Page 74 of Lace 'em Up

“Never.”

“My sweet boy,” she murmurs again. Then shakes her head. “Go pack, baby. I’ll get to baking.”

I kiss her cheek, pat my pooch on his fluffy butt. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Anytime, baby.”

And then I go into the hall, take the stairs.

I do pack a suitcase.

Which centers me enough so that I can go back down and help my mom with the brownies, stealing more than my fair share, even as I consume half the pie.

My stomach full of carbs and refined sugar—so much so that I feel sick—I soak in this time with her, catching up on all the gossip about my siblings, chatting with my dad, who calls her telling her that he and the team he coaches are en route to home from the road trip he was on, listening to her lunch date with her friend Cathy (and surmising that their friendship seems to be cooling, likely because the blind date she’d set up with Cathy’s daughter, Stacy, had been a disaster).

Something else to feel guilty for.

But before that takes hold of me, she’s distracting me with a story about the twins and some Silly String and Jakob coming home to a mess that…

Suffice to say, reached epic proportions.

We laughed, we reminisced, we ate, and while I love these moments and I love my mom, I can’t lie.

My focus is on the front door.

On the empty driveway.

On the fact that my bed stays empty when I go to sleep that night.

And remains that way when my alarm goes off early the next morning.

Twenty-Two

Rory

The knock on my door has me glancing up, seeing that Jean-Michel is standing in the doorway.

“Getting an early start,” he says, gaze searching mine.

I tap at the keyboard, saving my work, then push the tray in. “I have a lot to catch up on.”

His gaze flicks down to my hand then back up to my eyes, something flaring there that sends a shiver down my spine.

It’s deadly.

That look is…deadly.

“Apparently”—those eyes flick down and back up again—“so do I.”

I still, stomach twisting and confusion spinning through my mind. Then my own eyes drift down to my hand and?—

The ring.

Shit.

“King’s been busy.”

Three deadly words.

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