Oh God. My blood runs cold.
"Would you like to have a seat?" Flynn extends his hand to the couch from which I'd just risen. "You don't look well."
"I have to go."
"Edward?"
"Can't explain now." My legs propel me to the door. "I'll be in touch." I'd later chide myself, once again, for the less-than-appreciative departure. Thank the devil he understands how my mind works.
The elevator provides a private, steel cocoon. I yank the phone from my pocket and call my father.
"King." Fuck, sometimes he sounds just like me.
"Dad, I need something from my old room."
~oOo~
"Here's Jason, Sir." Gail hands me her phone.
"Taylor."
"We're ready over here," his voice pulls away from the speaker. There's a slight shuffle as the device changes hands on the other end. "Hello?"
Heaven has a voice, and it fills the gaping chasm. "Hello, baby."
"Edward." It's a whisper, a plea on her lips.
"How are you, love?"
I hear a covered sniffle. God, no please don't cry. "We're doing okay. Your dad has been wonderful, and Kate and Mia have been keeping me company."
"That's good, baby. How's Ryan?"
She's quiet for a minute. "He's... been asking for you. I'm not sure what I'm doing wrong, he's been hiding from me a lot. Gretchen has been really good with him; I can usually find him with her. He's less than thrilled with me right now, it seems."
"It's just a phase, I'm sure. Ryan loves you more than life itself," I tell her gently, but in my heart, I fear what effect this ordeal has had on my son. If he ends up damaged in the slightest… I don't know what I'll do. Focus, King, before you reduce yourself to a blubbering mess. Krissy needs you. I change tack. "Is there anything you need? Anything I can send over from home?"
I hear that sniffle again. "You," she whispers.
"Oh, Krissy. I know. I miss you so much." Oh, rip my heart from my chest and slice it before me, make me feast upon it. My pulse thrums desperately, the warmth of yearning tugging at my soul. I heave a sigh. "I hesitate to raise your hopes, but I may have a way out of this."
"You do? How?" The thrill in her voice calls forth that happy-sad feeling, that selfish delight that only my wife's hopeful aura can bring, but the sour potential for disappointment lingers, waiting for the right moment. I couldn't bear to disappoint her again. Hell, I can't bear this separation, but this isn't about me. It's about my Krissy, my Ryan… my family.
Honesty gets the better of me. "Well, my father told you some about the letter, didn't he?"
"Yes, he said it's what prompted that detective to investigate you, that it accuses you of hurting us; what about it? Do you know who wrote it? What do they want?"
Yes, she's definitely been spending her days with the King women. "I have a good idea who wrote it. I'm still unsure what their motives are, but part of what they wrote has some truth to it, though in another context. The rest, well... I have to assume it's false, though that can't absolutely be known."
Krissy doesn't respond right away. I can't tell if it's because she's processing, waiting for me to continue or if she's holding something back. Please, please not the intermediate.
"Baby?"
"Hmm?"
"You were somewhere else, weren't you?"
"Um... Not really." She sighs. "You don't have to tell me more if you don't want to."
Great.
"I do, baby. I want you to know everything. Some parts of my past... I told you before, there are some things I'd rather not dredge up, but they may have to be. I'm not quite sure how to do that."
"I know. And I respect that… but you did talk to your dad, right?" she asks, timidly.
"I did. He knows, well… everything. I didn't go into much detail, but he has the basic idea. I also told him about what I did to you; I think he was more shaken by that than anything else. He hasn't really given me a verdict on the matter… but he did remind me that I'm still his son." The admission hits me hard, harder than it had when he said it. "I suppose that's what counts, right?"
"Oh Edward, I wish I could have been there for you," she murmurs. "I just want this to be over, I want to come home. I'll do whatever it takes. I believe you, and I trust you. These feelings I have for you, they're so innate, so right… I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'll do anything, tell them anything, if it helps release you from whatever hold they have over you. I mean that."
"Oh, Krissy…" the lump in my throat rises, choking me, threatening to dissolve. "You have no idea what that means to me. What you mean to me… baby, you're constantly in my heart. But I won't ever ask you to lie to them for me, and you should never feel that you have to. Just have faith in me, Krissy. I'll figure this all out. I love you so much."
