“You’re not a screwup.” Guarded, definitely—even a little detached. Considering the press she’d received in the last eighteen months alone, both made sense. Survival skills were required in a hypercompetitive industry. And, apparently, in the King household. He hadn’t spent much time with CiCi King, but in that time, he’d learned quite a bit. And gained a whole new level of empathy and respect for the King children. Especially Krystal.
Still, Krystal shifted in her seat to study him. “Thanks, random reality TV winner guy who’s known me for like five minutes.”
“You’re welcome.” He chuckled.
She rolled her eyes. “Sarcasm. Something else you’ll need to acquaint yourself with.”
“Lucky to have your help on that.” He rolled his jacket back up and closed his eyes as he rested his head.
“We have pillows.”
“I’m good.” He yawned, vaguely aware that the plane was taxiing down the runway. “So you know, I’m a good judge of character.”
The dismissive snort-laugh she made had him opening both eyes. “I’m not so sure about that. Don’t you read the newspaper? Or watch the news or listen to the radio? If you did, you’d know all the mean and selfish and horrible things I’ve done.” She was studying him again. “I am a bad person. You’ve been warned.”
What was she looking for?
He waited, searching for the right words. Because, right now, he needed to be damn careful. “You know that game? Where you go around the circle, whispering the secret to the person next to you, and they whisper to the person next to them, and on around until the last person says the secret out loud?”
She nodded. “Telephone?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Telephone. Every person hears some of it and fills in the rest? By the time it comes out, some words have changed. Some so much that it doesn’t resemble what it started out as—hell, it might be unrecognizable. Definitely misunderstood. Or out of context. I think it’s more like that. Might be simplifying it a bit, but you get what I mean.” He held his breath, watching her.
“I get what you mean.” Her grin was full of mischief. “But I did stomp on Mickey’s foot. Hard. Made him bleed and ruined his boots.” And she didn’t feel an ounce of remorse over it, he could tell.
“I’m betting he deserved it.” He shrugged. “And that he loved the attention he got out of it.”
“And he got plenty of press.” She lowered her voice, almost mumbling. Her gaze slipped from his. “Did anyone see him stick his hand under my skirt? No. Did anyone hear what he said to me?” Red seeped into her cheeks. “Of course not.”
Anger clocked him right in the throat, squeezing tight enough to make breathing a chore. “What?” He’d had the chance to punch the son of a bitch square in the jaw, to lay him out cold in the damn parking lot that night. He should have. Hell, he wasn’t opposed to doing just that next time he came face-to-face with the bastard. “Why not tell someone?”
Her jaw ticked, her smile going hard. “No one listens, Jace. Especially when it’s something they don’t want to hear.” She closed her eyes and slumped back against the seat.
Try as he might, he couldn’t relax. And, from her white-knuckled clenched fists, she wasn’t asleep either.
Who the hell wouldn’t listen to that? To her? It’s not like she wasn’t surrounded by people almost every second of every day. Surely, one of them would believe her? Everyone needed someone—a person they could rely on. He had Heather. Heather had him. He’d be damned if he ever turned his back on her, no matter what. “Krystal—”
“Don’t.” Her green eyes popped open, cutting him off. “Don’t you dare start feeling sorry for me.” She shot him a look.
He held his hands up in mock surrender. What he was feeling at the moment had nothing to do with pity. Pissed off? No doubt. Frustrated, too. And fiercely…protective? Of Krystal? Well, hell, she wouldn’t thank him for that. Not one little bit.
With a nod, she relaxed—a bit. “Where does Heather go to school?”
“Oklahoma.” He paused. “She works hard—on the dean’s list. I’m damn proud of her.” He smiled. “But I haven’t seen her in a bit.”
“Miss her?” She nodded. “Sounds like she got all the brains and you got all the looks?” she said, teasing, turning so she was curled up and facing him.
“Oh, no, Heather’s gorgeous.” He grinned. “Too.”
She laughed that time. “And, out of the two of you, she definitely has the better name.”
“We’re still on that?” he sighed. “Jace isn’t a bad name.”
“But is it a good name?” She smothered a yawn. “Now shush so I can sleep, since I didn’t get much earlier, either.”
“Have problems with your shower too?” he asked.
“What? My shower?” Confusion clouded her altogether too pretty face.