Shattered Dynasty by Ava Harrison
39
Payton
The loft seems colderwithout Trent here.
The room is empty.
My pen hovers over my journal, my mind consumed with thoughts of earlier this morning. I truly thought he would kiss me, but then his phone rang, and the moment vanished.
The good thing about being alone—despite the nurse situated in this house to watch me—is that I have time to think about this morning. She set me up with a tray desk so I can do schoolwork without leaving my bed.
Instead, I have my list out. The one full of anti-Trent scribbles. It seems absurd now that I look at it, and I struggle to add to the tally, my mind straying elsewhere.
Do I want him to kiss me?
I skim over the list, reliving the past few months. The scenes run through my mind in slow motion. His strong arms around me. The feel of his hands on my skin. The way he looks at me. When he laughs . . . the sound makes my heart beat a little faster.
Every second leads to the ultimate realization.
Yes, I do.
I want him to kiss me.
I want him to do more.
On this emotional roller coaster, I’ve gone from hating him, to tolerating him, to understanding him . . .
And right back to hating him again, only to realize that despite everything, he has a good heart . . .
Mostly for others. He did try to ruin your life, remember?
But his mom’s words stick with me. Trent is misunderstood. Designed by Ronnie to be as cruel as possible. And dammit, I see him.
I see the good.
I want to unwrap him like he’s a gift and keep what’s inside for myself. I want to act on my attraction. On every base, animal-level instinct I have had toward him since the moment I thought he was Mr. Baker.
You can’t fake chemistry like ours.
His personality, his confidence, even his arrogance—none of those put me off.
Granted, him being a complete douche canoe doesn’t help. It’s funny how you can hate someone and want them at the same time. Well, maybe not; love and hate are two sides of the same coin.
But . . . truth be told, I don’t hate him anymore. Not now that I’ve seen the other side. The one that took care of me, looks out for me, and seeks to protect me. The other shit doesn’t matter anymore.
Trent’s mom is right. I need to peel back the layers and understand the gray area. Our awful beginnings and the way he treated me are byproducts of his pain. Transferring it to me wouldn’t help him, but it was what he knew from Ronnie.
Trent isn’t evil.
He doesn’t get a free pass either.
He needs to grovel—to be held accountable for his actions—but there is beauty in life’s shades of gray. I’m willing to let him show me his.
His good qualities replace the other stuff I dwelled on.
And that’s a problem as I try to add to my list but find myself starting a new one. A list of reasons I should want Trent.
It is scary long.
Those butterflies he gives me.
The way his fingers feel when they touch me.
I almost died, but when he touches me, looks at me deep in my eyes, I feel alive. As if he sees me, too. If that doesn’t mean something, I don’t know what does.
The fact that I miss him right now means something, too.
I want him to come back, sit on my bed, and finish what he started.
If I told Heather the crazy thoughts running through my head, she’d try to convince me to check myself into a hospital because I’m obviously still suffering from the concussion I sustained when I was run over.
She’d say I am still confused.
But she doesn’t know him.
She didn’t see him with Henry.
She didn’t see him at Cresthill.
She didn’t see the way he makes everyone smile.
How contagious his laughter is.
How he makes me smile—even under these circumstances.
I stare at the door,willing Trent to come back.
There’s something between Trent Aldridge and me. I’m finally ready. I’m not scared to see what it is. Naturally, with my amazing luck, he isn’t here when I come to the realization.
Hours pass.
There is literally nothing for me to do.
Yes, there is a TV in the room, but I can’t binge-watch Netflix right now. The screen makes my head throb.
It hurts to read.
It hurts to watch.
And not to be rude, but I really don’t like the nurse.
Okay, fine . . .
It’s not the nurse. She seems kind.
I just want Trent.
As if summoned by my desire, the door opens to the bedroom, and he walks inside.
My eyes go wide.
Holy wow.
He’s handsome in a white thermal long-sleeve shirt and ripped jeans.
Jeez, this outfit should be illegal. He just looks so damn sexy.
He smiles broadly at me as he walks in, as if he knows he’s hot, and my reaction to him is something he’s used to.
The way he looks at me makes me feel hot, and all I want is for him to cross the space and resume what he started earlier.
“How’re you doing?”
I try to answer. Try to play it off as if I haven’t been sitting in a bed all by myself for the past four hours, counting down the minutes until he returned.
“You know.” I shrug. “Same old, same old.”
“Keeping busy, I see?” he jokes.
A little laugh follows, and again, I melt.
I like this playful side of him.
It’s sweet when he’s funny.
Yeah, he’s sexy, cocky, arrogant, and condescending, but I don’t even care. All I want is to kiss him. I have been dreaming about it every day since the last time he placed his mouth on mine, and now I can’t stop staring at his lips.
