Just My Luck (The Kings)

Sloane had utterly rocked my world, and the absolute last thing I wanted to do was walk out that bedroom door. It was as though from the moment we said I do, my primal, lizard brain went into overdrive. My thoughts were consumed by her—anticipating her needs and finding ways to make her life easier. I was a drowning man, lost and without hope, and along came Sloane, offering a solution. She was a life raft—however temporary—and I planned to hold on to it for as long as I could.

Still, walking out was the right call.

Sloane and I hadn’t defined this new phase of our relationship, but I sure as fuck didn’t need her kids walking in on us and finding us naked. I may not have children, but I could venture a guess that seeing us together without having talked about it would be problematic for her. So I gathered my pride and my clothing and sneaked out the door while she was showering.

She didn’t need to know that I’d also lifted the pillow to my face to get one last drag of the smell of her perfume.

That night, I’d spent hours staring at the ceiling, recalling how peaceful she looked as she slept—dreaming about what it would feel like to be wrapped around her all night in our home.

Our home.

Fuck.

Unable to sleep, I woke with the sun and started on making Sloane and the kids breakfast.

Bleary-eyed, Tillie was the first to walk out of her bedroom and pad down the hallway. I offered a quiet good-morning nod, and she climbed up onto a stool at the kitchen island.

“Morning, Abel.” She rubbed her sleepy eyes with the heel of her hand.

“Hey, Till. I’m making eggs. I hope that’s okay.” I plucked the cooked bacon from the skillet and let it rest on a paper towel.

“Fancy breakfast on a school day?” she asked.

I glanced at her and couldn’t help but smile. The small freckles across the bridge of her nose were nearly identical to Sloane’s, and one dimple was the tiniest bit deeper on one side—just like her mother’s. “It’s not all that fancy.”

She shrugged. “It’s better than Pop-Tarts. Can I have orange juice too?”

“You bet.” I grabbed a cup from the cabinet and moved to the fridge to pour her a cup.

I could feel Tillie’s eyes on my back as she sized me up. “You’re taller than my dad.”

I turned slowly, doing my best to remain calm while I navigated the minefield of a conversation regarding the twins’ father. What I knew about him was limited, but based on what knowledge I did have, there was no universe in which he was ever worthy of a life with Sloane or her quirky, wonderful kids.

I shrugged. “I’m taller than a lot of people.”

My comments struck Tillie as funny, because she burst into a fit of giggles. “Yeah, that’s true. Ben thinks you must work out a lot to get your muscles.”

I laughed and kept making breakfast, wondering when the other two might appear and save me.

Tillie’s eyes focused on her breakfast instead of me. “I like living here. It made me sad that Mom had to sleep on the floor of the cabin.”

The floor? Jesus Christ.

I busied my hands by stirring the eggs and tried not to think of how long Sloane had spent sleeping on a bedroom floor rather than a bed.

When they were finished, I lifted the skillet full of fluffy scrambled eggs. “Eggs?” I asked.

Tillie nodded and slid her plate forward.

I plopped a hearty scoop onto the middle.

“Bacon, too, please,” she said.

I smiled and moved the plate of bacon onto the island, close to her reach. Her little eyebrows scrunched. “Abel, if we stay for a long time, will you sleep on the couch forever?”

I smirked and lifted a shoulder. “Probably.”

Tillie bit into a piece of bacon and frowned. “Mom said you two are friends, and friends share things, right? Maybe you and her could share the bed.”

My stomach flipped on itself. It was hard to argue with simple logic, but so far the kids were in the dark about our current arrangement and its most recent developments. “You’re pretty clever. You know that, kid?”

She smiled, her cheeks full of breakfast. “You should ask her. She takes sharing very seriously.”

“I’ll think about it.” The mere thought of openly sharing a bed with Sloane was enough to send me reeling.

Lost in thought, I barely heard Tillie’s whispered words. “I really like my bedroom. If you kick us out, I think I’ll miss that the most.”

Without even thinking, I leaned forward, certain to catch her eye and hold her attention. “Hey.” I kept my voice soft, but serious. “That won’t ever happen. You’re always welcome here. No matter what.”

Tillie stared as if she was trying to figure out whether I was simply placating her. When I didn’t break eye contact, she held up her hand with her little pinkie sticking out. “Do you promise?”

Without hesitation, I hooked my pinkie with hers. “I promise to never kick you out.”

A grin spread across her freckled face, and my heart clanged against my ribs.

“Something smells good.” Sloane’s warm voice floated into the kitchen, and I tensed, straightening and busying myself with clearing the mess. I knew as soon as I turned to see her, my heart would stop in my chest.

“Abel is making eggs and bacon and orange juice,” Tillie proudly said.

“Ohh, fancy.” Sloane hummed.

