12. Duke
TWELVE
DUKE
Just this once. And we won’t tell anyone.
Sylvie’s breathy words, whispered on the beach just before she turned my world upside down, replayed on an endless loop.
When she said them, I was stunned. Angered.
I was a fucking idiot.
I should have told her that wouldn’t work for me, but instead I panicked. I knew in my gut I would take Sylvie in any way she would allow, even if that meant secret texts and whispered conversations.
But I didn’t have to like it.
My silence may have made me complicit, but I wasn’t giving up. Not on her and not on us—whatever us was.
After our secret date on the beach, Sylvie consumed my thoughts more than ever.
Fall was stirring in the August air. Berry picking had slowed, and the workers shifted their focus to weeding between rows and preparing for the inevitable dip in temperature. The chaos on the farm was nothing compared to the thick swell of emotions residing in my chest.
There has to be a way.
Russell King was a ruthless businessman and a prick, but he was still Sylvie’s father.
There was no getting around that. Plus, her overzealous brothers were a separate issue.
There would be no tears shed by me if they ceased to exist. But I knew falling back into the pattern of pining for Sylvie from a distance wouldn’t work.
I simply couldn’t do it.
“Can I help you find something?” Bug King looked up at me as I wandered aimlessly through the stacks of the Outtatowner public library. Her lips were pursed and her arms crossed as though it caused her physical pain having to assist a Sullivan.
“I’m looking for...” Bug’s eyebrow raised and my hand dropped. “You know what? No. I don’t need help.”
She swiveled on her heel and stomped away from me. I still didn’t trust her, or any of the Kings apart from Sylvie. There was a reason behind the Sullivan–King feud and why it had persisted for so long.
When Kate uncovered the speakeasy hidden in the basement of Tootie’s farmhouse, someone was sneaking around the property, and it sure as fuck wasn’t us. Add in the tire tracks I’d found near the west pasture and the inquiries into mineral rights on Sullivan land, and it was all too much.
I wanted answers.
Annie had pored over old news articles and public records to help us. In her search, she’d uncovered that the Kings and Sullivans had once been allies—friends and neighbors. Something had gone sideways, and I was willing to bet a King was behind it.
When I came upon a younger librarian, I cleared my throat to get her attention. She glanced up at me, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Any chance you can point me in the direction of town records?”
She dropped a pen on her desk and motioned for me to follow. “This way.”
The musty smell of old books filled my nostrils, and we rounded a corner toward a staircase that led to the basement.
“Almost everything is kept digitally—that makes it easier to search.” She glanced back. “What are you looking for?”
I shrugged. “I’m not exactly sure.”
She sighed. “Well, that will make it more difficult, but things are arranged by periodical type and by date.” She gestured to two computers at the center of the space and swept her arm toward bookshelves along the back wall.
“Anything not yet converted to digital will be on those shelves. Nothing here can be checked out, but copies can be printed or photocopied. Ten cents per page.”
I nodded and thanked the woman before she disappeared upstairs. The air down there was stale, and the room itself gave off serious murder vibes. I checked my phone.
No service. Awesome.
I knew from Annie’s research that the Sullivans and Kings had been close—which lined up with a photo Kate had found in the speakeasy of three people—Philo Sullivan, Helen Sinclair, and James King. It may also explain why there was a bootleg bottle of booze labeled King Liquor down there.
After further digging, Annie uncovered that the three families—likely the grandparents of the threesome, if my math was accurate—had intentionally purchased adjacent parcels of land through the Homestead Act of 1862.
It seemed like their families shared a close friendship.
Years later, Philo and Helen married. After that, the timeline got fuzzy.
Something that tore the families apart.
It was a long shot, but maybe if I could understand what happened, I could find a way toward peace between our families and make whatever was developing between Sylvie and me work.
I started with the bookshelves, but despite the librarian’s claims it was organized, all I found was a fucking mess.
Binders were arranged in haphazard rows with no apparent order.
Birth certificates, property deeds, and newspaper clippings were shoved into the binders.
Pages were falling out, some were stuck together, and a sense of overwhelm settled over me.
I had hoped something— anything —would give me something to go on, but there was nothing.
Frustrated and tired, I sat on the old office chair in front of one of the computers. I tapped the keyboard a few times, and it crawled to life. The electric whirs and thunks coming from inside the ancient computer weren’t encouraging, but eventually it blinked to life.
I spent a few minutes entering the names from the photograph into the computer with varying degrees of success. Mostly it was information Annie had already uncovered or a whole lot of nothing.
My eyes snagged on one name I hadn’t recognized. The document was an obituary that listed Helen Sinclair as a surviving sibling to a man named Thomas “Slick” Sinclair. I printed the obituary before heading home.
