Just Between Us (The Kings)
Just Between Us: Chapter 19

Dealing with a broken ankle was infinitely less annoying than feeling like I owed Lee Sullivan. When I felt the snap, I crumpled to my knees in agony. Lee came up behind me, assessed the situation, and could tell right away that it was bad bad.

I could barely limp to traverse the rocky, uneven terrain, so Lee gave me a once-over before hauling me across his shoulder as we climbed to the top. MJ grabbed our things as I hung limply down his back. I flipped my little sister the bird when she started giggling and taking a video.

Lee made his way to where we had parked and deposited me onto the tailgate of his truck. He used his EMT training to stabilize my leg, and I didn’t miss the internal war going on inside Veda’s head. It was clear that a part of her wanted to comfort me while a sensible side kept her emotions in check. The line between her brows deepened, and when I shot her a wink, she softened.

It was a bumpy, excruciating trip, but I rode to the hospital in the bed of Lee’s truck.

The remainder of our night of debauchery was spent at the hospital getting X-rays and a cast. I stared down at the hot-pink monstrosity.

I was about 99 percent positive Lee’s smooth words talked the nurse into claiming it was the only color available. Sure, I could have bitched and moaned for them to change the cast to black or navy, but fuck it.

If I had to walk around with this thing for the next few weeks, I was doing it in style.

It had been a week since our night out, and I was itching to get my hands on Veda again.

Speaking of itching . . . Jesus fucking Christ.

I wiggled my toes and growled down at the cast that extended from below my knee, over my foot and to my toes. I hobbled toward the front desk of the tattoo shop.

“Morning, Mr. King.” Sketch was next to Luna behind the front desk.

I lifted my chin. “Hey, kid. How’s it going?”

“Great!” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Luna was showing me the appointment system and scheduler.”

Hearts from his eyes were floating above his head and popping as he looked back at her. Luna’s gaze flicked up from the computer screen, and her cheeks reddened.

I grinned. “Sounds good. Sketch, I want you to sit in on my next appointment. It’s a full-back piece, and I can show you how to work in sections without it looking like garbage.”

He stood tall. “Awesome! Thanks.”

I nodded. The kid was young, but he was eager and had raw talent. In a few years he’d be good.

Really good.

I had an odd sense of affection for the gangly teen. There was something fulfilling about giving a young kid the same chance I had been given and having the confidence he had a real shot at making it.

I rolled my shoulders. I still needed a veteran tattooer to help alleviate the shop’s hectic schedule, and so far no one had been up to the task. I’d just add it to my ever-growing list of shit to get done.

My phone buzzed, and I dug it out of my pocket. “Hey, Bug. What’s up?”

She wasn’t on the line. Instead, I heard only rustling and muffled voices.

“Bug? Bug!” I looked at the phone and shook my head. “Bug, I think you pocket dialed me!” I tried raising my voice in hopes she might hear me.

My brows cinched down when the rustling stopped and voices became clearer. Angry voices. I plugged my other ear with a finger and strained to listen. I couldn’t make out what anyone was saying, but the voices were overlapping.

Suddenly a voice I recognized sent chills down my back. My father’s deep voice cut through the line: “—in my house!”

The line went dead.

My heart rate spiked. Awareness prickled in my skull.

Bug was in trouble.

I hobbled toward the front door of King Tattoo. “I’ll be back in a half hour,” I called over my shoulder. It took forever, but I finally climbed into the cab of my truck. I wasn’t supposed to drive, but since it was my left ankle in a cast, I risked it. My truck peeled out of the parking space, and I barreled toward the King estate. With a free hand, I redialed Bug in hopes she’d answer, but it rang and rang.

The short drive to my childhood home felt like an eternity. My father’s Porsche was parked in front, and my gut churned. I hated that house and how it haunted me. Anytime I spent too long within its walls, some new, unwelcomed memory rose to the surface.

I leaned heavily on the banister as I climbed up the front steps of the house. Despite the thick oak door, muffled shouts filtered through to the outside. I didn’t bother knocking and pushed the front door open.

From his office, my father’s angry voice carried down the long corridor. He was screaming at Bug, berating her for something I couldn’t parse out. Anger flooded my system as my blood pumped. I reached the door to his office, and when I saw it was cracked, I paused. Through the small opening in the doorway, I watched as my father’s red face loomed over his sister. My aunt stood tall but had to arch backward as he crowded her space.

Spittle clung to the edge of his mouth as he screamed. The air around me shifted, and a sharp ring sounded in my ears. My mind raced.

I recognized the fear in her eyes—the knowing that something bad was going to happen and there was no one to help her.

I stumbled backward as the memory hit me—my father, red faced and furious, standing over my mother in that very same office. She had fallen to the ground and scrambled backward. When her back met the large desk, she was trapped. I recalled the terror in her eyes, and the fear of a much younger me was overwhelming.

My father had leaned down and continued his verbal assault when his hand clamped around my mother’s throat. Her hands scratched at his as he hauled her up from the ground. She looked toward the doorway and saw me, her eyes widening. With her hand behind his back, out of view of my father, she waved me away. A single tear slipped from beneath her lashes as she spoke a single word to me . . . Please.

Another shout jolted me back to reality. The repressed memory gutted me, but I slammed my hand on the office door to shove it open. My father was a bully and a menace, and I wasn’t nine years old this time.

“Get the fuck out of her face!” I barely recognized the snarl in my own voice.

Startled, my father reared back to see me taking up the entire entryway. My fists were clenched and my chest heaved.

