Page 7 of King of Hearts

“When you wear shirts like that, you’re right, it’s not so little. Haven’t you heard of maternity clothes?”

I bit back a sharp response. He wanted to fight with me, and I had once entertained the cutting and sometimes devastating blows he’d deliver, but today I was exhausted and didn’t have the energy for it.

I sipped my water in silence, watching the campus buzz with excitement. Freshmen were getting tours while upperclassmen held their phones and walked without looking up. A few people were moving into the dorms, so they carried boxes and large duffle bags. Parents were tagging along with a few here and there, and it made something in my heart drop. My mother hadn’t come with me on my first day of college all those years ago. Charlie had come with both Mallory and me, but I’d always known it was more for her than me. I was just the obligatory stepsister, starting in the same year and grade as her.

I remembered so distinctly that Mal wanted to live on campus, in a dorm with Hillary. I hadn’t had a friend, had never made them very easily. I also hadn’t wanted to share a room with a stranger when I knew my coping mechanisms weren’t healthy. I had sex. A lot of it. Not because I was a slut, or I guess I didn’t consider myself one…but growing up, I was always feeling something. Terror. Fear. Anger. When Mom married Charlie, I had no idea how to deal with the lack of emotions that came with my new life, so I found out that first time, when I lost my virginity, that I could summon new ones.

Sex became an outlet, a form of control. So, I asked Charlie to force Mallory to live with me in a large townhouse where I would have my own space to have my hookups while also not having to be alone. Back then I didn’t even feel guilty for it. He had to bribe her because there was no way she’d ever want to live with me of her own volition, and now, that seed of shame that had been planted all those years ago had grown and blossomed into something horrible. I had always hated myself. There was always something to hate, especially after the lessons my father would deliver…and then knowing Mom had to do unspeakable things to secure housing for us, food…it was always on her shoulders. Even her marriage to Charlie was my fault.

It was hard to shed that kind of self-hate and even harder to convince everyone you had gotten past it. I was a good liar—I had no other choice but to become one—so it wasn’t difficult to conceal my emotions and true feelings from others. I’d been practicing it my entire life.

“Haven’t seen you since the wedding.” Juan finally spoke up, his voice more curious than angry.

I withheld the urge to roll my eyes. He’d likely had a hard time seeing anything past the brunette he couldn’t stop kissing and groping at my sister’s wedding. The only time they hadn’t been attached at the face was during the vows, and even then, his hand was up her skirt.

“Yeah, I’ve been busy getting ready for classes,” I muttered in between sips of water.

Juan seemed to consider that for a moment before his eyes narrowed on my leather bag. My gaze darted there too, but a second later, he dragged it closer and began digging inside. His large hands roving through all my things had my stomach knotting up.

“What are you looking for?”

“Well, I was looking for snacks, to feed you something…I’m assuming you aren’t used to being pregnant, especially in this sort of heat. You need to keep your water up and eat like a baby elephant. Instead, you look like you’re barely eating enough to keep a bird alive.”

I dipped my head, staring at my belly as shame washed over me. How did he know more about what I should be doing than me? I had a doctor’s appointment set up for the following month. The first few had been…uncomfortable but basic. They said I needed an extra number of calories a day, but I was usually getting that from my meals. I didn’t think I could add that in with extra snacks, regardless of how hungry I became. I wasn’t eager to put on any extra weight with this pregnancy other than what was specifically required.

Juan scoffed, shaking his head as his eyes stayed on the inside of my book bag.

He wanted me to react. I wouldn’t, but I really wanted to. I hated how he always made me feel—as if I was an idiot, or just simply failing at everything. I was already insecure about being a mother, especially knowing what my father had in store for me. Even my own mother told me I was being stupid and selfish for keeping the baby.

“What kind of mother would you be, Taylor? You are too selfish to care for anyone but yourself.”

Her words were stuck on repeat in my head, playing over and over again every time I entertained the idea of indulging in motherhood, of talking to my belly or planning for our future. Her words would play, and I would stop.

Juan was still looking through my bag, and after a few seconds I looked over in confusion when I realized he held my cell phone in his hand.

“What are you doing?”

His eyes narrowed, his large hands cradling my white device. “Unblocking my number.”

Panic forced me to move, half rolling to the side to get to him, my fingers outstretched.

“You don’t have the right to touch my things.” I seethed, crawling on my hands and knees to get to him.

He leaned back, lying down on the grass, my phone was still clutched in his hand. I had blocked his number at the wedding, after Juan had made eye contact with me then kissed his date. I had wondered if she knew he’d been texting me before he decided to bring her. I had realized in that moment I didn’t want anything more to do with him, so I’d cut him out of my life.

“Sure I do.” He laughed, typing away.

I crawled until I was hovering over him, my hair hanging down like a curtain over us, my hands on his chest. The muscles under my palms were solid, so fucking delicious I had to resist the urge to dig my fingers into each groove and indent. I’d been with jocks, felt their bodies, but Juan’s chest was so different, the muscles more defined and trained in an entirely different fashion.

“Give me my phone,” I demanded, reaching for it, but he lifted it behind his head where I couldn’t reach. My grasp brought my face closer to his, our noses nearly colliding. My breath caught as I realized my error, but it was too late.

Within seconds, my phone was abandoned, and Juan’s hands were cupping my face, pulling me down. His lips pressed against mine in a firm, scorching kiss. He wasted no time prying my lips open, demanding entry with his tongue. One sweep inside my mouth and I was moaning. I realized just seconds into it what we were doing and tried to pull away, but he held me there.

Branding me.

I’d have been lying if I said I didn’t want to pretend it was real for a few seconds, pretend he felt for me the way I had once for him, pretend he had suddenly grown feelings too big to conceal for me. That thought was what made me give in and begin kissing him back, tangling my fingers in his hair.

The second I engaged, he pulled away. With wide eyes and a thin smile, he warned, “Try to cut me out of your life again and it won’t just be a kiss that I steal.”

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