My Rules (Kingston Lane Book 2)

They grab each other by the shirt as they get in each other’s faces.

What the hell?

That escalated at a million miles per minute.

“Stop it,” I yell. Blake throws John toward the front door. Damn it. “Blake, stop it.”

“Get the fuck out, and don’t come back,” Blake growls.

“Blake,” I yell as I begin to get angry with him too. I need to speak to John. “Will you listen to me? Go home.”

“No.” Blake wrestles with John.

“Oh, it’s all making sense now, Rebecca,” John fumes. “This is why you want a divorce.”

“I want a divorce because you are an idiot,” I spit. “Blake. Will you stop pushing him?”

“Nope.” He pushes John down the stairs, and he goes flying across the lawn. “When I tell you I want a reason to kick your ass, I mean it.”

“You touch me again and I’m calling the police.” John stands and dusts himself off. “And to think . . . while I thought you were my friend”—he sneers—“you had your eye on my wife the entire time.”

“Because you were too busy looking at other women,” Blake screams as his anger hits a crescendo.

I see Antony’s front door open, and he walks out onto his porch to see what’s happening. Antony begins to make his way over. “Blake,” he calls.

“Go home. Both of you.” I look up to see Juliet and Henley have come out front too.

“What’s going on?” Henley calls as he crosses the road toward us.

“You think you have it all figured out, Rebecca,” John yells. “What a pathetic downgrade. Blake Grayson is the biggest womanizer I’ve ever met. He will throw you to the curb as soon as someone new comes along, and everyone fucking knows it. I love you; I made a mistake. You mean nothing to him.”

“You lying prick.” Blake throws a punch, and it connects with John’s jaw. He staggers back. John loses control and runs full speed at Blake, and they both crash to the ground.

This situation is completely out of control.

“Stop it,” I cry. “Somebody, do something.”

Blake punches John in the face, hard.

“Blake,” I yell.

He punches him again and again, and oh my god, he’s actually going to kill him.

“Enough.” Henley and Antony wrestle Blake off John, holding him back by the arms. Blake is panting and red; adrenaline is surging through his system. “You come around here again, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Not if I kill you first,” John pants. He’s on his hands and knees as he tries to collect himself. He spits blood onto the grass.

My eyes go to Blake as he struggles to get free, and that’s when I see the fading red love bite on his neck. My stomach rolls in disgust. A hickey from a woman who he claims to have no attraction to.

An outright lie.

John’s right; they are tarred with the same brush.

Twins, both trying to control my situation. Neither of them giving me an inch of respect.

I ask John to go home; he refuses. I ask Blake to go home; he refuses. Everything is all about what they want.

That’s it.

“Don’t come near me again. You both make me sick.” I turn and march inside, slam my front door shut, and lock it. Having an ex-husband and a friend who act exactly the same is fucking toxic and not something I need in my life.

That’s it; I’m done.

I storm upstairs and get into the shower; I stand under the hot water as I try to calm myself down.

I hear more screaming coming from outside, and I put my hands over my ears.

Hopefully they kill each other.

I sit in the café and sip my coffee as I watch the sun set. As the sunlight fades, my mind wanders off into something really depressing.

I don’t want to go home.

It’s been three days since the front yard boxing match, three days since I’ve spoken to Blake.

It’s one thing to be disrespected by my ex-husband. It’s another thing to be disrespected by a friend. Blake had no right to order John to leave; it is still legally John’s house, after all. Here I am, trying my best to keep it civil so that I have at least a chance of a good outcome in the divorce courts, and my supposed friend is doing all he can to sabotage my mission. When I asked Blake to leave and go home so that I could talk to John, he point-blank refused and then proceeded to beat him to a pulp.

It’s not okay.

John came around to our house to have a conversation with me about financial matters and our impending divorce. What gives Blake the right to react that way?

He acted like a jealous child. I understand that he hates John. I do, too, but that doesn’t excuse violent behavior.

I didn’t leave a controlling, toxic marriage to enter into a controlling, toxic friendship.

I feel so deflated and flat, and my rose-colored glasses have been well and truly smashed.

