Chapter 7
Kings And Cracks
Coleman
Itugged at the collar of my shirt as I stepped out of the car, staring up at the familiar gold lettering above the black awning. Lakeshore Reserve. Still standing. Still shining like it knew it had secrets.
It looked the same as the first time we walked in.
Five broke kids with no business being in a place like this. Langston got us through the door with nothing but a smirk and his last name. We pooled together enough cash to order one Old Fashioned each and sipped it like it was holy.
That night we made a promise—right there in that dim booth, velvet worn and drinks sweating onto the table. We said we’d be back. Rich. Powerful. Unstoppable.
We called ourselves the Kings of Lakeshore, and maybe it was stupid and dramatic, but we meant it.
And somehow… we did it. We built everything we said we would. And we never stopped showing up.
Once a week, no matter what. Deals, disasters, divorces—it didn’t matter. We all made time. Langston, Harley, Nathan, Dean, and me. No headlines, no social media posts. Just us, some whiskey, and the bond that got us here.
I checked my watch. Langston would already be inside. He was never late to this place.
I took a breath and looked out at the street—Lakeshore humming with life around me, but all I could think about was how different home felt now.
Remi had only been in the house two days, but it was already louder. Warmer. She filled every room like she belonged there. The girls liked her—hell, I think they already trusted her.
And me? I was off-balance.
A woman with too many opinions and a mouth that didn’t quit had just taken a blowtorch to the walls I’d built. And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to put them back up or let her keep burning.
I needed this drink. Needed Langston to look at me like I hadn’t gone soft.
This place—this booth, this tradition—it grounded me. Reminded me who the hell I was.
I slid my phone into my pocket and reached for the door. Time to find out if the Kings of Lakeshore could talk me off a ledge… or shove me off it with a damn smirk.
The bar is dim and low-key. No music blasting. No crowds pressing in. Just a couple of booths in the back, familiar faces, and the bartender who knows not to ask why I’ve been showing up here more often lately.
Langston’s already waiting when I walk in, sipping something dark and expensive that probably came from the private stock.
I drop into the booth across from him and loosen my tie.
“Long day?” he asks, sliding me a glass.
“Something like that.”
“How’s the nanny?”
I raise a brow. “That’s how we’re starting this?”
Langston smirks. “You live in a house with twin ten-year-olds, your ex is a walking soap opera, and you hired a 23-year-old with a sunshine complex to move in with you. Yeah, that’s exactly where we’re starting.”
I sigh and take a sip. “Remi’s fine.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I lean back against the booth and stare into my drink. “The girls left with her this morning. Spent the day out.”
“Without you?”
“I had showings.”
Langston’s quiet for a moment. “And you let her take them alone?”
I glance up, defensive. “It’s not like that.”
“No, I get it. Just… surprised. You haven’t trusted anyone with those girls since Stella.”
I shrug. “Didn’t really have a choice.”
“Sure you did. You could’ve canceled the showings. Called Lacey. Called me. Hell, kept them home.”
I don’t answer. Because he’s right. I could’ve. But I didn’t. Because something about Remi made it feel possible.
Safe.
Even though she’s chaos wrapped in glitter and too many opinions. Even though she talks with her whole body and wears her heart like it’s armor. Even though it’s only been…two days.
Langston’s watching me.
“I’m not saying she’s perfect,” I mutter. “But they smiled today. Both of them. At the same time.”
Langston leans forward. “That happen often?”
“Not in months.”
He nods slowly, thoughtful. “You think she’s gonna leave?”
I should brush the question off. Should make a joke about her loud music or the way she insists on making cookies like it’s a damn love language. But instead, I look down at the drink in my hands and say the quietest truth I’ve got.
“I hope not.”
Langston doesn’t push. Doesn’t smile. He just lifts his glass and taps it gently against mine.
“To hoping.”
I step into the house, expecting quiet. But instead, I get laughter.
Low, real, and layered with something I haven't heard in too damn long—joy. I move toward the kitchen, heart thudding like I’m walking into something I shouldn’t disturb.
The kind of peace that feels like it’ll vanish if you breathe too hard.
They’re sitting around the island, hair a mess, cheeks flushed. The girls are talking over each other, telling stories that tumble into laughter. And Remi’s there, glowing in a way that doesn't even make sense. She looks like home.
She sees me first.
“Hey, Boss Dad. You’re home.”
The words are soft. Teasing. But something in my chest catches at the way she says it.
Before I can reply, Paige jumps off her stool and runs to me like it’s been a year since I left the house this morning. She throws her arms around my waist, hugging tight, her little face buried in my ribs.
It guts me.
She’s been doing that ever since that night. Since then, Paige has been clingy. Needy. Every hug a test I keep trying to pass.
“Hey, Button,” I murmur, wrapping my arms around her. “Miss me already?” She just nods, holding on tighter.
I glance past her and find Payton still on her stool, arms crossed. Guard up. But her eyes meet mine, and there’s a quiet sadness in her smile.
She doesn’t run to me. She never does. Not anymore. But she watches. Like she needs proof I’m still here. I gently ease Paige back and walk over to Payton.
She doesn’t move, but her eyes flicker. I put a hand on her shoulder, then tug her forward until I can wrap my arms around her too. She sighs into it like she’s been holding her breath.
“I’m home, Bug,” I whisper against her temple, kissing the top of her head. “I’m not going anywhere.” I’ve been saying that every night since Stella broke them. I don’t know if they believe me yet.
They pull back, and that’s when the floodgates open—both girls talking at once, tripping over themselves to tell me about the record store and roller skating. About cookies and music and how Payton maybe fell but definitely got back up.
And I look at them—I really look at them. Their faces. Their ease. Their smiles. Smiles that aren’t forced or cautious. Smiles that reach their damn eyes. And then I look at her.
Remi.
Leaning against the counter, quiet now, watching like she didn’t just light the whole house on fire and bring it back to life. She meets my eyes, and for a second—just one—I forget how to breathe. But then she pushes off the counter.
“I won’t be joining you for dinner tonight,” she says, voice light, too casual. “I’ve got plans.”
Plans. I should be grateful. Should be relieved she’s giving me space with my girls.
But I’m not. I’m pissed. And I don’t even understand why. I take a step toward her. Then another. She pauses at the edge of the hallway, her hand already brushing the wall as she goes to leave.
“Remi,” I say quietly. She stops. I lower my voice, almost whispering. “Stay.”
She turns slowly, brows drawn together. “What?”
“Stay for dinner.” Stay with us. With me. I don’t say that part. But it’s there.
She hesitates, and for a second I swear she might. But then she shakes her head, a soft smile on her lips. “I really do have plans.” She starts to walk away again.
My hand reaches out before I even think about it—fingers closing gently around hers. It’s the first time I’ve touched her. Her skin is warm. Soft.
But the jolt that goes through me is violent. Like her touch hit the fault line I buried under years of regret and damage. I feel it all at once—the quake in my chest, the rush of heat in my blood, the terrifying want.
She freezes. Her eyes meet mine. And I know she felt it too. Her lips part. Her fingers twitch in mine. And for half a second, there’s something raw and wide open between us. Then I do what I always do.
I pull back. Walls slamming shut. I clear my throat, step away.
“Be careful,” I mutter, voice clipped. Cold.
Her smile slips, but she nods. “Always.”
And then she’s gone. The girls are still laughing in the kitchen, but the warmth she brought with her walks out the door. And I already miss it.