Just This Once (The Kings)

The next morning I awoke to find Emily’s half of the bed cold. I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and went in search of her. She was sitting at the kitchen island—hair styled, makeup applied, and dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. Her feet were bare and propped on the rung of her stool.

“Morning.” I made my way to the coffee maker.noveldrama

Her head jerked up, as though I’d ripped her from her thoughts. She cleared her throat. “Hey.” She smiled. “Good morning.”

I eyed her as I poured my coffee and watched her as I took my first sip. Something was off, but I didn’t know what. “Everything okay?”

She frowned as if to say, No, dumbass, everything is not okay.

Instead, she blinked and quickly replaced her downturned mouth with a bright smile. “Of course.”

Gone was the raw and very real version of Emily I had experienced last night. In her place was the polished, always-ready-to-face-the-day Prim that she often presented to the world. While I had fallen head over heels with all versions of her, I couldn’t help but feel like this fake cheeriness was a step in the wrong direction.

“What’s on the agenda today?” I asked, propping my elbows on the countertop next to her.

Emily slid from her stool, noticeably avoiding my touch. “Busy day.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her soft eyes. “I have plans with my mom and then”—she shrugged—“I’m not sure after that. Keep looking for a job, I guess.”

I glowered into my coffee cup. “Today’s my day off. Am I going to get to see you?”

She smiled. “Maybe. I can let you know what I’m up to later.”

My eyes narrowed in her direction. “Prim . . . am I misreading this here? Are you giving me the brush-off?”

Her laugh was too sharp and quick. “No.” She lifted a shoulder and smiled before dropping a kiss against my mouth. “I’ll see you when I see you. Promise.”

The poised mask she presented to the world had slipped into place, and I really fucking hated it. Last night was intense and profound, yet the woman in front of me seemed completely unfazed by any of it.

“Yeah. I guess I’ll see you later.” Irritated at my own stubborn pride, I strode past her and out the front door toward my shop. Flaying myself open for her last night to simply wake up and have her stare at me was too much. I needed a distraction. Minutes later, when she didn’t seek me out but rather got into her car and drove away, was all the confirmation I needed.

Last night didn’t change a damn thing.

I spent the next several hours tinkering in the workshop. Sawdust clung to my sweat, and I regretted not grabbing a shirt and shoes before I had gotten to work. I was angry—at myself for opening my stupid mouth, at her for not having anything to say in return, at the whole goddamned situation. Everything was fucked, and I didn’t see a way to fix it.

An engine cut in the driveway, and I stupidly hoped it was her. Instead, my father stepped from his Porsche. When he headed toward the front door of my home, I seriously considered hiding in the workshop and ignoring him altogether.

Instead, ever the fool, I called out for him. He took his time making his way across the grass to my shop. No one rushed Russell King.

“What do you want?” I asked, too weary for false niceties.

“Is that any way to greet your father?” His eyes ran across my chest, and he sighed. “Jesus. I will never understand this affinity you have for working with your hands.”

I wiped my palms, sending tiny particles of sawdust floating between us. “Yeah, I know that, Dad. Did you need something?”

A slick smile spread across his face. “I came to offer my congratulations.”

The throb in my head intensified. “Congratulations?”

“Lieutenant King has a special ring to it.” He winked. “Almost as good as Chief, but we’ll get there one day.”

Lieutenant. Holy fuck, I—I got the job.

He reached out his hand as though he might land it on my shoulder, but thought twice and stuffed it into his pocket. “This benefits the entire family, son. Well done. Once the chief’s little daughter moves on and is out of the way, we’ll be in great shape.”

My brain snagged on his effortless dismissal of Emily. How the fuck did he know about Emily’s probable relocation? Fucking small-town gossips . . .

When I stayed quiet, he filled the silence. “Trust me. I know women like her. Full of big ideas and a soft heart. That’s not the kind of partner a future chief fire officer needs.” A pompous smirk tugged the corner of his mouth before his eyes hardened. “Let this be a reminder for the future, that when I ask something of you, I’m not asking.”

The gears churned and clinked in my head as if they were rusty and groaning with this information. There was something darker about what he was saying.

Irritated, I stood straighter. “You don’t have a clue what I need.”

He scoffed, his face hardening. “I know exactly what you need. Taking care of problem women isn’t something you need to worry about. I can handle that. You focus on the job and keep working toward the next step up.”

A terrible sinking feeling pressed down on my shoulders. Emily had mentioned that Principal Cartwright confirmed it wasn’t Pokey Lambert that complained about the shoes. Someone else had called the principal and shined a light on Emily’s insubordination.

