Chapter 20
Josephine
I follow Kylian down the stairs, feeling lighter than I’ve felt in days. The promise of getting off the isle temporarily is doing all sorts of things to lift my spirits.
“Hope you’re hungry,” he murmurs over his shoulder as he bounds down the last few stairs and heads toward the kitchen. “We go all-out after home games.”
I don’t know what I was expecting to find the morning after a raging party, but it wasn’t the sight in front of me.
The kitchen is spotless, aside from the enormous spread of breakfast items setup on the island. There’s no evidence of the party anywhere, and every surface is gleaming. It’s hard to imagine this space was filled with coeds last night.
“Good morning, Mrs. Lansbury.”
An older woman turns from the open dishwasher and smiles warmly at us.
“There you are,” she singsongs in a distinguished accent. “You’re never last to the table, Kylian. Are you well?”
“I’m fine. Just needed a bit of extra rest this morning,” he assures her as he grabs two plates and hands one to me. “This is Jo, by the way.”
Her eyes meet mine, and her smile widens, deepening the wrinkles around her eyes.
“Ah, yes. Miss Meyer. Decker informed me of your arrival. It’s a pleasure. If there’s anything you need at all, dear, don’t hesitate to ask.”
I nod mindlessly, unsure of what I could possibly need beyond the massive buffet spread laid out in front of us.
Beside me, Kylian piles his plate with bacon, sausage, two bagels, four waffles, and a huge serving of crispy hash browns.
“How do you take your coffee, Miss Meyer?” Mrs. Lansbury’s accent is enchanting—Scottish? Or maybe British? I could listen to her talk all day.
“Um, you can call me Joey. Cream and sugar is fine. Usually I use way too much flavored creamer, but—”
“What flavors do you prefer?” she demands.
Kylian meets my eyes and quirks a brow.
“Vanilla is fine. But I’m not picky. I like sweet cream or hazelnut, too.”
“I’ll get a few of each,” she insists, lifting a tablet off the counter and tapping away.
I open my mouth to protest, but Kylian cuts me off.
“Fill your plate. We’re late.”
Late?
I comply as Mrs. Lansbury busies herself at the sink. By the time I’ve made up a plate, Kylian has filled up a second one.
“Where are you going to put all that?” I tease. I’m hungry, too, but damn.
He shoots me a confused look. “I’m not putting it anywhere. I’m going to eat it.”
Um. Okay.
“Syrup, ketchup, and condiments will be on the table. Follow me.”
He leads the way, pushing through a door I haven’t explored past and into what I now realize is a dining room.
All talking ceases when we enter. Four sets of eyes land on me, only three of which I recognize.
“Kylian. Good of you to finally join us. Although you probably could have left your groupie upstairs.”
My cheeks flush as I eye the woman at the head of the table. She’s older than us by about ten years, sharply dressed in a crisp white sleeveless dress, and her hair slicked back in a tight bun.
“Misty, this is Josephine Meyer. Josephine, this is Misty, our PR rep.”
Misty lets out a hmph and plants her hands on the tabletop like she’s ready to stand. “Do we need to take this elsewhere, then?” Her question is aimed at Decker.
He meets her gaze head-on. “No. Proceed. Josephine will be staying here for a while and will be attending NIL appearances for the foreseeable future.”
What? That’s news to me.
Obviously to Misty, too.
“Decker,” she purrs, her tone soft and placating in a way that tells me it usually gets her what she wants. “I doubt I can get her clearance for half the events on—”
“You’re the best in the business, Misty,” he interrupts, crossing his arms over his chest and sitting straighter in his seat. “I know you’ll make it work.” His declaration leaves no room for argument.
She looks me up and down, like she’s sizing me up.
My neck goes hot at the inspection. Primarily because I’m wearing Kylian’s basketball shorts rolled several times with a pair of knee-high socks and the same LCU crewneck I’ve been rocking all weekend.
I’ll be so damn happy to have my own clothes later today.
Misty passes folders to Decker and Kendrick, then opens one of her own and takes out a stack of documents. Kylian and I take our seats on the side of the table where Locke is stationed.
“Good morning,” he whispers, shifting in his seat so he’s facing me a bit more and knocking his knee against mine. His plate is still piled high, filled with mostly fruit and protein. He must have gotten in here just a few minutes before us. “You doing okay today?”
I stuff a piece of bacon in my mouth to give myself a moment to eye him warily before I respond.
The incident at the base of the stairway comes back to me as he studies me with a soft expression on his face.
Honestly, I probably wouldn’t have made it past the security bros had it not been for him.
And if that had been the case, I likely would have passed out right there in front of half of LCU.
Despite how angry I’ve been with him, I have a decision to make. Do I want to spend the next few months salty as fuck and trying to punish Locke? Or should I apply the logic I’m using with Kylian and use our shaky bond and his inherent kindness to make this whole ordeal more tolerable?
Decidedly, I nod.
“I’m okay. Thanks for helping me last night.”
His face lights up in one of those dazzlingly disarming smiles I found so damn sexy a few days ago.
Ugh. Who am I kidding? It still makes me swoon. It’s just a more guarded, cautious swoon now, because swooning sucked me in, chewed me up, and spit me out last week.
A throat clears at the head of the table, garnering my attention.
Misty packs up files, sticks them in an expensive-looking briefcase, and rests her hand on Decker’s forearm in a familiar, almost intimate touch.
Decker’s answering smile is civil. Professional. A practiced response that tells me this isn’t the first time he’s had to play nice to get his way.
Misty bends forward, flashing us all a glance down her dress, and whispers something to Decker. Then she turns on her heel and shows herself out.
