His eyes harden as he leans forward. “I don’t know everything you’ve gone through since…since that day, but one thing I know for sure is that you will never be a failure. Do you hear me, Leighton?”
Yes. No. I swallow. “I’m not mad at you, but I am mad at the world for giving me this life. Because I think I deserve more.”
He pales. “Of course you do.”
Then why do I have to fight so damn hard to earn it? Haven’t I done enough already?
“I’m sorry,” he tells me, almost so quiet I barely hear the words. “I know I already said it, but you deserve to hear it again. What happened should have never… It should have been different.”
Staring down at my lap, I shake my head. I hold onto his apology because those words are foreign to me, especially by the people who should have told me them in the past.
Mom the most.
Emotion choking me, I count to three before allowing myself to say anything. “Yeah, it should have been. But we can’t turn back time. All we can do is move forward.” Wetting my lips, I sneak a peek at him through my lashes. My skin buzzes when he reaches across the tabletop and covers my hand with his.
“What do you say?” he asks softly, fingers interlocking with mine. “Move forward with me, Leighton?”
I can tell him no, but the tug in my chest pulls in his direction as his thumb skates over the back of my hand. Back and forth. Back and forth. Caressing. Lulling.
Giving him a small nod, I offer him the only smile I can manage right now. Timid, hurt, but willing to push past it. For me. “I won’t be my mother. I will have a future.”
His hold tightens. “You’re not the Lenny I remember,” he tells me, almost mystified.
I shrug. “She was weak.”
I pause.
“I’m not weak anymore.”
Chapter Four
Kyler / Present Day
Dropping a box labeled kitchen shit, thanks to my extra moody sister who won’t admit she’s pregnant just “in need of a good diet”, onto the nearest table, I look around the small living room and smile at the mayhem. My focus is aimed at the wide gray cobblestone fireplace that’s surrounded by haphazardly placed matching furniture, all lighter gray tones. There are two couches and a love seat, with two armchairs on the opposite side of the room near the wide bay window that will undoubtedly need blinds and curtains since they face the road.
This house is much smaller than all the others we saw a few weeks ago, which is exactly how long it took to finally convince Leighton to settle in while she applied to a few local colleges. I know her concerns, heard her out, and reassured her that I knew what I was getting into. I even let her choose the house, so it shouldn’t have surprised me that she opted for a three-bedroom, 1,800 square foot home that was perched a little too close to the neighboring houses for my liking. But it’s in a decent subdivision outside of the L.A. city hustle, has a fence, a good security system, and most importantly, it makes her happy.
She walks in and drops the last box onto the floor, cringing when whatever inside rattles loudly. By the sounds of it, it’s glass. “Sorry, I lost my grip.”
I tell her it’s not a big deal because there isn’t anything that can’t be replaced here. All the items I value are at my home in New York, locked up and safe, and even those valuables are limited. Mia expected me to sell my place, but I opted to keep it. I happen to know my sister has three properties—one here in California, one in New York, and a third in Florida that I’m fairly sure she keeps for the sake of saying she has real estate there. She has no room to talk.
Leighton wipes her hands off on her leggings, which I notice a little too quickly mold to her toned legs in ways clothes like that never used to before. She either works out or has been graced with the right kind of curves, because her ass is highlighted in the tight black material that she’s got to be hot in since it’s almost 100 today. I suppose her shirt, if that’s what you want to call the scrap of material practically painted on her body, is keeping her from passing out.
She frowns. “Why are you glaring at me? Once I start working, I can pay for whatever I might have broken.”
I shake myself out of it, not addressing my distaste in her wardrobe, or the fact my eyes have taken in how well she wears the material nowadays. I know I’m being an ass, playing an old role like I did years ago, but I’m always going to look out for her. If that means not approving of the skimpy shit she wears, so be it. I know how guys looked at her then, and I know damn well they’ll look at her differently now that she’s grown into those lanky legs and lean torso. “Like I said, it’s fine.”
While she doesn’t seem to believe me, she nods and examines our new place. The first floor has one of the three bedrooms, which she said she’d claim that way I could have the upstairs to myself, but I told her it’d be better if we were both on the second floor just in case. That conversation made her pale because she’s heard the horror stories of break-ins I’ve had in the past, even though most were just girls who were a little too obsessed and wanted a real-life sneak peek at a full frontal that they couldn’t buy online from one of the many photoshoots I’ve done. Best to be safe than sorry.
A giddy look crosses her face as she turns to me, her contagious smile spreading that I can’t help but return. “I can’t wait to start unpacking. Is that weird?”
“I don’t think so.” I can’t say I feel the same. Usually, I just hire people to do this shit for me, but Leighton refused. Her exact words were, “We are perfectly capable of doing this on our own, Kyler Casey! Don’t you dare throw money at others. It’s lazy.” And shit, how could I argue when she pulled out the middle name?
“We need music.” Fumbling with her new phone, an old hand-me-down Mia gave to her that she didn’t use, she thumbed through her playlist until she wiggled her brows at me.
“If you play what I think you’re going to, I may have to reconsider this arrangement.” We both know that’s bullshit. We signed papers and made everything official days ago. There’s no backing out now, not that I’d ever do that to her. We’re moving forward.
Together.
Instead of the rival band I thought I’d hear come from the small speaker, I’m surprised to hear my own music. Rolling my eyes when she starts mouthing along dramatically to my first solo single, I can’t help but chuckle. She pretends to hold a microphone as she attempts to mimic my dance moves from the video, but she nearly trips in the process, making me catch her arm to stop her from cracking her skull open.
I laugh harder. “You’re going to kill yourself, then this whole thing would be for nothing.”
She puts a hand on her hip, sticking her bottom lip out. “Wow. You think I’ll die trying to dance and all you’d think about is how you’d have the house to yourself?”
I shrug. “I’d miss you…after a while.”
Her eyes narrow, but a playful tug of her lips ruins her attempt at looking offended. She changes the song to something from the recent Billboard Top 100 charts before setting her phone down on the table. “You’re mean and a liar. I don’t think you’d survive another day without me in your life, Kyler Bishop.”