Chapter Thirteen
Grace
A few months ago...
I sat on my couch watching the ridiculous show I had somehow gotten enthralled with as I switched through the channels. I mean, who would believe that a supermodel who died would end up in the body of an overweight, plain Jane lawyer and still be able to win cases?
I certainly didn’t.
However, the cases were interesting, and the ‘aha’ moments were gold. It reminded me of the episodes of Matlock I used to watch with my mother.
I should be in bed. I didn’t work tonight, but my body had a set schedule. Even on nights I didn’t close the bar, I couldn’t go to sleep before three.
That was why I was still up watching this show. And that was how I heard the pipes pull up and shut off in my driveway.
He’d come back.
After a week of nothing, he was now here to torment me. To pull me in but never hold me close enough.
I heard his boots on the steps. The pause before his knuckles rapped on the wood. I stared at the door for a second before moving closer.
“What do you want?” I asked through the door. If I opened it, one look at him would cause the weak resolve I had spent the past week building to crumble like a string of dominoes.
“You, Grace. I want you.”
He was killing me. My shoulders fell and my head rested against the door. Why did I let him do this? “I can’t do this, King.”
“Please, Princess. I just need to hold you.”
Something had happened. When he came to me at night, it was always after a long day. But the sound of his voice said it was more. I opened the door slowly. Only enough for my face to peek through.
“Why? Why tonight?”
His hands rested on the door frame. I saw the moment he let himself be vulnerable, and I knew it was bad. I knew that whatever it was, I could never deny him.
“I found out today that my mother died.”
Swinging the door open, I grabbed his cut and pulled him inside, shutting out the world behind him. I didn’t care who was out there watching us. I didn’t care who would see my weakness where he was concerned.
I had talked with Indie earlier in the week, and she’d berated me for wanting to forgive him. It didn’t matter. I knew I would.
Once the door was closed, he pulled me in tight and buried his face in my neck. His hands reached down and grabbed my ass, lifting me.
My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively. It was where they wanted to be. They didn’t need my brain telling them where to go. Just like my arms that wrapped around his neck.
“What happened?”
“Sal fucking happened.”
I pulled back and looked at him. My eyes searched his, and what I saw broke my heart. We had talked at length about Sal and what it meant when he discovered his parents were actually his grandparents. How he’d felt lost, like his whole life was a lie.
I understood to an extent. When I found out about Steele, it was different. I had never known anything about my father. So, when I found the picture, it was a revelation. A face to put with the mystery surrounding my life.
It made sense, given the visits from Freeway. I had known about the club my whole life. Even spent time there as a child. I just didn’t know who was responsible for my existence.
King had believed his parents were his. Believed the sheriff was his brother. Finding out his parents were his grandparents and his brother was really his uncle was devastating.
But learning it all as his actual father stood in the room with him, also learning he had a son, was traumatizing. I’d begged him to talk with Haizley. But he always said the same thing.
“I have everything I need.” Then he would hold me tighter against him before walking out the door in the morning while I slept.
“Talk to me.”
“Sal showed up at the clubhouse,” he began, setting me on the floor. He grabbed my hand and pulled me to the couch.
“Do you want coffee?”
“No, I just want you.” He pulled me onto his lap and wrapped his arms around me. I cradled his head against my chest and waited for him to continue.
“He brought a girl with him.”
My body stiffened. Jealousy swept over me immediately, and King tightened his hold, trying to reassure me. It didn’t work until he explained, “She’s Maureen’s daughter. My cousin.”
My body relaxed, and I felt him chuckle.
“Your jealousy makes me so fucking hard,” he said as he ground me against him.
I closed my eyes, unable to say anything. Trying to hold back the tears. He knew how I felt. I didn’t have to say the words. They were there every time he looked into my eyes.
My fingers massaged his scalp, encouraging him to continue.
King leaned back against the couch, pulling me with him. He looked up into my eyes. “I’m so fucking sorry for what I did. That wasn’t fair to you. But when he said he had you, I—”
“Wait, what? What are you talking about? Who had me?” I wiggled free of his hold and scooted back on the couch.
“Crispin Sinclair.”
“Who the fuck is Crispin Sinclair?”
“The man who came for Pippen. He said I would never see you again if anything happened to him. I had no choice but to let him take Pippen.”
“King, I don’t know what the fuck you are talking about.” I was confused by what he said. No one had taken me. “I was sitting here watching television when Jingles dragged me to the clubhouse.”
“I know that now. But at the time, I thought Sinclair had taken you. That was why I reacted the way I did when I saw you. It was what I wanted to explain that night, but you wouldn’t let me in.”
