Chapter 4
Axolotl. Beaver. Cat. Donkey. Elephant. Frog. Giraffe. Hippo. Iguana. Jaguar. Koala. Lemur. Mouse. N—
Why am I getting stuck on N? Usually, it’s Q or a more challenging letter, like U or Y, that catches me up during my second run-through.
I should’ve switched to food. I haven’t done that one in a while.
Food, animals, names—it doesn’t matter what the topic is. My brain runs with it, listing them out in alphabetical order.
It’s something I’ve done my whole life when I needed to get away, to disappear somewhere that responsibility and name don’t matter.
“Are you listening to me right now?”
My father’s voice slices through my running thoughts, and my chest instantly tightens at his disappointment.
Fuck. No, I wasn’t, but I can’t say that plain as day.
“Dean, for the love of God”—my father pinches the bridge of his nose, his sigh echoing around the vaulted walls of his office and against the colorful stain glass window that stretches from the floor to the ceiling behind his desk, creating a loving image of my parents—“are you listening at all?”
I nod sharply, sitting up taller in the wingback chair. “Sorry.”
He starts talking again like I barely comprehend English.
“Tomorrow, you and I are meeting with the head of Van Hartley, the jewelry company. They are looking to sell, and I want Kensington Industries to win the bid. Study up tonight. I need you on your A game, not”—he waves his hands in the air toward my general vicinity, his lips curled—“this.”
“Yes, sir,” I concede, mentally noting the company’s name. Van Hartley.
This isn’t the first time I’ve pretended to be an interested businessman, even though I couldn’t give a shit about Van Hartley.
But my job tomorrow isn’t about truly caring. It’s about the acquisition. As if we don’t already have enough on our plates between reality, anthropology work, hotels, tech, and numerous assorted businesses.
There’s a reason the Kensington name is one known across the world. We are one of the richest families in existence. I’m not talking millions. I’m talking billions. A household name. Generational wealth that will stand the test of time … and I will sit on the throne.
Along with that level of success comes a lot of baggage. Expectations, not just from family and friends, but society too. How we act, dress, speak, perform. My entire life has been a masterclass on how to wear a persona as a mask.
Lately, I think I’ve had more time with it on than without. But what’s the saying? Fake it until you make it? I think that’s what I’m doing, faking it until I don’t feel the empty, throbbing black hole in my chest.
Until then, I’ll put a smile on my face, a joke on the tip of my tongue, and hide everything I’m really feeling inside.
A knock sounds on my father’s office door, thankfully cutting the tension with a knife, granting me some reprieve.
“Get out of here. We’ll meet at eight a.m. sharp,” my father declares, gesturing to the door.
Well, that won’t work.
“I have class at eight.”
“Tomorrow, you don’t. Have someone take notes for you.” He shoos my interests away with a wave of his hand, no care on his face.
I will my mouth to agree and tell him that of course I’ll miss class for the benefit of the family. I always default to obey his word. But I only find silence, my lips shut.
“Dean, it’s one class. You’ll be fine. This is far more important.” He pushes to his feet behind his desk.
“Yeah.” I stand and turn, seeing the office door opening to reveal Adrianna Chamberlain, the late Patrick Chamberlain’s widow.
“Hi, Dean,” she greets me kindly.
Nodding at her, I stride past without stopping to exchange meaningless pleasantries, pulling the door shut on my way out, with her stowed away inside.
Pain erupts in my palm, and I suck in a sharp breath.
What the hell?
As I open my fist, I realize just how tightly I had it clenched, seeing bleeding half-moons carved into my skin. The physical representation of my anger opens the floodgates of rage I didn’t know was coursing through me.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end at the sound of Adrianna’s laugh in the office.
Blinking slowly, I try to calm my heart and my breathing.
You’re overstimulated, stressed out, and anxious. Take a deep breath, Dean.
