Reforming Kent: A Stand-Alone Angsty Bad Boy Romance (The Kennedy Boys Book 10)

by Siobhan Davis

  “Presley.” Pete slides his arm around my shoulders. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off?”

  “I’m fine.” I swipe at the hot tears coursing down my face. My colleagues glance at me, their expressions a mix of compassion and curiosity. I haven’t told any of them about Kent, for a variety of reasons, although they know circumstances forced me to leave the love of my life behind. They also know I’m from Boston, so I’m sure it won’t take them long to connect the dots.

  “Go, sweetheart.” Pete pushes me gently toward the door. “Go do what you need to do.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Kent – Six Months Later

  My cell pings in my pocket for the third time in a row, and I put my niece Ciara down on the ground. “Uncle Kent has to take this,” I tell her, trying not to laugh at her cute little pout. “Go play with your cousins.” I nudge her toward the playground where Hewson, Hayley, and her twin brother Cathal are hanging off the climbing frame under the watchful eyes of the babysitter. I am at my parents’ place for the weekend, and Kalvin and Kyler dropped by with their kids. Their wives are at Cheryl’s baby shower today. Keven finally put a bun in her oven, and they are expecting their first child in six weeks.

  Removing my phone from the pocket of my shorts, I’m surprised when I see it’s Austen calling me. Things are much better between me and my brother’s husband these days, and my relationship with Keaton is back to what it was. Keats stayed with me the first few months after I left rehab, and it was good to spend that time together.

  Keanu and Selena stayed over some nights too, but they couldn’t permanently stay in Cambridge, not with the Moonlight build being at such an advanced stage. I really appreciated how my family came together to help me, especially my triplets and their partners. Eventually, I made Keaton return home. He was a newlywed, after all, and while Austen was cool about it, I knew they were missing each other like crazy.

  I hold the phone in my hand, wondering why Austen is calling me now. He has a game tomorrow against the Denver Broncos, and I’m sure he must be at the training facility.

  “What’s up?” I ask when I answer my phone.

  “Eventually, he answers,” he drawls, and I snicker. Austen has a unique sense of humor.

  “Dude, aren’t you at practice?” I ask.

  “I’m on my way there right now, but I need to tell you something.”

  “Okay. I’ll bite.” I’m more than intrigued.

  “I just saw Presley.”

  What? That was the last thing I was expecting to come out of his mouth. Butterflies swarm my chest, and my heart does funny little jumps.

  “Kent, did you hear me?” Austen says when I don’t respond.

  “Where is she?” I ask, quickly checking the time on my watch.

  “She’s working at the tattoo parlor I used to go to. Seeing as I was in town, I decided to drop in on Pete, and I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw her behind the reception desk. I remember talking to her at my wedding about how I’d planned to do an apprenticeship there if I didn’t get an NFL contract. I never even stopped to consider she might’ve gone there.”

  “Send me the details,” I blurt, already racing toward the back door. “Do you think she’ll run?”

  “I don’t think so, but I spoke to Pete. I gave him a quick rundown, and he’s agreed to call me if she gets spooked.”

  “Thanks, man. I owe you.”

  “Go get your girl, Kent. Text me when you land.”

  I rush through the kitchen, ignoring Kalvin and Mom, heading into the living room where Dad is chatting with Kyler. “Dad!” I shout, running toward him. “I need your help.”

  ***

  It’s a miracle I thought to grab the envelope while I was hastily throwing shit in my duffel bag before Dad and I left for the airport. He flew me here himself. Now, as I’m being driven from Denver International Airport to downtown Denver, where Presley works, I pull out the letter she sent me after the press conference. The pages are dog-eared and wrinkled from being read so many times.

  The picture and letter arrived three days after I poured my heart out to her via the TV. It was the only chance I had of talking to her. I knew my press conference would make global headlines because the level of interest in the trial was off the charts. I also know my girl. I knew she would be watching and reading and following it with interest, so I knew there was a strong chance she’d be watching the TV that day.