"I'm scared." The desperation in her voice is unmistakable, raw and absolute. "What if… what if…"
"Baby, no…" I soothe. "I feel where you're going with this. Please, please don't torture yourself. I'll find a way. I'm coming back to you. We'll work it out; no matter how long it takes, no matter how long we're apart." I swallow. "Please don't worry. I promise, you'll always be taken care of, no matter what happens."
I hear a broken sob from the other end. Christ.
"Oh, Krissy..." I swallow the rising lump, my free hand flattening over my heart. "I'm here, baby. I'm going to fight like hell for you. And I'm going to win, I promise you."
And in that moment, I feel it, the depth of my vow, spreading across the earth like a black cloud. I am going to win. Fuck everything, I've had enough. I'm Edward King, for fuck's sake, I wave my hand and bigger things than this shrivel into nothingness. My left testicle is bigger than these problems. Heads will roll, and I'll stand idly by. No one will keep me from my family.
PART FOUR
CHAPTER 21
~ EDWARD ~
"I have no other choice than to find the defendant, Edward Trevelyan King, guilty on one count of domestic abuse and both counts of unlawful restraint. I hereby extend the established restraining order indefinitely; further sentencing to be announced within seventy-two hours. Bailiff, please remove Mr. King to a holding cell."
What? The wood-on-wood bang of the gavel shatters my pulsing eardrums. NO! This can't happen! This can't be the way it ends… the way my life ends. The words burst from my lips, unchecked. "This is outrageous!" Meaty hands wrench my arm in a vise behind my back, and it burns. "Don't touch me!" I pull away, and a second Neanderthal comes to hold my other arm. "Stop touching me!"
"Edward!" My mother's voice rings out from the gallery, filled with pain and disbelief. "Please don't hurt my son!"
"Mother, take care of Krissy and Ryan! Promise me!" I shout, my wrists secured by cold steel at my back. A hand pushes against my chest, and I recoil. The pain is no phantom, and it's excruciating. "I said don't fucking touch me!"
"Come on, Mr. King," the first insists.
"We promise. I'll appeal this, son, just go quietly for now." My father has moved to my mother's side, his arm around her shoulders as she sobs, his eyes lowered in defeat. He can't even look at me.
They didn't let her into the courtroom. They wouldn't let her anywhere near me. I didn't get to say goodbye.
I didn't get to say goodbye.
"Krissy!" The scream bubbles from my throat. She can't hear me, she's nowhere near, but I can't rein it in. "Krissy, I'm sorry! I love you! I'm sorry!"
"Mr. King!"
Firm hands grasp my shoulders, shoving me forward.
"Mr. King! Sir!"
"Gah!"
A very real image of Mrs. Taylor snaps into view, eyebrows raised. "Sir? Your father is on the phone for you."
Cold air fills my lungs, chilling the spray of droplets across my skin. I feel as though I'm on fire. Oh, of all the motherfucking nightmares... My heart continues to pound as though it may fail at any minute, and the residue of acid claws the back of my tongue.
"Tell him I'll call him back."<
br />
"He instructed me to wake you. I'm sorry, sir…"
I rip the twisted sheets violently from where they've held my body captive, much to the dismay of my housekeeper. She hands me the phone and beats a hasty retreat.
"Dad."
"Edward, I know you have a lot on your mind at the moment, but your mother is asking for you. Again."
Shit.
"What time is it?" I rub my face, glaring toward the heavy drapes pulled over the windows.
"It's after nine. Are you feeling all right?"
Am I? No, I don't believe I am. "I'll be there in an hour."
~oOo~
"Excuse me, Dr. Trevelyan… Sir, I have Welch on the line for you," Sawyer nods apologetically toward my mother from the doorway.
Damn it, Welch… you could have taken the hint when I didn't answer the last two calls. I'm with my sick mother, for Christ's sake. "Tell him to hold."
