Page 18

EIGHTEEN

MJ

Driving Logan’s truck, I gripped the wheel and glanced at the map on my phone again. Elizabeth Peake’s residence in Kenilworth was only about twenty miles from the stadium, but in city traffic it took me nearly an hour.

What was I even hoping for? A sense of connection? Closure? Maybe a little validation that the man who had abandoned us hadn’t been all bad?

The questions swirled, tangling with the guilt that clawed at my stomach.

He didn’t deserve forgiveness, and I didn’t want to feel this hopeful.

The entire ride, I couldn’t shake the heebie-jeebie feeling of Dad’s ashes being casually buckled into the back seat. It was sweet that Logan didn’t want to put the ashes in the truck bed, but, honestly, I wished he had.

The fancy North Shore community was gated, so I rolled to a stop at the guardhouse. “Hi. My name is MJ. I’m meeting with Elizabeth Peake?”

“Good morning,” the guard answered as he picked up a phone. “I’ll let her know you’ve arrived.” The friendly guard smiled at me as he waited for someone to answer his call.

“Nice neighborhood.” I smiled and looked at the mansions just behind his guardhouse.

“Luxury lakefront living at its finest. You’ll—” He paused and spoke into the phone. “Good morning. Your guest has arrived. Yes, of course, madam.”

Madam?

The guard hung up the phone and smiled at me. “Your identification, miss?”

I scrambled to grab my wallet and hand him my driver’s license. If the guard recognized and was curious about my King last name, he didn’t show it.

He handed it back to me. “You’re all set. Follow the curve to the end of the road. The big blue house on the right. Have a wonderful day.” He pressed a button, and the gate groaned as it opened. I tucked my ID away and exhaled before winding down the road toward my destination.

When the house came into view, my jaw dropped open. “ Damn .”

The sprawling estate and pristine landscaping screamed of a life I could barely fathom. The King estate back home suddenly felt small, modest, even humble. The King estate in Outtatowner was considered large and ornate for such a small town, but this home was unreal . It was at least double the size and by far the largest house on the block. The lake shimmered aqua and white behind the house as I made my way down the driveway. Huge metal sculptures decorated the manicured lawn. High hedgerows lined both sides, providing privacy from prying eyes.

It was exactly the kind of multimillion-dollar home I would have expected my father to own.

When I came to a stop at the end of the driveway, my palms were sweaty. I glanced in the rearview mirror at the white box in the back seat. “Here goes nothing.”

Unbuckling, I rounded the truck and retrieved him from the back. The box was surprisingly light, and I tried not to think about the gruesome fact that the entirety of my father fit inside such a neat little package.

I rang the buzzer at the door and waited.

A man’s voice crackled over the speaker. “Who is it?”

“Hi. MJ, um ... King.” You know, the same person the guard just announced was here? Your long lost, half ... whoever? “I’m here to see Elizabeth?”

Without a reply, I was unsure of what to do next. Moments later, the door opened and an older gentleman in a well-tailored suit smiled at me. He had a short crop of salt-and-pepper hair, and his suit was beautifully starched and pressed. “Good morning. Ms. Peake is eagerly awaiting your arrival.”

I stepped inside, grateful to be out of the chilly autumn wind. “Thank you.”

The man gestured toward the box in my hands. “May I?”

“Um ...” I held it out. “Sure.”

I hesitated before handing the box over, my fingers reluctant to let go. It felt wrong, watching a stranger cradle the last remains of the man who had shaped so much of my life—for better or worse.

He accepted it with a sad sigh. “Oh, it’s just so tragic, don’t you think?”

I tried not to look completely confused as the man gazed wistfully down at my father’s ashes.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Yeah.”

The clack of high heels echoed down the hallway and drew my attention. When my gaze lifted, I was stunned speechless. I had seen images of Elizabeth Peake on television after my father’s arrest. She had vehemently denied any accusations against him, and while she had been pretty on camera, she was absolutely breathtaking in person.

Her tailored skirt swung in time with her dark hair. With her arms outstretched, she walked toward me.

