A Secret for a Secret (All In #3)(55)

He’s not wrong. “My mother is the one who told me that.” And she is most definitely both of those things.

His eyes fall closed, and his cheek tics with his slow exhale. When his lids flip open, his gaze holds sadness and anger. “I want you to listen to me, Queenie. You are not mediocre. You are amazing and the world is at your fingertips. The sooner you realize that, the easier it will be for you to shine like you’re supposed to.”

“Please don’t say things like that to me,” I whisper.

“Why not? Especially when it’s the truth.” He unbuckles his seat belt. “You should be proud of yourself, Queenie. I know I am. You were amazing with Lavender today. You make me want things I’ve only thought about in the abstract until now.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know that you’re ready for what that means yet.” He drags his fingers down my cheek. “But you should seriously reconsider finishing that art degree. Success and worth don’t need to be based on something as arbitrary as whether or not you have pieces in a gallery. It can definitely be part of your dream and your journey, but I’d hate for you to walk away from something you’re so obviously passionate about because you’ve allowed one person’s misguided jealousy to form your entire opinion of yourself.”

“Where did you even come from?”

“Tennessee.”

“Ha ha, that’s not what I—”

He presses his lips to mine. “I see you, Queenie. Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re not worthy.”

I slide my hand around the back of his neck and deepen the kiss instead of responding with words. Because as much as I want to believe him, there’s a heaviness that weighs on me. One I thought I’d buried six years ago when I walked away from Corey and ran where it was safest: home. And the only person who’s never turned his back on me: my dad. Even he doesn’t know how very bad some of my mistakes have been. If he did, he might turn his back too. So why wouldn’t Kingston?





CHAPTER 20





THE FALL OF HAPPINESS


Queenie

The thing about happiness is that it isn’t meant to last. Life is a roller coaster: slow climbs to the top, a brief balance in euphoria, and then a steep drop that leaves you screaming and gasping for breath.

This isn’t a metaphor for an orgasm, either, although it could be, because they fall under the same principle.

Over the next few days I skip blindly through that state of suspended euphoria, ignoring the niggling worries and doubts that nip at my heels and threaten my bubble of bliss. I wear Kingston’s words like battle armor, protecting me from the fears and self-doubts that no amount of therapy—another thing my dad has footed the bill for—could ever seem to cure.

I should know better than to rely on any one single thing to make me happy. Especially not a single person. But I feel like I’ve finally found my person. The one who won’t try to tame my chaos but will let me live in it and help me balance my impulsiveness with stability. He’s yin and I’m yang. He’s sugar and I’m salt.

It’s a game day, so the team will be at the arena soon to get ready. I have a few more emails and memos to tackle, and then I can enjoy the game from the comfort of the box with Lainey, Stevie, Violet, and some of the other girls. I love watching Kingston tend goal. He’s so focused and intense. Just like he is in bed.

Once I’m done with the emails, I switch to my personal account and click on the new email from the University of Seattle. After the conversation with Kingston in his car the other day, I pulled out my college transcripts and reviewed all the courses and programs I’d taken over the years. I dropped out with one semester left to go for my art and psych degree. Then I tried a couple of other programs, but neither of them was a good fit.

So maybe it’s time to go back and finish what I started and see if maybe my mother is wrong—that even if my art isn’t gallery worthy, it’s still worth something. That I can do something that will give my dad, and me, a reason to be proud of myself for once.

I respond to the email from the local college confirming the appointment for next week with their admissions team, then head down the hall to the copy room to make duplicates of a few important documents. I kick the stopper in front of the jamb so the door doesn’t close on me. It’s wonky and doesn’t like to stay open without some help.

I’m waiting on the last document when the door behind me closes with a soft click. I assume it’s Kingston, because he always finds me before he suits up. “Looking to add the copy room to your pregame make-out session list?” My smile dissolves when I turn around and find not Kingston but Corey. “What the hell do you want?”

He leans against the closed door, blocking the only way out of the room, which now feels infinitely smaller with his huge body taking up space in here. He’s dressed in a suit, reminding me of the first time we met, back when he was playing varsity-level hockey. How stupid I’d been to fall for his charming smile and smooth lines back then.

He crosses his arms. “We need to talk.”

“No. We don’t.” I grab the last of the copies and slip them into the file folder. Tipping my chin up, I face him with confidence I don’t feel, and that niggling feeling starts to spread, churning in my stomach and seeping into my limbs. “Move, please. You have a game to get ready for, and my dad needs to see me.” I try to push past him, but he’s like a brick wall.