Page 13 of Brash for It (Hellions Ride On #11)

Seven

Kristen

The smell of bacon wakes me before the light does. For a moment, I’m disoriented. I don’t remember the last time I slept so deep. Warm sheets, a heavy weight of safety pressing down on me, my cheek pillowed on something that isn’t mine. I roll over and the blanket falls away, air cool on my skin.

I’m in Kellum’s bed.

Memories pour back in slow, steady waves.

The spa. My Porsche being towed. Brian’s power play disconnecting my phone.

The gate code changed. Kellum’s arms catching me when my knees buckled.

His shirt on my body as I fell asleep against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat guiding me down into the deepest sleep I’ve had in months.

Being here with him, my body relaxes in a way I haven’t ever had before.

The scent of bacon and coffee pulls me upright.

I pad barefoot into the kitchen, my hair damp from sleep, the oversized shirt swallowing me whole.

He’s at the stove, broad back to me, tattoos shifting with every movement of his shoulders.

The Hellions insignia covers his back with smoke surrounding it that looks like it comes from a dragon’s mouth peaking up from his right hip.

A dragon I have learned in watching him covers his left side and works low across his stomach wrapping up to his head breathing fire and smoke to the Hellions insignia.

It’s a beautiful work of art. All of his tattoos are, but I haven’t had the courage to tell him or ask to see the details more closely.

He doesn’t look delicate in this space — he looks like he owns it, even though the kitchen is small and plain and ordinary. The house isn’t large or ornate, it’s very basic. But in this space I feel more like myself than I have since leaving home to go to college.

His head tilts when he hears me. “Mornin’.”

I rub my eyes. “Morning.”

“Sit.” His voice is blunt but not unkind.

I’m beginning to learn this is him. He’s not sharp toned, but he is very direct.

He points at the table where two plates wait.

Scrambled eggs, bacon, toast. Not some pretty presentation on platters like the chef would do for Brian, but food without all the pompous circumstance actually makes me excited to eat even the simplest of things.

I slide into the chair. My stomach twists — hunger and dread mixed together. He sets the pan down after spooning the last of the eggs onto the big plate between us on the table, wipes his hands on a towel, and sits across from me.

“Eat,” he orders.

I pick up my fork, nibble at the eggs, but the lump in my throat makes everything taste like cardboard. He studies me, but doesn’t touch his own food

“Why the sad face?” he asks finally scooping a bite of eggs for himself, still watching me with sharp gray eyes.

The words hit harder than I expect. I stare down at the plate, fork trembling in my hand. “Because I don’t know what to do.”

“About what?”

“My life.” It spills out before I can stop it. My voice cracks on the word. As comfortable as I am here, how do I find my place in basic? I know it sounds snobby and I don’t want to be this entitled bitch, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.

He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, waiting. He’s not the type to fill silence with reassurances. If I want to say it, I have to say it, that is something I have noticed with Kellum. He wants people to lay it out without filler words or unnecessary chatter.

I set the fork down, push the plate away. “I don’t… I don’t have anyone, Kellum. My family doesn’t,” I pause wondering how much to share. “um, live here. I moved for Brian. I thought—” My throat closes. I force air through it.

“Your parents are dead, Kristen. What family do you have?” His words are soft, but a blunt blow nonetheless.

“I met Brian in college. He came to do a presentation in one of the business classes and offered internships. I took one. Soon, my world was consumed in his. Then my parents died. Car accident. It was sudden. They didn’t have siblings and their parents were dead.

There isn’t anyone else. And in time, all the traveling with Brian, I lost touch with the few friends I had.

His life became mine. I stayed here because he hasn’t wanted me to travel with me in recent months and this was his home base to unwind.

He was supposed to be my person. He was my future.

And now he won’t even take my calls. He’s cut me out completely. ”

Kellum doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t offer soft words or pity. He just studies me, expression carved from stone. Finally, he states, “Okay, you’re lost.”

“Yes.” My hands shake so I put them in my lap. “I don’t know how to put the pieces back together. I don’t even know where to start.”

He drums his fingers once on the table, then stills them. “You just do the next thing.”

I blink. “The… what?”

“The next thing.” He leans forward, voice low, steady. “You take shit as it comes. You don’t sit here thinkin’ about the whole damn puzzle. You find the next piece and you put it down. Then you find the next one after that. And before you know it, you got a picture again.”