“Welcome. Please come in.” She stepped into my space, dropping air-kisses on either side of my head.

Elizabeth’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. Everything about her—from the tailored skirt to the way she pronounced welcome —felt like it had been rehearsed. She was perfect, polished, and utterly impossible to read. I couldn’t decide whether she was welcoming me or sizing me up.

Her firm grip on my shoulders squeezed. “Thank you for bringing him home.”

Elizabeth looked at the man as tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, Frederick.” She waved a hand between them. “Just throw him in an upstairs closet”—her tone suddenly changed, dropping the mourning-wife routine—“but not in the blue room, one of the back ones. Maybe the east wing bathroom no one uses.”

The fuck?

The woman who had defended him so fiercely on television now spoke about him like an old piece of furniture she no longer had room for. It was chilling, the way she could switch between grief and indifference.

Getting a read on these people was difficult. Was this just another role for her, or had she truly stopped caring about him long ago? Was she really the grieving widow she displayed on camera, or a woman who would toss her dead husband’s ashes in a bathroom closet?

Elizabeth turned her attention to me. “Well, shall we have some tea to warm you up?”

My mouth opened for a second before snapping shut. “Sure. Thank you.”

“Frederick, please bring it to the salon.” She motioned toward a long corridor that led to a grand sitting room off the main hallway.

The butler nodded, whisking my father’s ashes away. I swallowed hard as warring emotions swirled in my stomach. I hadn’t even said a proper goodbye, yet I was also relieved.

As Frederick carried the box away, a hollow ache settled in my chest. I hadn’t expected to feel this way—like I was handing over the last piece of the man who had caused so much pain but was still my father. Was this closure? Or just another door shutting on a life I could never make sense of?

I took one last look at the box as Frederick walked away.

Bye, Dad.

I followed Elizabeth down the hallway. In the salon, high, thick beams ran across the ceiling, but they were the only hints of color. Everything else was a stark white—walls, molding, furniture. The entire space looked utterly untouched and unlived in.

Two women, not much older than me, stood behind the massive couch in the center of the room.

It was jarring to see two pairs of my father’s eyes staring back at me. There was no denying these women were Russell King’s children. Nerves bunched in my stomach.

Their eyes—his eyes—should have been familiar, but they weren’t. They didn’t hold the same weight of disappointment or fear I remembered from my childhood. Instead, they shone with curiosity and warmth, as if being his daughter had been a gift instead of a curse.

The taller of the two women stepped forward first. “Hi, I’m Bianca.” She gestured toward the other woman. “This is Blair. We are so thrilled to meet one of Daddy’s children.”

Daddy?

I limply extended my hand, desperately trying to make sense of the situation that was rapidly unfolding before me.

Elizabeth stood beside me, carefully reading the interaction. “I’m sure it’s confusing, and maybe a little bit surprising, to hear that we now know about you and your siblings.”

A weak laugh escaped me. “Yeah. A little.”

Elizabeth sat on one of the chairs near the couch, and I did the same. They were as stiff and uncomfortable as they looked.

“Russell and I had an unconventional marriage. You see, I grew up not far from here. My father is a powerful, very influential businessman. I liked my life.” She gestured around her as if to say, Who wouldn’t love all this? “I was a hardheaded girl and had no intentions of marrying, but my father insisted. He hand selected Russell King. I kept the Peake name, of course. Russell received the money he needed to get King Equities off the ground, and I got two beautiful children.”

A business deal that dealt in money and procreation.

“Oh,” I said, glancing between Elizabeth and her daughters. But something else gnawed at me. “So you knew about his double life the whole time?”

Elizabeth’s features softened as she looked at me. I recognized pity when I saw it. “Russell loved his hometown. I certainly had no desire to live there, and what he did with his time was his own business.”

The way they spoke about him—like he was a charming, if slightly eccentric, husband and father—made my stomach twist. They didn’t know about the manipulation, the cruelty, the lies. Or maybe they did, and they just didn’t care. Either way, it felt like we were talking about two completely different men.

