Chapter 20

The ring feels heavy.

It shouldn't, considering it's just a ring of metal and stone, albeit the diamond ringed by pale blue gems is large—ridiculously large under any circumstance, but also ridiculously large for a fake engagement ring.

This is pretend.

And I've got two carets sitting on my finger.

My charm bracelet looks silly next to the glamorous piece of jewelry, and I fight the urge to take it off.

That drags me to my senses more rapidly than a bucket of icy water over my head.

I hid who I was once.

I'm not doing it again.

The bracelet is staying, no matter what.

Warm fingers wrap around my hand, and King draws it up to his mouth, presses his lips to the back of it. "Perfect fit," he murmurs, and those words echoed back to me, glide like silk over my skin, the gentlest of kisses.

I throw my arms around his shoulders, press my body flush to his, and I kiss him.

Not gently.

Not gliding my lips over his flesh.

Instead, I kiss him with every bit of longing that's been inside me since the moment I first saw the gossipy TikTok about him, about King Bang, the bachelor hockey player. The blogger had expounded on all of his talents (which were more about the way he looked and who he'd dated and less about his skills on the ice).

Not that I know much about the sport even now.

I'm learning, and Chrissy and Jean-Michel are good teachers.

But…a bunch of giants swinging sticks at a little rubber disc doesn't appeal to me all that much, and it probably won't ever.

I like it when they score.

And when they fight.

And—

A soft growl against my mouth.

"Pay attention," King orders fiercely, arm wrapping around my waist and dragging me flush against him. He nips at my bottom lip, making me gasp, and then promptly takes advantage of my distraction to slip his tongue in, teasing mine, kissing me until my head is spinning and my knees are jelly.

Something he must sense because that arm around my middle tightens and he lifts me, setting me on the counter.

I gasp, but it's surprise mixed with heat, frenzy with pleasure, need with beauty.

I'm not thinking straight—clearly, because who in their right mind could be thinking straight with a man like Kingston Bang surrounding her, touching and stroking, kissing and tasting?

And that's why I don't realize.

Why I don't sense the metal clasp of my bracelet catching on the fabric of his shirt until it's too late.

We're both too far gone in the kiss, both too wrapped up in each other, in the moment, in the kiss that's sparked like fire through my veins.

I encounter resistance, my first sign, but I don't process it quickly enough, stilling as he's moving, those big muscles flexing, all of the strength in his athletic body already in motion.

He grips my hips and tugs me toward the lip of the counter, ass resting on the edge.

But my body is moving the other way, seeking purchase in the stability of the granite surface.

And…my bracelet, the cheap, tarnished silver that a little girl loved—loves—so deeply…

Gives way.

Metal flexes, snaps.

Charms slide from the thin chain, scattering this way and that in a cacophony of broken memories that wake Zeus from his deep, past-his-bedtime slumber and sends him from his bed in a mess of nails clawing the floor to find purchase, barks to fend off the imaginary scary intruder, and then—almost as rapidly—excitement in realizing he'd slept through his master's arrival.

"Wait," King orders through the chaos, steadying me, nudging me back so that I don't topple from the counter. "Zeus, wait."

There's laughter in his tone.

But only for a second, his hands tightening on my waist for a heartbeat before he lets go in a rush.

"Zeus, no!"

I'm spinning, reeling, blinking at the sudden change.

Kissing to chaos. Cradled close, protected to…alone on a cold, hard counter.

Then he's bending.

And I process.

"Oh God," I whisper, scooching to the end of the counter, looking between my naked wrist and the charms scattered on the floor.

Charms that are being chewed up like a scattering of tasty kibble by Zeus.

"Oh my God," I say, still whispering as I push off, settle my feet on the ground. "My?—"

Tears are stinging the backs of my eyes, even before I realize that King is bending, gripping his mouth, swiping a finger inside.

And that cheap, tarnished chain is retrieved from his mouth.

But one glance tells me enough.

It's ruined.

And something inside me, one of those long-buried fragile and hidden pieces…

Shatters.

"No," I whisper, dropping to my knees, hands darting in all directions, trying to gather up the pieces.

But they're wet and chewed and broken.

Like the chain.

Like…me.

Chewed up. Dropped into a puddle on the side of the road. Broken into a million pieces.

Loss and grief and change.

Nothing permanent.

Nothing that's precious to me is safe.

Not ever.

"Excuse me," I whisper, pushing up to my feet. "I?—"

King glances up from his spot next to Zeus, lightly chastising the pup.

"Not his fault," I say. "I?—"

I should have known better than to care, to expose those soft, real parts of my soul to the world.

I. Should. Have. Known. Better.

Keep it locked up in a tiny wooden box, safe and sound and tucked away.

"I need to go," I whisper.

"Princess," he begins.

But I don't sit in that endearment, don't allow myself to feel it, and I don't stay.

I just turn for the hall, shove my feet into my Crocs—Crocs King bought me so I'd have something comfortable to wear after he'd hidden my heels. Crocs that are gentle on the mostly healed wounds on the bottoms of my feet.

Crocs that made me think I could be something different, just for a little while.

But…it's fake.

It's not for me.

It's—

Go. Now.

My purse is on the table, my keys easily accessible in the front pocket.

I have them out and in my hands a moment later, am turning the knob to open the door when I sense King behind me.

"Rory," he begins, but I put my hand up.

"I need to go."

Zeus is in his arms, eyes wide and sad and guilty, sending my heart thrumming, guilt churning anew in my belly.

But I don't feel that as much as the drive to leave.

To escape.

"Okay," King says, lifting his free hand, holding it out to me as though I'm a panicked animal.

And I suppose I am—or at least, I'm acting like one.

"Okay," he repeats. "I get that you need to go. I just?—"

I tug the door open, step outside, feeling the cool lick of the night's air on my heated skin.

"Are you coming back?" he asks, jarring me from the sensation, from that sweet kiss of night.

I close my eyes against the sight of him standing there, concern and fatigue etched into the lines of his face.

I think about his shit week. I think about the stress of all those failed dates and him not wanting to disappoint his mom.

I think about waking in the warm, comforting circle of his arms and the rage on his face when he saw the bruises that Phillip gave me.

And…

I nod.

"Yes," I whisper.

Then I turn and run away.

And, like usual, I don't have any plan of where I'm going.