My mother dives headfirst into the interrogation.
“Yes, she’s right here.” I smile at Kennedy, who peeks out at me from behind her hands of shame, looking miserable.
“No, Mom, we didn’t elope. Sorry to disappoint.”
I cover the phone with my palm and give Kennedy the bad news. “Your mother’s looking for you.”
She fully covers her eyes.
But she groans when she hears my answer to my mother’s next question.
“No, Kennedy’s not pregnant with my child. At least—not that I know of.”
A pillow comes flying at my head.
And I respond to my mother’s next question. “She didn’t officially say no to Prince’s proposal—but the odds look pretty good it’ll go down that way the next time she sees him.” I laugh. “A picture, huh? I’ll check it out. Yeah, I think we make a handsome couple too.”
“Where’s my phone?” Kennedy moan-hisses.
“Listen, Mom, I have to go, okay? Yes, I’ll call you back later. No, we can’t put this in the family newsletter. I love you too. Bye.”
I tap the end button and watch as Kennedy drags herself to the edge of the bed. I tilt my head, trying to get another look at the paradise I glimpsed last night.
I’ve been a good, chivalrous guy. I think that deserves a reward.
“My mother says hi, by the way. Your phone is in your purse next to the bed, but it’s dead—your mother killed it last night with call after unanswered call.”
Kennedy’s feet hit the floor. She takes a deep breath, then slowly stands. “They’re going to disown me.”
“Would that really be so bad?”
She limps toward the chair where her clothes are neatly folded.
“Father always wanted a boy. Mother never liked me. This is the moment they’ve been waiting for. They’re going to disinherit me.”
I stand, walking toward her. “I’ll cover you with a loan. At very attractive interest rates—that’s what friends are for.”
Finally her eyes meet mine, and she looks so despondent my heart twists.
“My life is a mess, Brent.”
I brush her hair back. “If you want to make an omelet, you gotta break some eggs. And you, my Little Lush, deserve only gourmet. Your parents will get over it. Everything’s gonna be okay—I promise.”
? ? ?
Before I drive Kennedy home, I change out of last night’s clothes into running shorts and a T-shirt. She climbs out of my car wearing my sweatpants. And even folded at the ankle and cuffed to death at her waist, they’re about twelve sizes too large.
She looks fucking adorable.
As we get to her front porch, the rear door of a black SUV with tinted windows parked at the curb opens. And out steps David Prince—dark sunglasses on his face, his brown hair perfectly sideswept and visibly hair sprayed.
Though I’m annoyed that the bastard hasn’t even given Kennedy the morning to process, I’m delighted that I’ll be around for this little exchange. ’Cause I really want to watch her tell him to screw off. And if she’s not feeling up to it, I’ll do it for her.
I follow Kennedy through her door and Prince slips in behind me. He closes the door and they square off a few feet apart in the middle of a tastefully decorated living room. I position myself next to the beige couch, far enough away to let their confrontation play out but close enough to step between them if needed.
Prince looks predictably unhappy, but far from brokenhearted. The grin that graces his campaign posters is replaced with an ugly scowl. He throws his arms up from his sides, “What the hell, Kennedy?”
Kennedy’s shoulders are back, her chin high—the same stance she takes in court, fearless and brash, ready to throw down.
“I could ask you the same thing, David.”
“You humiliated me last night!”
“You humiliated yourself. The sympathy you’ll garner will only help your polls—and we both know that’s what you’re really worried about. If you had bothered to ask me what I wanted—”
“I thought we were on the same page.” He takes a step toward her.
But she holds her ground. “No, you didn’t—otherwise you wouldn’t have ambushed me.”
“It was a surprise! A gesture of my affection.”
“It was a sound bite!” Kennedy shoots back. “We both knew what this relationship was about. I was a pretty, professional face to smile next to you in your photo ops, and you—”
“Yes,” he interrupts, stepping even closer. “What was I?”
“You were convenient. Someone I enjoyed spending time with, but didn’t care enough about to be upset about your screwing the intern.”
He pales just slightly and his eyes narrow. Then he moves to grab her arm, but I move faster. I wrap my hand around his wrist. And squeeze.
“If having a functioning wrist is important to you, you’re going to want to step back. And calm down.”
Dave drops his hand and I let him go.
He glares at me from head to toe, then he turns back to Kennedy and spits, “This is what I’ve been replaced by? A cripple?”