To make matters worse, I haven’t sold a single image on Foot Finder. I guess my toes don’t have what it takes, and I feel like a fool that I ever imagined they would.

This time last week, I was excited and had hope that I was going to be able to afford to keep my house. This week, I’m just not so sure.

I glance at my watch. It’s 6:30 p.m. The boys leave for Vegas tonight, and I didn’t want to see Blake before he left. He’s called me at least twenty times over the last few days, and I just . . . I don’t even want to talk to him. I mean, what is there to say.

You’re a disappointment is all I’ve got.

The door opens, and a little old man and woman walk in. They must be at least eighty years old. I smile sadly as I watch them. They’re holding hands and chatting away to each other; they look so in love.

How long have they been together?

I feel a deep, overwhelming sadness. Lost dreams and a sad statistic are all my marriage amounted to, and an unexpected wave of emotion fills me.

I was a good wife; I swear I was.

The worst part is, I know that the part of my heart that loved so deeply and unencumbered has died. Never to be resurrected, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

I’m not the same girl I once was.

Quite sure I’ll never trust a man again, let alone be able to love one.

The vision of the old couple blurs as my eyes fill with tears, and I discreetly wipe them away. I drag myself off the stool and stumble out to my car, and then once safely alone, I let myself cry.

8:30 p.m.

My phone vibrates on the coffee table as a text comes in from Juliet.

Hi Bec,

Where are you?

I close my eyes. Ugh. I am not good company right now; I’ve fallen into a self-pity hole, and I just need to sleep it off.

I reply.

I’m at home but I’m beat.

Breakfast in the morning?

I feel a twinge of guilt as I see her dots bouncing. I hope she didn’t want to do something tonight with Henley being away.

No worries,

I’m tired too.

Saving myself for tomorrow night.

Love you, good night.

Xox

I’m looking forward to tomorrow night too. I smile in relief and reply.

Good night,

Love you too.

Xox

I turn off the television and head upstairs for a long, hot bath and bed.

Tomorrow is a new day.

Blake

“This is the captain speaking; welcome to Las Vegas.” The voice sounds through the intercom. “The current local time is nine forty p.m. We trust you had an enjoyable flight and look forward to seeing you again soon. Safe travels, everyone.”

The plane drives down the tarmac toward the airport. I turn my phone off flight mode and discreetly look at the screen.

“Did she call?” Antony asks from beside me.

“Who?” I raise my eyebrow in question.

“You know who.”

“No,” I reply. “I don’t.” I stuff my phone back into my pocket.

“What did you expect?” Henley mumbles. “You beat her ex to a pulp, and you aren’t even with her.”

“Imagine if he was.” Antony laughs. “A for-real fucking psycho.”

I roll my lips as I glare out the window, not in the mood for these fuckers tonight.

I messed up.

Bad.

But in my defense, his face is a major fucking trigger for me, and I had no control over myself.

“She’ll calm down,” Henley says as he scrolls through his phone. “Give her some time.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” I reply, uninterested.

“Liar.” Henley smirks.

I fake a smile and then immediately drop my face. “We are in Vegas. I don’t want to think about my annoying neighbor.”

“Right.” Antony nods.

“And if she thinks that when she finally decides to call me back that I’m going to pick up her call, she’s going to be sadly mistaken.”

“Right.” Henley nods.

“If anything, she should be thanking me.”

“For . . . ?”

“Defending her honor,” I huff.

“Because violence is always the way you do that,” Antony agrees with an eye roll.

“Maybe I should defend your honor right here, right now?” I stand and grab my bag from the overhead.

“Come at me.”

We stand as the line slowly trickles out of the plane.

“Come on, guys, perk up. We’re in Vegas,” Henley reminds us.

He’s right; snap out of it. This is Henley’s bachelor party; we need to give him the time of his life. I feel a little of my mojo return.

“For the record, my name this weekend is Lazarus,” I casually tell them as we exit the plane.

“Why is that?”

“’Cause I’ll be fucking those witches.” I wink.

They both laugh out loud, and in that moment, I know the weekend is saved.

I will not think of her again.

Rebecca

“Delivery for Juliet Drinkwater,” the man at the door says as he holds up the roses.