"Oh, darling, it's all right," my mother dismisses. "Go take over the world or whatever it is you do on a Sunday. I'll be just fine. I'm glad you stopped by." She squeezes my hand in both of hers.
She didn't press me when I said Krissy and Ryan were otherwise occupied. She didn't dig when I apologized for not being back since this all began, but I can see it in her eyes. She knows something is wrong. I wonder if Dad said something to her, not the truth, obviously… else she'd have crawled up my right nostril and self-detonated. This isn't news she can handle at the moment, or ever, if I have a say.
"I love you, Mom. I'll try to come back later." I press a kiss to her forehead, and she strokes my cheek once before releasing me.
My late start and the unscheduled detour to the hospital has suspended my warpath mentality for the moment, which bodes favorably for Sawyer… he looks damned nervous enough as he hands the phone over and follows a step behind.
"What, Welch?"
"I just received confirmation from forensics: the letters are a perfect match."
Tell me something I didn't already know. "And the evidence?"
"I've hit a dead end. Whatever this guy knows, there's a tight lid on it. I can't get any of my contacts at the district to talk, and I've called in a dozen favors. I'll keep on it."
Shit. Well, at least my gag order is doing its job. If the media hasn't snuck it out of somebody, there's no getting to it except through official channels, and those I can keep plugged up for years, if not indefinitely. "Keep me posted." I click the end button and toss it back to Sawyer. Now what?
"I arranged the items you asked for, Sir. They'll be delivered tomorrow as instructed."
I let out a resounding sigh and step into the elevator, pinching the bridge of my nose in an effort to ward off the storm of a migraine brewing on the horizon. I'd very much like to explode, for all the pent-up frustration festering deep within my psyche. The mental tally of checks on the to-do list outnumbers the unchecked, but the latter are proving quite obstructive and increasingly worrisome. I just want this fucking done. Over with. I'm certain my army of King House lawyers would have Kane's ass seared and served to him on a paper plate by noon tomorrow, with extra sauce and a buttered roll. No… I can't risk involving them, even with NDAs in place. The fewer that know of my past, the quieter this can be dealt with. My reputation isn't all that's at stake.
This entire situation is infuriating; it's so far beyond my comprehension, and the things I comprehend likely exceed the above average person a hundred fold. What the fuck does he have on me? On us? My greater fear is that this lie of a letter has borne further fabrication, the likes of which fit some ambiguous circumstance and aims the arrow directly between my eyes. Unlikelier things have happened before.
Krissy would normally try to distract me from this absurdity, at least, the part of her who truly knew me. This reset version of my Krissy wouldn't… doesn't… know how to handle me. But she loves me, loves me and agreed to be mine, before all this began. That's what I have to hold onto. I'm going to beat these charges to a bloody pulp, whatever they are, and then I'm going to sweep my girl away and put all this behind us. Ugh, the need for her is maddening… I need to run a marathon, something… any outlet. Unfortunately, the only activity I should pursue at the moment is most women's go-to activity.
Retail therapy. My wife requires a birthday gift. Several, in fact.
Let's see how badly I can screw this up.
Sawyer steps out ahead of me at the parking level and nods the 'all clear.' I jerk my head toward the vehicle. "Come. We have shopping to do."
~ KRISSY ~
My birthday came and went. It wasn't as uneventful as I'd have liked. I'm trying not to think about it.
The shiny, lacquered wood bench seat is smooth and hard under my fingers, the grooves weathered there leaving the feeling that others, nervous as I am, had also worried over the softening lines. My legs uncross and I tuck them under me. Nope this isn't comfortable either. They re-cross, right bouncing over left, and I smooth my skirt.
Kate helped me dress this morning. I honestly have no idea what I'd do without her; I don't pay attention to things like what people wear to court, other than what I've seen in passing through our living room in the Portland apartment when she has Law and Order streaming on Netflix. Or, rather, had... I have to remind myself sometimes, even now, that most things I remember happened three or more years ago. God, this is frustrating. I ought to be so mad, and I am, but what's getting angry at everyone going to do? How is that going to help Edward or his dad work through this? My subconscious and I had words last night about proper channeling of frustration, and we've decided that my best friend isn't a proper target, especially after all she'd tried to do to make my birthday special. I'll be apologizing to her for a while. Somehow, she sees through my bad mood and picks up my hand, squeezing it in hers. Yes, she came with us today, too, though I told her I could handle it. Things couldn't possibly get any weirder, and honestly, I'm over the drama. Not going to let it get to me, no way.
