“Definitely,” Iris agrees. “He’ll have to keep you on. Especially when he starts working again.”
I exhale. “I really hope you guys are right because—sweet lord—I can’t go back to making cappuccinos for a living.”
The girls laugh. I force myself to join in.
The conversation moves on. Penny announces that Walker asked her to marry him last night and that the wedding will be in a few weeks. Excitement fills the room, especially when she asks us all to be in the wedding party. This engagement was a long time coming. Mrs. Kingston will be hosting a family dinner tomorrow night to celebrate. As happy as I am for my friend, I just can’t seem to stay focused on the conversation.
My mind drifts back to Eli at breakfast earlier. There was so much vitriol in his dark eyes when he glowered at me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the man was dangerous. He’s harboring so much anger. So much venom. I’m just not sure why that’s directed quite so squarely at me.
And more than anything, I wish I didn't feel such a strong pull toward him. Instead of withering and fading away, my attraction to the man only seemed to grow stronger with each tense second that ticked by in the dining room.
Maybe it's just the excitement. Maybe I like the thrill. Maybe it’s just morbid curiosity.
Maybe I’m freakin’ insane.
In any case, it’s clear Eli Kingston is no prince charming. He’s the bad guy in my version of this story, especially if he wants to keep me from doing the job I love.
5 Eli
I shift my weight back and forth, and the sounds of the creaky porch grate on my nerves.
My now-dilapidated house sits in a cove of old maple trees. Years of weathering and lack of attention have completely run down the place my little family once called home.
The floorboards that run along the porch—the porch I built with my own two hands before the wedding—are now rotted and moldy. The yard and flowerbeds are completely conquered by overgrown weeds and tree suckers.
There’s a small clearing with a view of the river. And judging by the ridges and debris in the driveway, it looks like the river has flooded at least once during my incarceration.
As if I didn’t already have enough shit working against me. Let’s just add Mother Nature’s additional fuck-you to the list.
They took my freedom. My wife. My kid. My job.
“You’re not taking the house, too!” I yell out into the emptiness around me.
The rumble of my voice reverberates in the quiet air. The dense copse of trees absorbs the sound. Thank God no one’s bulldozed any of the wooded area that fortifies my little section of the family property. Hell, I’m half-surprised my folks didn’t flatten the whole damn house while I was away. I’ve been secluded for years, but this…this is a welcome kind of seclusion.
I glance up at the decaying structure around me and the lush, thick forest fencing me off from the world. Home. I’m home.
Despite all the bubbling resentment about my circumstances, I sure am grateful to be back here.
My old cellmate, Rivers, was always encouraging me to get into gratitude, meditation, positive thinking. He was totally into all that New Age stuff. He was also into identity theft, bribery and embezzlement, mind you, so his credibility was definitely an issue. But I’ve got to admit the closing my eyes, deep-breathing and taking stock of all the things I could be thankful for did save me from more than one prison-yard scuffle.
Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I shove my key in the lock and push inside.
The front door creaks even louder than the rickety porch. That stale, empty house smell smacks me in the face immediately. The nostalgia punches me so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t crack open my chest.
Nearly everything is untouched. Just the way I left it—if you don’t count the inch of dust covering everything the eye can see. There’s more than just some light dusting, sweeping and mopping on the agenda.
The carpet, rugs, and curtains…well, I don’t have the patience to shampoo and steam the stench out of those. I pinch the bridge of my nose.
Thankfully, someone came and threw some plastic over my furniture, so I can at least salvage that. It was probably Ma.
I doubt my brothers did a damn thing to help out around the place while I was locked up. I’m not sure why I thought Walker might send someone down to at least keep the ceiling fans going or mow the lawn in my absence. It’s like they all forgot about me when I was gone. Everyone’s lives kept on moving while I was sitting behind bars, my entire existence stuck on pause.
I hate being bitter about it but as I wander around, assessing the workload ahead of me—yet another heap of obstacles that I’ll have to tackle on my own, always on my own—it’s hard to assuage the resentment.
Feeling overwhelmed, I stalk toward the fireplace mantle, eyeballing the many knickknacks and picture frames Gabby placed up there. I spot a copy of my grandfather’s favorite book, Lessons the Successful Man Must Never Forget. Gramps gifted me with my own personal copy when I took over as CEO of Kingston Realties. I flip through the pages and come across the old man’s favorite quote.
To know who will betray you most devastatingly, look to the one you trust most ardently.
Yeah, tell me about it…
I set down the book and focus on the picture frames. There’s a photo of the three of us at the hospital when Callie was born. There’s another of the girls that I took as we walked by the river out back. There’s a few different