Juliet bounces on the spot as she signs for them, and Chloe and I gush with excitement for her. She closes the door and passes me the beautiful bunch of red roses. “Hold these while I read the card.” I take them from her and inhale the heavenly scent. “Jules, these are gorgeous.” She reads the card and holds it to her chest. “Oh, I love him.”

“What does it say?”

She passes me the card.

Seven days until you walk down the aisle to me.

I can’t wait to marry you.

xox

“Ahhhhhh.” We all swoon.

“Who could ever have imagined that Henley James would end up being so perfect?” Chloe smiles dreamily.

“I did.” Juliet beams with happiness. “I knew all along that he had it in him.” She carries her roses into the kitchen. “He’s going to be the best husband that ever lived. Better put these in some water.”

Chloe and I walk into the kitchen, and while she sits down on the stool, I get to making us a cup of coffee.

Juliet dials a number and holds her phone with her chin as she fills the vase with water. “Hello, Mr. James.” She smiles. “I just got a beautiful delivery.” She laughs and then listens as she begins to undo the ribbon around the bunch of roses. “Seven.”

“She’s walking on air,” Chloe mouths.

“I know.” I smile. Juliet’s happiness is contagious. “I can’t wait for the wedding next weekend.”

“My god, me too.”

“She’s going to be the most beautiful bride.”

“Definitely the happiest.”

“Thank you.” She smiles. “I love you.” Her eyes float over to us as we listen in. “Oh, he does?” She laughs out loud. “Yes, put him on.” She keeps rearranging her roses. “Hello, Antony.” She smiles. “Well, you behave yourselves.” She laughs out loud, as if surprised by something he said. “No. I will not bail you out of jail.”

“She totally would,” Chloe whispers.

“Well, you look after him.” Her eyebrows rise. “Blake’s what?” Her mouth falls open. “That can’t be good. Send me video updates of this, please.” She laughs. “I mean it, Deluca. You are in charge.”

Chloe and I exchange looks. What’s going on?

“Goodbye.” She hangs up the phone. “Blake is out of control already.”

“Why?”

Juliet’s phone beeps a text, and she opens it. It’s a video, and we all lean in to watch it.

It’s Blake. I frown as I try to get my bearings. “What is he doing?”

He’s shirtless and in his swimming trunks. His body is glistening with tanning oil.

“What the hell is he doing?” Chloe frowns.

Then the sound comes through, and we giggle as we hear the song. He’s in a sombrero hat and doing the Macarena by the pool to a band with a group of old ladies.

His carefree, boyish charm is infectious, and I give a lopsided smile, my eyes lingering on his glistening, oiled-up body. His muscles are flexing as he dances, and he’s laughing out loud. “Those grannies are going to think all their Christmases have come at once.”

“Right?” Juliet agrees. “This will be the highlight of their lives.”

“He sure knows how to have a good time,” Chloe replies.

The girls go back to chatting while my mind stays by the pool in Vegas with Blake.

I wish I knew how to be carefree and fun like him.

Doing the Macarena with grannies—the thought brings a smile to my face.

He’s one of a kind.

Onstage, we sing at the top of our voices; Juliet is wearing the customary short white veil, with glitter on her face and a very tipsy demeanor.

Twenty-five of us girls are singing our hearts out and having the best night of all time to an ABBA tribute.

We are at the bachelorette party.

Next weekend, Juliet Drinkwater is getting married to Henley James, and it’s the most monumental and exciting thing in forever.

Juliet points into the audience as she sings along to “Dancing Queen.”

She’s totally lost in the moment, and we all laugh out loud. “She thinks she’s really in ABBA.”

“She’s better than ABBA.”

They pulled her onstage to sing the last song, and she’s absolutely crushing it.

“Are we still going out after this?” Chloe calls.

“I don’t know.” We both watch Juliet onstage, and as she sidesteps, she’s so tipsy that she nearly trips. “Maybe not.”

“I think we should get her home.”

“Yeah, me too.”

The song ends, and the crowd cheers. Juliet does an overexaggerated bow and blows kisses into the crowd as if she’s a rock star. Who are we kidding—tonight, she is.

