Page 90 of Kings Don't Break

Blake blows out a rough breath. “Kori, this is probably a mistake.”

I reach for his hand. “It doesn’t have to be. You won’t know ’til you give it a chance.”

“I have given it chances. It always ends one way. We don’t speak for a reason.”

He spends another moment peering at the weathered house across the street. The Cash family hasn’t taken care of their property—the home’s long overdue for a fresh coat of paint and the grass is brown and patchy. The only tree in the yard died some time ago, standing barren and leafless.

Once upon a time, it’d grown lemons. The same tree Blake had sat in as he watched my family move in.

An unwashed station wagon sits in the drive, streaked with dirt and debris.

If the lights weren’t on, I’d assume no one lived here. Compared to the home next door—my childhood home—it’s night and day.

I give Blake’s hand a squeeze. “Ready?”

His deep sigh serves as his answer. His energy’s different tonight. It’s as worn as the house he used to live in. He’s pulled his golden hair into a ponytail, presumably to avoid any comments from his parents, and put on a button-down shirt. An attempt at a good impression he clearly doesn’t think is even worth the effort.

We cross the street in step and hand in hand.

Determination beats through me. I’m ready to help in any way I can.

After everything Blake’s done for me in recent weeks, being the support he’s been, it’s the least I can do.

When we reach the doorstep, I lean over and press my finger to the doorbell. Only a weak buzz sounds. It must need to be replaced like many other things on the property. I knock instead.

“Who’s pounding on my door?” screeches Mrs. Cash from inside the home.

A slender silhouette bobs behind the sheer curtain until the door’s wrenched open and we find ourselves staring at the sixty-something woman.

“Oh,” she bleats as if disappointed. “Right. Forgot you were coming. Well, get in here. Don’t want the heat to get out.”

We step into the tight space littered with old magazines and boxes of things collected over time. Cigarette smoke assaults my sense of smell. I hold in a cough that winds up croaking out of me anyway the next time I go to talk.

It’s a question asking if Mrs. Cash needs any help preparing dinner.

She swats a hand at me like you would a bothersome gnat. “It’s all good. Just head to the dining room. Bill’s waiting.”

I feel Blake tense at my side. His solid muscles strain and tauten. His grip on my hand tightens to the point of pain. I slip it out of his grasp to an apologetic look from him.

We do as Mrs. Cash says and wander into the dining room. Like the other rooms in the home, it’s crowded with stacks of years-old magazines and newspapers. The furniture from the tops of the chairs to the cushions and the edges of the table are coated in a layer of dust.

But the man seated in the wheelchair eyeing us like mortal enemies takes up most of our attention. If Blake’s father ever possessed even one-tenth the handsomeness of his son, he’s long ago lost it. His hair’s disheveled and uncombed, a color mix of gold, gray, and white. Deep wrinkles punctuate his skin and jowls sag his face. He’s missing teeth and has some of the unfriendliest eyes I’ve ever seen.

Puzzling since Blake’s blue eyes are always sparkling with humor and warmth.

For a long time, he glares and says nothing.

We slide into seats on the far end from where he’s situated. The silence speaks a thousand words, telling the history of a family that’s been torn and ripped apart and never truly recovered. I place my hand on Blake’s thigh under the table to remind him I’m here. I’ll see him through this.

“So,” Bill rasps at last. “You finally decided to turn up. It’s a miracle.”

Blake grinds down on his jaw. “I didn’t come for trouble.”

Bill scoffs. “Didn’t come for trouble—you ever lived a day of your life and didn’t cause trouble? You might have her fooled but you ain’t fooled me.”

I meet Bill’s loathsome stare. He’s never liked me… or my family. One of the many reasons Dad hated that I became friends with Blake. He forbade me from ever going over his house or even interacting with Bill Cash at all.

The man gave off scary and violent vibes even as a child. I more than happily listened.