I leaned forward. “So you knew about his relationship with my mother, Maryann?”

Elizabeth’s smile never faltered. “Russell had his fun and I had mine. It was better for the both of us if we didn’t ask questions.”

I still couldn’t believe she was openly discussing her husband’s long-standing affair in front of her children, and they didn’t seem upset about it in the least.

My brows dipped down. “But you defended him—on television I saw you hold those press conferences and deny everything.”

Her pitying glance was grating. “It’s important for my girls, and the Peake name, to keep negative press to a minimum.”

Question upon question zinged through my mind. One in particular kept getting stuck and I had to know: “Did you know my aunt Bug? Was she at your wedding?”

A flicker of confusion crossed Elizabeth’s face. “Oh, no. Russell hadn’t spoken to his sister Ruth Anne since they were young adults. If Russell chose to distance himself, I assumed it must have been for good reason.”

Elizabeth may have been under the impression that she and her husband had a perfect, open relationship, but he had been keeping secrets from her too.

He made it so Bug could raise his children while he lived a double life. Elizabeth had no idea what he had been capable of.

Frederick broke through the rising tension when he entered with a white marble-topped cart containing a steaming teapot and several cups and saucers. A small porcelain box, also white, held a variety of teas to choose from.

I selected a sachet of peppermint tea as Frederick poured the hot water into my cup.

“It’s so interesting to finally meet you.” Blair sat on the sofa next to me, her eyes roaming over my face. “You really do kind of look like us ... a little bit in the nose. The hair color, for sure.”

I toyed with the ends of my hair. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“It’s still so sad to think he’s really gone.” Bianca’s voice was laced with genuine grief as she fought back tears. She grabbed a framed photograph from the mantel of the fireplace and walked toward us.

Did they know the truth? Did they understand that he was killed in prison, in part, because of what he had done to my mother?

He had openly admitted that, years ago, my mother had planned to leave him and take us with her, so he had killed her—choked the life out of her and deposited her body in Wabash Lake.

In many ways, he had led each of us to believe that she had abandoned us because we were unlovable.

And yet these women mourned him.

I looked at the frame Bianca held out for me. My father’s face was lifted with a wide smile. He was much younger. He looked happy. It was an action shot—him running behind a little brunette girl riding a bicycle down a tree-lined street.

Tears stung my eyes. Blair noticed and her hand gripped mine. “We miss him too.”

They didn’t understand at all why I was near tears.

I didn’t have a clue who the man in the photograph was. I certainly didn’t know a father who laughed and ran beside me while I learned to ride a bike.

JP had done that.

These people didn’t know the real him at all—only the role he played to keep Elizabeth and her father happy. They were blissfully unaware of the irreparable damage he’d caused my siblings and me.

They spoke of Daddy like he was their North Star, guiding them through a charmed life. But for me and my siblings, he’d been a shadow we couldn’t escape, casting darkness over every attempt to grow.

The air inside that house was thick and choking. So many unanswered questions swirled in my brain, but I couldn’t get past the image of my father— their father —being the kind of man who made happy memories with his children.

I had been so curious about his other family. A small part of me assumed I would have someone else who understood what it was like to have a father like mine. I never expected this . I was a fool to think that what I felt for them was connection. They were nothing at all like me.

I’d spent years wondering what kind of man my father could have been if he’d chosen differently—if he’d been a better father, a better husband. Meeting Elizabeth and her daughters confirmed what I’d always feared. He had been capable of love and joy ... just not with us.

Every word, every smile, every glance, chipped away at the fragile image I’d built of him in my mind. I’d come here hoping for answers, but all I’d found were more questions—and the sickening realization that he’d been everything we feared he was and more.

The teacup trembled in my hands, the fine porcelain thinner than I’d expected. It felt like one wrong move could shatter it, much like the image of my father that had already begun to crumble.

Without bothering to take a sip of my tea, I set the cup and saucer to the side and rose. “I’m sorry, but I really should get going.”

