Page 18 of Free to Judge (Amaryllis Heritage #2)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

All my life I’ve worn my family like a badge of honor—proud of the sacrifices and the love that fueled our legacy.

It was that deep pride, the fire to make our parents proud, that drove every decision I made from college to law school.

Hell, even from my decision to defer school for a year to train for the five rings few can achieve.

But thirty minutes ago, the pride that held me in its embrace over the course of my life shattered when I saw my father, my family, and Declan conspiring together.

In that moment, a crushing wave of disappointment hit me, making every breath a struggle, not as if my lungs hadn’t trained to run marathons with speeds that had been likened to those of gazelles.

This is the problem when people put humans on pedestals as heroes; inevitably, they topple off because they can’t maintain the facade.

Today, it was my family’s turn to crash to the ground.

There are days I wish I could see inside the twisted logic that makes up my father’s brain so I could appreciate what he believes is so dire that there should be no comeuppance to lying to his family. From what it sounded like, Declan was already willing to help them bring down the Byrnes.

Walking in on that scene wasn’t even close to what I was expecting when I went to my father’s today.

But part of me wonders if I should have.

It was all too obvious after Declan laid it all out to me at Hudson, explaining in hushed, venomous tones how he planned to dismantle the families who took out his partner.

I can’t say I blame him. If it were me…hell. It was me. I mumble to myself, “And if I’m not the poster child for things not to do when you’re furious, I don’t know who is.”

I desperately wanted someone in the room to contradict him, that he hadn’t lived through that kind of agony.

But they didn’t. He laid his truth bare, even as brutal as it was to accept.

He isn’t a monster, the enemy. He was a wounded warrior compelled to finish the battle, regardless of whether he was left standing.

Now, I’m left with the feelings he triggered in me the day of my graduation overlaid with this image. I find myself wanting to know more, wanting to know everything. Declan stirs something in the shadows of my heart that I can’t turn away from.

The one thing I know is it isn’t fear of him or what he could do to us.

Not anymore.

But what does this mean?

My hands are shaking so damn bad between anger and uncertainty they can hardly grip the steering wheel as I pull into my driveway.

My SUV skids on loose gravel before halting to a stop in front of the garage.

I stare blankly at the dashboard for a moment, feeling as if, for the first time in my life, I have no clear course ahead.

But somehow I’m stuck in a race I neither trained nor signed up for.

Just then, my front door swings open. A flutter of hope skims through me at the sight of who’s there. Is it crazy to think—or maybe just desperately want—the person sprinting at me can explain this whole mess away? Instead, Grace waves as she leaps down the steps.

I force myself out of the car. I know I’ll need to share something with her despite the warning pinging around my head like a ticking time bomb.

Just as I’m about to spill my guts, she fills the space with excitement.

“Kalie! What are you doing home so early? Not that I’m complaining.

” She gives a quick look around as if she’s expecting someone else with me.

I step into her embrace and stand there stiffly for a moment before relaxing into it.

Her arms tighten around me briefly before letting go. She studies my face with a look that tells me she knows I’m holding back on her. “What’s going on?”

“Declan Conian.” His name comes out barely above a whisper.

Her eyes widen like saucers. “You saw him? Again?”

I nod, licking my lips.

Her happiness dissipates as if it was never there to begin with. It’s then I realize I can’t tell her who else I saw him with—our cousin, our uncle. My father. My lips hold back the words deep down in my gut. The warning at Hudson is setting off alarm bells too loud to ignore.

Grace’s shock shifts to immediate concern. “Did he threaten you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, too quickly. “He hardly spoke to me.” I’m not sure if she buys my exaggeration of the truth or not, but it’s close enough. He didn’t need to speak—even though he said plenty.

Just his presence in my father’s office said enough.

I expect her to offer some words of comfort, but instead, she fixes me with a piercing look and demands, “What did your dad say about it?”

That question cuts through me. Every member of our extended family believes in my father and trusts that he’ll make the worst wrongs right.

