Giselle: Be ready by eleven tomorrow morning, darling.
Me: Where am I meeting him?
Giselle: At his hangar. I’ll send you the details this afternoon.
Me: Thanks.
One of the things I truly appreciate about Giselle and the way she runs her business is she genuinely cares about our safety and anonymity. She rarely takes on new clients, and if she does, she does her research first.
Joseph Burton is not only one of the most successful pro football coaches on the East Coast, but he also comes from old money—which isn’t necessarily unusual down in the south. He’s loaded and has no qualms spoiling those around him. Joseph is married, but everyone with half a mind knows she’s nothing but a beard. Someone to keep around for appearances. He’s been in the media before for allegations of having an affair, but no hard facts have ever surfaced.
I’ve spent weekends with Johns before—only a handful of times—but I’ve never left the country with one of them. The Maldives is beautiful, though, so I can’t even pretend to be bothered by my new weekend excursion.
Chapter Three
Bodhi King
“Honey, it’s so good to see you. I missed you!” My mother, the small, frail woman she is, wraps her arms around my torso, squeezing. Her vanilla and cinnamon scent swirls around us, making me feel comforted and panicked all at once.Homehas never been a safe haven for me, no matter how close I am with my mom, and no matter how much I enjoy seeing her. It’s a catch twenty-two if I’ve ever known one.
Peering up at me, her icy blue eyes mirror mine. All distinguishable features I, thankfully, got from her—my piercing eyes, thick, black hair, even my strong, sharp jawline and straight, narrow nose. I also inherited her height, or lack thereof. My father and both my brothers are practically skyscrapers compared to my five-ten frame. She’s even shorter, at barely five-foot two inches.
“I missed you, too, Mama.” Placing a kiss on top of her head, I pull back as she smiles up at me. My mother is one of the sweetest women I’ve ever met. How she ever married someone as vile as my father and birthed someone as sadistic as my brother is beyond me. “Where’s everyone?”
She brushes a few stray wisps of hair out of her face. “Your dad and Charles are at work. Noah should be here shortly. I believe his plane got in about half an hour ago.”
My father, Charles Allen King II, owns a luxury car dealership in town. He’s owned and ran it for as long as I can remember, and my oldest brother, Charles Allen King III, has worked for him since he was eighteen. Noah, the middle child, lives in California with his husband. They both work in the tech industry and moved out there a few years back. I wouldn’t say I’m close with Noah, but I definitely don’t have the same toxic relationship as I do with Charles. While Noah is only a couple of years older than me, he was absent a lot when I was growing up—with friends, girlfriends, school commitments. So, we never had the chance to truly bond.
We meander into the kitchen, where she pours me some lemonade and places a fresh batch of snickerdoodles in front of me as she slides onto the stool beside me. My mouth waters at the warm aroma of the cinnamon-sugar dessert. I want one, but know if I eat one, I’ll eat ten more without being able to stop myself. So, I force myself to refrain… for now.
“Are you staying over, dear?” my mom asks, knowing full well my answer.
“I can’t, Mom. School’s back soon, and I have a lot to get ready.”
Sighing, she says, “I understand. I wish you would, though. You never stay here.”
She isn’t wrong. Since I moved out right before freshmen year of college, I haven’t been back since. Not overnight, at least. What she doesn’t know, though, is that if I stayed here even a moment longer, it would have killed me. Somehow, my sweet mother has managed to stay in the dark about who her husband and son are for many, many years, and I’ve never had the heart to shatter the image she has in her mind.
She’s completely unaware of the years of torment I endured under this roof, the nights I cried myself to sleep, huddled under my covers, praying like hell someone would come save me from it all, and the days I felt empty—hollow—and contemplated ending it all. And the night I actually tried to end it all. She has no fucking clue, and I can’t do that to her. So, instead, I keep my mouth shut, and come see her as little as possible.
The front door creaks, letting us know someone is here, saving me from having to come up with some poor excuse as to why she never sees her youngest son for more than a few hours at a time here and there.
“Hello?”
My shoulders relax a smidge and I let out a breath as the sound of Noah’s raspy voice reaches us in the kitchen.
“We’re in here, babe,” my mom calls out, rising from her stool to grab him a glass of lemonade like she did me. She’s ever the homemaker.
Heavy feet stomp on the dark wood floors before Noah’s wide, tall frame comes into view. He’s built like a linebacker, and always has been. Dirty blond hair that’s down to his ears hangs in his face as he hits us with his bright grin—dimples and all.
Crossing the room, he drops his bags beside the counter, pulling me in for a bear hug. “Bodhi! It’s so fucking good to see you, man.” He smells of menthol cigarettes and whatever sweet cologne he uses.
“Language,” my mom warns.
Noah and I both chuckle at that. “Sorry, Mom.”
After shoveling a few cookies into his mouth and guzzling down the glass of lemonade, we all head to the living room. Pictures from my childhood adorn the walls and the fireplace mantel. I can’t even stand to look at them.
“So, what’s new, Bo?” Noah asks.
