Page 52 of Out of the Shadow

Finally, King speaks. “I needed a job, didn’t I?” he asks with plenty of bite. “But it’s not just a show. I’ve been working with Angie at her agency, and I took the New York real estate exam. Still waiting on my results.”

“Oh,” his father replies, surprise and pride warring in his voice.

“He studied for the test in record time,” I contribute. Needing to bolster hisbona fides, I add, “Plus, he’s doing great work at my office.”

Braxton tugs on his ear, but his expression remains skeptical. “Impressive. Doing something for others for a change.” Ouch. His eyes bounce from my left hand back up to my face. “Has he closed any deals yet?”

I cover my wedding rings with my right hand. “Well, he’s only been with us for a short time, but he’s ahead in the contests we’re doing for the show.”

King clears his throat. “I’m not sure whether anyone told you, but Blaine’s the driving force behind the show.”

Braxton squints. “Good kid. Unlike that other one.” He pauses. “Are you keeping clean?”

Clean? King’s never done any drugs around me.

King’s entire frame stiffens and he raises his chin. “Don’t worry about me.”

A man who introduces himself as Keith Davis, their manager, interrupts to say the band’s needed for an interview. Braxton looks at King. “We have to go. Can you guys stick around?”

I’m about to tell him yes when King responds, “No. We have some post-production work to do.”

First I’ve heard of that.

Braxton’s lips rise into a sad smile. He moves in to hug King good-bye, but King steps back. Braxton stills. “See you.” He waves at me and spins on his heel to follow the tour manager.

Colton puts his hand on King’s shoulder and whispers something in his ear. Then he looks at me and says, “Nice meeting you, Angie. Take care. Of both of you.” After hugging us both, he catches up with the two men, slinging his arm over Braxton’s shoulders.

In a move that’s reminiscent of his father’s, King turns on his heel and strides toward the exit. I rush to keep up with him, but his long legs eat up more pavement than mine. He stops in front of the network’s limo.

Panting, I approach the vehicle. His features are carved in stone, with the side of his cheek moving in and out as he bites the inside. Taking measured steps, I place my hand on his forearm. “King.”

Tortured eyes meet mine. “That was worse than I thought it would be. I can’t imagine what the show is going to do with that footage.”

Honestly? I didn’t find Braxton to be an ogre at all. Whatever happened in the past, he seems to want to reach out to his son. But I keep these thoughts to myself. King’s in too much pain right now. I bring him in for a hug.

King wraps his arms around me and pulls me in tight. His body shudders, but he doesn’t make a sound. We remain locked in the embrace until I take half of a step back and run my hand down the side of his face.

“I’m sorry you feel rejected by him.”

“You saw how he treats me.”

Placing my other hand on his opposite cheek, I bring his head down to mine and kiss his forehead. “Things will get better.” I need to show him he’s misconstruing his father’s words, but he’s not ready to hear it. He’ll walk away from me if I say it now, and I need him to listen. How can I make him see the truth?

He looks at me with the cocky grin I’ve come to know so well. “Yeah. I’m going to beat you on the show.”

“You wish!” The limo driver opens the car door for us and we slide in. “You know,” I say, dipping my toe, “he seemed interested in your new career path.”

“Ha! Don’t let that act fool you. You heard how he said the word ‘reality.’” He plays with the remote for the front divider, leaving it up. “My family life is just fucked up, Angie. It’s never going to be anything else.”

Wanting to soothe him, I blurt, “Why don’t you come to Saturday dinner with my family this week? You already know Leo and Juliana. Maybe it’ll lighten your spirits.” I should feel funny about inviting him to dinner, but for some reason I don’t. He needs a good dose of family life.

No other reason.

He turns big hazel eyes on me. Ones uncannily like his father’s. “Really?”

I shrug, as if it’s no biggie. And maybe it’s not. My siblings have invited other people, although I haven’t brought anyone since Dante died. “Sure.”

His hand lands on mine. “I’d like that.”

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