Aunt Bug took a step backward, steadying herself on the oak desk in the office. Her hand planted against her chest as she stared at us.

“Royal. Son.” My father straightened and smoothed a hand down his front. “My sister and I were having a disagreement. I’m so sorry you had to see that.”

Rage bubbled beneath my skin. “I said get away from her.”

Surprise flickered over my father’s face before cool indifference took its place. His hands went up. “Now, son. Let’s talk about this.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” I seethed. My head jutted toward the door. “Get out.”

His eyes flicked over me and paused on the pink cast. He smirked. “What are you going to do? Kick me out of my own house?”

I shook my head. “I don’t care whose name is attached to this house.” I pointed to my aunt. “You know damn well this is her home. She stayed here, for us. When you were too busy with work or women, Bug was the one making sure we were fed and clothed and loved.”

“Please. My children wanted for nothing. I have provided everything for you.” My father sighed and his calm disdain only spurred my anger.

“What we wanted was our mother!” The words were out before I could bite my tongue.

Bug looked on in horror as he shook his head, and his own temper started to build. “How dare you—how dare you speak lovingly of a woman who had everything and wanted more. Not even the children she begged for were enough for her. That should be reason enough to choose me over the memory of an ignorant woman. She left you—all of you.”

“Did she?” I shot back. The accusatory tone of my voice didn’t go unnoticed.

His nostrils flared along with his temper. “Now, Royal, you’re treading on some very dangerous ground. I don’t know what you’re getting at, but she left and didn’t look back.”

I ground my teeth together. “Was that before or after she found out you already had a wife and kids?”

Shock fluttered over his face, and his eyes grew darker. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. How dare you question me.”

“Russell, please.” Bug found her voice and pleaded as my father took another step toward me.

“Get out of this office, Ruth Anne.” My father spat the words in Bug’s direction.

Surprised by the use of her given name, Bug’s eyes flicked between my father and me. Resigned, she lifted her chin and walked toward the office doors. She didn’t glance my way as she sailed past me.

The austere office grew quiet as my father and I waited in a tense standoff.

I gathered my resolve and looked at my father with pity. “For a long time, I truly believed that Mom had abandoned us. I actually believed your lies.” I pointed a finger at the ground. “Now I see the truth. She was the one who got away from you. I will not rest until I replace out the truth about what happened to her.”

I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth to keep from breaking down. I was furious, drained, and sick to my stomach.

The cool, detached mask my father had perfected over the years slipped across his features as he smirked. “I welcome the challenge.”

Without another word, my father slipped past me, and I listened as he exited the King estate. When his Porsche rumbled down the driveway, I went in search of my aunt.

I found her in the kitchen, bracing herself against the island with two glasses of lemonade beside her. I stood in the doorway and stared.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Her soft eyes met mine.

I lifted my phone. “You called, I came running.”

Tears filled her eyes. “Thank you.”

In a jerky hobble, I crossed the threshold and pulled my aunt into my arms. She had always been the strongest woman I had ever known, yet she crumbled in my embrace. Her tears flowed, and I simply held her, rubbing her back and making soothing noises.

Finally, when she was wrung out, she lifted her head. “In all my years, my brother has never once raised his voice to me . . . let alone that. It was a side of him I never wanted to believe was there.”

I shook my head. “You’re lucky then. We’ve all been getting glimpses of his anger for years.” I exhaled and dragged a hand through my hair. “What the hell happened?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. He was acting strangely—asking questions about your brother JP, the Sullivans—questions I couldn’t answer. He was very upset.”

“He was unhinged. You aren’t safe here.” I scowled. “You should stay with me for a while.”

Bug shook her head again. “Nonsense. This is my home, no matter what the deed says. I’m not going anywhere simply because your father threw a temper tantrum.” I was shaking my head and trying to argue when her hand came up. “But there is something you need to see.”

Before I could stop her, Bug disappeared for a moment and then reappeared with a dark-brown, leather-bound notebook. “Take this.”

I accepted the notebook and flipped through the pages. It was filled with dates and notes scribbled in my aunt’s looping, feminine handwriting.

May 23, 2:00 p.m.: Meeting with Bowlegs & Bootsy Sinclair regarding the property at 281 Apple Blossom. Money exchanged for information about the current owners.

February 15, 9:00 a.m.: Closed door meeting with Ed Sherwin at the Department of Natural Resources. Still unable to purchase Wabash Lake.

August 2, 12:30 p.m.: Phone call with unknown person. “I’ll take care of the money, just make it go away.”

My eyes scanned, piecing together the tidbits scrawled on hundreds of pages. Entry after entry were filled with dates, times, meetings, and notes. I had no idea what it all meant.

Bug looked at me. “Take this to your brother. That girl he hired is a smart woman. She’ll figure it out.”

I frowned. I didn’t like that Veda was getting mixed up in my family’s dysfunctional—and likely very dangerous—drama.

My aunt exhaled and smoothed a hand over her hair. “I’ve got to get going. They’re expecting me at the library.”

“What? You can’t go in after what happened . . .” I was still dizzy from everything that had transpired, and she was talking about going to work. It was unreal.

She laughed. “Life goes on, Royal. I’m a big girl.” She looked up at me and squeezed my forearm. “Thank you for today.”

I watched my aunt compose herself and sail out of the kitchen like I hadn’t just interrupted my angry, unhinged father berating her.

I clutched the notebook, crinkling the cover in my grip.

This is the beginning of the end of Russell King.