I hold my hands up in the air and clap loudly. “Go, baby.”

“Goodbye,” Juliet calls from the cab window. “Thanks for the best night of my life.” It’s taken us forty minutes to bundle her into the cab. I think she said goodbye to every single person in the club.

“Hello, Mr. Driver,” she slurs from the back seat.

“Hello.” He smiles.

I’m sitting in the front, and Chloe is in the back with her.

“Did you know I’m getting married next week?” she tells him.

“The veil did give me a clue.” He smirks.

“Oh.” She smiles. “Did it?” She hiccups, and Chloe and I get the giggles. She would be mortified if she could see herself right now. Someone’s pink lipstick is smeared across her cheek, her hair is standing on end, and the short, cropped veil is all ruffled up and strongly resembles a bird’s nest.

Ding . . .

“Oh, I got a message,” she slurs. She digs through her bag and pulls out her phone and swipes across. “Oh, it’s Antony.” She narrows her eyes to concentrate on the screen. “I have lots of video messages from him.” She scrolls back and clicks on the screen and holds it up for us to watch too. There are at least fifty men in what appears to be a foyer of some sort, and they are all in position for a photo to be taken. The men in the front row are sitting; the ones in the next row are kneeling. And the guys behind them are cheering.

“Is that how many guys are away in Vegas with them?” I ask in horror.

“Yep,” she hiccups.

“When was this sent?” Chloe asks.

Juliet looks and frowns. “Two this afternoon. I must not have seen it.”

We watch as two guys strategically strap a ball and chain onto Henley’s ankle as all the boys cheer.

Juliet’s face screws up. “Do we even want to watch this?”

“Probably not.” I wince.

She clicks on the next video. “Chug, chug, chug,” chants the crowd. Henley, Blake, and Antony are onstage somewhere chugging beers. Blake finishes first and turns his glass upside down on top of his head as the crowd goes wild.

“Ugh.” I screw up my nose. “It’s like a bad frat house situation.”

“What the hell are they doing?” Juliet asks.

“Drinking.” Chloe shrugs.

She clicks on the next video, and Henley is at a blackjack table. “Antony is taking his keeping-you-updated promise very seriously.” I smile.

“Right?” She giggles. Henley appears to win, and everyone screams and picks him up and throws him around as if he’s as light as a feather while he laughs out loud.

“Okay, this is ridiculous.” Juliet winces. “They are completely out of control.”

I turn back to the front and stare out the window as we drive around for a while.

“Oh god, look at Blake,” she says as she watches the video again.

I turn back around. “What’s he doing?” She hits play again and passes me the phone.

Antony has filmed Henley playing cards, but in the background, you can see Blake talking to two beautiful, scantily dressed women. He has his hand on one’s behind, and he leans in and kisses the other on the lips. He says something, and they both giggle on cue.

“What the hell?” I whisper. “Two?”

Henley wins the game, and Blake jumps in the air and joins in the celebrations, leaving the two women alone while he carries on like a lunatic.

“Ugh, I don’t even want to know what they’re doing.” I hand back the phone in disgust. I hear another video play from the back seat, and I can hear them all laughing out loud. “Are they in an elevator?” Chloe asks.

“I don’t know what’s happening, but it must be hilarious. Blake and Antony’s laughter is hysterical.” Juliet hiccups. “What could possibly be so funny?”

Ugh, good-time Blake Grayson . . . always the life of the party.

She clicks on another video, and Antony’s voice comes on as he’s filming. “Jules, Miss Juliet Drinkwater,” he announces as if he’s a television presenter. “Henley is getting your wedding present.”

“Oh no,” Juliet gasps. “They’re in a tattoo parlor.”

“What?” I spin around. “Seriously, they are out of control right now. He is never going to Vegas again.” I lean in to watch the footage.

Once again, the sound of uncontrollable laughter is echoing. The footage flicks to Henley getting a tattoo on his chest over his heart.

J U L I E T

“Oh my god,” we all gasp.

“He’s going to regret that tomorrow.” Juliet laughs. “I wish he got it on his forehead.”

“Ahhhhhh,” we hear in the background. The camera flicks to Blake lying on a bed.

