Page 29 of Risk (Gods #3)

K aden’s wearing a ball cap and jogging bottoms that are slung low.

He’s carrying a box full of my books, making his T-shirt lift with the effort, giving me a nice view of those abs I recall so well at inappropriate, mostly random times of the day.

His bicep muscles flex, and the veins in his forearms show.

And it’s just ridiculously hot. He’s ridiculously hot.

And I need to stop staring. I force my eyes ahead and stare at the blurry reflection of myself in the elevator door.

The elevator pings, and the doors open into his hallway. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the fanciness of living in a place with an elevator as its front door.

Kaden gestures for me to go out first, even though he’s the one carrying a heavy box.

The rest of my stuff is in his truck downstairs, which he’s going to go and get. Apparently, I’m not allowed to help or carry anything, which is stupid. But I’m letting him have his manly moment.

My brothers all offered to help me move in, but Kaden was adamant that he could move me in himself, so I just went with the flow.

It’s not like I have much to move. Just my clothes, books, beauty essentials, and random knickknacks.

I don’t have any furniture, as the university housing was fully furnished.

I’m not sure if Kaden feels he needs to prove himself to me or what, but whatever it is, I have no problem with him lugging my stuff up here, if it makes him feel better, as I get to see those muscles on display and watch him get all hot and sweaty. Win-win for me.

I follow Kaden down the hall, and he puts the box down on the kitchen island and opens the fridge, getting out two bottles of water and handing one to me.

A ball of cream fur leaps up onto the counter, making me jump.

“Oh my God!” I press my hand to my chest, my heart thumping from the surprise. The fluffy cat plonks its butt down and stares at me. “You have a cat?” I say to Kaden.

“Didn’t I tell you?”

He uncaps his water and drinks from the bottle. I’m momentarily sidetracked, watching the way his throat moves as he swallows down the liquid.

I shake my head. “I didn’t see this little cutie when I was here”— to tell you I was pregnant —“that first visit.” Seems like a better option to go for than the reminder of how horrible that moment was.

“He’s shy. Usually stays hidden when people first come over.”

Now, I want to ask if he has many people over—namely women.

Something comes over his face, and it looks a lot like concern. “Shit, you don’t have animal allergies, do you?”

“No allergies, and even if I did, I wouldn’t care because he is the most adorable cat I’ve ever seen.

” I put my water bottle down and cup the kitty’s grumpy face in my hands.

He starts to purr into my palm, and it tickles me.

“I love his little scowl—which I’m hoping is permanent and not just for my benefit? ”

“It’s permanent. Living with Balboa is like being judged on the daily.”

“Balboa. As in Rocky Balboa?”

He gives me a shy smile. “I never claimed to be original.”

“Screw originality. Zeus had us watching the Rocky movies the moment we were old enough to. I love the name Balboa. And I love him.”

“Already?”

“Instantly.”

I pick up Balboa and hug him to my chest, loving how he nuzzles into me, purring.

“I got him from the animal rescue center when I first got this apartment. From the moment I had seen him, I was done for. They told me he’d been at the center for eighteen months.

They didn’t know anything about his past. They thought he’d been born on the streets.

He came in as a stray, and they estimated his age was about six months old.

No one seemed to want him, as they always walked past him.

They said he was becoming depressed. I know what that feels like—not being wanted…

” He gives an easy shrug, like his words didn’t just hit me with the impact of a wrecking ball.

“So, I knew he had to come home with me. When I first brought him home, he hid around the apartment for the first few weeks. I’d have to leave his food out, and he’d come out of his hiding places and eat while I slept at night.

I got one of those kitty cams so I could keep an eye on him.

Just see that he was okay. And then, one evening, I was sitting on the sofa, eating dinner and watching Rocky V , and he just appeared out of nowhere.

Hopped up onto the sofa and curled up beside me.

And he’s been like that ever since. That’s why I named him Balboa. ”

I lift Balboa up so we’re face-to-face. “Yeah, you are definitely a Balboa. A strong, resilient fighter. Just like your dad.”

I hear a self-derogatory grunt come from Kaden, which I ignore. He is a fighter. And I don’t mean his previous occupation. I mean a fighter in life. Everything he has overcome to be where he is now. To be the man he is now.

