Page 115 of The KING Review

The image makes something twinge in my chest—him sitting alone in that apartment, kid asleep, all the lights off except for a lamp so he can read one of his battered romance novels. I want to be there, curled up with him, reading my own book. I want to fix it. But I know there’s no fixing it except just waiting.

“So, now you’re here?” I ask. “Why?”

Cade steps inside, already toeing off his shoes like he owns the place. “Because you need looking after too, little Hart.” The way he says it is so matter of fact.

Cade Aspen, emotional support scoundrel.

I snort. “I do not need looking after. I’m not the one getting dragged through HR hell or fighting my gaslighting harpy of an ex-wife for custody. I’m fine.”

Cade just looks at me, patient. He sets the bottle on the counter and raises his eyebrows. “You want a drink? You know I’ll play bartender if you let me.”

The way he asks is totally unfair—no pressure, just pure, unfiltered Aspen charm. I can see how even someone like my sister, with walls that used to reach into space, would fall for him. I sigh, the fight leaking out of me. “Yeah, please. Something with gin. Or maybe just gin. Surprise me.”

He grins, then checks the fridge. “Have you eaten?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, sir.”

He shakes his head. “Save that shit for Grant. I don’t need to know your kinks.”

“Actually, I call him Daddy,” I say, deadpan, half-wondering if he’ll actually believe me.

A laugh bursts out of him as he starts sorting through bottles, rifling around in my cabinets like he’s going to find anything other than enamel camping mugs and the one random crystal champagne glass Fia accidentally left here when I moved in. Actually, I hope he doesn’t find that, or he might take it back, and I like putting my soda in it when I’m feeling fancy.

“Have you talked to Fia?” Cade asks.

“Yeah, of course.” I watch the way his hands move, quick and sure, and it’s weirdly calming. “She called right after Grant dropped me home. Wanted to make sure I wasn’t, you know, about to torch Marie’s place or something.”

“You don’t have to do that, you know.”

I frown. “Do what?”

Cade glances up. “The whole ‘emotionally volatile’ schtick. They can say what they want about you, sure—you don’t have to play into it.”

“I know⁠—”

“You know Fia doesn’t think you’re like that, right?” he cuts me off. “So don’t ascribe that assumption to her. She doesn’t see you that way, the same way you and I don’t see her as cold. We know you, little Hart. Let us know you.”

The bridge of my nose stings. “I know.”

He sighs, pausing for a moment, hand on the counter. “I’m sorry. I know internalization’s a bitch.”

“Sure is,” I mutter.

“You know, Fia told your parents to take a hike after my PhD party.” He goes back to mixing the drinks.

I blink. “Seriously?”

He nods, pouring gin slow and steady. “She cried for, like, an hour after—which freaked me out a little, I’ll admit. Not because I think she’s unfeeling, but because that level of outward expression isn’t really her.”

I huff. “Yeah. Fia’s not much of a crier.”

Cade smiles. “That she’s not. They weren’t sad tears, though. They were the good, clean kind. Catharsis. Apparently, it was the first time she’d ever put them in their place about how they treat you both.” He glances up, and his mouth compresses. “She said it was because of what Grant said to them. The way he just… called your parents out. Fia told me she never would’ve had the guts if he hadn’t gone first.”

My throat is suddenly tight, all the way down, like I swallowed a rock.

Cade doesn’t say anything more, just continues making our drinks. I pick at the edge of the counter, watching him slice a lemon. The silence isn’t heavy, but it’s not exactly light, either.

“What if I really mess this up for him?” I blurt.