I’m still looking toward the head of the table when Decker turns and sets his sights on me—onyx irises boring into me with calculated focus.
The shift is disarming, sending a shiver quaking through my body before I can stop it.
His eyes narrow when I refuse to look away, despite the visceral reaction he commands.
Not three seconds pass before Kendrick shoves up from his place at the table. The scraping of the chair snaps me out of whatever the hell kind of connection had my attention locked solely on my captor. I finally blink, and Decker looks away.
“Hold up, K,” he calls after Kendrick. Then he peers back down the table in our direction. “Locke. Are you coming with us to the Boatyard this afternoon?”
Locke’s gaze shifts to me for just a flash before he turns back to his fearless leader.
“Wasn’t planning to, but I can.” His response is drawn out, his tone softer than normal, less playful. I barely know the guy, but if I had to guess, something isn’t right.
Decker’s brows come together. “Shit. Sorry, man. How are you feeling this morning? I should have led with that.”
Locke flexes one hand on the tabletop. His movements are slow and methodical. When his hand clenches into a fist, he winces, shaking his head and puffing his cheeks out with a heavy sigh.
“My knees are screaming. Hands and wrists, too. I’ve got three spoons to my name today, tops.”
“What do you need?” Decker’s demand is laced with sympathy. He sounds so docile and caring, I almost laugh. Is this a joke? How can someone be so infuriatingly bossy and cold, yet so genuinely kind where his friends are concerned?
“Rest. Ice bath. Maybe a massage. I thought I’d head to the field house later if I feel up to it.”
Decker’s shaking his head before Locke even finishes.
“I’ll get a trainer to come to the house.
Finish eating, rest, and take care of yourself.
If you can make it to the Boatyard, that’d be best.” His eyes flick to me, and although they don’t linger for more than a moment, I’m still hit with the daggers behind his glare.
“That way Josephine has someone besides Kylian to keep her company.”
A scoff escapes me. I’m right here. Right fucking here. And still, he’s talking about me like I’m a child who supposedly needs not one, but two babysitters?
“And you?” Decker asks, turning his attention to Kendrick, who’s standing behind the chair he vacated and gripping the top rung with both hands like he can’t wait to escape the room.
“All good, Cap. My utensil drawer’s overflowing.”
Decker smirks. “Love to hear it. But if you start—”
“I will,” Kendrick interrupts, seemingly anticipating the lecture Crusade was about to launch into. And with that, he strides to the door.
Decker rises from his chair as well, the movement making my panic flare. Because Kylian hasn’t said a word to him about our plans.
Should I bring it up now and risk Crusade’s intervention? He implied that we’re all leaving the house today, but when?
I’m desperate for my own things. A lifeline. A reminder of who I am. Why I’m here.
If I don’t get off this damn isle and make it back to my uncle’s today…
I swallow past the nerves and shoot my shot before the guys can leave the dining room.
I jump up quickly, and the legs of the chair grate against the floor so loudly there’s no way they didn’t leave a mark. I wince but steel my spine.
“Kylian agreed to take me back to Sam’s so I can get my stuff today.”
The room goes silent as chaotic energy crawls up my throat.
A blush creeps up my chest along with it, but I don’t care.
I need my shit. I needed it, like, yesterday.
And I freaking deserve to have the comforts of home here.
My own clothes, my schoolbooks and my laptop, my makeup, the jewelry from Alice, and the few other possessions to my name.
Decker’s eyes rake over my body. Despite wearing Kylian’s shorts and an oversized sweatshirt, the heat of his stare bores into my skin. I inhale to stop myself from shuddering again.
It’s like he has X-Ray vision. His glare is as strong as the force of the goddamn sun.
I’m going to need a lot more willpower and at least 100 SPF to protect myself from the intensity of Decker fucking Crusade.
Cocking one brow, he smirks.
“Did he?”
Beside me, Kylian hasn’t said a word. Not that I need him to, I guess. But a little backup would be nice.
I look between the two men, watching as Decker’s cocky expression turns into a quizzical frown.
Kylian, on the other hand, just keeps shoveling food into his mouth.
For several seconds, Decker scrutinizes me silently, forcing me to fight the urge to fidget. The guys, though, are unaffected. Locke is ignoring us, and Kendrick is slouched against the doorframe, looking borderline amused.
Finally, finally, Decker tilts his chin. “Be back in two hours.”
Two hours? Indignation swirls up into a storm of outrage. “It takes forty-five minutes to get off this goddamn isl—”
Decker holds up a hand.
My traitorous mouth snaps closed in obedience.
“And take Kendrick with you.”
“Seriously?” Kendrick grunts, pushing off the wall and pulling his hoodie up over his head.
I try to hide my smirk. Now I’m not the only one protesting.
“We had a game yesterday,” Decker offers, leveling Kendrick with a pointed look. “He’s only got a few spoons.” He points to Locke, who looks more beaten down and weary the longer I look at him. “And something tells me Kylian didn’t get a full night’s sleep last night thanks to an unexpected guest.”
An indignant huff escapes me. How the hell does he know that? I wait a breath for Kylian to deny what Decker is implying, but he remains silent.
I glance over to where Kylian still sits beside me.
He’s been solely focused on his breakfast throughout the entire exchange.
His placid expression proves that we aren’t anywhere near on the same page.
We may not even be in the same character series or fictional universe.
It’s as if he doesn’t notice any of the tension swirling around us.
“I can be ready to go in twenty,” he finally says. But his words aren’t aimed at me. They’re for Kendrick.
With a pissed-off grunt and an even deeper scowl, Kendrick storms out of the room.
These men and their mood swings. But at least I’m getting off the isle.