Nope, not going to do it.
I'm not even sure why I'm here this morning; no one has called me into the room. Carrick indicated that his District Attorney friend had made time to hear new evidence on that letter... which I still have not read and don't really care to. The idea of actually seeing the words, the handwriting, it feels as though it would taint me or worse, make me believe the lie. I won't subject myself to that; there's enough confusion in my life without having distortions of the truth added to it. And hopefully, if everything goes well in there this morning, all this mess will be resolved before lunch. My fingers are crossed, and so are my legs, left bouncing over right.
The door at the end of the hall swings open, and a dark, heavyset man in business attire pushes through ahead of my father-in-law. They stop to shake hands, and the unknown gentleman disappears through another door. Their faces give nothing away.
I stand and smooth my skirt. "What happened?"
Carrick brings up his arm to circle my shoulders, inferring that I should turn and walk with him. Kate's arm comes around my waist. She's been eerily quiet, unlike her and probably the fault of my sour disposition yesterday, but she's steadfastly been my rock and my soft place. God, if only every girl had a best friend like Kate Kavanagh… er, King. Still getting used to that.
Something silently calls me to look back, though, and I get a glimpse of Edward, his hands shoved in the pockets of his gray suit pants… oh, how stunning they are on his beautiful body. He stands tall and determined, just beyond the far door, in something of an exchange with Taylor. The pull is tactile. I just barely swallow the urge to duck under Carrick's arm and run to my husband; the need to feel his arms around me far more pressing than the desire to know where everything currently stands, where we stand.
"Come along, my dear. There's still some work to do."
My eyes haven't left their goal, and just as I'm about to be led away, his gaze connects with mine.
His lips part fractionally, and my belly stirs.
"I know, Krissy." Carri
ck grasps my shoulder and gently pulls me to him. "Edward sends his love. We have to go now."
The restraining order, of course. What a bunch of crap that is. Or perhaps it isn't; I couldn't possibly know. Everything boils down to that letter, and some secret evidence this detective-lawyer-whatever guy Kane has on Edward. The small part of me who is curious to know receives a swift kick from the other part, the one who, perhaps irrationally, doesn't care what it says, even if it's true. Any sense of self-preservation seems to go out the window where Edward is concerned, in spite of the entourage of sexy weirdness that surrounds him. I risk another glance backward, and the slate eyes that meet mine are burning. It makes my mouth water. The ding of the elevator. Sawyer ushers us inside, Carrick's arm heavily around me. There's a sudden shift, and the gray eyes rush toward me, his hands reaching out, as the doors close. Then, despair... and darkness.
~ EDWARD ~
District Attorney Ronald Williams is a Dominant personality, to be sure. In the lifestyle, you learn that you don't possess a certain way of being, you either are, or you aren't. As for the individual's display of control, you either do, and are able to give the appearance of a moderate nature, or you don't, and it all hangs out like a badly tucked shirt. I recognized Williams in his true element this morning coming off the elevator. I dialed down my own, reluctantly of course, permitting logic and an even temper to reign. I can only imagine how my father feels, taking in our verbal tennis match. He seems to better understand, now, the restraint it takes to keep myself in check.
I'll need at least twelve rounds with Claude when we're finished.
"Libel is a very serious accusation, considering the nature of the charges, Mr. King. Are you absolutely sure?" he tests.
Of course we're fucking sure. "The evidence speaks for itself, Mr. Williams. My forensic specialist matched the handwriting, and you see the pictorial signature in the corner of both letters. The author's identity is clear."
He glares at me. Not menacingly, but it is a calculating expression, one I'd spent many of my formative years learning to conceal. That in itself is a small victory, and I mentally log each and every one.
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