“That’s what I said!” Tillie shouted with a giggle.

I turned and was hit with the full force of Sloane’s beauty. Her hair was mussed from sleep, and she was wearing another one of my T-shirts, this time with a pair of her pajama shorts on the bottom. My heart fumbled over itself.

Sloane moved behind the island, letting her hand drag across my back as she slid into the space next to me. “Can I help?”

I shook my head. “I haven’t seen Ben this morning. I’ve got the rest handled.”

Sloane turned to her daughter. “Tillie, can you go make sure Ben is awake?” The little girl hopped off the stool and eagerly started down the hallway. “Kindly!”

Sloane turned to me. “So you left pretty quickly last night.”

My jaw worked. She didn’t sound mad, more playful, and it caught me off guard. I’d expected hurt and disappointment but not humor. “I figured you didn’t want to confuse the kids.”

She hummed and plucked a piece of bacon off the plate. “Confuse the kids or confuse yourself?”

I pinned her with a glare. How did she know? Was she aware of the mental gymnastics I’d been performing all night?

She raised her hands and grinned around a mouthful of bacon. “I was just asking.” I grumbled and she only laughed. “Let me worry about the kids. I’ll talk to them soon.”

My eyes went wide. If the kids knew about our arrangement, everything would be out in the open.

I cleared the tightness in my throat. “Tillie suggested you share the bed. You know . . . to be a good friend and all.”

Sloane grinned. “Is that so?”

I lifted a shoulder. “She says you take sharing very seriously.”

Sloane hummed around a bite of bacon. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

Nerves simmered under my skin as my knee bounced. “How much are you—with the kids, what are you . . . ?”

She laughed again and patted my back. “Relax. I’ve got this. They’ll know enough to not be confused, but I’m not going to tell them everything. Some secrets I’m keeping for myself.” She gave my butt a quick squeeze and I jumped. Sloane stole another piece of bacon and walked back toward her bedroom before she shot a hot look over her shoulder.

I am completely fucked.

At the brewery my sister Sylvie’s head popped into my office, and she scowled. “You’re avoiding me, and I want to know why.”

I pushed back from my desk. “I’m not avoiding you.”

I was absolutely avoiding her.

“Bullshit.” She moved into the doorway with my nephew Gus propped on her hip. She rubbed her nose on his. “Shh. Don’t tell your dad I said that in front of you.”

The toddler cooed and tugged a strand of her blond hair.

I gestured toward my nephew. “Bringing the kid into this? That’s unfair.”

She laughed and handed him to me across the desk before crossing her arms. “I had to do something. It’s been a week since the Wild Iris, and you’re ignoring my texts. Royal even said he hasn’t seen you skulking around town.”

I frowned. “I don’t skulk.”

She shot me a plain look. “Sure you don’t.”

“Whatever.” I distracted myself by bouncing Gus on my lap. “I’ve been busy.”

“Ha!” She barked a laugh at the ceiling. “I know . . . you married my best friend, remember? Then moved her and the kids into your house. I need details.”

“Isn’t that what girl talk is for?” When Gus reached for a pen, I tucked it away, earning me a frustrated squeal.

Her arms were still crossed. “Maybe I want to know your intentions, that’s all.”

“Intentions?” I frowned at her. “You know what this is . . . my house is a temporary safe space for her and the twins while the Robinson place is rebuilt. The marriage helped her get access to her money, and she’s investing in the brewery. That’s it.” The empty words were leaden in my gut.

“That’s it, huh?” Her eyebrow raised to her hairline, and I knew that she knew it was total bullshit. “Is that why you’re wearing a wedding band?”

I sighed and bounced Gus. “Things are . . . complicated. I’m just trying to keep it together.”

She rounded my desk and held out her arms for her son. I hoisted him up. “Maybe don’t try so hard, okay? Sometimes it’s okay to just . . . be. Let things unfold naturally.”

I let her words sink in and nodded. “I will try to take that advice.”

Sylvie propped Gus back onto her hip. “Besides, I’m not here to see you. I’m kidnapping Sloane.”

I opened my palms and shot her a what the fuck? look. “She’s working.” My sister didn’t need to know that I liked having Sloane around and I didn’t like the fact our time at the brewery would be cut short if she left.

Sylvie rolled her eyes. “Figure it out. She needs a new dress.”

“Dress?” My brows pitched down. “For what?”

Sylvie sighed. “The Bluebirds caught wind of the impromptu wedding. They’re throwing Sloane a belated wedding shower.”

I nearly choked on my own tongue. The Bluebird Book Club was an unofficial organization of Outtatowner’s meddling women. Ladies from all families—including Kings and Sullivans—got together to gossip and plot. I suspected they’d never discussed a single book. “A what?”