I planned to share the information with my family later and see if they remembered seeing the name. For some reason it stuck with me, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more there.
My shoulders were tense as I stepped out into the afternoon sunlight. I closed my eyes and craned my neck, hoping to ease the tension that balled between my shoulder blades. It was more than just the cramped basement that created the ache.
I scanned down Main Street before I pulled out my phone.
Cat Fact 217: Aoshima is a Japanese island where cats outnumber humans six to one.
I needed to speak with her—to hear her voice and know that things between us were going to be okay. I hated the fact that I was so consumed by her. People looked to me for answers. I was the man who could fix problems and get results, but with her, I was helpless.
Daryl Hall
I’m sorry.
My molars ground together.
No problem.
Can I call you tonight?
Whenever you’re free.
I spent the next several hours trying everything I could to stop thinking about Sylvie King. It was fucking hopeless. When the phone rang, I fumbled it trying to answer.
“Hello?” I coughed, trying to cover the tightness that crept into my voice.
“Hi.” Sylvie was quiet, her greeting barely above a whispered hush.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just hard to get some privacy around here.”
I grunted a response. Despite being adults, we were sneaking around like a couple of teenagers.
I knew the reality was I would take her in any version of this life I could have her. She was unusually quiet, and the heaviness of the day before hung between us.
She knew what she wanted. She had made so much clear when she was sure to reiterate that sex between us was a one-time thing.
“So yesterday was...” A whoosh of breath came over the phone.
“Yeah.” I wasn’t exactly sure how to finish that statement.
Amazing.
Confusing.
Life-altering.
Complicated.
I pressed my fingers into my eyes to relieve the pressure. “I was a little bummed not to hear from you this morning.”
Her soft laughter was like balm to my soul. “Well, I didn’t hear from you either.”
I smiled at her sass. She wasn’t wrong. “I stared at my phone for a while, but in the end decided to give you space. Every time my phone pinged, I was hoping it was you.”
Sylvie laughed again. “God, we are so dumb, aren’t we?”
I grimaced but suppressed another laugh. “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that.”
“I like you, Duke.” The way her soft voice rolled over my name—the way she sounded almost afraid to admit those words out loud—hit me square in the chest.
“I like you too. A whole lot more than I probably should.” I exhaled and dragged a hand through my hair as I leaned forward in my seat, resting my elbows on my knees. Beside me, Ed was curled up and sleeping. Duck was nestled beside him with his little bill resting on Ed’s front leg.
I chuckled to myself at the scene. “I should have called you this morning. That’s on me. I don’t want you to ever question how I feel about you.”
“I like sharing my day with you. I like getting a glimpse of what ‘mean old Duke Sullivan’ does in his spare time.”
“I’m not that mean.”
Sylvie laughed again, and the sound helped me relax a little. She could call me mean all she wanted if that meant she would keep on laughing.
I could tell by the timidness of her voice she was nervous. Vulnerable. “I just don’t want to lose this, you know.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I reassured her.
Truer words had never crossed my lips. Sure, any relationship starting on shaky footing was never off to a good start.
Our families hated each other, and the entire town supported a feud that was built to keep us apart, but it was the truth that I would take Sylvie in any form she would have me.
Maybe secret texts and whispered phone conversations were enough for her.
If it meant I got to hear that laugh and learn about the mundane details of her day, then so be it.
I would learn for that to be enough.
It would have to be. I didn’t want Sylvie to feel sadness, especially where I was concerned.
I looked down at Duck and Ed and shifted gears. “Turns out Three-Legged Ed adopted this duckling. Looks like he’s sticking around.”
Sylvie clicked her tongue and cooed into the phone. “That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. I knew you were a big softie.”
I chuckled and shook my head. “I’m not a softie. This is all Ed’s doing.”
Sylvie laughed. “If you say so.” Something clattered behind her, and she whispered into the phone, “Shit, I have to go.”
I wanted to ask her what was wrong and make sure she was okay, but I didn’t get the chance.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Good night, Duke.”
The call disconnected before I had the chance to wish her a good night. I flipped my phone onto the cushion of the chair next to me and looked out onto Sullivan Farms. I had known better than to get involved with a King, but no part of me felt like anything involving Sylvie was a mistake.
I had no clue how we were going to work this out, but it didn’t matter. The day was coming when I was going to claim Sylvie as mine, if she would have me. My whole life had been a series of setting my wants and needs to the side to take care of everyone else.
If I could survive a lifetime of that, I would survive this. If she didn’t want me, I would learn to patch the gaping, Sylvie-size hole in my chest for the sake of her happiness.