Page 100 of The Rebel King

“I remember when they were born,” my mother says, tears in her eyes when we walk back into the house. “And now they’re eight. Owen didn’t get to see…”

I wrap my arm around her shoulder and squeeze her close. She’s been on the verge of tears all day, holding it together for the sake of Darcy and Elijah, but she’s fraying.

“I think he sees,” Salina says, taking Mom’s hand. “It’s been a long day. Let me walk you to your room, Mrs. C.”

Mom nods, her mouth working but releasing no sound. She looks at me, and the tears stream over her powdered cheeks. I stare back helplessly. Is she wishing Owen was standing here instead of me? Probably. Most days, so do I. He had the family, the following, someone to live for besides himself. I’d trade places with him in a heartbeat to spare Millie the torture lurking behind the blue eyes that used to be so lively.

Mom reaches up and touches my face. “I’m proud of you, Maxim. You were always such a good boy. You just never knew it.” Her smile is shaky, her eyes bright with tears. “Owen knew, though. He always saw how good you were. Tried to tell your father. He’d be so happy that the two of you have made things right.”

Have we? If Dad keeps meddling in my life with stunts like he pulled with Salina, things won’t be right.

“Love you, Mom.” I bend to kiss her cheek. “I’ll call from the road.”

She nods and walks off with Salina toward the stairs. I stand there alone in the large foyer for a few minutes, not sure what I should do. A door opens down the hall, and my father emerges, looking distracted. Probably business.

“Maxim,” he says, surprise in his voice. “I didn’t realize you were still here.”

“Yeah. I want to see Millie before I get back on the road.”

“Did your mother go upstairs?”

I nod. “Today’s been difficult for her.”

“Most days are. I don’t think we come equipped with what it takes to handle the death of a child because it goes against the natural order of things, outliving your kid. It shouldn’t happen. It hurts too much.”

My father’s always sure, but I know right now, he’s lost in sorrow so deep he’s drowning. As surely as my mother’s hurting badly, so is he. He may not express it as freely as she does, but it’s there—an unseen force, an undertow, pulling him down.

He closes the space separating us. “How’s it going on the trail?”

“So far, so good. Just trying to stay relevant and be heard while the Dems and Republicans fight it out. My goal is to still be standing when Iowa rolls around in February.”

“You’ll be more than standing.” He grips my shoulder, looking me in the eye. “You’re gonna win this thing. Mark my words.”

I hesitate. I should leave well enough alone. This is the best we’ve gotten along in years, but if we’re going to rebuild our relationship, it has to be on a foundation of honesty. “If I do win, I’ll choose my own first lady.”

He stiffens but doesn’t try to deny my subtle accusation. “Salina’s a beautiful woman.”

“She is. I’m sure she’ll make someone very happy, but you already know who I want.”

“Yes, the one girl who hates me,” he says dryly.

“Oh, I’m sure there are lots of girls who hate you, Dad.” We both chuckle at that, and it feels good to laugh with him even if for only a second, but when we sober, I drive the point home. “I told you before, if you can’t accept Lennix in my life, we’ll never be able to really repair things between us.”

Neither of us breaks the stare or the silence following my words, and it’s like looking in a mirror that reflects shared memories and moments from when we were closer. A torrent of emotions is unleashed in my chest—ever-present grief, sadness for how my mother’s suffering, for how Millie’s suffering, and a longing to share some of this burden with the man I used to admire more than anyone. I’m not sure how we’ll find our way to anything close to that if he won’t yield.

“Tell her there won’t be any more Cade pipelines on protected land,” he says softly, finally.

For the space of a few seconds, I’m too shocked by his words to even process them.

“What? Tell who—”

“Tell Lennix.”

Not Ms. Hunter. Lennix.

My father and I were together the day I met Lennix. She was luminous and powerful and shone with her convictions. I still remember the way her voice broke when she said her mother’s name—her indignation that day when she asked if we could see her. If we could hear her. Nightmares about her mother are built on the land my father stole from her people.

“Tell her yourself.”

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