Page 14 of Keep You Close

It wasn’t until I turned seventeen that the anxieties started. Back when…

Nope.

No.

I wasn’t going there. Not when I was already feeling so out of control.

I leaned against the bathroom wall, eyes closed, trying to focus on my breathing until I could feel the tension loosening up in my chest, could expand my lungs completely again.

I grabbed some tissues, blowing my nose, then grabbed a washcloth, soaking it in cold water, before pressing it into my tear-red eyes.

Down the hallway, I could hear the muffled voices of the men speaking. Likely deciding how long they could possibly give me to collect my things and put me out on the street.

What would I do without this house?

Maybe I could find something short-term. A house rental. An apartment sublet. Just… something until I could figure out my next step.

I made decent money.

I didn’t need to squirrel away as much of it as I did.

It was overkill.

It was just… if I needed a quick out, I wanted to be prepared.

I never wanted to be caught off guard again.

I sniffled hard, then re-wet the washcloth, pressing it to my skin.

No matter what, I would figure it out. I’d gotten this far, right?

King’s voice, familiar and once so comforting, called down the hall, asking me to come out to talk.

“Right,” I said to my reflection. I might as well not have bothered with the compress. I was never someone who could cry and then look like it never happened. I always stayed red—my eyes, the tip of my nose—for hours afterward. And most times, I woke up puffy-eyed the next morning too.

Oh well.

It is what it is.

Taking a deep breath, holding, then releasing, I pulled open the door, and made my way back into the living room where the men were waiting for me.

Kingston’s head tipped toward his shoulder, his brows scrunching, eyes looking sad. Because, of course, he could tell I’d been crying.

Thankfully, though, he didn’t mention it.

“I will just need a couple of hours to, ah, pack my stuff,” I said, hearing the crack in my voice, but ignoring it.

“No, wait,” Kingston said, holding up a hand. “Atlas and I have been talking,” he said. “And we think we might have a possible arrangement that will work for everyone.”

“O…kay,” I said, tone as dubious as I felt.

Kingston looked at Atlas, but he didn’t say anything, leaving his older brother to take the lead.

“Here’s the thing. Atlas is never here. That’s why we had you move in. And he’s only here right now because he needs a place to recover,” he started.

“Yeah,” I said, wincing at his body and having to force back visions of his leg bone sticking out of his leg. What can I say? I didn’t do gore well. Or blood. I once accidentally trimmed Samson’s nails and clipped the quick. It didn’t even bleed that much, but I’d been nauseated the entire day about it.

“And he clearly needs some help here and there. But it’s not easy at our house with the kids. So, we were wondering if maybe it would work for you if you both temporarily cohabitated,” Kingston said.

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