Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
KENNETH
There's something perfect about this moment.
Royce is in my kitchen, barefoot and wearing one of my old college t-shirts that hangs loose on their frame, their hair slightly mussed from where I ran my fingers through it earlier.
They're humming quietly to themselves as they chop vegetables for the stir-fry we're making together.
Or rather, that they're making while I try to help without getting in the way.
"You're staring again," they say without looking up from the cutting board.
"Can you blame me?" I lean against the counter, watching them work. "You look good in my kitchen. In my clothes. In my space."
They glance up, a soft smile playing at their lips. "Your space, huh? I've been here almost every night this week."
"Exactly my point. It's starting to feel like our space."
The word hangs in the air between us.
Ours.
It's a small word, but it carries weight. Implications. A future that extends beyond the next few weeks or months.
Royce sets down the knife and crosses to me, sliding their arms around my waist. "I like the sound of that. Our space."
I kiss the top of their head, breathing in the scent of their shampoo mixed with my laundry detergent. It's intoxicating, this blending of our lives. "Me too."
"Okay, enough being sweet or I’ll have to change your nickname, Little Menace. We need to actually cook this food or we're going to be eating at midnight."
Their words are one thing, but their body language is another. They don’t even attempt to step away.
"Would that be so bad?" I tighten my arms around them. "I kind of like having you all to myself like this. No work, no team obligations, no family dropping by unexpectedly."
"Bellamy only did that once."
"Once was enough. I was not prepared to have a chat with your brother while wearing sweatpants and no shirt."
Royce laughs, the sound vibrating against my chest. "He was just being nosey. And for the record, I think he likes you now.”
“I think it’s because he knows my intentions are to worship the ground you walk on and do whatever you tell me to.”
“That is probably the reason.” They pull back to look at me, their expression turning more serious. "Kenny baby, are you happy? With this? With us?"
The vulnerability in their voice catches me off guard. Even now, after weeks together, they still doubt my intentions. Still worry that I'm going to wake up and realize I've made a mistake.
"Royce." I cup their face in my hands, making sure they're looking directly at me. "I have never been happier in my entire life. Being with you, like this, it's everything I’ve wanted. You're everything to me.”
I watch as their entire body relaxes. There’s even a shimmer to their gaze that speaks to how emotional I’ve made them. "You can't just say things like that when I'm trying to cook."
"Why not?"
"Because it makes me want to forget about cooking and just…" They trail off, but the heat in their gaze tells me exactly what they're thinking.
"We should probably eat first," I say, though it takes considerable willpower. "You need to keep your strength up."
"For what?" they ask innocently, though the smirk on their face is anything but.
"For later. When I beg you to show me exactly who I belong to."
They shiver slightly, then step back with visible effort. “Little menace,” they growl.
"Right. Food first. Worshipping later.”
They smile, softer now. "Go check on the rice while I finish these vegetables."
I do as I'm told, moving to the rice cooker and confirming it's doing its job. We fall into an easy rhythm with me setting the table, them cooking, and both of us stealing touches and kisses as we move around the kitchen.
It's domestic and comfortable and so far removed from the perfectly curated dinners at my parents' house that it almost feels like a different universe.
"Shit," Royce says suddenly.
"What's wrong?"
"We're out of soy sauce. I could have sworn I saw a bottle in your pantry earlier." They check again, moving things around. "Nope. Definitely out."
"I can run to the store—"
"No, you stay here. I'll go. There’s a certain type I like, and I don’t want you to have to hunt it down.” They're already grabbing their keys from the counter. "The store's only five minutes away. I'll be back before the rice is done."
"You sure?"
"Positive. I’ll be back before you know it.”
I pull them in for a quick kiss. "Hurry back."
They grab their jacket and head for the door, then pause. “I’ll rush. I promise. Oh, and stir the vegetables every couple of minutes. I turned it to low so they shouldn’t burn."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
They grin, then disappear out the door. I hear their car start up a moment later, and then I'm alone in the apartment with the sound of sizzling vegetables and the gentle hum of the rice cooker.
I do as instructed, stirring the vegetables every few minutes. The kitchen smells amazing—garlic and ginger and sesame oil mixing together. I'm contemplating whether I should crack open a bottle of wine or wait for Royce to get back when I hear it.