But then I hear her giggle again, and the thought of my father in there, flirting with another woman only months after burying my mother, makes me feel more murderous than I’d like to admit.
My feet are moving, taking me far and fast from his office, my stomach churning. I rush through the grand foyer, across the marble floor, trying to get to the kitchen as soon as possible.
I need water. A cold rag. Something, anything, to make this feeling go away.
It’s like my skin is desperate to crawl away from my body, my stomach ready to upheave everything I’ve eaten today.
Passing through one of the sitting rooms, I round the corner to the kitchen, nearly sprinting at this point.
Adrianna’s laughter continuously echoes in my mind, drowning everything else out.
Suddenly, I crash straight into one of the staff members, and the stack of towels in her arms goes flying.
Fuck.
She sways, and I instantly steady her.
“Sorry!”
Ms. Ravi chuckles, finding real amusement in the run-in. “Not a problem, Mr. Dean. You are quite all right.”
Crouching down, I hastily gather the unfolded towels for her, doing my best to return them to some semblance of a neat stack, like before. But I fail miserably, earning even more laughter from the staff director, Ms. Ravi.
Her joy tugs at the corners of my lips, and my shoulders soften ever so slightly.
“Please don’t fuss. I didn’t like these towel folds. I was going to redo them anyway.”
She flashes me a cheeky smile, and mine finally breaks free, a burst of dopamine hitting my system.
“I’m still sorry. I should have been more careful.” I hand her the makeshift pile. “But I appreciate your kindness.”
“Don’t be silly. If you wish to run, you should. Don’t mind anyone else. This is your home, Mr. Kensington.” Gently, she pats me on the arm as she strides past me, continuing on wherever she was headed before, having no idea that was the warmest moment I’d shared with anyone since my mom passed.
Fuck, what I would give for a hug from my mom right now. For her to storm into my father’s office, smack him upside the head, and fix this whole mess. She was the only one who could make his world clear.
Ms. Ravi’s words sit heavily on my chest. “This is your home …”
I mean, this is where I grew up—at least after I was adopted at age ten. This might be my home, but lately, the only part that feels anything like the comfort I once knew exists in Ash’s and my wing.
The rest is a stage for us to perform on. For the staff, for guests, and even for ourselves.
I need to get out of here for a bit to burn some energy off, and I know the perfect place. The Legends training center in the arena.
After chugging a glass of water, I change clothes, grab my keys and helmet, and head outside. I jog down the grand staircase to the first landing and then to the ground level.
My bike is parked out front from our last ride, right where our father hates them to be.
Throwing my leg over the bike, I slip on my helmet and take off for the arena. I instantly relax as I feel the wind wrap around my bare arms and rush through my T-shirt.
If I wasn’t desperate to hit something or throw weights around to scratch the itch, I would just go for a nice, cool, calming ride. But I need more to physically exert the energy from my body.
A car pulls up beside me, and I recognize the G-Wagon almost instantly. Elias Lancaster, the Legends captain.
Elias is one of my good friends and one of the only people I know who understands the weight of being an heir to an empire. The Lancasters may be a newer family to Evermore, but they are quickly rooting deep into the foundation of this town.
He starts to drift back but then steps on the gas to catch up with me. I glance down at the speedometer and instantly let off a bit.
Jesus. I didn’t realize how fast I was going.
I flip my visor up and slow down enough to be able to hear him shout through the window, “Going to the arena?”
I nod, glancing toward the campus. The top of the massive arena comes into view, just beyond the trees.
Elias shouts, pulling my attention, and I see him flash me a thumbs-up before rolling his window up.
I guess he’ll be joining me.
We turn into campus, entering through the gates, and weave through the lush green hedge-lined roads. I grew up within walking distance of this place, but it’s still a sight to see every time I’m here.
The campus buildings are constructed of castles—some interconnecting from cobblestone paths and skywalks, others isolated, but opulent nonetheless.
The landscaping always looks pristine. Roads swept. Hedges trimmed. Not a leaf out of place. It reminds me of our home—at least what it’s turned into.