I shake my head and answer him, “You’ve missed quite the morning. Some of the best clubs in New York couldn’t hold a candle to all the fun I’ve been having.”
“Go on . . .”
“Well, I’ll tell you what I haven’t been doing . . .” I trail off, dipping my voice conspiratorially, “Believe it or not, and I know this might come as a ginormous shock, but I have not gone dancing.”
“No?” Feigned shock echoes in his voice.
“No.” I nod to my leg. “Apparently, I have a bum foot.”
“Then what did you do?” He sits on the bed, a safe distance from me.
“I also didn’t watch TV.”
“No binging Netflix?” he teases.
I lift my brow. “I also didn’t read Carl Jung.”
“Well, aren’t you the party animal?”
“I am. I stared at the paint,” I deadpan.
“Interesting.”
“I found it fascinating.” I lift my index finger. “Were you aware that you have a mark in the top left corner by the far wall?”
He turns to look at where I am pointing. “Nope.”
“If I could stand, I would show you.”
His playful expression turns serious. I press on, letting my tone turn teasing so he understands my game.
“I would like you to help me with the prison break because that’s what this is, by the way. A prison.”
His eyes light up with understanding, and the humor returns. “And I’m the mean prison warden?”
“If you break me out of here and do something fun with me, then you won’t be,” I tell him, my voice taunting him, hoping he rises to the challenge.
It occurs to me that we’ve built up a kinky fantasy. Roleplay. My cheeks flush, and his eyes narrow on the color.
“I don’t really think there’s very much you can do,” he murmurs, hungry eyes fixed on my lips.
I lick them. “Don’t sell yourself short. I bet you can imagine something . . .”
His eyes twinkle. “I can definitely come up with something.”
My cheeks warm again at his innuendo. My heart picks up its pace. “Not that something . . .”
“What about a picnic?” he suddenly offers.
“I highly doubt I’m up for walking in the park.”
“Why don’t you let me deal with that?”
“I am certainly not going to allow you to carry me through a park!” I give him a pointed look.
“Why do you keep saying park?”
“Where else would we do this?” My eyes roll.
“Again, let me handle this.” He stands, straightening from the bed. “I’m going to send your nurse in. You’re going to take a shower, and then you’re going to rest. Once you’re ready, I’ll come and get you.”
Great.
I love being showered by a stranger.
I’d rather be showered by you.
I shake my head, forcing the thought from it. “This sounds so much fun.” Sarcasm drips off the word fun.
“You have no idea what I can plan.” He heads toward the door, stopping just short of it to stare at me.
“I’m a little scared. Not going to lie.” As these words come out, I realize there’s truth in them.
I am trying to be playful, but a part of me is scared.
He did say someone’s after me.
That they will try to use me to get back at him. Does that mean they can find me? What if, next time, they succeed?
Trent must see the change in my eyes because he crosses the space to sit next to me on the bed, in the same spot he was earlier today.
Then he’s directly in front of me, and he looks at me with the same warmth and kindness that he radiated this morning when he almost kissed me.
He takes my hands in his.
“I promise you, Peyton. I will never let anyone hurt you.”
“Why do you care now?”
“We talked about this.”
His blue eyes darken with emotion. They pierce the small distance between us. A tense silence envelops the room. Neither of us speaks for a second as we stare at each other. The memory of everything that has happened over the past few months fills the space.
Gently, his thumb rubs the palm of my hand, melting away the tension.
“The way I treated you was wrong,” he says on a heavy sigh, his voice filled with anguish.
“Being wrong and caring are two separate things.”
“You’re right. They are. I did what I did, and I was wrong, and I apologize. The other part . . . Why do I care?” His eyes shut, and when they open again, they find mine with precision. “I don’t know. That’s the honest truth. But I do. I just care. I don’t know when I started, but it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want anything to happen to you. I don’t want anybody to hurt you.”
I stare into his large eyes, probing their sincerity. I see nothing to make me doubt him. He holds my hand and stares back into mine, the truth between us hovering just beneath the surface.
After a beat, he lets go, and then he’s standing. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
I shake my head, trying to bring the playfulness back. “You’re giving me far too much credit.”
“Payton, I know it won’t take you an hour to get ready.”
I raise a brow. “And how do you know that about me?”
He sobers, and he’s one hundred percent serious when he says, “I know a lot more than I’ve ever let on about you.”
I know I’ve lost it when his words send butterfly jitters all over my stomach.
I’ve officially lost it.
I clear my throat. “From your spying?”
“There was only that one time.”
“No, that’s not true.”
“I never really spied on you.”
“Sure.”
He shakes his head and moves toward the door. “Be ready. Jen will be here in a minute to help you.”
I want to say I don’t need help, but that’s a blatant lie. The tracking device I found can attest to that. It sours my mood a bit, especially when Jen, the nurse he hired, walks into the room a moment later, and I remember I have to let a total stranger shower me.
