"Seriously?"
"Yep. He had his money on like three months or something. Lost a lot of money on that."
"Who won then?"
"Well, it is ongoing to see if we are just a fling or the real deal."
"So this goes on... indefinitely?"
"The rules were changed to if or when we move in together."
"Who has the next closest timeframe?"
To that, his smile went a little wicked.
"Helen."
Helen won every single pool.
Every one.
"Come on, let's get you off those things," Kingston suggested when I said nothing, not knowing how to interpret that.
With that, he helped me in, and we drove in somewhat awkward silence back to his place where I hobbled up to the door, pausing there for a long moment as the alarm sounded, making me jump, stiffen.
"If you want to go somewhere else, we can," he said, immediately reading the situation. "The Mallicks own that penthouse. It sits empty most of the year. We can use it until you feel better about here."
A part of me wanted to say yes, to go somewhere with no bad memories. But that was just a form of running away. And I didn't want to do that. I wanted to face up to our reality. And our reality involved an unfortunate event in this place, one that needed to be overcome, not avoided.
"I like your place," I insisted, hopping over the threshold. "But you need a second exit," I told him with a serious nod.
"Says you and the building inspector," he agreed, trying to keep it light even as my eyes moved over the room, taking in the missing coffee table that had once been there, likely broken, stained with my blood, now replaced with something very intricately carved. So much so that I knew Hunter - the only Mallick not in the family business - had made it, gifted it to King.
"We have a pretty awesome family," I declared as Kingston's gaze followed mine.
"Yeah, we do," he agreed, making a move to get closer, having to stop.
That was the thing about crutches. They kept people away.
"Couch or bed?" he asked. "The doctor wants your leg elevated to bring down the swelling."
I was foolishly embarrassed about my fat toes sticking out of the end of the cast, nail polish chipped, looking like sausages. I'd made Jamie run out and get me diabetic socks from the pharmacy to slip over the edge of the cast, claiming my toes were cold just to hide them from Kingston.
"Bed it is," I agreed, reminding myself it was just another ten feet and I could get off these blasted crutches.
But even as I thought it, one was pulled away, Kingston moving in, wrapping my arm around his shoulders to support my weight as he grabbed the other crutch, propping them against the cabinet holding the TV, gently swooping down to snag me under my knees, lifting me up once again.
"A girl could get used to this," I told him, leaning my face into his neck, taking a deep breath of him, trying to remind my body not to get any grand ideas. It didn't listen, of course, because this was Kingston after all. And I had barely gotten to have a taste of him before life temporarily ripped him away from me.
"Go ahead, get used to it. Waited years to get you in my arms, Savvs. Could carry you around all day," he informed me as he lowered me gently down onto fresh bedding, pointing to someone coming in to do it - likely one of the Mallick women since Peyton would have made the bed, but lined it with sex toys that could be used in place of actual sex while I healed.
This was why people had families, clung to those connections, worked through the rough times even when it was difficult.
"Hey King?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you want kids?" I asked, looking up at his face while he carefully tucked me in, his gaze cutting to mine. And I was sure right in that moment that it wasn't a deal-breaker if he didn't want them. That if all he wanted was the two of us - and dogs, we can't forget the dogs, of course - then that would be more than enough.
"Yes."
There was no hesitation, none of that modern uncertainty most guys I knew had. But then again, Kingston wasn't a guy. He was a man. There was a definite distinction that had never really occurred to me before.
"Do you?"
"I mean... I don't want to have a litter like your sister and Shane and, well, all the Mallicks. But I think I would like one or two."
"One or two sounds good," he told me, eyes warm, liquid. "Especially if they have these eyes," he added, running his finger under the good one, the one that wasn't ringed with a smattering of blue, purple, and yellow from the impact with the coffee table. "But it would be good if maybe they have a little more dexterity than their mother," he added with twitching lips.