Page 69 of The Kings
“Eliza?”
“Go away.”
“Can’t do that.”
She sighs heavily. “Fine, come in.”
“Hey,” I start carefully, opening the door and stepping into the room. “Are you okay?” It’s a stupid question, but it’s all I have.
Her gaze flicks to me, those striking green eyes haunted and guarded. She gives a slight nod, but her body screams the opposite.
“That’s the million-pound question, now, isn’t it?”
“You tell me.”
The silence stretches between us, loaded with unspoken fears and questions. I want to reach out and pull her into my arms, but I hold back. Eliza doesn’t operate like that—she decides when and if she lets someone in.
“James, I—“ Her voice cracks, and she cuts off.
Taking it as an invitation, I close the distance between us, stepping into her space. As I reach out, my fingers brush against the skin of her arm, light as a feather. It’s a silent offer, a lifeline in this suffocating atmosphere. “Eliza...”
She flinches ever so slightly but doesn’t pull away. Her eyes flick up to mine, and vulnerability flashes through that steely green for a heartbeat.
“James...” she whispers, her usual fire dimmed.
“Whatever it is, you can tell me, us,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “We’re not going anywhere. If you want one of the other guys, that’s fine. I know our relationship is difficult, but you need to talk this out with someone. “
“You think our relationship is difficult?” she asks with a frown.
“You don’t?” I ask with a note of hope in my tone.
“I wouldn’t saydifficult. Different, maybe.”
Yeah, different about covers it all right.
It takes her a moment to consider the cost of her words. Then, she exhales sharply, and those floodgates she’s built so high begin to crack. “I think I met my brother today.”
Narrowing my eyes with a frown, I murmur, “Brother?” There has been no mention of another Hughes heir. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really, but I guess there’s no choice. Not talking about it isn’t going to make it go away.”
“True.”
“That guy at the house before? The one I was fighting. I knew there was something familiar about the way he moved in combat. He looks just like my dad.”
“Doesn’t mean he is your brother.”
“Kind of does.”
“How so?”
“I mean, he is practically identical, if twenty years younger.”
“Maybe he’s your uncle?”
“Oh, fuck you,” she growls. “I didn’t even think of that!”
“Sorry,” I murmur.
