28. Kingston
28
KINGSTON
I’m almost to my sister’s door when my phone vibrates in my pocket, followed by a robotic voice proclaiming ‘text message.’ That’s the tone I set for Gabe, which humors me to no end. I really should set up more personal text tones for people.
I wrestle the packages in my arms and retrieve my phone, ridiculously eager. Which is something I’ll have to dissect later.
Gabe’s name pops up in the little bubble across the bottom of the screen and sends relief through me since he’s been radio silent for over twenty-four hours. And at the same time, my jaw flexes because I don’t like what that means.
In fact, I freaking hate that the man ghosted me, and now that he’s popping back in my messages, I’m gleeful.
That doesn’t stop me from tapping the bubble and reading his message.
Gabe: thanks for the suggestions. I’ll pass them along.
My lips twist and relax, pleased and annoyed. With him. With myself. With everything about this day. Except for the pictures. Those came out amazing. It never fails to surprise me just how much a competent photographer can do for an already incredible shot.
Focus.
Kingston: Look who’s alive.
Three dots pop up immediately, as if he was awaiting my response. There’s that fissure of pleasure again. But then the dots disappear. Why I read so much into that, I don’t know.
But I do.
I felt like we were on this wild ride together, and he suddenly hopped off the train. Now the brakes have given out and I’m racing down the mountain, alone.
Okay, that’s a bit dramatic.
A lot dramatic.
My thumb hovers over the screen. I want to say something else. Something that doesn’t sound so bitchy. So needy. But I’m not sure what.
So I slip my phone into my pocket and hustle the last half block to Ava’s place.
She opens the door all of two seconds after I knock, a wide smile on her face. Uh-oh. I’m immediately on high alert because when are any of my SisMonsters this happy to see me?
“Hey! Come in.” She waves me into her apartment.
She plucks the bags of our favorite Chinese food from my arms and steps back so I can cross the threshold. Ava’s place is spacious with raw brick details. Her style is cozy and colorful. She reminds me so much of Mom with her love of patterns and zest for life.
I follow her to the living room, which is open to the kitchen and the dining table beyond. Vibrant paintings dot the walls, but all her plants are fake. No time to baby things, she once told me.
Which also explains the lack of a man in her life. And yes, I do find it ironic that I told Wildfire I don’t need a babysitter.
I’ve lived on my own, thriving for years.
So when did I become a needy puppy, reliant on a pack?
She glances at me over her shoulder, big brown eyes keen with worry. “Why do you look like someone stole your yacht?”
I bark a laugh. “I don’t have a yacht.”
She waves a hand. “You know what I mean.”
I do.
We settle on the couch that costs more than the sail on my boat and spread the cartons across her coffee table.
“Water?” she asks, popping up.
“Please.”
I slide my hands down my thighs, ignoring the desire to pull out my phone and text Gabe again. The ball’s in his court. He needs to shoot his shot.
Ava asks one of her little robot assistants to play jazz, then returns with a tall glass of water and a wine for herself.
“So what’s going on?”
“Nothing much.” Yeah, that’s a lie. And the quick quirk of her brows says she knows it too.
This is the problem—and the blessing—of growing up close to your siblings. They know all your tells. And they happily call you on them.
After my call with Katherine, I was climbing the walls, and Ava took me up on my offer to bring dinner, so I guess I should have been prepared for the inquisition.
“Nothing much? I saw the pictures of you and Katherine on the roof. I’m not buying it.” She unfolds the flaps on the rice and fills the bottom of her bowl.
Yeah, that’s hard to deny. Half of Manhattan probably saw us looking cozy on Mama and Father’s roof.
My interest in Katherine isn’t a secret. It’s just a little surreal to be talking so openly about... my feelings. I’ve pushed them down and straight-up ignored them for years.
And my sisters know that.
So there’s an extra sharp glint of delight in her eyes when she asks, “Where’s Katherine?”
I grab the carton of chow mein and shove some into my mouth. Chew. Ignore the heat. She’s still waiting for an answer, almost preening with pleasure. Like a tiny shark that smells blood.
“In Paris with Alex.” Yeah, I sound like a jealous boyfriend. I totally hear it.
“Oh.” She finishes filling her bowl with her favorites. There’s going to be so much left over, which she loves. She splits open the paper wrapper and pulls out chopsticks.