“What’s he doing?” I lean in to see closer. “Don’t tell me he’s getting a tattoo too.”

“Beat it,” we hear someone call.

“Yeah, that’s it,” someone else cries.

A woman comes out with a surgical tray, and everyone erupts into hysterical laughter. An out-of-control man cheers.

“What is happening?”

Antony is laughing so hard that the camera is flicking all over the place, and we can’t tell what’s going on.

“Got to go.” Antony laughs. “Grayson’s about to beat the meat.”

“What’s happening?” I frown.

“I have no idea.”

“He’s getting his cock pierced.” Antony laughs hard.

The camera goes black, and we hear Blake’s hysterical laughter as it fades into the distance.

“What?”

“Oh. My. God,” Juliet gasps. “Blake is actually getting his dick pierced. Is he insane?”

“Obviously.” I drag my hand down my face in disgust. “Why am I not surprised?”

“He’s seriously out of control,” Chloe replies.

Another video bounces in, and Juliet opens it. It’s a photo of Henley asleep in the bathtub. He has a bucket and a pillow under his head.

“Oh, thank god, he’s back home safe.” Juliet sighs with relief.

“Why would they put him in the bathtub, the assholes?” I scoff.

I turn back to the front, and my mind flicks back to the two women that Blake was kissing earlier.

I don’t know much about life, but I do know one thing: there will be no more videos sent through tonight.

Blake and Antony probably dropped Henley at home and then went back out.

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

The sun is shining, and the birds are chirping. It’s a beautiful day, and I’m late for work.

It wouldn’t be a Monday if I wasn’t.

I pour my coffee into my thermos cup and grab some fruit from the refrigerator.

Now that I’m on a budget, I have to pack my lunch all the time. Those little coffees and carryout snacks here and there add up. I grab an apple and an orange and the sandwich that I made last night from the refrigerator. I put my handbag over my shoulder, grab my coffee, and make my way out the front door.

From my peripheral vision, I can see that Blake’s garage door is going up, but I refuse to look over.

Refuse!

I’m still angry with him, and to make matters worse, he hasn’t bothered to try and call me in days.

So now I’m angrier.

I hope his new piercing makes his dick fall off.

I open my car door and sling my handbag in to sit on the front seat. I lean down and peer through the window of my car to see Blake walk out the front door of his house in a navy suit. His dark sandy hair has a wave to it, and he’s standing tall. The way he carries himself screams confidence.

I narrow my eyes, infuriated by the mere sight of him.

He gets into his car and starts it. The Porsche roars like a kitten as she warms up.

Ugh . . .

I walk around to the driver’s side, and as I’m climbing in, I fumble my orange and drop it. It rolls down the driveway and into the road just as Blake is driving out.

He pulls the car to a halt so that he doesn’t run it over.

I stomp down the driveway, and he opens his window. “Can you keep your fruit under control?” he says dryly.

“Apparently not. If Tuesday night is anything to go by.”

“What did you say?” he spits.

I snatch the orange from the road, and I hear his car door open.

Here we go.

“Did you just call me a piece of fruit?” He puts his hands on his hips, indignant.

“Yeah.” I put my hands on my hips too. “I did, actually. Although I guess it really should have been meat.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re a giant meathead, that’s what it means.”

“Oh, right.” He leans in close and points to his chest. “I’m a meathead because I threw your loser ex-husband off your property.”

“He was here to discuss our divorce,” I whisper angrily.

“Oh please,” he scoffs. “You cannot be this stupid. Divorces are discussed over email. The only thing that warrants a visit to your ex’s house late at night is the scent of reconciliation.”

“What?” I scoff. “You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re an ungrateful wench.”

“Me?!” I explode. “How am I ungrateful?”

“I escorted someone who has caused you nothing but heartbreak from your property before he had the chance to lie to you again . . . and yet . . . I am the asshole.”

“When I asked you to leave, you should have just left, not beat him up.”

His eyes hold mine for an extended beat. “Fine.” He throws his hands up in defeat. “You’ll never have to ask me to leave again.” He gets back into his car and slams the door. “You and your red flags have a nice life.” His Porsche roars as he takes off up the road.

Asshole.