Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Henry
I was halfway to Mason’s office when my phone rang. James’s nurse’s number flashed on the screen, and my stomach dropped. She never called this early.
“Mr. Kingston? You need to come to Madison Center right away. Your grandfather...” She hesitated. “There’s been a change in his condition.”
I made an illegal U-turn, my heart pounding. “What kind of change?”
“He’s asking for you. And...” Another pause. “We’ve called your mother.”
The rest of her words blurred as I pressed the accelerator. I’d planned to meet Mason to determine where his loyalties lay in this fight against my father. But none of that mattered now.
Something was off the moment I stepped into James’s room. The morning sun poured through the windows as usual, but his chair by the window, always occupied at this hour, sat empty. Instead, he remained in bed—a sight entirely unlike him.
“Grandfather?” I approached quietly, noting how pale he looked against the white sheets.
His eyes blinked open, taking a moment to focus. “Henry.” His voice was weaker than usual, but the familiar warmth was still there. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.”
“Never.” I sat beside him, ignoring how my stomach knotted at his appearance. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’m tired of people asking me how I’m feeling.” He attempted to sit up, and I hurried to help adjust his pillows. “Tell me something interesting instead. How’s Savvy?”
Heat crept up my neck. “She’s... We’re...”
“Ah.” His eyes twinkled with familiar mischief. “That good, hmm?”
“Grandfather—”
“I may be dying, Henry, but I’m not dead yet.” He patted my hand. “And I’m not blind either. I see the way you look at her. The way she looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching.”
A nurse appeared in the doorway, her professional demeanor slipping as her eyes flicked to the monitors. She frowned at the numbers, jotting quick notes in his chart with a practiced efficiency.
“I need to speak with Dr. Harrison,” she said, her voice neutral. “Mr. Kingston, would you mind stepping into the hall for a moment?”
James’s hand shot out, gripping my wrist with surprising strength. “Whatever needs to be said can be said here. I’ve never been one for secrets. ”
The nurse hesitated, then nodded. “Your latest readings are concerning. The blood pressure?—”
She stopped as James went rigid, his face going slack.
“Grandfather?” Alarm shot through me as his eyes lost focus. “I need help in here!”
The next few minutes were chaos. More nurses rushed in, followed by doctors speaking in rapid medical shorthand. Words like “pressure” and “bleeding” filtered through my panic. Someone tried to usher me out, but James’s grip on my wrist remained firm.
“Stay,” he commanded, his voice suddenly clear. “There are things you need to know.”
The doctor hesitated, then nodded. “Five minutes. Then we need to run tests.”
When we were alone again, James’s eyes locked onto mine with fierce intensity. “Listen, Henry. In my desk, there’s a blue folder. Everything you’ll need is there—my lawyer’s contact information, the trust documents, the people you’ll need to talk to. I’ve been preparing for this longer than your father knows.”
“Grandfather, don’t—” My voice cracked. “You can rest. We can talk about this later.”
“No.” He squeezed my wrist. “No more later. Richard thinks he’s dealing with a sick old man, but I’ve made sure you’ll have what you need.” His breath hitched. “Promise me you’ll do what’s right by everyone.”
“I promise.” My eyes burned. “But you’re going to help me, right? You’ll?—”
“Where is she?” He looked around suddenly, confusion clouding his features. “Savvy should be here.”
“I’ll call her,” I said. “I’ll get her right now.”
But when I reached for my phone, his grip tightened. “Not yet. First, you need to know... ”
His voice faded as his eyes slipped closed.
Mom arrived minutes later, still in her yoga clothes, her face pale with fear. “Daddy?” she whispered, rushing to his bedside.
The next hours passed in a blur of medical terms and waiting rooms. Brain bleed, they said. It’s common with his condition. Moving too fast for surgical intervention. I could only sit there, watching the man who’d been my constant slip away.
My phone buzzed periodically—Savvy, probably wondering why I hadn’t called after leaving this morning. But every time I reached for it, something else demanded attention. Another doctor with questions about James’s history. A nurse needing insurance information.
James drifted in and out of consciousness. Mom held his hand, singing softly—the lullaby she said he used to sing to her as a child. During one clear moment, he gripped my hand and said, “Don’t wait for her to trust you, Henry. Show her who you are.”
“I will,” I promised. “Stay with me a little longer.”
My father arrived around sunset, his presence casting a familiar weight over the room. But James didn’t acknowledge him. Instead, his eyes found mine one last time.
“The folder,” my grandfather whispered. “Remember.”
Those were his last words.
The machines started their frantic beeping as his hand went slack in mine. I barely registered the doctors rushing in, the nurse gently pulling us back. Mom’s anguished cry pierced the chaos as she clung to her father’s hand.
“Time of death, 8:47 p.m.”
The words echoed in the sudden silence, made more final by the absence of beeping monitors. My mother’s sobs filled the void, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t process that James Morrison—the only person who’d ever truly understood me—was gone.
“I’ll handle the arrangements,” my father said, reaching for his phone.
“No.” My voice sliced through Mom’s quiet sobs. “You’re not handling anything.”
“Henry.” His voice carried that unmistakable warning edge. “This isn’t the time?—”
“When is the time, Dad? After you’ve complained about the cost of his care again? Or are you too busy calculating how much power Mom’s inheritance will add to your empire?”
A shadow passed over his face. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. Everything I’ve done?—”
“Has been about control. Always.” The words poured out, years of watching him diminish James fueling my anger. “You put him in here because you couldn’t control him at home. Because he saw through you.”
“I put him here because it was best for everyone,” he snapped. “The cost alone?—”
“The cost?” I laughed. “That’s all he ever was to you. A line item on your balance sheet. The price of keeping Mom’s father somewhere you could manage him.”
“How dare you question?—”
“He was worth ten of you.” My voice shook. “He understood what genuine power was. It’s not about money, control, or forcing people to bend to your will. It’s about what you protect. What you nurture. What you love.”
“Love?” He sneered. “Love doesn’t build empires, Henry.”
“No. But it builds things that last.” I looked at my mother, still clutching James’s hand. “ Things worth fighting for.”
“And what exactly are you fighting for? That little town? That girl?” His lip curled. “I thought we dealt with that weakness years ago.”
The casual cruelty in his voice crystallized everything. “We’re done,” I said. “Whatever power you think you’re about to gain, whatever plans you’re making—I want no part of it. Not anymore.”
“Don’t be dramatic. Once your mother inherits?—”
“You still don’t get it, do you?” I turned away. “Some things can’t be bought or controlled. James taught me that. It’s a shame you never learned.”
I stumbled out of the room, down endless corridors that were too bright, too sterile. My phone showed seven missed calls from Savvy and three texts asking if everything was okay. The last one sent a knife through my chest:
Some things never change.
The drive to River Bend passed in a blur, my vision clouded by tears I couldn’t stop. I’d cried the entire way—for James, for the years stolen from us by my father’s “care,” for all the moments we’d never have.
Main Street was quiet, and most shops were dark except for the warm glow from River Bend Books. My hands shook as I climbed the familiar stairs to her apartment, barely able to see through fresh tears. I probably looked like hell—red-rimmed eyes, tear-stained cheeks, completely undone. But none of that mattered. I needed her.
The door swung open with force, but the anger burning in her expression froze when she saw my face. Her eyes were red and swollen, too—she’d clearly been crying, though for a different heartbreak. She thought I’d abandoned her again, while I’d been watching my world collapse.