It wasn’t gossips that tipped him off to Emily’s employment issues . . . he knew because it was him.

Suddenly it was clear that my father had called the principal as a punishment for me disobeying his request that I talk with Mrs. Martin about the historical society building. Undermining Emily’s career was his way of flexing his power . . . and it had fucking worked.

Fury burned through my veins.

My father made no qualms about fighting dirty to get what he wanted, and what he really wanted was for his son to climb the ranks in the fire department so he could use me as leverage. He saw what was blossoming between Emily and me before even I did. He saw it and took care of it in the only way he knew how—to destroy it.

Silence and tension stretched between us.

“Whip,” my father began, his eyes cold and calculating, “you’re old enough now to understand the importance of family legacy. The town looks up to us, and it’s our duty to uphold the King name.”

I shifted across from him. The time had come to start confronting the ghosts of our past. My thoughts flicked back to the box of my mother’s belongings, shoved in some basement and long forgotten. Emily’s confirmation of my suspicions replayed in my mind, infusing me with resolve.

“Legacy, huh?” I said, my voice carrying a hint of bitterness. “What about Mom? What’s her place in this legacy you’re so keen on preserving?”

Subtle shock danced across his face at my audacity of speaking about my mother.

“Your mother . . .” He hesitated, a rarity for a man accustomed to control. “Your mother made the choices that determined her fate, Whip. We all moved on.”

I clenched my jaw, my hands forming fists. The room spun around me. “When she left, you mean.”

“What?” The lines on his face deepened.

“You said her choices determined her fate, but what you really meant was when she left us. Right, Dad?”

An unidentifiable emotion flickered across my father’s face—was it fear? Regret? Or something far darker?

He recovered quickly as his hand smoothed down his suit jacket, and a practiced smile played on his lips.

The room seemed to tighten around us, the air thick with unsaid words and the acrid scent of mistrust. My father’s eyes, once calculating, held a glint of discomfort. The weight of my subtle accusation hung in the air, a shadow creeping over the polished surfaces of his carefully curated life.

“Son, you’re overthinking things,” he said, his voice attempting to regain its authoritative edge. “Your mother’s choices were her own. We couldn’t control that.”

I stared at him, my gaze unwavering. “What choices, Dad?”

An unsteady pause settled in the airy workshop. The lines on my father’s face deepened, and for a moment I caught a glimpse of vulnerability—an unfamiliar crack in the facade of the all-powerful Russell King.

He cleared his throat, his eyes avoiding mine and looking around my shop. “Your mother had her reasons, Whip. You were just a child, too young to understand.”

I stepped closer, the distance between us closing like a vise. “Try me, Dad. I’m not a child anymore.”

A flicker of hesitation crossed his face, a subtle acknowledgment that perhaps, in this moment, he couldn’t control the narrative as he always had.

“Your mother was . . . troubled,” he finally admitted, choosing his words carefully. “She felt trapped in this small town, in this life. It was her choice to leave and pursue something more fulfilling.”

The words were a hollow echo in the workshop, and my unease deepened. Something about his explanation felt rehearsed, as if he had recited this story many times to himself before.

I thought back to the smiling, happy face on her driver’s license.

My eyes narrowed. I was determined to get answers. “Where did she go, Dad?”

His jaw shifted as his hands tucked into his suit pants. “Back home to Detroit, I assume.”

“Why? Why would she leave her children behind? What am I missing?” Desperation leaked into my voice.

An impassive stare and deep sigh were the only answers my father was willing to give.

“When someone feels trapped, they find a way to break free,” I pressed. “But what if she didn’t leave by choice, Dad? What if something happened to her?”

His eyes darted, searching for something before a dismissive laugh huffed from his chest. “Whip, you’re letting your imagination run wild. There’s nothing more to the story. Focus on the future, on your career. Not women who don’t matter.”

I took a step back, the suspicion growing within me. I knew he was the last person to give a straight answer, and talking to him was like arguing with a brick wall. I shook my head. “Of course, Dad. I’ll stay focused.”

But I wouldn’t forget about Mom. I was going to find out what really happened.

A sinister edge entered his gaze, a warning that I chose to ignore. “That’s what I want to hear. Just remember, some stones are better left unturned, son.”

As my father exited the workshop, leaving me alone with the weight of unanswered questions, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the legacy he spoke of carried darker secrets than I had ever imagined. My determination to uncover the truth about my mother and protect my relationship with Emily burned brighter, fueled by a growing sense of unease and suspicion toward the man who was supposed to be my father.