Page 46 of Kings Don't Break
“You’re the one who taught me it was okay to hurt,” he says. “That I had to come clean about what was happening to find a way to make it stop.”
“Ironic you’re doing the same for me now.”
“That’s what best friends do.”
After such a heavy heart to heart, we eventually return our attention to the TV as if there’s been no interruption. I lay back down on my side, curling my arm under the pillow.
We watch the movie just like this.
In silence with my feet propped in his lap and our gazes glued to the screen. But it’s not an uncomfortable silence. It feels natural.
Calming.
Every so often, his fingers still skim over the ball of my feet, teasing me like he’s so often done in the past. So many times we did end up like this, with me curled up and him keeping my feet planted in his lap.
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
The movie plays late into the night. For those few hours, I’m forgetting about my trauma and focusing on the characters and storyline. We fall asleep in place on the sofa, with my legs stretched out into Blake’s lap and his head drooped to one side.
When we wake hours later in the middle of the night, Blake casts me a sleepy smile and then pulls the blanket over me before he gets up and wanders over to the nearest window.
I’d like to say I stay up with him, but that’d be a lie. I slip back off to sleep, cocooned in the warmth of the blanket he’s thrown over me.
Our interactions play out like this—Blake seeking to make me feel better and me reluctant to accept such unencumbered kindness.
“I’ll help,” I volunteer one morning as Blake makes the coffee.
He’s gotten into the habit of cooking Mama and me breakfast. Despite our offers to take over, he’s insisted on doing it alone. But after a week, I finally wear him down, coming up on his left side and taking the coffee mugs from his grasp.
Our fingers brush. An unintentional but immediate bout of nerves flicker through me. A familiar reaction whenever his skin meets my skin in any way. In the past, it confused me. To this day, nothing’s changed.
I aim a small, hesitant smile at him.
“Let me,” I say. “It’ll give me something to do.”
He returns my smile with one that forms not only on his mouth, but in his eyes. Humor sparkles in them, the furrow of his brow easing up, and he gives a nod.
“Alright. Coffee’s all you this morning. I’ll get started on the eggs.”
We work in tandem. Blake scrambling up a bowl of half a dozen of eggs, adding pinches of pepper and salt before he pours it onto the hot skillet.
“You know,” he says, “we need to get your things. Have you been thinking about when you want to go by?”
I freeze as I press the on button on the coffee machine and it launches into brewing the coffee grounds. The trickling noises it produces serves as filler for our conversation as I figure out an answer to his question.
“I haven’t thought much about it.”
“We need to do it,” he says. “Sooner rather than later.”
“I’d rather not.”
“You wouldn’t be going alone. I’d be with you. Hell, some of the guys from the club’ll come too. Just to make sure no shit pops off?—”
“Blake,” I breathe, shaking my head.
“Kori,” he says, his tone much firmer than mine. “If you’ve still got your things there, it’s a door left open. It’s leaving things unresolved. We need to get you removed from that situation.”
Tension hardens my bones. My movements become stiff and unnatural as I reach for the coffee mugs and begin pouring. I miss the cup and spill some onto the counter.
