30. Chapter 30
Kingsley
I’d done it. I’d made my decision to leave Saint James behind and return to civilization.
The last month had been much more challenging than I’d expected.
Not having the bell for orientation left me without any sense of time, wearing normal clothes was uncomfortable, and not having my usual schedule left me disoriented.
Worst of all, though, was the sense of loss.
I’d lost my brothers, who’d grown closer than family over the past nine years.
We’d done everything together. Now I did everything alone.
Brother Samuel no longer existed. I was Kingsley Grady again, the guy I had run from for almost a decade. Now that there was nowhere to hide, I had to reinvent myself.
“How are you holding up?”
Layne’s voice drew me around. I hadn’t heard her approach over the waves rolling onto her and Keaton’s private beach. My brother had warned me that she was a ninja, and it had proven true over the past weeks I’d been living with them. “Managing. How are you?”
“Still have a pulse. I’m no doctor, but I think it’s a good sign.”
I chuckled. People often perceived her as sweet because she was soft-spoken, but in truth she had a really savage sense of humor.
Her face scrunched up ever so slightly when she settled in the sand next to me and lay on her side. The sun had disappeared behind the jungle surrounding the property, painting the gathering clouds red and orange. A cool breeze rustled the palm trees overhead. Looked like a storm was moving in.
“Are you having a rough day?” I asked, glancing back out at the ocean.
“Something like that. Actually, coming down here was quite the battle. Keaton’s gonna kill me if he finds out I overdid it. But I wanted to check on you.” Her speech sounded slow, as if talking was exhausting.
From what Keaton had told me, myalgic encephalomyelitis was a vicious illness.
For Layne, every day was a battle against her own body, making a normal life impossible.
The fatigue and pain had been so crippling last year that she had barely been able to eat.
But she was a warrior, and Keaton took good care of her.
“I can give you a piggyback ride so you don’t have to walk back,” I offered.
She smiled, her dark eyes glowing. “That would actually be nice.” She pointed at my head. “You cut your hair.”
“Yeah.” A buzz cut in hopes people wouldn’t recognize me when I had to leave the house. “And you let yours grow out again.”
“Yup, Keaton washes and brushes it for me so I can keep it long.”
“That’s good.” My words came out raspy, and I cleared my throat.
Living with them, witnessing their intimacy and love, continuously rubbed salt into my Harley-induced wound.
I avoided them as much as I could, either staying upstairs in one of the guest bedrooms or outside.
Wentworth had offered me to stay at his place at Fort Vickers, but he and his teammates had just returned from a deployment, making their home crowded enough as it was.
Maybe once they got spun up again I’d move there.
“Did you talk to her?” Layne asked. “Harley, I mean. Unless you have another woman in your life.”
I inhaled a lung-full of salty ocean air. “No and no.”
“Why not?”
“Because . . .” I cleared my burning throat. “I don’t even know.”
“Are you scared she’ll turn you down or something?”
I lifted a shoulder. Possible.
Layne sat up. “ Bitte s?g mer du bisch nod d? glich Holzchopf wie d? Keaton. ”
I laughed. “Did you just call me a bonehead?” Holzchopf was the only Swiss German word I could comprehend. The literal translation was woodhead. She used the word for my brother as well as for her brother, Tripp Rhyner, all the time.
“I said, please don’t tell me you’re the same bonehead as Keaton.
Big difference.” Grinning, she brushed sand off her gray sweats and black oversized T-shirt.
“He almost divorced me because he thought he wasn’t good enough for me.
” Her gaze came to me. “Please don’t do this to Harley.
I mean, don’t unless it’s God’s will for you to let her go. ”
I shook my head. “He was pretty clear about my future with her.” Just yesterday He’d given me the final okay to get in touch with her again.
“Ah, see.” Layne smiled. “What are you waiting for then?”
“Yeah, champ. What are you waiting for?” Keaton came strolling to us, wearing black slacks and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up—straight from work. A big grin split his face. “About time you move out again so Layne and I don’t need to worry about scarring you for life.”