  She sent me one of her drawings. It’s a side profile of a lion, and his large mane is constructed of the most vibrant yellow and orange pressed flowers. On the bottom of the framed picture, written in her elegant handwriting, it simply reads: For those who are truly brave.

  Does it make me a pussy that I cried looking at the picture knowing how much thought, time, and effort she’d put into it? And that I cried again when I read her letter? That I’ve cried, several times, rereading her letter?

  Fuck it. I’m a man who is finally in touch with his feelings, and it’s taken me a long time to get to this place, so I’m going to own this shit. It’s okay to cry. Especially for the only woman who matters.

  I trace the tip of my finger over her words as I silently read her letter. “It takes a very special, strong, courageous man to face his fears knowing the entire world is watching and listening. Your bravery will inspire and empower the very people who need it. I know that’s why you did it, and I couldn’t be prouder. I think about you every day, and I hope you are healing. You are the most amazing man, Kent Kennedy, and I am so blessed to love you. You have my heart, now and forever. All my love, Presley.”

  I’m not gonna lie. I loved it and hated it at the same time. It bolstered me to know she still loved me, but I thought she’d come back, and when she didn’t, I realized maybe there wasn’t going to be a future for us after all.

  I told her at the press conference I would wait patiently for her, and I meant it. But I’m a fucking Kennedy, and we don’t give up without a motherfucking fight. So, I’m putting myself on the line today, hoping I’m not too late and that our time has finally arrived. Mostly, I need to see her for myself to know she is okay. If she’s still not ready, I’ll step back once I’m satisfied she understands I will always be here for her, and I will welcome her back with open arms whenever she feels the time is right.

  Holding the flowers against my chest, I open the door to Denver Ink and step inside, urging my racing heart to calm down before I have a heart attack. My heart deflates with disappointment when I spot an older dude behind the desk.

  He looks up and smiles. “I’ve been wondering when you’d show up.” He steps out from behind the desk, holding out his hand. “I’m Pete.”

  “Good to meet you,” I say, shuffling the flowers under my arm so I can shake his hand, hoping he doesn’t notice how clammy mine is. “Is she here?” I ask, looking around. The waiting area is large and clean with floor-to-ceiling windows at the front, a colorful wall on the left, and a long hallway in the middle, stretching the length of the building. My eyes pop wide as my gaze roams over the stunning mural. “Is that—” I splutter.

  “Yep. Your girl did that. She’s crazy talented.”

  My chest bursts with pride. “She is.”

  “Let me get her for you.” He pins me with a genuine smile before walking to the first door in the hallway and rapping on it with his knuckles. “Pink. You have a visitor,” he hollers, and I arch a brow.

  Pink??

  “I saw your press conference,” Pete says, returning to the reception desk while we wait for Presley to show her face.

  I don’t shy away from talking about what happened to me, but I’m loath to get into specifics with any of the people who broach the subject. Right now, I’m glad of the distraction because my knees feel shaky and my heart is pinging around my chest like a canary being chased by a rabid cat. “I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult that must have been, but you’re an inspiration to men everywhere. Respect.” He jerks his head in acknow
ledgment.

  “Thank you. That means a lot.” I’ve been pleasantly surprised at the reaction since everything came out. Of course, there will always be jerks spouting shit, but most people have been compassionate and supportive. I have had so many letters from other men, who were victims of rape and sexual assault, telling me my courage gave them the push they needed to come clean to their loved ones and to report their crimes. I don’t have words to express how that makes me feel. To know I have made a difference means everything.

  Clasping the flowers closer to my chest, I will my errant heartbeat to calm down. Where the hell is she, and what is taking so long? Doesn’t she know I’ve been waiting over a year to see her beautiful face again?

  “I had a feeling you were talking about Presley that day when she started crying,” Pete adds.

  “She didn’t mention me?” I ask, trying not to feel disappointed.

