Page 138 of King of Pain

Just as my hand reaches for the doorknob, Chance’s voice cuts through the air like a fucking bullet.

“I killed my father.”

I freeze.

My breath comes in short, sharp bursts, my hand hovering over the doorknob, my entire body locked in place.

The silence that follows is deafening.

His words settle like lead in my stomach.

I killed my father.

My head lifts slightly, but my gaze remains fixed on the door in front of me.

“What did you just say?”

“He murdered Ma, Ant.” Chance says on a ragged breath. “I ended him.”

The floor drops out from under me. My knees buckle, and I crumple before I can even think to stop it. The weight of everything—the last three years of not knowing what happened to Ma, not knowing where Chance was, not knowinganything—comes crashing down all at once.

A broken, guttural sob tears from my throat. My vision blurs as hot, violent tears spill down my face.

I don’t even hear Chance move, but suddenly, he’s there, kneeling beside me, arms reaching for me.

“No—” I shove at him, flailing, fighting against his grip. “No! No! No! Why, Chance, why?” My voice cracks on every syllable, raw and desperate. My fists pound against his chest, against his arms—anywhere I can reach. My body is working through sheer, agonized instinct, trying to push him away.

But he doesn’t let go.

“Shh,” he murmurs, his voice steady, but rough with emotion. His arms are like steel bands wrapped around me. “Breathe, baby.”

I shake my head frantically, choking on my own sobs, but my body betrays me. My strength drains and I collapse against him, gripping at his shirt like a lifeline.

Chance just holds me.

I sob into his chest. Uncontrollable, raw and shaking so hard I think I might break apart. But he doesn’t let me. His arms tighten, grounding me. His breath is deep, steady, strong—something for me to cling to in the middle of the storm raging inside me.

He rocks us slowly, murmuring words I can’t even process.

All I can do is cry.

Cry for Ma.

Cry for him.

Cry for the three years that shattered us both.

Chance holds me, his breath steadying against my hair as I cling to his shirt. My body still shakes with the aftermath of my breakdown, but the sobs have dulled into silent tears trailing down my cheeks.

His hand smooths over my back, slow and grounding. “Let’s get you over to the couch, okay?”

I nod weakly against his chest, unable to form words yet. My limbs feel useless, but Chance shifts, maneuvering me like I weigh nothing, helping me to my feet. He keeps his hands on me, steadying me as he guides me to the couch. When I sink into the cushions, my body is heavy, drained.

“I’m gonna get you some water,” Chance says softly. “Stay right there.”

“No.” My voice is hoarse, barely audible.

Chance stops mid-step and turns back, his expression cautious.