Chapter 37
Thirty-seven
Kingston
Zach’s words are still ringing in my ears when the door slams behind him. The silence he leaves is almost louder than what he revealed, which hangs heavy in the air like smoke after a fire.
Ginny’s face crumples, and Ryker wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, his jaw tight. She presses her forehead against his chest, and a tremble runs through her body. “I need to find my brother, my sisters,” she says, her voice breaking.
Ryker nods. He glances at me, and I nod as he steers her toward the door. There’s nothing we can give Ginny right now that Ryker can’t.
Elise looks up at me, her brows drawn, her mouth parted like she’s about to say something. She could be about to ask if I’m okay, and I long to let her steady me, to sink into the way she grounds me. But I can’t. Not now. My family needs me to lead. It’s the role I know.
I straighten, forcing my voice steady. “We need to see our parents before this spreads any further.”
Elise nods, and I lock myself into what I do best—containment, control. This is a new piece of the puzzle, and we need to determine how it factors in before emotions spiral out of control.
The drive to Paradise Hill feels longer than it is, my hands clenched tightly on the wheel.
Elise sits beside me, silent. Her fingers brush against mine once, tentatively.
I should take her hand. Anchor myself. God, I want to.
But I can’t. Suddenly, that kind of openness feels impossible, too vulnerable in the face of everything now falling at my feet.
When we get to my parents’, the house is chaos—the curtains half open, a lamp knocked over in the hall.
My parents are on the couch, side by side, pale as ghosts.
Mom’s hair is loose, a strand stuck to her cheek.
Dad’s hand rests on his knee, tapping a restless rhythm.
Between them, the exhaustion is bone deep, like the energy’s been sucked out of them.
At first, I wonder if Zach has been here too, but then I remember: Theo.
I glance past them to drawers gaping and papers scattered across the floor. Theo’s storm. Fortunately, now he’s upstairs, asleep, the wreckage abandoned in his wake.
The door opens behind me, and Beckett strides in with Sadie, followed by Tarryn and Declan. Elise drifts closer to me, like she knows I need her near, though I still don’t reach for her.
Beckett doesn’t waste any time. His voice is clipped, his eyes sharp. “Did you know Henry Dempsey was Zach’s father?” he demands.
My parents look at each other, something wordless passing between them. Mom swallows, and Dad exhales like he’s been holding his breath for decades.
“We knew about the affair,” Mom says finally, voice small. “Chereen and Henry. But not this. We thought it was over long before Zach was born.”
The admission feels like another blow, but before I can even process, Dad’s temper snaps. “Is this what Max wanted all along? Revenge? Because our father gave me the vineyard and nothing to him? Is this his way of tearing us apart piece by piece?”
His fury is raw, spilling over into every corner of the room. And I hear it beneath the shouting. What no one wants to say out loud. This isn’t just family drama. This is orchestrated. Duplicity at play. Max pulling strings, and all of us dancing without realizing the music had already started.
We explain what happened tonight at Mikey’s and debate the reasons Zach might have shown his face now.
But nothing makes sense. There isn’t anything concrete for us to build on, and it’s impossible to know whether anything Zach says is even close to the truth at this point.
After chasing our thoughts in circles for a while, my parents tell us they have to go to bed.
Theo will be up at his usual time, regardless of what else is going on.
The rest of us sit around a bit longer, but there’s nothing much left to be said. My siblings now look almost as tired as my parents did.
We say our goodnights, and shortly thereafter, I’m back in the cockpit with Elise next to me and the helicopter blades roaring overhead, drowning out thought until it’s just vibration in my bones.
I sit rigid in the seat, headset pressed tight against my ears, staring out at the dark stretch of valley.
Elise leans into me, her shoulder warm against mine.
She doesn’t say anything at first, just rests there, steady, like she’s trying to bleed calm into me.
For a moment, I let myself feel it, the comfort, and the quiet promise that I don’t have to carry this alone.
The need in me is sharp, almost unbearable.
Then my phone buzzes against my thigh. A name lights the screen. Hope.
My stomach knots. I ignore it. Don’t read what she has to say.
I keep hoping that if I avoid it long enough, maybe she’ll understand.
Maybe she’ll stop. Elise shifts, glancing at the movement.
I slide the phone back into my pocket before she can see.
She deserves honesty. She’s given me nothing but that.
But I can’t seem to muster the energy to dive into this.
I’ve ended things with Hope. That should be enough.
The helicopter tilts into descent, and gravity presses me into the seat, my stomach tight. I brace, keeping my focus fixed on the helipad rising below. Elise slips her hand over mine, lacing our fingers together. I hold on, but my unease remains.
After landing and completing the checks on the helicopter, we walk up from the helipad.
Elise’s hand stays in mine, steady, like we’re a united front, facing things together.
I almost believe it too, despite my inner turmoil.
But the second I open the front door, that changes.
Simone is waiting in the entry, arms crossed, her expression pinched.
“You have a visitor,” she says carefully.
A visitor? At this hour? My stomach drops. “Who?”
Her pause is answer enough. I step into the living room with Elise right behind me, and then the bottom falls out.
Hope.
She’s standing in the middle of my living room, wearing my robe like she owns it. Elise freezes beside me, shock on her face.
I turn to her, my throat dry. “Give me a moment.”
The look she gives me isn’t anger. It’s worse. Stunned disbelief, like she doesn’t even know who she’s standing next to anymore.
Hope moves before Elise can respond. She rushes to me, eyes shining, and voice pleading.
“Kingston, please. You made a mistake. I miss you, and I want you back.” The robe slides off her shoulders, pools at her feet.
She’s wearing lingerie, black and delicate, no doubt meant to erase the shift in our relationship like it never happened.
But that’s impossible, and it’s nothing I want.
Yet all I see now is Elise’s face, her hurt, her trust shattering in the silence beside me.
Why didn’t I find a way to talk to her about this?
I force myself to face Hope. “I told you it was over. If I’d wanted more, I would’ve said so. I would have moved to Vancouver. But I didn’t. I won’t.”
Her lip trembles. “Please, Kingston. Just listen—”
And then a door opens and closes. Shit. Elise has disappeared.
“Elise!”
I tear away from Hope, racing upstairs, calling her name. Nothing. Bedroom empty. Hallway silent. I hurry back down the stairs, through the door and out into the night.
I’m just in time to see the headlights of the Paradise Hill truck fading into the darkness.
She’s gone. How will I ever make this right?