Tears burn the back of my eyes, but I bite them back. No one’s ever said it like that before — simple, stripped down, no sympathy to soften it. Just truth. Do what you have to do.

“But what if I don’t know what the next thing is?” I whisper.

“Then I help you. Kristen, you got people if you let them in.” He pushes his chair back, stands, and strides over to a drawer by the counter. He pulls it open, digs around, and comes back with a small cardboard box. He tosses it onto the table. “Start with that.”

I stare at the box stupidly. “What is it?”

“A phone. New.” He rips it open, pulls out the pieces, sets the SIM card in, powers it up.

His hands are steady, sure, like even electronics don’t dare fight him.

He taps away for a minute, then slides it across the table.

“There. My number’s in there. Cell and my work numbers.

You got that, you’re not stranded. If I’m unavailable on my cell, you call the work number.

You’ll get my brother’s wife. She’s his secretary.

Jennissey will either get up with me or she’ll get someone to handle shit for me.

The number that says shop is my other job at the Hellions garage.

You call that, you get Pami, she’s Kick and Busted’s mom. She’ll get you sorted for me too.”

My fingers curl around it. It feels heavy with possibility.

“I…” I can’t find words. “I don’t know what to say.”

He shrugs, already moving toward his wallet. “Next thing.” He pulls out a thick stack of bills, peels off a thousand like it’s nothing, and tosses it on the counter. “Go buy some clothes. Keys to the SUV are on the hook by the back door. Use that. Spend the day gettin’ what you need.”

My mouth drops open. “I can’t—Kellum, I can’t take your money?—”

“You can and you will. I didn’t ask if you wanted it, I gave it to you.

Darlin’ don’t ever turn away a gift in life, no matter what it is.

” His eyes cut to mine, sharp enough to pin me in place.

“Don’t get it twisted. I ain’t your man.

I’m not buyin’ your time. You’re a human who needs shit. I’m giving you a head start. Take it.”

I swallow hard, chest tight. He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like survival is just a checklist.

“And tonight,” he adds, voice softer, “we’ll talk about what you want from life.

I got shit to do. I’ll grab something for dinner and we’ll talk when I get home.

Try to be back around five. If you’re gonna be late, that’s fine shoot me a text and I’ll stay at work or find shit to do ‘til you got time for me.”

The tears I’ve been holding back slip free, hot against my cheeks. I look at him, this man who should terrify me but doesn’t. He looks steady. Grounded. Like if I reach for him, he won’t let me fall. He anchors me when the waves are crashing in every direction.

I nod slowly. “Okay.

Swallowing back all the emotions, I get myself together. I don’t cry anymore. I push it back because crying seems like a luxury and I’ve spent enough energy on the wrong things.

“Go on, get dressed if you can’t eat,” Kellum states like he didn’t open the door to some unknown kingdom and turned me loose. “Keys are on the hook by the back door. Black fob with a red plastic wrap around it.”

I look toward the back door and spot the small wall-mounted board with three hooks. A house key. Two bike keys with angry little skull fobs. One black plastic car fob wrapped in red.

The stack of bills on the table stares at me like a dare. I can’t make my hand move toward it.

Kellum sighs, pushes his chair back, and flicks the wad with his finger so it slides closer across the laminate top. “Take it, Kristen. You can feel weird later. Right now we’re doing the next thing.”

“I’ll pay you back,” I blurt, because some pride is still rattling around in the corners of me. “I’m gonna get a job and I’ll pay you back for everything.”

“Okay. Or not. You do you. Whatever you need to do. It makes you feel better than sure, you need it for something later, then don’t sweat it. I’m not.” He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t soften it. Just, okay . The agreement lands like a plank over a gap.

I pick up my purse and tuck the money into the small inner pocket of my bag that used to hold a black card.

The zipper feels louder than it should. I pick up the phone again and thumb the screen.

His number stares up at me, labeled Kellum — Cell , Kellum — Office .

Kellum — Shop No hearts. No silly emoji. Just clear, concise, and direct.

“Shit gets hard, reach out. Text me if you land somewhere,” he begins, halfway to the sink with our plates. “If your hands are shaking and you can’t type, send me a period. I’ll call.”

My laugh is a tiny hitch. “A period?”

“Simple. Universal. I’ll know you’re head’s fucked and I’ll talk you through it.”