Page 229 of King of Pain

Alarm prickles through me. I step out of the kitchen, settling behind Chance and placing a hand on his shoulder as he sinks into a chair at the dining table.

Murph sits kitty-corner, laying the envelope face down. He exhales. “When everything went down with your dad, our crew moved fast. We knew his PD cronies would ransack everything, so we grabbed anything personal of your mom’s.”

Chance tenses under my hands. I start rubbing his shoulders, grounding him.

Murph continues, “We stashed it in one of our storage units. You were off grid, so I wanted to keep it safe. Then you came straight here. I figured I’d let you know after you two got settled.”

He spins the envelope in slow circles; his gaze locked on Chance.

“But last week, I had to get something out of that unit and knocked over a box of her albums. This was sticking out of an album sleeve. The way it was hidden—I think she meant for you to find it.”

He flips it over. “Chance” written in soft script.

I feel Chance suck in a breath.

I move fast, pulling a chair up next to him, taking his arm, rubbing.

Chance’s voice is rough. “Which album?”

Murph gives a soft smile. “The Queen is Dead.”

Chance’s tears start immediately. “It was the first album she ever played for me. My favorite.” He huffs a small laugh. “And she did always have a twisted sense of humor.”

Murph blows out a breath. “Listen, I hate to drop something heavy and run, but I really do have to catch my flight. Besides, you’ll want privacy for this.”

Chance stands and hugs him tight. “Thank you, Murph. For everything.”

Murph squeezes his shoulder. “Back soon for a proper visit. At least a week. My sister threatened me if I didn’t.”

Chance laughs. “Deal.”

Murph grips my shoulder. “Good to meet you. Thanks for being his home.”

I pull him in for a hug. “Always.”

We see him out.

Chance turns to me, eyes shimmering. “Will you sit with me while I read this?”

I nod. “Go get comfortable on the couch. I’ll grab the tequila.”

I pour two glasses, set one on the coffee table and hand one to him.

Chance inhales, fingers trembling, and opens the letter. More tears fall as he reads. Some soft laughter. A few deep sobs.

He looks dazed.

Then he looks up at me and presses the letter into my hands. “I told you she loved you.”

My heart races as I look down at the letter.

A soft yellow linen stationery adorned in her handwriting.

Chance, my beautiful boy—

If you’re reading this, it likely means something’s happened to me. Whatever the circumstances of my passing are, I couldn’t stand the idea of you going through life without knowing these things.

I want you to know howproudI am of you. For leaving. For surviving. For building a life that belongs toyou. Whatever happens, I need you to know this: helping you escape that house was the only path I could live with. I would’ve paid any price to make sure you had a chance at something better. It was worth it. A thousand times over.