“Oh, but you just got here.” Bianca’s face creased with concern.

“It’s a long drive and I should get home,” I lied, already backing up toward the door.

“We’ll do lunch,” Blair offered with a nod. “Once Daddy is laid to rest, we can show you where in the family plot. That way you can pay your respects anytime you need to.”

Elizabeth clicked her tongue. “You are so thoughtful, darling.” She looked at me. “I’m sure you’ve had a long day, and this can be overwhelming.”

I nodded as an internal scream ripped through me. I had let my curiosity get the best of me, and it had been a huge mistake.

It was somehow even more painful to know that my father’s treatment wasn’t because he was incapable of love; it was because it was us.

With a forced smile, I made a clean exit and nearly ran toward Logan’s truck. My phone dinged, and I glanced at it to see a text come through from Sylvie.

Sylvie

Please check in after you’ve met them. I’m worried about you.

More responses from the group chat flooded in as I enclosed myself in the cab of Logan’s truck.

Whip

What are “the others” like?

Abel

Why do you care?

Royal

We shouldn’t have let her go alone.

JP

Did they allude to the dissolution of King Equities? We’re prepared to fight them if they try to come after what’s left of the business.

Sylvie

JP, I’m telling Hazel to smack you for being insensitive again. MJ, please just tell us you’re okay.

Royal

I’m sitting next to him and slapped the shit out of him. You’re welcome.

I read over their words, and a sob escaped me. I frantically wiped at my tears, hoping no one would come outside and interrupt my escape. Hot, angry tears streamed down my face as I barreled down the driveway and onto the main road.

I didn’t know whether I was crying for him, for us, or for the life he’d built without us. Maybe it was all of it. Maybe it didn’t matter. All I knew was that I’d given him to them, and now I had nothing left to hold on to. No anger, no answers, no closure. Just the weight of what he’d taken from us.

I barely looked at the guard as he offered a friendly wave and raised the bar to allow me to leave.

Escape.

By the time I pulled into the circle drive of the hotel, my hands were still trembling on the wheel. The weight of the afternoon lingered, heavy and oppressive. I typed out a quick response before my brothers and Sylvie sent out a search party.

I’m totally fine. They were surprisingly warm and welcoming.

I didn’t have the heart to tell my brothers and sister how differently Dad had been with them—how we’d truly gotten the worst of him. Not yet, at least.

I took another deep, cleansing breath, willing the lump in my throat to dissolve. When I looked up, the sight of Logan stepping out of the lobby doors brought a thread of relief. He strode toward the truck, his tall frame relaxed, but his sharp eyes took one look at me and softened.

The second I saw him, the knot in my chest loosened. Logan didn’t need to say anything—his presence was enough. The way he looked at me, steady and sure, made me feel like I wasn’t alone in this.

For the first time all afternoon, I could breathe.

“You okay?” he asked as he pulled open the car door, his voice low and steady, like it was meant to ground me.

Relief flooded my system. I had gone into the morning knowing I would face my father’s family alone, but something about Logan’s presence made me feel better. I was grateful to have someone to lean on when my insides were so frazzled.

I nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah, just ... a lot to process.”

He didn’t push, didn’t ask questions, just opened the door and took over. “I’ve got it from here,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument as he grabbed the keys from my hand and retrieved my overnight bag from the back seat.

He handed the keys to the valet. I followed him into the luxury hotel, the warm blast of air from the lobby’s heaters hitting me in a way that made my shoulders sag. The staff at the front desk barely looked up as Logan handed me a key card and led me toward the bank of elevators.

I clutched my purse like a lifeline. My nerves hummed in anticipation, but whether it was from the overwhelming day or the thought of being alone with Logan tonight, I wasn’t sure.

Maybe both.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened, the hum of tension stretching between us. Logan stood close, his presence a steadying force that made me feel both grounded and breathless. When the doors opened and he stepped aside, his quiet confidence was strangely comforting.

I let out a breath, silently hoping for something— anything —to take away the knot that had formed in my stomach.