She helps me up and into the bathroom.
This is overkill.
I’m sure I can walk a bit. The problem is, Trent is babying me. That’s why I allow this, but I’m not letting her sit in the bathroom with me when I shower.
That’s where I draw the line.
It takes way too long to convince her I can shower by myself. When I step into Trent’s bathroom, my breath hitches in my chest.
Not just because it is gorgeous.
White marble.
Rain shower.
Large, free-standing, modern-looking tub.
Nope, that’s not what does me in.
What does is in the middle of the two-person shower . . .
It’s a chair.
A chair I can sit on until my ankle heels, rather than hobble or worse, must have someone in the room with me.
He was right. I should have listened to him, stopped being stubborn earlier, and not showered in my bathroom. I should have always used his. This is amazing what he’s done for me.
Trent has given me my dignity back.
And I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.
When Jen has me settled, she leaves me alone in this beautiful space. I know she’s going to be right behind the door in the bedroom, but that’s fine, as long as I’m by myself.
I strip all my clothes and hobble the two steps until I reach the open shower door.
Once I’m sitting down, I turn on the warm water.
It feels amazing. It feels even better than yesterday’s shower because I don’t have to worry.
Trent set up everything so I can reach all the items I need. They’re lined up in rows in front of me. It feels like my heart will explode with all the time he took to make this possible.
Normally, I’d think someone on his staff did this, but my gut tells me this was all Trent.
Trent did everything.
He went out of his way to make me feel comfortable and safe.
And now I’m supposed to go on a picnic with him.
Excitement bubbles in my chest.
When all the soap is gone from my body, I turn the water off, and that’s when I notice he even has a towel set ready inside the shower. I don’t even have to reach. He thought of everything, and I melt over it.
Once I’m dry, I let Jen know I’m ready. Her help is needed, seeing as my feet are wet now.
She helps me walk over to the vanity, and I take a seat. I blow out my hair with a round brush. I’m not going to put makeup on because there’s no point. I don’t know where we’re going, so there’s no reason to get fancy.
The truth is, we really can’t go anywhere since, technically, I’m still on the mend.
Everything hurts, but I still want to get dressed.
Trent is probably just going to bring the food into my bedroom, but that’s okay. At least I won’t be alone.
An hour later, I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, my ankle and ribs wrapped, with leggings and a T-shirt on.
The door opens. Trent strolls in, handsome in the same outfit as before, and he stops to look me over.
“You might be cold. Let me grab you a jacket.”
Cold? Where are we going?
I don’t ask any questions, though. Instead, I wait for him to get me one and come back.
“Let’s go.” He hands me the jacket. “Do you want to go the fast way or the slow way?”
“Obviously, the fast way.” I playfully roll my eyes, and he picks me up again. “You seem to like picking me up a lot.”
This close, I can smell his cologne. Fresh and crisp. It reminds me of nature. Intoxicating. A warm fall day. A walk in the park. Whatever the scent, I wanted to immerse myself in it and get lost.
“This is the fast way,” he points out.
“I wouldn’t have said that if I knew that this was the fast way.”
“Shh.” He tightens his grip on me. “Be quiet.”
I close my mouth, and I let him take me for a ride. I expect us to go to the garage, but instead, he heads toward another door, one I have never opened. It’s skinnier than the rest, so I always assumed it was a closet.
He presses a button hidden slightly behind a floral arrangement. It dings a moment later, and the door slides open.
My mouth drops. “You have an elevator.”
“Yep.”
“I didn’t know.” I stare at him, heart pounding at the proximity. “Why didn’t you just use the elevator instead of carrying me up yesterday?”
“That wouldn’t have been as much fun.”
I shake my head at him.
He steps inside with me still in his arms, turning sideways so we can fit through the opening without my ankle banging against anything. As soon as the door closes, the elevator starts moving.
In a flash, it feels like we’ve stopped again.
The elevator door opens, and I expect to be in another room on another floor, but instead, the New York City air hits my face.
It’s an outside patio.
“Is this yours?”
“Yes.”
“Wow.”
If I thought that was “wow,” I gasp when I see what he has actually created.
After a few steps out of the elevator, I see not only the New York City skyline and all the buildings higher and lower but also the picnic he set up.
Correction: Picnic 2.0.
There’s a canopy with woven lights. Underneath, a blanket is spread out in the middle with a basket settled on top, too. Since I can’t sit on the floor, Trent even set up little reclining chairs.
Trent Aldridge went all out.
There’s even an outdoor space heater.
He thought of everything.
Of me.
He lowers me to the chair, and then he sits in front of me on the ground.
“Ready to see what we’ve got?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
At my words, he opens the basket and starts to pull out French baguettes, a cheese platter, pastries, champagne, and strawberries.
It’s like a date.
Is that what this is?