Page 16 of Kylo
I might not have known who I was expecting.
But I did know it wasn’t Rue.
I’d been walking in, maybe figuring it was more of a middle-aged or older woman, possibly someone in a rainbow skirt with lots of necklaces and gemstone bracelets.
I definitely wasn’t prepared for a woman a little younger than me with her red-brown hair, sharp features, stormy eyes, and lips just begging to be kissed, wearing a worn pair of overalls with nothing underneath but a yellow bra that was not hiding the fact that she thought the air was on just a little too high for her comfort.
I’d wanted more time to talk to her. To, you know, feel shit out. Not any other reason. But when we got back into the shop, her assistant had been the one to guide the conversation.
The guy was nice but as subtle as a brick. He kept trying to find common interests between myself and Rue. He’d gotten desperate enough to harp on the fact that we both liked coffee and dogs.
I didn’t go right back to the clubhouse after I left, though.
No, I turned off the road toward it and drove down the block to a small neighborhood of new townhouses.
I’d seen the sign go up about two years before.
The price on them just so happened to be the exact amount of money I had sitting in a safety deposit box. Money that kept coming in for my work at the club that I had nothing to spend on, since the food and bills were all paid for by Huck.
It felt like a nudge from some higher power, like the universe itself understood that some part of me was reaching for something that was my own again.
As much as I loved the club and the brotherhood I found there, I’d always been someone who had to take care of themself, who always had a place and plan of my own.
Really, the only thing wrong about it was the fact that I hadn’t told the club about it.
I knew keeping secrets and shit like that wasn’t allowed. At first, as the townhouses were being built, some part of me felt like there was nothing to tell Huck and the others because I didn’t technically have a house yet.
It had only been about two months since the house was finished. Less time, even, since I had the paperwork signed and a key in my hand.
Once Huck was back, I was going to have to tell him. However uncomfortable that might be.
I followed the winding street through sets of townhouses grouped in fours, each with slightly different façades, though the pattern repeated with each group.
Full red brick front, white siding front, full gray brick front, gray siding front. Shower, rinse, repeat. The only differences were the personal touches and the cars in the driveway.
I lucked out with a full red brick, which meant I got to be the corner lot. There was a slightly bigger lawn, though I didn’t really care about that. I liked that there were only neighbors to one side, not leaving me sandwiched between other houses.
I pulled up the driveway, seeing nothing but lines on my lawn, thanks to the service that was paid for through our HOA fees. My house was the blandest in the neighborhood. It seemed like everyone else got their keys then got right to work making the exterior distinct—wreaths on the doors, bright, happy flowers in the beds, novelty mailboxes, or solar lights.
Mine, by contrast, looked like no one lived there.
It was fitting.
I didn’t.
But maybe someday.
And it was where my plants were going to live, since one thing the new house did have was amazing windows and light. I also didn’t have any curtains, so there was nothing to obstruct it.
I took the new plants inside in trips, setting them on the edge of the pass-through toward the kitchen that sat at the front of the house just behind the entryway with its powder room, door to the garage, and door to the mechanical room.
On the other side of the passway from the kitchen was a tiny dining space that flowed into a grand living room with a fifteen-foot ceiling and windows that crept all the way up. A fireplace was on the wall—all white marble. Then there was the stairway up to the second and third floors.
The second floor featured only the primary bedroom and bath. The third floor had two smaller bedrooms with a shared bath.
It was pretty large for a townhouse, and it was nice feeling like I had room to breathe. I don’t think I realized how claustrophobic I’d been feeling at the often-packed clubhouse until I got inside and felt my shoulders drop and my jaw unclench.
There wasn’t anything inside. No rugs covered up the dark wood that stretched across the whole lower floor. There were no couches, no end tables, no art on the white walls. The kitchen—with its white cabinets and white marble countertops—didn’t have any plates or forks in the cabinets or drawers. The fridge had nothing good inside it. There wasn’t even a coffee machine on the counter.
