Chapter 15
Peyton
It’s an odd thing to watch destruction on Christmas Eve, one of my favorite nights of the year.
The east wing collapses with a sound like the world is ending.
I’m surprised because the estate is almost the oldest building in Wintervale.
I thought the bricks and stones of this big, old place were strong enough to withstand a damn zombie apocalypse, much less a fire.
But stone and timber crash inward, sending sparks spiraling into the December sky like twisted Christmas lights. The heat hits us even from here, a hundred feet back, behind emergency vehicles and Helena’s security forming a protective barrier.
Helena's arm is around my shoulders, keeping me upright when all I want to do is sink to the frozen ground and scream.
Blake's still in there. He went in to confront Silas, and he hasn't come out, and the building is burning right in front of my eyes. While he may be a superhero to me, I’m losing hope that even Blake can survive a fire of this magnitude.
"Peyton." Helena's voice is firm, grounding. "Look at me and breathe. You have to keep it together.”
"He's not out yet. The board members have been evacuated, but where’s Blake?” I don’t recognize the tone of my own frightened voice. Suddenly, the fact that Blake kept knowing my mother a secret doesn’t seem as huge as it did an hour ago. I just want him to be okay.
“Mr. Delano is resourceful and trained and has survived worse than this." She sounds certain, but I see the tension in her jaw. She's worried too.
Talia's on her phone, coordinating with someone, I don’t know who. Her dress is torn, and her face pale and set. When she catches my eye, she shakes her head. No news.
Ambulances line the circular drive. Thankfully, they arrived quickly. There are EMTs treating guests for smoke inhalation, minor injuries, and shock. The board members who were saved are there, six men who should be dead, who would be dead if Silas's plan had worked, according to Talia.
I believe it because that’s the Blake I know—a deliciously complicated man with a violent history and a moral compass that can’t be bought. How will I live with myself if he sacrificed himself to save strangers who probably don't deserve it?
"There!" Someone shouts, pointing.
A figure emerges from the smoke near the garden side of the building. A tall, broad figure moving wrong, injured, but moving.
It’s him.
I'm running before I consciously decide to, pulling away from Helena, pushing past security, not caring about protocol or safety or anything except reaching him. He sees me coming, tries to straighten up despite clearly being in pain, and I crash into him hard enough that we both stagger.
"You're alive," I'm saying, hands on his face, his chest, checking for damage even though I can see blood on his shirt, see the way he's favoring his shoulder. “Thank God you're alive.”
"I'm okay." His voice is rough from smoke, but his hands are steady as they frame my face. "Peyton, I'm okay."
"You jumped out of a third-story window?”
"Had to. The stairs were blocked."
I carefully wrap my arms around his neck to reach for a kiss, remembering that he’s probably in a tremendous amount of pain. I’m just so happy that he’s standing in front of me. He kisses me back, even as he winces in pain.
“Sorry,” I say. “I’m just so happy.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
"You could have died."
"But I didn't." He's looking at me like he's memorizing my face, like he thought he'd never see me again. "And Silas is…”
"Is dead," Talia says, approaching us with urgency. “The fire department found him in the east corridor. Gunshot wounds to the chest. It was probably a confrontation with security,” she says, then lowers her voice just in case someone is listening. “But what really happened?"
"He gave me a choice that didn’t give me much choice at all.” Blake's swaying slightly now, adrenaline wearing off. “He shot at me. I shot back. Left his ass.” He winces from the pain. “Then I jumped."
“Let’s stick with my story,” Talia tells him.
“Bullets won’t match security’s weapons,” Blake replies through the pain.
“They won’t care to investigate that deeply if the Delano family doesn’t. Now tell me, brother, what hurts?” Talia's already gesturing to the EMTs. "He needs medical attention, please.”
“Everything fucking hurts, but I’m fine.”
“Does that even make sense? You're not fine." I'm crying now, angry tears mixing with relief. "You're bleeding, and you can barely stand, and…you left me. You broke our agreement, and you went to face Silas alone.”
“You broke it first, baby.” His thumb brushes away my tears, gentle despite the pain he must be in.
One of the board members approaches. He’s older, distinguished, someone I recognize from Talia’s research. "Mr. Delano, you saved our lives. If you hadn't gotten us out of that conference room, we wouldn’t have made it.”
“It was a team effort,” Blake says, giving Talia an approving glance.