I stared back out onto the ocean, hoping the increasing darkness would hide my reddening neck and ears. Another reason why I wanted to move out. Hopefully I’d soon hear back from the companies I had sent an application to.
“Bunny, do you wanna explain what that ‘You just got passed by a girl’ bumper sticker is doing on my Porsche?” Keaton asked Layne. “Do you know how many men honked at me and got all excited until they realized I’m a dude?”
Layne burst out laughing. She laughed so hard that tears started streaming down her cheeks. “I wish I could’ve seen your face,” she wheezed, then laughed even harder.
“Why on earth did you—” Keaton raked a hand through his black hair, visibly wrestling with a grin. “You don’t even drive that car.”
“Only because I can’t drive at the moment. Just wait till I’m back in the game. Then I’ll take her drifting every day.”
“I think someone needs a reminder that I’m not a girl.” Keaton pretty much tackled a laughing Layne into the sand.
Wow, yeah, my cue to take a hike.
I stood, the sand cool under my feet. “Message received. I’m going to Harley.”
The two were too busy eating each other up to hear me.
I fled the small bay and headed through the lush yard to the house.
After donning a ball cap—it was getting dark out, but I didn’t want to give people or the media a chance to recognize me—I headed into the garage.
Keaton had told me I could use their vehicles whenever needed.
There it was, the bumper sticker on the ice-gray 911 Carrera 4 GTS Cabriolet.
I chuckled. It even had a lip print on it.
Not wanting to attract even more attention, I opted for the black Ram 1500 TRX.
I spent the entire forty-minute drive to Harley’s apartment in prayer.
God had spoken pretty clearly to me about my future—it was with Harley as my wife.
Yet there was still some kind of hesitation. Something felt . . . off.
Harley wasn’t home, so I headed to Golden Palace. She wasn’t there either, but Rome was. Dalton Scott, one of Keaton’s best friends and apparently one of the bouncers here, escorted me through the raging club to his office.
“Look what the cat dragged in.” Rome stood from his desk and sauntered toward me. I almost expected some kind of stunt, but he pulled me into a hug and slapped my back. “ Come stai , bro ? ”
“Been better,” I admitted.
“I heard you got kicked out of the monastery.”
“It was a mutual decision.”
Rome licked his lips. “Your screw-ups weighed too heavily on your conscience to stay, didn’t they?”
Sounded like the man knew what it felt like to have your mistakes haunt you. Maybe he had more of a soul than I’d expected from a man of the underworld.
“Yeah. What, uh . . .” I cleared my throat. “What are you up to?”
“Busy hunting down Harley’s ex. Dude once again dropped off the face of the earth.”
I roughed a hand over my mouth and beard. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Talk to Harley. If you guys aren’t walking down the wedding aisle some time in the next six months I’ll come and hunt you down.”
I chuckled. “Noted. That’s why I’m here. She isn’t home.”
“She’s staying with me.”
Still? Or maybe again. Either way, I wouldn’t have wanted her anywhere else.
Rome unearthed a key from his slacks and tossed it to me. “Go talk to her. You guys have a lot to figure out.”
I frowned. A lot to figure out? What was that supposed to mean? The scenario I’d imagined wasn’t complicated. I told her I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, and she said yes or no. What else was there to talk about?
As I drove to Rome’s place, rain pelting the windshield of the TRX, I once again found myself pleading with God.
Pleading that Harley would take me back.
Pleading that I would be able to provide for us.
Pleading that I could carry the responsibility that came with being her protector and that of our kids, if we’d ever have any.
Then I was at the gate to Rome’s neighborhood.
The guards had apparently been notified, because they let me inside without asking questions.
My heart jackhammered when I parked in Rome’s drive, even more when I walked up the illuminated marble steps leading through the jungle to the main door of the massive three-story building.
I’d finally get to see the woman I loved.
Just as I reached the door, it opened.
My breath stalled.
Harley.