Page 49

“And I didn’t mention that I run a plus-size book club that meets right here,” Trixie added with a significant look that made Tempest blush. “A club that happens to be very enthusiastic about a certain sports romance series.”

Before Tempest could process this, we were surrounded. Hayes and Willa arrived with drinks, Everett dragged Penelope over for introductions, and Dad clapped a hand on my shoulder, giving me a nod of approval that meant more than words ever could.

“Mr. Kingman,” Tempest began, but Dad waved her off.

“Bridger, please. And I’m glad Flynn brought you. Family belongs together during tough times.”

I watched her face carefully at the word ‘family,’ saw the flicker of emotion cross her features. Her own family was likely bringing a storm of disappointment and judgment instead of solidarity and support. That really fucking pissed me off.

Trixie linked her arm through Tempest’s, leading her toward a table where a striking blonde woman was setting up a board game with elegant precision.

“This is Kelsey Best,” Trixie explained, seeing Tempest’s wide-eyed recognition. “Dec’s fiancée.”

“The pop star?” Tempest whispered.

“The very same,” Trixie confirmed. “And that’s Penelope Quinn beside her—Kelsey’s assistant and Everett’s fiancée. She’s also got about three million followers on her body-positive social channels.”

I could see Tempest processing this information, trying to reconcile these celebrities with the casual family gathering around her.

“Can I steal my son for a minute?” Dad asked Tempest, who nodded, still looking a bit overwhelmed .

“You holding up okay?” Dad asked quietly, drawing my attention back.

“Me? I’m not the one whose privacy just got shredded.”

“No, but you care about her.” It wasn’t a question. “That makes this your crisis too.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “I just wish I could fix it for her.”

“Some things can’t be fixed, son. Only faced.

” Dad’s eyes held a wisdom earned through all of our family’s trials.

Ones we always faced together. “You know, I suspected there was something special about her work when Jules wouldn’t stop talking about those books.

The way she described the writing—passionate, honest, fearless—sounded a lot like how you described Tempest.”

I stared at him. “You knew?”

He chuckled. “I had my suspicions. Didn’t matter either way. What matters is that she’s important to you, which means she’s important to all of us.”

Across the room, I saw Tempest sink into a chair beside Willa, who leaned over to say something that made her shoulders relax slightly.

“I want to protect her,” I admitted. “From all of it. The press, her family’s so far shitty reaction, everything.”

“You can’t.” Dad’s hand squeezed my shoulder. “But you can stand with her while she faces it. You don’t need to fight someone’s battles for them. Just make sure they don’t fight alone. That’s what Kingmans do.”

The wisdom of his words settled into my chest. I’d been thinking like a linebacker. Tackle the problem, eliminate the threat. But that wasn’t what Tempest needed.

She needed what everyone needs when their world is crumbling, someone to stand beside them in the ruins. And my dad was right. When our world had crumbled had fallen down around us seventeen years ago, the only way we’d made it through was the support of each other.

I rejoined the group as Willa was saying to Tempest, “I get it. I was completely overwhelmed by all of this at first too.” She gestured around at the Kingman chaos. “I was just a barista when I started dating Hayes. But they’ve never once made me feel like I don’t belong.”

“It’s a lot,” Tempest agreed, her voice small.

“But a good lot,” Willa assured her. “Trust me.”

Jules appeared suddenly, plopping down on the arm of Tempest’s chair with the casual confidence that only the baby of the family could possess.

“We need to talk,” she announced, grabbing Tempest’s hand in both of hers.

“Okay,” Tempest took a deep breath like she was preparing for more unwelcome news. But I trusted my little sister. She wouldn’t hurt my girl.

“I have a confession to make,” Jules said, her expression suddenly serious.

Tempest tensed beside me.

“I’ve been Miranda Milan’s biggest fan since the first book came out,” Jules continued. “I’ve read each one at least six times—I can quote entire scenes from memory. I run three different fan accounts dedicated to your work.”

Tempest’s eyes widened. “You do?”

“And when all this started breaking today, I knew we had to do something,” Jules continued. “So I rallied the book club. We’ve been flooding social media with competing theories about who Miranda Milan really is. ”

“What kind of theories?” Tempest asked.

Jules grinned mischievously. “That Miranda Milan is actually a collective of male ghostwriters. That she’s a seventy-year-old grandmother in Maine. And my personal favorite, that Miranda Milan is actually Kelsey Best writing under a pseudonym.”

“I heard about that one.” Tempest visibly relaxed. “International pop stars probably don’t have time to write romance novels though, do they?”

