conversation, already too worked up to continue on with this shit.
He doesn’t argue me. Wise choice.
“Alright, can we please hit the damn punching bags? I need to release some anger and I don’t want to punch you, pretty boy. Shay might get mad at me if I mess up Mr. Perfect Hair.” Fussing with his hair, I throw my bag in a locker and we make our way out. I spend the next hour tearing my muscles into pieces, sweating damn bullets and not even feeling the least bit better. I can’t believe we’re here again. I can’t believe that Lana’s past is catching up to our future. Damn it.
“You’re shaking, Kings. You don’t have to do this. I can do it myself.” I pat his leg, putting some pressure on it to help stop the shaking. The entire plane ride to Utah was filled with nervous twitching and some mini vodkas. We decided to come visit my parents now that I’m officially twenty weeks, my bump is showing and there is no way to hide it anymore. I don’t want to hide it anymore anyway. But the past few weeks Kingston has been on edge, being extra clingy with me. I’m chalking it all up to nerves, or some anxiety over what my dad is going to do.
“I can’t help it. Your dad has fucking hated me since I was a kid.”
“We’re adults now, Kings. I’m sure he knows you’re a great man,” I reassure him, squeezing his thigh. We’ve been sitting outside of my parents’ home for ten minutes, not even attempting once yet to get out. I honestly think he’s going to throw up. His face is pale and his eyes are dilated.
“Doubtful. I’m worse now, I got you pregnant!” He leans forward in the car, putting his head in his hands, rocking gently in the passenger seat. I rub soothing circles on his muscular back. It’s damp under my hand, holy shit he is terrified.
“Kings, you’re sweating. Calm down.”
“Lana! I can’t. He might kill me and what if he makes you change your mind on the whole us thing?” His eyes look distant, his poor face contorted.
“Baby,” I use my secret weapon. “He won’t, okay? I made the choice to try this with you. Let us decide our future, not him.”
Looking over at me he debates what to do, conceding after only a few seconds. “Okay. Shit. Fuck. Okay, let’s do this.” I take a second and feel him out, looking at him as he stares out the window, before shaking his head and stepping out.
Here. We. Go.
Walking up the wooden steps lined in white trim, I’m hit instantly with a flood of memories. I grew up in this house, just two doors down from Kingston and Shayla and a lot of growing happened in this gray, modern two story house. The porch swing to the right of the door catches my eye.
“Don’t cheat. I can’t believe you peaked. Close your eyes and reach into the bag,” Kings scolds me. I only got a glimpse of what’s inside the pink bag, so he needs to chill.
“Oh, calm down. I didn’t see anything. Why do I have to close my eyes anyway?” I fumble with the bag, my hand missing the opening two times before I finally make it in unscathed.
“Because it’s a surprise,” he retorts. I pull wrapping paper out and throw it aimlessly in front of me. Goosebumps erupt over my body when I feel his fingers scratch the back of my exposed neck.
“Kingston,” I moan, stopping when he growls. I shouldn’t be alone with him. Joel would kill me and he could be here any minute. I still have a bruise on my back from where he threw me into a wall for innocently talking to another guy. I really don’t want to repeat it. Besides, I have a boyfriend, I shouldn’t be turned on by his touch.
“Don’t do that to me, baby.” I tense up. He can’t say those things, not when he knows what it could do. We are in a world full of can’ts and shouldn’ts, when I wish it was a wonderland of cans and shoulds.
“Kingston.” My eyes are closed but I can feel his face close to mine, his hot breath dancing across my cheek.
“Grab the gift and open your eyes, baby.” Swallowing hard I feel for the gift and find it. My eyes flutter open as I pull it the rest of the way out of the bag. The blue velvety texture feels soft under my hands. Looking over to him, my nose brushes against his as I draw in a deep breath. Holy shit he smells familiar and I just want to lean in a little bit further to kiss him.
“Kiss me,” he groans, speaking my mind for me, running his nose along the bridge of mine, his lips kissing the very tip of my nose.
“I can’t—Joel,” I remind him while his nose leaves mine and his lips scale across my cheek, stopping at my ear. He completely ignores me, pushing out any reminder of my dangerous boyfriend.