Banners decorate the industrial lampposts as we turn toward the arena, advertising HEAU and the men’s and women’s hockey teams.
The girls’ team is going to be fucking good this year. They lost to Kennedy Prep last year in the Frozen Four tournament. But it was so close. They should’ve had it.
I think they’re back for blood this year, and we’ll be there to support them if we can.
The parking lot has more vehicles than I expected to see on a Thursday night, but they probably needed an outlet, like me.
Elias parks next to me and steps out of his car, finding my side and my stride as I head inside. “Hey.”
“What’s up, man?” I ask him, pulling the arena app up on my phone. “What’ve you been up to?”
“I was over at Flounder’s Bar, grabbing a bite.” He digs into his sweats pocket and pulls out his phone, likely getting the barcode from the HEAU Kensington Arena app.
His activity piques my interest, as he’s typically a homebody.
“Oh, yeah? By yourself?”
I shift my gaze to the corner of my eyes, finding him smiling.
“I was catching up with an old friend.”
“And how is she?” I smirk.
He shoves me sideways. “Shut up. She is just a friend. Seriously.”
“Mmhmm. Okay, buddy.”
We stride up the few steps to the entrance.
“Since you’re so talkative, I could ask what brought you out here. Fighting demons? Or are you here on business?”
Touché, Elias.
I glare at him. “You’re right. Let’s not talk about anything.”
He chuckles as I scan the barcode on my phone. “I’m surprised the doors don’t just open as you approach.”
“I’ll kill you.” A chuckle slips free, ruining my scary threat.
He shrugs. “I mean, you could probably get away with it. Your name’s on the outside of the building anyway …” He trails off, then points at various places in the entryway. “Oh wait, and there … and there … there … there.”
“I get it.” I laugh humorlessly, feeling the anger from earlier return.
I’ve never felt shame from my name or wished to have something else in its place. But at this moment, hearing Elias chirp at me about it makes me feel like Kensington is branded on my forehead.
Like I’m nothing more than a legacy.
Like I’m nothing more than a pawn at play in this game.
Between school, hockey, and work with my father, there’s not an ounce of myself to spare. Maybe I am nothing more than the part I play.
“Dean.” Elias’s voice is stern and loud. “Hey.”
I shake the haunting thoughts from my mind. “Sorry.”
Concern uplifts his eyes. “You’re good. I’m sorry. I pushed too hard. I know you’ve been going through a lot. That’s my bad.”
My head shakes side to side. “No, it’s okay. I’ve just been”—I sigh heavily—“in my head a lot lately.”
“I’ve noticed,” he murmurs softly.
That grabs my attention. I thought I was hiding it well—at least well enough that no one could tell.
“Really?”
“Don’t freak out on me now. I don’t think anyone else has noticed. But it’s my job to, as your friend and as your captain,” he says with honor. “I’m always looking out for you.”
Something clicks in my head, an itch that I didn’t know needed to be scratched. But it’s finally clear to me.
“Did you coincidentally run into me tonight?” I question him.
He grins, knowing he’s caught. “If you’re implying I’m stalking you, I’m not.
I really was at Flounder’s.” I can practically hear the but in the silence of his pause.
“But when I was heading home, I got a text from Finny that he saw you going this way, and he knew I was out. I figured you might want some company.”
I sigh. “So, everyone knows I’m just a basket case right now?”
His stare softens. “No, but your best friends know you’ve been quieter lately, and we want you to know you’re not alone.”
My mind is empty, frozen, and as it starts to thaw, the back of my eyes burn. “Thanks, man.”
“Anytime.” He smiles. A moment passes, a beat of vulnerability, and then he saves me from any further torment. “Now, let me show you what it’s like to bench three hundred fifty pounds.”
“As. Fucking. If,” I scoff, laughing as he opens the weight room door.
God, I’ve got the best friends.