“What was his name before that?” I ask, guessing the shelter would have named him.

“Dudley.”

“Dudley?” I echo with a grimace.

“Think the woman who ran the shelter was a Harry Potter fan. There were a good few animals with Harry Potter–related names.”

“Better than Dudley, I hope? Honestly, a true Harry Potter fan would never name this cutie kitty Dudley.” I press my nose to Balboa’s. “Or any animal for that matter. The Dursleys are the worst.”

“Right?” he agrees on a chuckle. “Unless their favorite character is Voldemort.”

I frown at that. “You really think a person who rescues animals could be a Death Eater?”

He chuckles again, presumably at my Death Eater reference, then shrugs his shoulders. “You know, some people have some pretty fucking weird quirks.”

I raise a brow at him. “Any you have that I should be aware of?”

The jovial expression drops from his face, and I think I’ve pushed the fun too far or that he has a weird quirk—which is worrying, to say the least, considering I’ve just moved in with the man.

“Um…” He rubs his forehead and sits down on one of the barstools.

“No quirks that I can think of, but…well, this is probably another thing that we should have talked about before you moved in. Um…” He links his fingers together and rests them on the countertop as he looks at me.

“I don’t know how much you know about my past. I know what’s readily available about me online, but I don’t want to be an arrogant prick and think you’ve googled me. ”

Of course I’ve googled him. Just to look at pictures of him.

Sue me, but he’s hot. But I never read anything about him.

I know from my two older brothers being in the spotlight that not everything printed is accurate.

Actually, it’s lies more often than not or an overexaggeration of the truth over the facts.

The truth isn’t always interesting or juicy enough for people to want to read.

But then there are times when it is. And something tells me that this is going to be one of those times.

“I haven’t googled you.” It’s a small lie. I’m not gonna tell him I used to lust over pictures of him.

I take a seat on the barstool across from him, keeping hold of Balboa, who seems quite content in my arms. Using my training, I school my features to neutral, but give him a warm smile to encourage him to continue talking.

“Shit. I really don’t know how to say this. It’s not something I talk about often, and in recent years, there’s only been one person I’ve told it to.”

“Zeus?” I ask softly.

“Yeah. I was drunk and at my lowest.”

It hurts me that he was ever low. And that to tell whatever this is to another human being, the one man he considers family, he had to be drunk to share it.

He looks away, staring out of the floor-to-ceiling window to the left of us—one of the many windows that encapsulate his apartment. I feel like whatever it is he’s seeing right now is not the same thing I’m seeing.

He scrubs his hand over his face, sighing, and I’ve seen the move enough times on other people to know he’s rubbing away a memory he doesn’t want to see.

“You don’t have to tell me,” I say gently. “It’s okay.”

He looks at me. “No, you’re living with me. You’re carrying my children. You, more than anyone else, have a right to know the kind of man you’re doing those things with.”

I feel like he’s trying to scare me, but I know for sure that there is no way Zeus would have allowed me to live with him, let alone have Kaden in his life and around Cam and the girls, if he thought for one second that Kaden was a danger to anyone.

“Okay,” is all I say. There’s nothing more I can say until I know what I’m working with here.

The ball cap comes off his head. His fingers run through those overgrown dirty-blond strands before the cap is tugged back down, pulling the brim lower, covering his eyes.

Because whatever he’s about to tell me, he’s ashamed of it.

I love my career path in life. But sometimes, I wish, in my own personal circumstances, I could switch my brain off to the psychology of people.

“You know I was in foster care. That I grew up in the system until I aged out.”

I nod. I know this because it is something he’s told me himself.

We didn’t have a full conversation about it.

He just casually mentioned it once. I know that’s how he deals with the big stuff, the things that have happened to him.

He mentions them in a casual way because these types of conversations are hard for him.

Painful, I’d say, from the tightening in his shoulder muscles.

The clenching and unclenching of his hands.

“The reason I was in the system was because…” He stands, then moves behind the barstool. I’m guessing the island wasn’t enough of a barrier between us.

His big, strong hands grip ahold of the back of the stool. I can tell how tight he’s holding on from the whitening of his knuckles.