50. Wentworth
FIFTY
Wentworth
Like she promised, Kait was here when I got back from my run—in the kitchen, measuring and scooping what looked like flour into a large mixing bowl, earbuds plugged into her ears, wearing nothing but one of my T-shirts and a pair of cotton panties. Every now and then she sings a few words to the song she’s listening to, out loud, her barely covered ass swaying suggestively to a beat only she can hear.
Darling Nikki.
She’s a Prince fan.
Suddenly, the inexplicably hot puzzle of Kaitlyn Barrett makes a little more sense.
Laughing out loud, the sound of it quickly dies when I get another flash of her, doing exactly what she is now in some unfamiliar kitchen, baking something sweet for a man who isn’t me. In my imagination, she isn’t dancing. She isn’t singing. She’s miserable and trapped. Hates the mold she’s been forced into. The man she married.
She doesn’t have to marry him.
Not if she marries you first.
I wait a beat—expecting to feel crazy for thinking it like I did before. Even crazier for wanting it.
I don’t feel crazy. Not even a little bit.
That’s what scares the shit out of me.
I was seventeen years old when I met your grandmother and the second I laid eyes on her, I knew it was gonna be her until the day I died.
It was something my grandfather said to me once, a long time ago. My father was in the middle of divorcing Camilla, his last wife. I was fourteen and taking it harder than I probably should’ve. Not because I was particularly fond of Camilla but because every time I watched him cut and run, I felt like I was getting a glimpse of my own future. That I had nothing but broken promises and neglected children to look forward to because that’s the kind of blood that runs in my veins.
Weak and selfish.
Fickle and unfaithful.
It doesn’t have to be that way, Wentworth. You don’t have to make the same mistakes they did. You can do better—be better—if you want to.
Even though my grandfather believed it, I’ve never been so sure I was capable of loving the same woman for the rest of my life.
Until now.
The realization of that scares me more than anything. The only thing that scares me more is the thought of fucking it all up.
Leaving Kait to her baking dance party for one, I sneak past her unnoticed. Upstairs, in the master suite, I start the business of getting the fuck out of here.
When I come back downstairs, an hour later, she’s sitting at her laptop again, earbuds still plugged into her ears while she writes something important in one of her notebooks. A plate with a half-eaten blondie next to a glass of water sitting in front of her.
Catching me move in her peripheral, Kait lifts her head and smiles. Dropping her pen, she reaches up to pull an earbud loose. Her mouth opens and I wait for her to ask me if I want her to make me something to eat. Serve and please me in some way because that’s how it works in her world. How her father has bred and conditioned her to behave—to not only put her own wants and needs last but to ignore them altogether. Like someone who doesn’t deserve happiness .
A life of her own. Freedom. Love.
She doesn’t have to marry him.
Not if she marries you first.
The thought tightens the hinge on my jaw and Kait must see it, because she drops her gaze as soon as she looks at me. “I’m almost finished with this lecture.” She plugs the bud back into her ear before picking up her pen again, going back to her studying without waiting for me to answer.
I’m around the island and standing over her before I can stop myself. Reaching out, I hit the pause button on her laptop and pull out her earbud again.
She doesn’t have to marry him.
Not if she marries you first.
Tossing the earbud on top of the keyboard, I wrap a hand around the back of her neck. Thumb pressed into the soft underside of her chin, I tilt it up so I can look her in the eye. “How many of those have you had?” I ask, tipping my head toward the water glass at her elbow.
Her tongue skims along the loose seam of her lips before she answers me. “Two.” Reaching up, she pushes my hand away from her face. Lifting the glass to her mouth, she drains it in a few hard gulps before setting it back down. “Three.”
I make a sound in the back of my throat. “Not enough, Sunshine. Hydration is key.” When she frowns at me, I laugh. “Come find me when you’re finished with your lecture. We’ll find something… safe to cross off your bucket list.”
Before she can argue and I can do or say something stupid, I drop a hard kiss on her mouth before I walk away.
It’s later.
Kait’s been gone for a few hours, riding back down the mountain on that ornery horse of hers. We didn’t work on her bucket list. Instead, we spent the rest of the day eating our way through the pile of brown butter blondies she baked, in between heavy make-out sessions that left both of us wholly unsatisfied. And because I was too wrapped up in her and forgot to call Damien to tell him not to come, he showed up about twenty minutes after she left.
