Page 109 of The Kings of Kearny

“Hi, Jennifer.”

“What’s up?”

I took a deep breath. “I know I’m probably not your favorite person right now, but I’m having trouble getting ahold of Jakob. Have you heard from him?”

“I have,” she said.

“When?”

“Last night.”

“He’s okay?” I asked.

“He’s okay.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“No,” she said, worry creeping into her tone. “Should I be concerned?”

“I don’t think so,” I told her.

“You’ll let me know if that changes?”

“I will. Thank you for talking to me.”

She chuckled. “Relax, Krista. You and I don’t have a problem.” The laughter slipped from her voice. “But break my son’s heart, and I’ll come for you.”

Uh... yikes. She sounded deadly serious. This must have been where Jakob got his scary side.

“I’ll try not to,” I told her.

We said goodbye and hung up, and then I let myself getmad.I might not want to break her son’s heart, but right now I’d settle for breaking a few of his bones. Teasing me at the bar with some rando redhead was one thing, but if this was another one of his games, it was too much. I’d been truly worried about him. Sick to my stomach worried. Worried enough that if Jennifer hadn’t heard from him, I would have driven to the Larsons’ house and worked with The Enemy, aka Liam, to try to find Jakob via GPS or spy satellite or whatever the hell else Liam had at his fingertips. But his mom just confirmed that he was fine, so what the hell was he doing, and why wasn’t he responding to me?

I set my phone on my kitchen island and turned around. The main living area in my new apartment was open concept, kitchen spilling into dining and living room. A slider was set in the far wall with a small balcony looking out onto a much nicer pool than the one at my old place. I started pacing as I mulled everything over. All this time I’d been so focused on my own shit, on working through everything that had happened and how I felt about it. I’d interpreted Jakob’s taunting in the bar as playfulness. That, like me, he was weirdly enjoying this little separation. He said he liked riling me up; it was a fair assumption to make. But what if I’d misread the situation like I’d misread everything else? What if instead of teasing me to get a rise out of me, he was being mean? I’d forgiven him, I wanted him, all his baggage included, but had he forgiven me? Did he still want me?

I kept pacing. My leg barely protested. I had physical therapy a few days ago, and the new set of exercises my therapist recommended were working out pretty well. Plus I’d been taking it easier. After all my revelations over the past week, I couldn’t keep lying to myself. I wasn’t one hundred percent, and I probably never would be again. Pushing myself too hard proved nothing and only hurt me in the end. It was time to stop acting like I didn’t have chronic pain.

I’d started sitting on a padded stool in between customers at the bar, and miraculously, no one gave me shit for it. Before getting into bed each night, I worked through a long series of stretches and then massaged the stiffness from my joints and muscles. I repeated the routine every morning, iced my knee more to prevent swelling, and was quick to pop an aspirin if I felt I needed a bit more help. Barely a week had passed, but I already noticed a difference, and I wanted to kick myself for being so stupid about my leg for so long.

A knock sounded from my door.

My feet were already moving in its direction before my brain fully processed the noise. Was it Jakob? I stopped midstride. Or Redding? I’d spent the past several days paranoid in the extreme, checking over my shoulder any time I felt exposed, having a coworker follow me home every night and stand in my doorway, ready to press 911 while I searched my apartment for signs of forced entry or an intruder.

I had weapons stashed all over the apartment, and with Redding in mind, I turned and grabbed a gun from the kitchen before moving to the door. I glanced through the peephole and let out a breath when I saw Jakob standing on the other side. God, he looked good, looming there in the brightly lit stairway like a little slice of night.

I threw open my door, and he strode inside without being asked. He shut it behind him, turning, and we faced each other in silence. His eyes roamed over me, taking in every tiny detail. My focus stayed fixed on his face, searching out any clues about how he was and how he felt about me. He arched a brow down at my hand. Whoops. I was still holding my gun. I set it on the kitchen counter and turned back to him.

“Where have you been?” I asked.

“Getting everything ready for our long weekend,” he said.

It was good to hear his voice again. A flash of relief shot through me at his words, but I couldn’t let it distract me. “Is that why you hung up on me and couldn’t be bothered to send so much as a text the past few days? I’ve been freaking out, Jakob.”

His smile was sharp. “How’s it feel?”

I sucked in a breath. Shit. This was payback for turning my phone off when I went to meet Nick? Maybe he hadn’t forgiven me after all.

He caught sight of my face and relented. “I’m sorry if I freaked you out.”

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