But with my trust in him crumbled to specks of doubt after what I overheard, I have to force down my resentment.

“He says we’re safe—that we’re not targets.

Claims there’s a team working on taking them out.

” My voice hopefully doesn’t betray the storm of anger I’m forcing aside for her benefit.

Grace draws in a long, steadying breath. I look into her eyes as she tries to process the tangled mess I’ve gotten us all into when I decided to play judge and jury with one single punch. “I hope he’s right.”

Then she grips my hand, giving it a quick, reassuring squeeze—as if to remind me that at least one person will always be in my corner. “You’d tell me if something was really wrong, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course,” I lie as smoothly as my father. As Uncle Caleb. As Jon. With that realization, my stomach churns.

She pulls back and gives me a firm look. “Then let’s go inside and you can help me pack.”

“Pack? For what?” My voice is tinged with disbelief. Did my father get Grace to move out? Get her out of the way.

She lopes an arm around my waist before guiding me up to our front porch. “I have the International Anaplastology Association conference in Belgium in like a week.”

I slap my hand against my forehead. “God, Gracie. I think I left my brain somewhere.”

“Jail?” she teases in a sarcastic tone to make light of that now infamous day.

“Ha, ha.” I chuckle, deciding to play along.

If I confess that it’s not just my sanity but my faith that has decided to take a long run off a short course since visiting my father’s office, she’d never leave.

Plus, Grace deserves this. She’s so excited to reestablish a relationship with her mentor, Dr. Amato, from the Center for Craniofacial Epithetics.

Changing the subject, I grin slyly. “So, are you excited about the trip?”

Her eyes spark in a way I haven’t seen in years. “So much, Kalie.”

I can’t resist teasing, “Any plans to see if there are any sparks left between you two, Surgeon?” I grin when she growls at her old lacrosse nickname due to her stick skills and passing capabilities on the field.

Grace, once a lacrosse star at UCONN with a full scholarship, shifted her ambitions from kinesiology while on a summer internship.

During her junior year, studying advanced anaplastology overseas with Dr. Amato, she hadn’t just learned techniques—she’d rediscovered her own resilience as a woman.

She rolls her eyes, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. “None whatsoever.”

I shake my head, laughing softly. “Only you could end things while living up to your name—Grace.”

Her smile falters for just a moment. “Not all my relationships end that way, as you well know,” she reminds me quietly.

Between us hangs an unspoken secret, carefully hidden from the rest of our family—the kind of secret shared only between us and Laura. Yet now I carry on my back something even more dangerous, a truth that could hurt everyone if it comes to light.

The danger found in lies.

I draw in a deep breath, plastering on a smile. “Well, just in case, it’s up to me to ensure you pack not only your latest silicone developments, but also the pieces that turn heads for an entirely different reason.”

Hand in hand, we climb the stairs. As we round the corner, my eyes catch sight of my office—a stark reminder of the day I endured and the work I still have to do as a result of it. Muttering under my breath, I remark, “Maybe it’s better if I work from home for the next few days.”

Grace’s concerned gaze fixes on me. “Is everything okay?”

“Absolutely,” I force a laugh. “I just have a mountain of work to do. You know how the office can be—chaos should be the next tattoo we get.”

Her smile blooms. “Especially during wedding season.”

“When is it not wedding season?” I retort, and soon we’re laughing together—a small moment of levity amid the turmoil.

For the next hour, I offer unfiltered opinions on every outfit, critiquing each choice. But as the laughter subsides, a heavier urge claims me. I need to escape this overwhelming storm.

Unknown:

Today was a lot.

You okay?

My fingers hesitate. I want to ask who this is, but in my heart of hearts, I already know the answer. I consider the many ways I could respond to his unexpected care and concern, but then my brain kicks in and I realize the danger he just placed himself in if I do.

So, I don’t.

It’s better for his safety if I put Declan out of my mind. As for me, the only way I can do that is to run.

Even if I have little hope of that working.