  “She told me there was a guy. The guy,” he adds, helping to eradicate any disappointment I was just feeling. “But she remained tight-lipped, and I didn’t pry because that girl was in a world of pain when she first got here.”

  At one time, I’d beat myself up that I wasn’t here for her when she needed me, but not anymore. I’m learning to let go of some of the excessive guilt. Truth is, I was of no use to Presley this time last year, and she was right when she said we needed time to heal away from one another. “And how is she now?” I ask.

  “Terrified, if I had to guess,” he says, chuckling a little. “I think she’s been expecting you since Austen showed up.”

  “Fuck, I know the feeling,” I truthfully admit. “I’m sweating bullets here.”

  “It’s going to be okay,” he says, patting my arm.

  “You got a crystal ball or something?” The longer I’m standing out here like a spare tool, the less confident I feel.

  Pete grins. “I’m a sucker for true love, and I heard the things you said to her, and I saw the way she reacted. Besides, she’s never hidden the fact she left her heart behind in Boston.” He squeezes my arm. “There has been no one else. She doesn’t see anyone but you.” That’s a relief because it’s been one of my fears. That she’d meet and fall in love with someone else. It’s been six months since she wrote those words to me, and I know a lot can change in six months.

  “It’s been the same for me.” I haven’t as much as spared any woman a parting glance. Presley is the only woman I want, and everyone else pales in comparison.

  “Yep.” Pete grins again. “True love. I want an invite to the wedding,” he tacks on the end. I can see why Austen likes this guy, and I’m glad Presley came here. I don’t need her to tell me this guy has looked out for her to know it.

  His words spur me into action, and I stalk toward the hallway, ready to claim my girl, when the door opens and she steps foot outside.

  My heart stops. Seriously. It, like, legit stops beating for a few seconds. All the air leaves the room as I set eyes on her for the first time in a year. She is even more beautiful than I remember. Her gorgeous hair is still long and wavy, but the ends are pink now. That’s not the only change. She’s got this gorgeous diamond stud in her nose and new ink on her arms. She’s wearing black jean shorts with an off-the-shoulder black, red, and white shirt. The strap of her red bra is showing along with a tempting glimpse of olive-toned skin. She has diamante-studded black flip-flops on her feet.

  Effortlessly stunning, like always.

  But it’s her eyes that undo me. They suck me in, pulling me closer, as I drown in the deep, decadent, chocolaty depths. Her lips part, and her soft breath trickles out. Her eyes turn glassy as we stare at one another, rooted to the spot, unable to tear our gazes away. Her gaze roams me from head to toe, her chest heaving as emotion electrifies the air.

  “Kent,” she whispers, and a single tear leaks out of the corner of her eye.

  “Hey, Presley baby.” Ignoring the nerves firing at me from all corners, I walk toward her with my heart in the palm of my hand. “Boy, are you a sight for sore eyes. I have missed you so fucking much.”

  She just stares at me, unmoving and barely blinking. Behind her, a few doors open, and I spot a few heads poking out.

  “These are for you,” I say, holding the flowers out to her.

  She takes them, keeping her eyes locked on mine as she buries her nose in the rose petals. “They’re beautiful,” she whispers. “Thank you.”

  I hand her the first envelope, hoping she doesn’t notice the sweat beads on my brow. I hadn’t thought of doing this in front of an audience, and I’m even more nervous than I was stepping through the door.

  She hands the bouquet to a tiny blonde lounging in the doorway of the room Presley just emerged from. The blonde gives me a slow once-over, cocking her head to one side and grinning. Okay then.

  Presley opens the first note, smiling as she reads it.

  “What’s it say?” the blonde asks, and I want to tell her to mind her own business, because this is our thing, but Presley must like this chick because she reads it out loud to her.

  “Come back to me because ‘I Want You, I Need You, I Love You.’”

  The blonde looks less than impressed.

  “It’s Elvis,” I explain, handing Presley the second envelope. “It’s our thing.”

  Presley beams at me, and it’s like getting sucker-punched in the nuts. I almost collapse in a heap on the floor with the force of her smile and the impact it has on me. “Another one?”

