Page 47 of Kings Don't Break

The worst part is the fact that I’m fully aware Blake sees me—he’s watching as I tense up into some malfunctioning robot that can’t even pour a damn cup of coffee the right way. Even more confusingly, my head is polluted with thoughts about what Ken would do in this moment.

The anxiety I’m already living with shoots through the roof. The mug in my hand slips out of my grasp altogether and shatters on the tiled floor.

“Oh my god,” I choke out. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to break it. I’ll clean it up right now?—”

“Kori—”’

“I’ll sweep it up,” I say desperately, bustling from the kitchen to the hall closet. “I’ll make more coffee. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Blake catches me on passing. His fingers shut around my forearm and he slows me down to a complete stop. “Kori, what did I tell you about apologizing? I’m not angry, okay? Accidents happen. I’m more concerned about you. You’re shaking.”

So I am.

I’ve gone from stiff as a board to shaking chihuahua in five seconds flat. It’s not until Blake points it out that I realize I’m a jittery, panicked mess. My heart’s twitching in my chest and I’ve started wringing my hands.

Once I realize this, I drop them to my sides, forcing myself to stop the nervous habit.

The most embarrassing part is the pity in Blake’s eyes—he’d say differently, but it’s there in the deep, sparkling blue of them—the sad feelings he has witnessing me like this.

I don’t want to be pitied. I don’t want to be treated like I’m fragile.

But it’s my fault. I’ve behaved like I am.

I swallow and drop my gaze from his. “I don’t know how to act, Blake. Maybe I need to be alone. Check in at some motel and just…”

…wallow in misery.

I don’t finish my train of thought.

“Hey,” he says, cupping my chin and lifting my gaze back to his. “I want you to be yourself. But what I don’t want is for you to feel you have to act in fear. I promise I’m not letting anything happen to you, Kori. You’re safe here, okay?”

My heart fills with warmth and affection peering into his gaze. Guilt nags at me too, chastising me for ever thinking there was pity on Blake’s part. He’s my best friend. Always has been and always will be—he doesn’t pity me, just like I never pitied him when we were kids. I always wanted what was best for him.

He wants what’s best for me.

I give him the only smile I’m capable of. A slight quirk of my lips. “Thank you for understanding.”

“We’ll talk more about it later. Should we wake Sunny up now or let her sleep in some more?”

I never get a chance to answer. A light fist double taps at the door and two silhouettes appear in the sheer curtains covering the window.

Blake must know who it is. He leaves me in the kitchen to go answer without an ounce of surprise.

“Mace, brother.” He opens his arms for a quick brotherly hug, then steps aside to let Mason enter.

He’s not alone. A very pretty, tall, curvy Black woman I’ve never seen before enters along with him. She drips with curiosity as she glances around the trailer, her hands stowed inside the pockets of a leather bomber jacket and her honey-colored hair pulled into a messy bun.

Her eyes light up when she sees me, her lips cracking a smile. “You must be Korine. I’m Sydney.”

She holds up a hand in a wave. I can’t hide my confusion quick enough as I glance over to Blake.

Mason answers first. He hasn’t changed in the last decade since I’ve seen him—except he’s grown a few inches taller, gotten more tattoos, and packed on even more muscle than he had in high school. His green eyes flash with amusement as he juts his chin at the Black woman he’s come with.

“Sydney’s my old lady. I brought her by to meet you ’cuz I figured you’d be bored outta your mind if it was just me and Cash shooting the shit.”

It’s an excuse.

I can pick up that much. Blake invited Mason over to talk club business and asked if he’d bring his girlfriend to get through to me. Woman to woman.