Page 101 of Beautiful When He Breaks

“There,” he says, voice flat and bored in that way that means he absolutely cares and would rather be killed than admit it normally. “Try not to get sentimental and make it weird.”

Julian stands beside me and snorts under his breath. “You literally renovated a house for him.”

“Loaned,” Killian corrects without missing a beat, eyes flicking to me. “I renovated a house and created a repayment obligation. Extremely cold and businesslike.”

I curl my fingers around the key and look down at it because looking at Killian directly might make my face do something inconvenient. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Correct,” Killian says, then pushes away from the doorframe and nods toward the house. “Mrs. Alvarez has Mila for another hour, and Luca’s keeping Ryan from buying a baby-sized basketball hoop until after dinner, so look around before the idiots invade.”

I glance toward the main house automatically because Mila has become the center of some gravitational system I never planned for but now orbit without question. Leaving her for even an hour still pulls at me, though she’s inside with Mrs. Alvarez and probably being sung to in Spanish while wearing duck socks. Julian’s hand brushes the small of my back, brief and grounding, and I realize I’ve gone quiet.

“She’s good,” Julian says softly, his voice lower now that Killian’s already started walking away. “Mrs. Alvarez would murder every single one of us before she let anything happen to Mila.”

“That’s weirdly comforting,” I mutter.

“It should be,” Julian replies, and when I look at him, there’s enough warmth in his face to make my chest do that stupid, dangerous thing it keeps doing around him lately.

We’ve been careful in public, or at least careful by Sin Bin standards, which means everyone probably knows more than we’ve said because this house is full of nosy athletes with emotional surveillance skills they pretend not to have.

But in these small moments, when it’s only us and no one is making jokes to save us from saying something real, Julian looks at me like he’s stopped trying to hide how much he wants this.

With a sigh, I fit the key into the lock, and when I turn it, there's enough silence around us to hear the lock disengage before I push the door open.

The first thing I notice is the smell. Fresh paint, new wood, clean air, something faintly lemony from whatever cleaning product Mrs. Alvarez bullied the contractors into using because she has absolutely been here already.

The entry opens into a small living space with new floors and soft cream walls, the windows uncovered for now, so the afternoon light spills over everything. It isn’t huge, but it isn’t cramped either. There’s space for a couch, a little dining table, bookshelves, toys eventually, maybe a soft rug where Mila can learn to crawl while half the Sin Bin sits around pretending they aren’t tearing up about it.

The kitchen is tucked off to one side, compact but new, with pale cabinets and a counter that’s already making me imagine bottles drying by the sink and coffee brewing while Mila screams at dawn since she’s personally offended by mornings.

I step inside slowly, and Julian comes in behind me and shuts the door. The click sounds final in a different way from the front door of the main house. Not shutting the world out exactly, just claiming a pocket of it.

“Fuck,” I breathe before I can stop myself.

Julian stays close but doesn’t crowd me. “Yeah.”

I walk farther in, hand trailing over the back of the little island. “This is insane.”

“You say that every time someone helps you.”

“That’s because all of you help in insane ways,” I say, glancing back at him. “Normal people bring casseroles or send a gift card. Killian builds a fucking residence.”

Julian’s mouth tilts. “To be fair, the residence was already here. Killian just made it livable for you and Mila.”

I keep walking because standing still might make the emotion catch up with me too quickly, and I’m not ready to do that in front of bare walls and Julian’s too-knowing eyes.

The bedroom is simple and bright, big enough for a bed, a dresser, and Mila’s cot for the first stretch if I decide I’m not ready for her across the hall yet. The bathroom has fresh tiles and a tub, which makes me think of rubber ducks immediately.

The laundry nook is small, with a washer and dryer for Mila’s tiny clothes. A shelf for detergent. A normal, boring, necessary thing tucked into a home that exists because everyone around me decided my daughter mattered enough to plan around.

I swallow hard and say, “I’m going to owe him forever.”

Julian steps up beside me in the little hall, shoulder brushing mine. “Yeah, financially, according to the official King family loan shark agreement.”

I huff and look at him. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he says, but his voice softens. “You’ll pay him back when you can because that’s the deal he gave you so you’d take it. But you don’t owe him your shame, Eli. He didn’t do this to make you feel smaller.”

He finds the bruise so easily.