Standing on the front porch, where I watched her ride away, I heard his tires chewing their way up the dirt road and knew before I even saw his truck, that he passed her on the road. Watching him climb out of the cab, he slams his door, a box of takeout balanced on his hip.
“Kait was here all day.” He glares at me while he mounts the porch steps, his tone and the heavy stomp of his boots telling me exactly how he feels about the idea of it. “Alone. With you?”
Arms crossed over my chest to hide the clench of my fists, I give him a bland smile. “Kait was here all day. Alone. With me.” Watching him stomp past me to slam his way through the screen door, I make myself count to ten before I allow myself to follow him. Stepping into the house, I watch as my brother all but slams the box of take-out on top of the counter before he starts to rifle through it. “Isn’t that what you asked me for? To let her hang out here so she could study for finals?”
“Tell me you didn’t.” He snarls it at me instead of answering my question, a rabid junkyard dog, protecting his territory. Even with his assurances that his feelings for Kait are not romantic, I feel the back of my neck tighten. The ugly, black thing that I’ve only ever felt when I think about her with someone else, starts to snap and tear at my guts.
“Tell you I didn’t what ?” Faking ignorance, I widen my gaze in mock confusion. “Ohhh….” Giving him an oh shit grin, I bob my head. “You mean, tell me you didn’t fuck my precious little ranch girl , right?” Even as I say it, I feel like an asshole because being with Kait, making her come, was more than just fucking—no matter how much I wish it wasn’t. “Sorry—as I’ve made abundantly clear to the both of you—I might be an asshole but I’m no liar.”
“You selfish fucking prick,” he barks at me while he practically fast pitches a grease-stained, brown paper bag at my face. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“You keep asking me that—” Catching it, I resist the urge to throw it back. “and I keep telling you— a lot . There’s a lot wrong with me.” Carrying the bag to the kitchen, I toss it onto the counter between us. “Pick a different tune.”
“Alright—how’s this one? Did you even try?” Dropping the bag in his hand on a scoff, Damien shakes his head. “Did you even fucking try to be decent enough to leave her alone?”
“No.” It’s true. As fucked up as it is, I didn’t even pump the breaks. “But to be perfectly clear—neither did she.”
When I say it his shoulders stiffen. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” When all I do is stare at him, he visibly blanches. “What did you do to her?”
Thinking of all the things I’ve done to Kait over the last twelve hours, I shake my head. “Nothing she didn’t want me to.” I could get graphic. Give him details that would probably put a definitive end to the fragile relationship we’ve started to build over the last few weeks but I don’t because even though I know it’s going to end that way, I don’t want to help it along. I want to keep my brother for as long as I can. Even if it’s just for a few more minutes.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He looks genuinely confused. Like he might not know Kait as well as he thinks he does and the thought of it upsets him.
“It means Kait’s future is pretty fucking bleak—so don’t judge her for how she chooses to survive what’s coming.” I serve him a version of his earlier words to me. From the look on his face, he doesn’t like the taste of them any more than I did. “Look…” Reaching up, I drag a rough hand across my mouth. “Kait’s a big girl. She’s more than capable of handling herself. She’ll be just fine, no matter what happens—trust me.”
“ Trust you ?” He gives me another shitty scoff. “You’re fucking kidding, right?”
“I’m leaving,” I tell him without preamble, my answer wiping the old anger off his face and replacing it with new.
“What the hell do you mean, you’re leaving ?” He shakes his head at me.
“It’s not a secret code,” I tell him on a shitty laugh of my own. “I’m done here. Time to go.”
“You’re done . Right…” Damien shakes his head on a bitter laugh. “You had your fun and fuck the consequences because they’re not yours to deal with.”
Just like Dad.
He doesn’t say it out loud.
Doesn’t have to—I heard the rest of it, loud and clear.
“Something like that.” I give him a shrug to cover up the fact that I’m struggling with this a lot more than I thought I would be. Picking up the grease spotted bag, I poke it at him. “Thanks for dinner but you don’t have to stay. Matter of fact, it’s probably better if you don’t.”
For a second, all we do is stand here and stare at each other. Finally, Damien moves.
“Don’t ever fucking call me again,” he snarls at me on his way out. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re not my brother.”
He slams the door between us before I can agree.