“She thought it was hilarious,” Jules continued. “She’s been dropping hints in her FaceSpace group all day that she has a ‘secret creative project’ just to fuel speculation. The more theories out there, the harder it is for anyone to be sure about the truth.”

Tempest looked stunned. “Why are you doing all this for me? I mean, I appreciate that you’re a fan, like, really, really appreciate it. But you hardly know me.”

“Are you kidding? I know you through your words.” Jules’s expression grew earnest. “Your books got me through midterms last semester. The way you write about women taking up space in a world that wants them small. That matters. When I realized my brother was dating the author I admired, well, fate doesn’t hand out coincidences like that every day. ”

I watched Tempest’s face as Jules spoke, saw the dawning realization that her work had meaning beyond her own fears. That her words had touched lives.

“I don’t know what to say,” she finally managed.

“Say you’ll sign my copies later,” Jules grinned. “And say you’ll let us help you through this. The Kingman machine is pretty unstoppable when we all work together.”

Tempest looked at me, her eyes asking a question I couldn’t quite interpret.

“Only if you want,” I said. “No pressure. If you don’t want us all up in your business, this can just be a night away from your problems.”

She took a deep breath. “I’d be grateful for any help. Especially before tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?” Jules asked.

“My parents are flying in,” Tempest said, her voice catching. “They’re... not going to be happy.”

Jules squeezed her hand. “Then we’ll make sure you’re armed with a plan before you face them.”

A shout from across the room drew our attention—Everett had apparently made a controversial move in whatever game they’d started.

“Come on,” I said, standing and offering my hand to Tempest. “Let me show you how Kingman game night works. Spoiler alert. There will be shouting, accusations of cheating, and someone might flip a table.”

Jules grinned and pulled out from behind her chair a worn green pillow embroidered with the words - In this house we bleed green - and held it high above her head. “And I’m going to win it all, because I’ve got the lucky pillow.”

Isak, who’d just arrived with Gryff, whipped that pillow right out of Jules’s hands. “Not for long, brat. You’re going down.”

Gryff gave Tempest a pat on the shoulder and said, “Welcome to the chaos, kid.” Then jumped on Isak, taking him to the floor, wrestling for the pillow .

Tempest took my hand, a small smile playing at her lips. “Sounds like my kind of chaos.”

The next hour unfolded exactly as I’d hoped.

Game night worked its magic, pulling Tempest into our family’s particular brand of competitive camaraderie.

She even laughed when Chris accused Hayes of stacking the Scrabble tiles, and she formed an unexpected alliance with Kelsey during a particularly cutthroat round of Pictionary.

But I could still see the worry lurking behind her eyes. Tomorrow’s confrontation with her parents cast a shadow over each moment of reprieve. I needed to do something more to help her feel supported and ready to fight her demons.

I sent off a quick text and then we stepped outside for air during a break between games. The night was cool, stars visible despite the city lights. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, drawing her close.

“Better?” I asked.

“Your family is...” she began, then shook her head. “I don’t even have words.”

“A lot?”

“Amazing,” she corrected. “You’re lucky to have them.”

“I know.” I thought about what Dad had said, about not fighting her battles for her. “About tomorrow?—”

“I’m terrified,” she admitted, her voice small. “My mother has had my life planned since I was five years old. Academic success, prestigious career, everything proper and respectable. Romance novels are...” She trailed off.

“Beneath you?” I guessed.

She nodded. “In her eyes. She thinks they’re unworthy trash. And now everyone will know her daughter writes them.”

“I’d like to be there,” I said carefully. “When you talk to them. If you want.”

She looked up at me, surprise clear on her face. “You would?”

“Of course.” I brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “You’re not alone in this, Tempest. Not anymore.”

She studied my face for a long moment, then nodded. “I’d like that.” Then, more softly, “I need that.”

The admission cost her, I could tell. She’d been independent for so long, shoulders bearing the weight of her secrets alone. Letting someone help wasn’t easy for her.

“That’s settled then.” I pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Whatever happens, we face it together.”

My phone buzzed with a return text from the message I sent a few minutes ago. The Kingman women were a force to be reckoned with, and I had a feeling Tempest’s grandmother was the perfect addition to this night.

I showed Tempest the message, watching as surprise, then tentative hope crossed her features. “You invited Abuela to this craziness? She’s going to love it. Abuela and the Kingman women together?” She laughed softly. “The universe doesn’t stand a chance.”

“No,” I agreed, pulling her closer. “It really doesn’t.”