  “I thought the occasion required a little extra cheese.” I shoot her a flirty smile.

  This time, she reads it straight out before her nosy coworker asks for the details.

  “Come back to me because ‘You’re the Reason I’m Living.’”

  She giggles, and the sound embeds deep in my heart.

  Our fingers brush as I hand her the third one, sending delicious tremors zipping up my arm. From the way she jumps a little, I know she felt it too. We always had amazing chemistry, and sex with her was out-of-this-world incredible.

  I watch her elegant fingers open the final envelope and extract the last note. She gulps, and tears roll down her face as she lifts her head to look at me. Her voice is shaky as she reads it. “Come back to me because ‘I’m Yours.’” Sniffing, she takes a step toward me, holding all three notes in her hands. “I’m yours too, Kent. I always have been, and I always will be.” Her eyes drill into mine. “I wanted to run straight back into your arms when you said those things to me at the press conference, but my head wasn’t in the right place yet. I needed more time to heal, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t missing you like crazy because every day without you has been difficult.”

  “Come here,” I say, barely able to speak over the emotion choking my throat. All I know is if I don’t hold her in my arms, I’ll explode.

  She closes the gap between us, slowly at first, before flinging herself into my arms. I lift her up, and her legs go around my waist as she buries her head in my neck. I hold her close, nuzzling my nose in her hair, inhaling the familiar smell of her vanilla shampoo and the musky notes of her perfume. I close my eyes, absorbing how incredible it feels to hold her again, tightening my arms around her back, silently promising to never let her go.

  “Presley, baby,” I murmur, as she slowly slides down my body a couple minutes later. Tilting her chin, I force her gaze to mine. She stares at me through tear-filled eyes, but she has a bright smile on her face and she’s clutching my arms as if she can’t bear to not touch me. I can feel her happiness as if it’s a tangible thing. My heart swells to bursting, and a deep sense of contentment washes over me. Her eyes lock on mine, and they are full of so much emotion it almost knocks me over. “I love you,” I say, winding my hands in her hair. “I love you so fucking much.”

  We move at the same time, and our mouths collide in a passionate kiss that injects new life into me. I slide my tongue into her mouth as I angle my head, needing to deepen the kiss, to ensure she understands everything I’m saying with every br
ush of my tongue. I don’t care that we have an audience as I taste her lips over and over, holding her flush against my body, feeling her heart race in sync with mine.

  This, right here, is the missing piece.

  We might have needed the time apart to heal, but now we need to be together to glue back the remaining broken pieces of our hearts.

  EPILOGUE

  Presley - Two Years Later

  “Okay, I’ll admit to being a little horrified when Rachel showed me the design for your dress, but I’ve got to hand it to both of you; it’s exquisite, and it works,” Alex says. “It’s perfectly you.” Her eyes flood with tears as she looks me over in my nontraditional wedding dress.

  I swirl in front of the mirror, admiring my reflection. The gown is a plain strapless white dress with a full skirt that swings out from my waist, ending at my calves. It’s the fine layer of delicate black lace, covering the fitted top and creeping onto the skirt, and the silky black and red wraparound belt that elevates it from plain to spectacular. I even dyed the ends of my hair red for the occasion, to match my dress, and I’ve chosen to wear my hair down as Kent loves it like that. If we’d had a winter wedding, there’s no doubt I would’ve opted for a full-length black and red dress, but we wanted an early summer wedding so Austen could come. His season starts next month, and he wouldn’t have found time for a weekend wedding with his busy schedule.

  Kent and I have become super close with Keaton and Austen, especially now they are back home in Boston with Austen having transferred to the Patriots last year under a record-breaking deal. Kent wouldn’t get married without them here, and he was happy to adjust our plans to accommodate his triplet and his husband. Isn’t it amazing how things can completely change?

  Kent and I continue to attend monthly therapy sessions, and I’m sure we will for a long time, but we have come through the tough times and are out on the other side.