Page 64 of The Rebel King

“At the next light,” I say, feeling lighthearted and happy for how genuinely they love each other, “you could hop out and go ride with him. I’ll be fine here by myself.”

“You sure?”

“Of course.”

I’m already thinking about calling Maxim as soon as Millie hits the pavement. We both peer again through the back window. They got caught at a light and are a little farther back but still within easy sprinting distance if Millie wants to make it happen.

She gives me a conspiratorial glance when we stop at the next light. “I think I’m gonna go for it.”

“We should probably let Bob know first.”

I roll the privacy partition down to tell him Millie’s plan, of which he’ll probably disapprove. “Hey, Bob. Millie’s gonna—”

But the words, the sound of my voice, and every thought are absorbed by a bone-rattling boom that shakes the car. A sonic nightmare of sound rings a gong in my head and fills my ears, blocks all other noise until Millie’s tortured scream pierces the wall holding sound at bay. I lift my head dazedly and through the rear window see bright, angry flames devouring the car behind us.

“O!” Millie scrambles across the seat, lunging for the door. “No! Oh, my God, Owen!”

“Millie!” I reach for her arm, but she evades my grasp and jerks the door open. She trips out of the car and takes off running toward the burning vehicle. I run after her, only catching her when her stiletto turns over and she stumbles. I grab her from behind, wrapping my arms around her waist.

“Millie, you can’t,” I say, tears burning wet tracks down my face.

She wiggles free again and limps toward the burning vehicle, but Bob streaks past me and grabs her again. Her arms windmill, fighting with an invisible foe. Even with his strong arms around her waist, she still strains toward the destruction, toward her husband, her hands outstretched and trembling.

“O,” she moans, her voice jagged and falling apart. “No. Oh, God, no. Owen.”

The vibrant, beautiful woman who laughed with me only minutes ago is already gone. This is a sobbing, broken shell, and my heart aches knowing that other woman is being consumed in those flames. Owen is gone, and so is she. We’re standing in one of life’s awful moments where your breath is a comma, marking the space before and after tragedy, punctuating that nothing will ever be the same.

CHAPTER 25

MAXIM

My father and I haven’t spoken since Christmas when I warned him to leave Lennix the hell alone, so I’m surprised when his name pops up on my phone. Right away, I think of the compliment he “planted” in the media and wonder what this is about. I’m reclining, resting on the flight home, but sit up to take his call.

“Dad.” I’m not asking a question or offering much of a greeting. Just literally letting him know I’ve answered.

“Maxim.” For a moment, it’s only my name, but spoken in a voice I’ve never heard from my father. Torn. Ragged.Lost.

“What’s wrong? Is it Mom?”

“No, your mother… She’s here with me.”

“Where’s here? What’s going on?”

“We’re flying to Baltimore. There’s been an accident at the fundraiser.”

“Nix?” Her name is out before anything or anyone else occurs to me.

“She’s fine, from what I’ve gathered. It’s… It’s Owen.”

I bite my tongue, not wanting to ask the question burning the tip of it—the question my father’s sober tone begs. And, from my father’s silence, he doesn’t want to answer.

“What about O?”

“He’s gone.”

There’s a wail in the background, a wounded animal with my mother’s voice. The moment retards, slows, stretched by her pain, like a drawn-out note in the octave of anguish. It doesn’t fall on me all at once, the impact of what my father said. Not like a brick or a boulder, something heavy and flattening in one blow. It’s a deluge of pebbles, embedding themselves in my flesh one by one, second by agonizing second, until I’m covered. I can’t move. I can’t speak. Hurt is my only faculty.

“Maxim?” my father asks, with a hint of his typical command. “Did you hear me?”

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