The EMTs are insistent now, guiding Blake toward an ambulance. I follow, refusing to let go of his hand.
"Ma'am, we need space to work.”
"I'm not leaving him."
"Let them work on me.” Blake squeezes my hand. “I’ll be fine."
"No." The word comes out fiercer than I intend. "You don't get to almost die and then tell me to leave. I'm staying."
Something shifts in his expression as he answers, "Okay then. Stay."
They load him into the ambulance, start checking his vitals, and cut away his ruined tuxedo shirt. The shoulder wound looks bad, blood seeping through the bandages. His ribs are bruised, possibly cracked. He’ll need X-rays at the hospital, but for now, he's alive, and that's all that matters.
I'm sitting beside him, holding his non-injured hand, when I hear the voice that makes my whole body tense.
"Peyton!"
It’s my father.
He appears at the ambulance door, looking perfectly composed despite the chaos, every hair in place, concern performing for whatever or whoever might be watching. Always the politician.
"Thank God you're safe. When I heard about the fire at the estate, I came immediately.”
"How did you even know I was here?" I ask flatly.
“A friend of mine called and said you were here tonight at the gala. I admit I was surprised to hear you were attending tonight after everything we discussed at home. It was dangerous for you to do this alone.” He tries to climb into the ambulance.
“It doesn’t matter; we need to get you home, away from all this. ”
“Stop,” I order, then I step out of the ambulance to handle this privately. “And let me be crystal clear. I wasn’t alone, and I’m not going anywhere with you."
He blinks, caught off-guard by my tone. "Peyton, you're in shock. You've been through a trauma. Let me take care of you.”
"Like you took care of my mother?” The words are out before I can stop them, sharp and cutting.
My father’s expression hardens. “I didn’t kill your mother, and I’d appreciate it if you’d stop inferring that I did.”
“Maybe.” I move closer toward my father so we're eye to eye. “But you knew about the inheritance, and you were actively plotting with the most dangerous man in Wintervale on how to use it for your political advantage before you were ever going to tell me.”
“That's not it, sweetheart. I was trying to protect you.”
“Oh, stop, with the sweetheart bullshit." The profanity makes him flinch. "You have always protected your career, your image, and your chances at moving up the political ladder over everything else. You didn’t protect Mom, and you’ve never protected me.” I'm shouting now, and I see people turning, but I'm done caring about optics.
“Do you understand who you were in cahoots with? Silas was responsible for what happened here tonight.”
"Peyton, lower your voice. There are ears everywhere. This fire was a very unfortunate event. Probably too many candles burning or a poorly maintained fireplace. Not arson.”
Blake silently signals me with a questioning stare as an EMT wraps his shoulder. I give him a nod, assuring him that I’m still okay. He’s always in protection mode, even when he should be worried about himself.
“I don’t understand you, Dad, and I’m starting to see that neither Mom nor I really ever has.”
“I’m not the villain in your story, Peyton. Understand that your mother made choices that put her in danger.”
“Did you know they were going to hurt her, though?” I ask with a disbelief I’ve been carrying around for days now.
“Of course not.”
“But you did nothing about it when they did." Tears are streaming down my face now. "You're a coward who only cares about yourself, and I don’t want to have anything more to do with you.”
“Peyton,” My father’s face goes red. "I will always be your father.”
“No, you won’t. I became Peyton Kingsley tonight, which means I no longer need you. I don’t need your approval, your connections, or your protection. I have my own resources now and a new protector–a man who might make mistakes but who I know I can trust.”
"You're making a mistake with Delano.”
Even all banged up, Blake's watching from inside the ambulance, ready to intervene if needed, but also enjoying watching me handle my father in a way I never have. But now it’s my turn to take care of him. I’ve wasted enough time with… the senator.
"I'm done pretending we have a relationship worth salvaging." I step back. "Merry Christmas. Please don't call me unless it's an actual emergency. And even then, maybe call someone else first. You’ve got a new wife. Use her.”
I turn away from him, climb back into the ambulance, and don't look back. My father is still standing there, looking stunned and angry and smaller than I've ever seen him.
"You okay?" Blake asks quietly.
"No, but I will be." I take his hand again.
"Talia," Blake calls out. She appears immediately. "Can you drive us somewhere? Safe house, hotel, anywhere that isn't here? If it wasn’t snowing, I’d drive us to the city myself. Christmas in New York City is always a good time.”