Just My Luck (The Kings)

I couldn’t fucking focus with Sloane’s arm looped through mine. Her warm, comforting scent rose up and filled my nose as I unlocked the front door to my house and gestured for her to step inside.

It was strange having a woman in my space. When you spend as much time as I did locked in an eight-by-eight cell, you learn to appreciate your surroundings. My home was my sanctuary, and in the time I’d been back, I’d done everything I could to make it feel complete.

The ranch had been purchased with family money from a retired couple who’d decided Michigan winters no longer suited them. I’d held on to a few of the vintage pieces they’d left behind.

To no one’s surprise, I preferred subtle, moody tones and clean lines.

Sloane’s grip on my arm tightened when we walked inside. “Oh! Abel, this is gorgeous!”

From the covered front porch, we entered into the vaulted ceiling of the great room, which was open to the kitchen and dining room toward the back.

Sloane clasped her hands in front of her chest. “May I go in?”

Struck by her cute politeness, I smiled and nodded. “Look around.”

Sloane smiled at the stone hearth along one wall as she walked toward the heart of the home.

She pointed at an end table that flanked the couch. “I love this furniture. It’s so modern but with a vintage feel to it.”

I nodded. That had been exactly what I’d been going for. “My brother Whip built those. He’s a bit of a woodsmith on his days off from the firehouse.”

“I’ve met him. He makes Emily very happy. Though I didn’t realize he had hidden talents.” Her pretty hazel eyes went wide, and her eyebrows bounced. “I wonder what yours is.”

I shrugged. “Don’t really have one.”

She playfully harrumphed. “I doubt that.”

Heat sizzled up my back. I may be out of practice, but there were a few things, under different circumstances, I wouldn’t have minded showing Sloane. Things one might consider talents—at least, no one had ever complained before.

I watched as Sloane went deeper into my home. The kitchen was also an open concept, with raised bar-top seating, a decent-size kitchen island, and doors leading from the eat-in dining area to the backyard.

Adding windows to the home was one of my first projects—I’d never wanted to feel locked in, stifled. I needed the openness the windows provided to feel like I could breathe.

To her right, a hallway led to the remaining bedrooms and bathrooms. She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

I jerked my head and shrugged. “Go ahead.”

With a delighted squeak, she padded down the hallway. The rest of the house was no-nonsense, with two spare bedrooms and a primary suite. I tensed, wondering if Sloane would want to look inside the rooms. My blood pressure wouldn’t be able to handle seeing her in my bedroom—I knew that for damn sure.

Thankfully she did a quick walk down the hallway and returned to the dining space, which led outside.

She lifted a hand and pointed through the french-style doors. “What’s out there?”

I opened one of the doors and gestured. “Just a back porch and my garden beds. I have a few raised beds here, and farther back are some in-ground gardens.” Feeling silly, I stuffed my hands into my pockets. “I like to experiment with the beer recipes. It makes more financial sense to grow the ingredients if I’m just going to fuck it up.”

Her eyes shone with delight. “How very domestic of you, Mr. King.”

I gritted my teeth. “Abel.”

“Yes, boss.” She brushed past me to take a closer look at the gardens that actively grew lavender, hops, herbs, and a whole host of other ingredients I’d been wanting to play around with.

My blood hummed and my body itched to follow her. Instead, I stayed rooted to the spot. If I couldn’t control the incessant thoughts about her, I’d control my body by sheer force of will.

Her hand brushed across the green and purple tips of a lavender plant. She paused as she looked toward the back of the house and pointed. “What the heck is that?”

I angled myself to see what she was looking at. At the back of my home, the primary bathroom opened to the outside through another set of french-style doors. Through the glass, a pristine claw-foot tub could be seen.

“That’s, uh . . .” I couldn’t place why I suddenly felt nervous. “My bathroom.”

Sloane stepped to the house and cupped her eyes to peer through the glass. “That’s not a bathroom, that’s a dream come true. Abel, it’s so pretty!”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, deepening the dimples in her cheeks.

She turned to me with narrowed eyes. “Do you even fit in that?”

I squared my stance. “I manage.”

She pursed her lips. Her eyes roamed over my frame, and a soft little huh escaped her. Not one to shy away from a challenge, I held her stare. The woman in front of me was bubbly and curious and a real fucking problem.

Not an hour ago she had gotten down on one knee and proposed marriage. And I’d almost said yes.

My eyes drifted from her face down the column of her neck. My heart hammered as the soft skin peeking from the neckline of her dress tempted me.

Jesus, it’s been a long time if someone’s neck is that tempting.

I needed to focus on anything other than the way this petite woman was knocking my world sideways. “So what happened today?”

Sloane’s face fell.

Real smooth, asshole.

She gently cleared her throat and wound her way around the raised garden beds before plopping down on the top step of the back porch stairs.

She patted the area next to her, and I sat down, but gave plenty of space between us.