“Yeah.” It’s not like I don’t want Katherine to go and enjoy herself. I wholeheartedly do.
But I feel incredibly out of my depth. More so than I have in years.
And as I look around the room at all Ava’s colorful artwork, my mind darts back to those three dots from Gabe. There and then gone.
What was he going to say?
Did I come on too strong? Fuck, friendship comes naturally to me, so why am I so weird with him? We have plenty in common.
We like sports. Katherine. New experiences.
“What’s really bothering you, King? You knew she was going on a date with these other two guys.”
“Not when I came back. But—” Yeah, once I got the lay of the land, I was... fine... with it. But maybe I’m not as fine with it as I thought? I don’t know.
“Are you worried she’ll fall for them?”
“Oh, she already has.” I know her like no one else. I can hear it in her voice. She’s head-first for Alex. More reserved about Gabe.
Ava’s brows vault up to her forehead. I’d laugh if I wasn’t so out of sorts. “Say that again.”
“It’s complicated.”
She huffs a sigh. “I’ll say.”
Then she hands me a bowl so I’ll eat like a civilized person instead of a college kid and scoops heaping spoonfuls of all my favorites. I snag some chopsticks. “Start talking.”
Balancing the bowl on my knee, I reach for my water glass. Yeah, I’m still buying time because I’m not sure I can form full sentences at the moment. It’s all a jumble in my brain.
“Okay,” she says when I don’t say anything. “Why do you think she’s fallen for them? It’s been what, a week since the auction? Did she say something?”
“Because I see it in the way she looks at them, and I can hear it in her voice. It’s everywhere. From the time she spends with them to the way she’s rearranged her life to be with them. It’s just... obvious.”
And it burns me like the world’s worst bout of indigestion.
“You’ve seen her with them?”
I nod. “The other day, I cooked pasta and Gabe and I were in the kitchen doing the dishes, but she and Alex were at the table holding hands, talking. She’s comfortable with him.”
“More comfortable than with you?”
I nibble at my food. Is she more comfortable with Alex? Maybe. Maybe it’s different.
I really don’t know how to feel about that. I’ve been her ride-or-die for years. She’s always been able to come to me, to lean on me. That hasn’t changed.
For me anyway.
But it’s obviously changed for her.
A hunk of carrot hits the back of my throat wrong, and I cough. Ava smacks me on the back, immediately changing the subject.
“And can we circle back to the four of you eating together?”
“Do we have to?” I force a smile. She matches it with one of her own.
Rolling my eyes, I push to my feet and grab my glass before heading into the kitchen for a refill. I snag her bottle of Chardonnay, likely a selection from her travels. As I pour her another glass of wine, the story of the past week pours out, too.
I can’t sit down. No. I pace. Like a panther stuck behind a fence.
My arrival in the Hamptons. Our trip back to the city. I leave out the more salacious details, of course. She saw the picture, and I told her about cooking dinner.
Ava sits back against the arm of the sofa, her warm brown eyes widening with every sentence that falls from my lips. Her chopsticks hover in the air.
“So you’re poly.”
I pause, take a sip, then sigh. “Yes.”
The corners of her mouth turn up in a pleased smile. Soft, knowing. But she’s not screaming or crying or any of the other worst-case scenarios that have clogged my brain like a death spiral.
“You don’t sound happy.”
“How can I be happy when she’s halfway around the world and Gabe won’t talk to me?”
“Come here.” She pats the cushion next to her.
My muscles are stiffer than they should be as I circle the coffee table and settle next to her.
“Why won’t Gabe talk to you?”
Of course, she’d pick up on that.
I shrug. “No idea.”
She huffs a sigh, and I slouch deeper into the couch. “Be straight with me, Kingston. Now isn’t the time to play the aloof professor.”
God, she really does know me too well.
“Why is this difficult to talk to me about? You know I love you and support you.”
She’s right. Of all my sisters, she’d be the least shocked to discover my attraction to Gabriel. Hell, she’s probably suspected already.
“It just is.”
“Because it’s not conventional.” She nods as if that explains everything, then reaches for her bowl, slurps a noodle in a way that would send our mother to an early grave, and pegs me with a steady look. “Fuck conventional, King. If it’s not making you happy, then fuck it.”