Sylvie shrugged. “It couldn’t be helped. Aunt Bug and I decided it was best to not blow your cover and just go with it. This is happening.”

My heart raced. “Does Sloane know?”

“That’s why I’m here. I’m breaking the news.” She hugged Gus close again. “His cuteness works on her too.”

My nephew giggled and blew spit bubbles. I sat back, listening to the chair groan under my weight.

“Will you be gone long?” I asked.

She shrugged. “As long as it takes, I guess. Why? Keeping tabs on your girl?”

I rolled my eyes despite the fact that was exactly what I was doing. “The twins have some kind of library camp thing. Just making sure they’re taken care of.”

Sylvie laughed. “Bug is handling that. She and Bax are going to do a little grandchild trade-off. It’s taken care of, I promise.”

I grumbled, annoyed that my simple logic of using the twins as an excuse hadn’t worked. With a frustrated sigh, I reached behind me and pulled out my wallet.

Resigned, I deposited several large bills onto my desk. “Don’t let her pay for the dress herself. You don’t have to tell her it’s from me, but”—I gestured toward the money—“there you go.”

Sylvie plucked the bills off the desk with a huge smile. “I knew there was a teddy bear hiding in there somewhere.”

“There’s not,” I grumbled.

My sister turned toward the door. “If you say so. Find a different server. I’m stealing her.”NôvelDrama.Org: owner of this content.

With a dismissive wave I watched my sister walk away. Behind my desk, I sighed, but couldn’t help the small tug at the corner of my mouth as I thought of Sylvie and Sloane having a fun afternoon on my dime.

Thankfully, the afternoon was slow, and the only impact of Sloane’s absence was my crappy mood. Somewhere along the way I started to half enjoy her quippy one-liners and witty banter. Without it, the brewery felt like it was all business. It lacked her sunshine and warmth.

Rather than call someone in for her, I covered her shift myself. Forcing myself out from behind the bar, I took orders, bused tables, and genuinely tried to not scare anyone off by my mere presence, of which I was marginally successful.

When my phone buzzed in my pocket and the name John Cannon flashed across the screen, I slipped into a nearby storeroom closet to take the call.

“This is Abel.”

“Abel. John Cannon. Do you have a minute?” John Cannon was a man I had hired to look into the disappearance of my mother. My siblings and I had had too many unanswered questions after my brother Whip and Bug had discovered a discarded box of her belongings. The mystery only deepened when John uncovered that there was no record of Maryann King after she left.

Nothing at all.

Unease rolled over me. “I do. What do you have for me?”

“Well.” John sighed. “I don’t think you’re going to like this.” He huffed a breath. “Shit, I don’t even know how to explain it.”

My stomach twisted. “Just say it.”

“There is still no paper trail for a Maryann King. I haven’t given up, but it’s looking like a dead end. I’m looking into her extended family and seeing if there are any contacts willing to confirm she’d possibly changed her identity.”

I nodded. “That seems reasonable.”

John exhaled. “Well, that’s not the news. Abel, there is no marriage certificate for Russell and Maryann King. There is, however, a certificate of marriage for Russell King to a woman named Elizabeth Peake.”

My mind raced and struggled to succinctly connect the dots. “So what are you saying? Are you telling me that my father cheated on my mother and then married his mistress?”

“No, Abel,” John continued carefully. “The marriage of Russell and Elizabeth is dated before the acknowledged marriage of him and Maryann. What I am saying is that it seems likely that your mother was the mistress.”

The small closet closed around me. A whoosh of blood between my ears was deafening. “That’s impossible. My parents were married, and it was no secret. They had six kids together.”

John sighed. “I understand, and I’m looking into it. Unfortunately, having a second family isn’t something that⁠—”

“Whoa, wait. What?” I interrupted. “Second family? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Well, that’s the other piece I uncovered. Russell and Elizabeth have children.”

My knees wobbled. If what John was saying was true, my father was not only unfaithful to my mother, but he had a whole different family our entire lives.

Memories of long business trips, absent weekends, and flippant remarks throughout the years flashed through my mind.

How was this possible? How could we have not known?

My throat was tight. “Thanks, John. I—I have to process this.”

“I understand. Do you want me to keep digging or is this enough?” he asked.

Anger churned. “No. Find out everything about this other family . . . and don’t stop looking for my mother.”

“You got it.” John ended the call and I stared into nothingness.

For nearly thirty-six years, the life I had known was a lie. Knowing my father the way I did, it was easy to believe he was capable of this. Everything in his life was constructed around optics—being the best, looking as though you have it all. It wasn’t a stretch to think he’d carefully crafted that life in order to feed his own ego.

My mother leaving him would have been a devastating blow to that ego. Dread pulled at my insides.

What other lies was my father hiding?