“So Ben and Tillie’s dad—my ex—we don’t have what you’d consider a functional co-parenting relationship. In fact, we don’t have a relationship at all.” She sighed, and my silence made space for her to continue. “I was only twenty-two when I had the twins. We didn’t know what to do after we found out I was pregnant, so we decided to get married. From the beginning it was a nightmare. Jared wasn’t interested in growing up. He ran with really shady people, liked to party and do some minor drugs. My dad and stepmom begged me not to marry him, but I was proud and thought I was in love. I had hoped having the babies would change things. Well,” she scoffed, “it did, but not the things I expected. He was jealous of his own children. Things got manipulative and scary, but I still put up with it. Once, after too much partying, he came home and picked a fight. Again. Only this time he pushed me while I was holding Ben, and I nearly dropped him. Things escalated—lots of shouting back and forth. The neighbor called the police when they heard us, and the next day I got a judge to agree to an order of protection and filed for divorce.”

Anger bubbled inside me. I’d learned to contain my rage, but the mere thought of someone putting their hands on Sloane had me brimming with hatred. I counted backward, tried deep breathing, anything to allow her to continue despite the war raging in my head.

“The divorce went uncontested—he didn’t even bother showing up—and I was granted custody. I didn’t even seek child support. I just wanted to disappear. Still, I worried that he might try something, so I reached out to my granddad and asked him for a place to stay. But last year Granddad’s house burned down.”

Storm clouds rumbled inside my head. “You think it was him.”

Her warm hazel eyes held me in place. “It was ruled arson.”

I scrubbed a hand on the back of my neck. “Jesus. And you saw him today? You should call the police, Sloane.”

“I know.” She picked at a nail. “I did make a report after Ben thought he saw him. I’ll call again.”

I had my own feelings about the justice system and its many holes, but there had to be something they could do to protect her and the kids.

A mutually beneficial business arrangement.

Sloane’s words from earlier echoed in my mind. The woman in front of me was at the end of her rope, and instead of simply saving herself, she’d devised a way to help us both. The thought that perhaps I could pay my share of the bargain by helping with her dipshit ex rolled around in my head.

“You’d do it again?” I cautiously asked. “Get married?”

She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled. “If it meant that I could fix up Granddad’s house? Have a safe place for me and the kids? Absolutely. Getting married is the only way I can access the trust fund right now. If you help me do that, investing in the brewery is the least I can do.”

Emotions were trampling my thoughts as I worked through what I needed to say. “And where will you stay while the farmhouse is being rebuilt?”

She blinked up at me. “We’re staying at my granddad’s cabin.”

I frowned. “What about your ex? Is there a security system? Something to make sure help arrives if something happens?”

Sloane scoffed. “No, Abel, there is not a security system on my grandfather’s hunting cabin. Look, I know it’s not ideal, but it’s the only way to⁠—”

“No,” I ground out.

She reared back with wide eyes as though I’d slapped her. I settled my emotions and tried again. “No, it’s not the only way.”

I sighed and rubbed my palms together. “If we do this—get married—then I’m not going to have my wife staying at some run-down cabin while her potentially dangerous ex-husband is lurking around town. That doesn’t work for me.”

My wife.

My chest squeezed. The words had slipped out unintentionally, but now that they were out there, I let them hang in the air.

A tiny furrow formed between her eyebrows. “What do you suggest? That we stay here?”

I shrugged as if it were the simplest solution in the world and not completely life altering for me to share my space with her and the kids. “There’s plenty of room.”

She gave me a flat look. “There are three bedrooms.”

I swallowed. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Sloane nibbled her lip as she considered what I was proposing. “I know it’s been hard on my granddad to have us all on top of one another. Us being across town would also help him get out of the house a little . . . maybe?” She looked around my property and sighed. “It does feel safe here.”

The reality that we might actually be considering getting married hit me like a ton of bricks. My gut twisted. It was becoming a very real possibility that my father would be very unhappy to hear I was interested in buying out his share of the brewery and that I would have the means to do it, thanks to Sloane.

Sloane leaned closer. “What are you thinking about? I can practically see the smoke billowing out of your ears.”

I looked at her and sighed. “My father, actually. If he even suspected the marriage was illegitimate, he’d likely do anything he could to stop it. He doesn’t like things he can’t control.”

She nodded in understanding. “Then it won’t be fake. The marriage would be very much real. He doesn’t have to know the feelings aren’t real.”

But what if they were?

The errant thought had my palms sweating.

I tamped down my feelings and nodded. “If he thinks it’s real, he just may go for it. Anything to help my reputation would be good in his eyes. And if you move in, that’s two birds with one stone. Your ex can’t fuck with you, and my father will believe this marriage is legitimate.”

She hummed as though she were playing over the scenario in her mind. “I need to know what happened. You understand that, right?”

I knew she was talking about my incarceration. I didn’t blame her. All she knew was that I had done time in prison, and here we were entertaining the idea of getting married.

Seconds ticked by as I hung my head, struggling to find the right words.

Shame coursed through me in thick, choking waves. The air around us thickened and my heart galloped. I knew she deserved answers, but I didn’t even know where to begin.

I settled on starting at the end.Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

“I killed a child.”