I stood up and walked to the kitchen. I thought about making coffee, but I needed something stronger. Opening the freezer, I grabbed the bottle of vodka I kept there.
I didn’t bother with a glass. I twisted the top off and lifted the bottle to my mouth, taking a healthy swig and letting it burn down my throat.
I didn’t drink much. Especially around King. But sometimes you needed something to take the edge off, and smoking weed wasn’t an option. Not after my mother died of lung cancer.
She had never smoked a day in her life.
Dropping the bottle heavily onto the counter, I stared at nothing. I thought about that night. As soon as Jingles dragged me into church, King moved. He walked away from everyone and pulled me into his arms.
He kissed me. I remember thinking how it felt frantic. Full of emotion but not love. I couldn’t put my finger on it at the time.
It was fear.
He was afraid.
For me.
“Grace.”
His hands rested on my shoulders as he whispered my name.
I pulled away immediately and glared at him. “I can’t do this anymore.”
I took another gulp of the vodka. Liquid courage burned as I swallowed. Who fucking cared if I said more than I should? He deserved to hear the truth.
“I’ve been waiting two years for you to pull your head out of your ass.” His eyes closed, and I knew what his next words would be. “Don’t bother.” I shook my head. “You have to go. I can’t wait any longer. I have to get on with my life.”
“Grace.”
“No, King! I want a life. I want a husband and children. Can you give that to me?”
“I want to.” His eyes pleaded with me to understand, and I looked at him the same way. Silently begging him to love me. I wouldn’t ask him outright. I knew his answer.
It never changed.
One thing I could say about Kingston O’Rourke. He never wavered. He made his choices, and he owned them. Never backing down from what he perceived as right and wrong.
“You have to go. You can’t come back here again.”
“Grace, please. I need you.”
“But you don’t want me!” I shouted.
He slammed his fist on the counter. “Of course I fucking want you! I fucking love you!”
My eyes snapped to his. My lip trembled, and my eyes burned. “How fucking dare you!”
The alcohol forgotten, I marched over to him and lifted my hand. He grabbed my arm before I had a chance to swing. “Get out,” I hissed.
“No.”
I pulled away, but he held me in his grasp. His arms went around my waist, and I beat on his chest. The tears ran unbridled now. He didn’t move, letting me hurt him. Letting me beat on him until I lost my strength.
“I love you, Princess,” he whispered against my hair, and I hated him for the reminder. It was the reason he wouldn’t claim me. Why he wouldn’t allow himself to get closer.
My hands roamed over his chest. Memorizing the feel of him. The smell of the leather cut he wore, and the scent of sandalwood that lay beneath it. I lifted my face and rose on my toes, pressing my lips to his.
Grabbing his face in my hands, I held him as our kiss turned passionate. I knew the moment he relaxed into the kiss; I had him. His tongue played with mine, and his hands roamed over me, pulling me against him.
I could do whatever I wanted to him. Strip him of his clothes, drag him to my bed, and he wouldn’t protest.
He was finally ready to give in.
But at what cost?
He would slink out again in the morning as if nothing had happened. Ignoring me until he wanted to climb into my bed again. It was the next step. In the dark of night, he would crawl between my legs while pretending there was nothing between us in the light of day.
Feeling emboldened, my hands slipped down to his chest. Splaying them out over his pecs, under his cut. His shoulders bunched as he tried to help me remove the leather from his body.
Only that wasn’t my intention. His distraction was his downfall. My mouth never leaving his, I shoved him away. He stumbled over something invisible, and I watched as he landed on his ass.
“Get the fuck out.”
“Grace—”
“Get out before I call the sheriff. And this time I will press charges. I’m done. I don’t want you here. I don’t want you in my life. I don’t want you.”
I turned away. I couldn’t bear to see the hurt in his eyes. My hurt was my priority. He didn’t deserve my sympathy.
He stood up from the floor and walked toward me. As I backed up against the counter, his hand went to my cheek, and I turned away. He grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him.
“I love you.”
“Fuck you.”
I saw the moment he gave up. “I’ll go. For now. But this isn’t done. We aren’t done.”
He left me with a bruising kiss. As he walked out the front door, I realized he had never told me about his mother. I planted my feet, telling myself it didn’t matter.
He wasn’t mine. He never would be. I wasn’t entitled to his pain. His hurt. His life wasn’t mine to fix or console. He’d made his choice.
How dare he tell me he loves me!
How dare he fucking love me and not claim me!
I picked up the bottle of vodka and threw it against the front door. Staring at the drops as they trickled down the wood, I slid against the cabinets until my ass landed on the floor.
I swiped at the tears that fell.
He didn’t deserve my grief.