A phone buzzing.
I look at the dining table and realize Royce left their phone behind. It's vibrating insistently, the screen lighting up with an incoming call. I ignore it at first. It's not my phone, not my business. But then it rings again immediately after the first call ends.
And then again.
And again.
By the fifth call in as many minutes, I'm starting to worry. What if it's an emergency? What if something happened to Bellamy or their parents? What if someone from the team needs them urgently?
The phone buzzes again, and this time I pick it up, intending to just see who's calling. The name on the screen makes me pause: "Carver."
I don't recognize the name. The phone stops ringing, then immediately starts again. Whoever this is, they're persistent. Desperate, even.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I answer.
"Hello?"
There's a pause, then a man's voice, rough and urgent: "Royce? Thank god. I've been trying to reach you—"
"This isn't Royce," I interrupt. "They left their phone at home. Can I take a message?"
Another pause, longer this time. "Who is this?"
"Kenneth. I'm…" I hesitate, unsure how to label myself. "I'm Royce's partner. What’s wrong? Is this an emergency?"
"Fuck." The man sounds stressed. Panicked, even. "Yeah, it's an emergency. I need Royce. We have a new group that needs to be moved, and the original transport fell through. The situation is getting volatile, and we need to act fast."
My blood runs cold. Group? Moved? Volatile situation?
"What kind of group?” I ask carefully, my mind already jumping to conclusions I don't want to consider.
"I can't explain over the phone, but Royce will understand. We need them to coordinate the transfer tonight. Within the next few hours if possible. Can you get them this message?"
"I… yeah, I can do that." My hand is gripping the phone too tightly. "But maybe you should explain what it all means.”
"There's no time. Just tell Royce to call me back immediately. Lives are at stake here." He pauses, then adds, "And Kenneth? Don't mention this to anyone else. The fewer people who know about this, the safer everyone is."
The line goes dead.
I stand there in my kitchen, vegetables forgotten, staring at Royce's phone. My mind is racing, trying to make sense of what I just heard.
A group that needs to be moved.
A volatile situation.
Lives at stake.
Don't tell anyone.
Every piece of information points to illegal activities. Something dangerous.
No. No, there has to be another explanation. This is Royce. The person who takes care of everyone, who built a team into a family, who cried when they talked about their therapy journey. They wouldn't be involved in anything criminal.
But then what was that phone call about?
I think about all the times Royce has been vague about their other businesses.
The way they sometimes get mysterious phone calls and step away to take them.
The separate phone they mentioned once in passing.
The way they deflected when I asked too many questions about what they do when they're not at the stadium.
I told myself it was just normal business stuff. Privacy. Boundaries.
But what if it's more than that?
The vegetables are starting to burn. I turn off the heat automatically, my body moving while my mind spins. I look at Royce's phone again, seeing several missed calls from this Carver person, plus a few text messages I don't open. It feels like a violation to look, but—
No. I won't do that. I won't invade their privacy based on one confusing phone call.
But I also can't ignore what I heard.
I pace the kitchen, my anxiety building. Part of me wants to chase Royce down right now, demand an explanation. Another part wants to pretend this never happened, that I never answered their phone.
And a smaller, quieter part of me is terrified of what the truth might be.
The door opens and Royce walks in, holding up a bottle of soy sauce triumphantly. "Found it! They had the good kind on sale, so I grabbed two bottles…” They stop, seeing my face. "Kenny baby? What's wrong?"
I point to their phone. Their expression shifts from cheerful to guarded.
"Your phone kept ringing," I say quietly. "I thought it might be an emergency."
"And you answered it." It's not a question. Their voice is carefully neutral.
"Someone named Carver called. Multiple times. He said something about a group that needs to be moved. A volatile situation. That lives are at stake."
Royce goes very still. "What exactly did he say?"
"That he needed you to coordinate a transfer. Tonight. Within the next few hours. He told me not to tell anyone else. Said the fewer people who know, the safer everyone is."
The silence stretches between us. Royce's face is unreadable, that mask of control firmly in place. It's the same expression they wear when negotiating with difficult sponsors or handling a PR crisis.
It scares me more than anything else could.