Page 7 of Royal Beast
On the way home, I pick up a bottle of wine. I need a drink tonight. When I get home, Rose is napping in her bed and Dad is napping on the couch. I leave them alone and head into the kitchen to pour myself a glass.
Sitting down at the breakfast table, I open my laptop and take a deep breath before pulling up my bank statement and my budget spreadsheet.
The numbers look bleak. I grip my glass, pulling up my 401k account and even the 529 education savings account I opened for Rose, but I can’t bring myself to touch either of them.
What am I going to do? I don’t have the money to pay these men back and if we renege on the debts, they might come after me, or even Rose.
With trembling hands, I pour another glass. I shut my laptop, grab my phone and the bottle of wine, and head upstairs to my bedroom. I set the glass down and throw myself onto the bed, pulling up social media and scrolling endlessly through Instagram.
I stop scrolling when I come across a post I made about Rose, back when she was just a newborn baby. A smile grows as I study the face before me, remembering how tiny she was, how perfect. I take another sip of wine, something tugging inside me when I gaze at her silky soft curls.
Curls that were inherited from her father.
I pause, my mind whirling as I think about the night we spent together.
He could fix this, I think to myself.One call and he can make all this go away.
I haven’t let myself think about him until this moment. He tried to reach out to me after our night together, but I blew him off, scared to get involved with someone so charismatic but so dangerous.
I down the rest of the wine. I can’t do it. I can’t involve myself in his life again.
But as I continue to doom scroll, nursing a second glass, dread settles in the pit of my stomach. I have no answers, no wayto pay off this enormous debt or protect myself from Niall and his lackeys.
As much as Dad is convinced that they won’t target me, I know without a doubt that they will. I can’t put this off, and this might be my only option.
I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath before dialing a number that I still know by heart.
He answers on the second ring. “Brannagan.”
“Kellan, it’s Darcy Flynn. Can we meet to talk?”
The words have left my mouth before I can even think about it, and I hear a soft exhale before his voice comes over the line, just as deep and gravelly as I remember.
It takes me back to that night, the way he spoke and how he charmed me so easily. It wasn’t until I saw the gun on his nightstand that I realized what I’d gotten myself into and fled.
I’m lost in thought before I realize he’s gone silent. My brain scrambles to catch up, and I realize he’s offered to meet tomorrow at noon at a place near my office.
I agree and hang up before I can second-guess myself, trying to fight off the nausea as I wonder what I was thinking. Asking Kellan to meet with me is crazy. I’ve been actively trying to avoid his world, and now I’m practically waltzing back into it.
I’m jittery the next morning, barely holding back from snapping at Jessa again. All I can think about is the upcoming meeting with Kellan and how badly I need things to go well. I find myself silently practicing what I’ll say instead of doing what I’m supposed to be doing—drafting an email to Clement. It’s only when I see the alert from my electronic calendar that I realize it’s time to go.
I grab my purse and rush out the door, determined to arrive early if I can. I step inside the Iron Horse Tavern, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. I scan the room, breathing a sigh of relief when I don’t spot Kellan right away.
Just then, I feel someone standing behind me. I turn, my heart catching in my throat as I realize it’s him.
“Hello, Darcy,” he says. My brain stutters to a stop as I take in the sight of him. His blue eyes pin me to the spot and my mouth goes dry. He looks even better than he did four years ago, his curly hair cut short, a bit of stubble on his jaw. My fingers itch to trace over it, but I stifle the urge, swallowing hard instead.
“Hi, Kellan,” I say, trying to keep a polite tone. “Shall we?”
The two of us sit down at a table near the back. A waitress comes over and hands us menus. I pretend to glance over it as I try to gather my thoughts, wondering how I’m going to explain this to him.
“It’s been a while,” he says, a soft smile on his face. I feel a flutter in my chest at the sight of his dimples and force myself to push it down.
“It has,” I say, maintaining a cool façade. Soft chatter in the background fills the silence that stretches between us. Finally, I say, “I appreciate your coming to see me. I need to ask you a favor.”
“What can I do for you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. I take a deep breath, grounding myself before I launch into the story, explaining how Dad sold the house out from under us. Kellan’s expression darkens for a moment as he listens, but his eyes soften as I finish up.
“So that’s why I called you,” I finish. Kellan nods, a flicker of knowing in his eyes, almost as though he expected the call.
