Chapter 22
The King Estate looms on the horizon as Donovan and I pull into the large circular driveway. Jesus, this place is huge. Extravagant iron work details the front door, glinting gold in the afternoon sun—reflective of the wealth of this estate, no doubt. The landscaping alone is ripped straight from the pages of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine with a fragrant array of marigolds, dahlias, and poppies packed neatly in the soil. My lack of a green thumb could never.
My fingers fidget with the foil-topped Pyrex that holds my, hopefully, show-stopping cinnamon rolls. Donovan insists they’re the best he’s ever had, but I’m a nervous wreck.
When I saw his family last, it was at Gran’s funeral reception. His mother has always been so kind and his brothers were nice enough. His dad, however…I’m not so sure. Donovan never mentions his father, but I guess we have that in common.
I always had an inkling that his dad held this weird grudge against me because of what my father did. Or attempted to do. It doesn’t make a difference, though—I am fully aware of how fucked up it was. But the past is the past. I’m nothing like my father. I don’t need to prove that to anyone, including Caleb King.
It’s surreal showing up at Donovan’s parent’s house after all these years. I remember standing in this driveway, my heart jumping through my chest, anticipating my night with Donovan. Would he even acknowledge I showed up? Would I be pushed aside while everyone else fought for his attention? The warmth I feel in my chest when I look back and think about how our lives turned out—overcomes everything from the past.
The tape, the blackmail, Kellan, my father…none of it matters. I have today.
Take a deep breath, count backward from five.
“You ready, Mouse?” he asks, taking a deep breath. He clenches his jaw and twitches his fingers around the steering wheel. I cock up my eyebrow, attempting to read his expression.
“Are you ready?” I retort, his knee bouncing up and down impatiently.
“I’m ready. It’s just been a while for me, that’s all,” he mutters, forcing a smile. I grasp his hands in mine and give them a tight squeeze.
“We can be nervous together,” I tease, a grin forming on my lips. He chuckles, kissing my knuckles.
“No, baby. You have nothing to be nervous about. They’re gonna love you. I know it,” he whispers, flashing me a wink that makes me weak at the knees.
On my slow inhale, Donovan rounds the hood and opens my door, extending his hand to mine. I exhale my nerves as he kisses my cheek, guiding me up to the front steps of the door.
My heart quickens when I hear hushed footsteps on the pavement approaching from behind us. Before I can fully turn to see who it is, a hooded figure wraps his arms around Donovan from behind and covers his eyes, dragging him backward off the step.
“Donovan!” I scream out, dropping the cinnamon rolls on the steps. The man has his large hands covering Donovan’s face as they wrestle each other, trying to bring the other down to the ground. Tears prick my eyes as I yell out for help, pleading with the distant patter of footsteps inside the house to hurry. Save him like he saved me.
My vision blurs, my heart works overtime. I struggle to breathe, watching him grapple with this man, my feet dragging through molasses as I try to get closer to him. A wave of nausea courses through me as bile makes it halfway up my chest before I swallow it back down.
The man has Donovan in a chokehold. I’m frozen in place. Not another soul appears while Donovan is immobilized, choking. I think I scream, but I can’t hear anything. My ears have a damp filter over them. Everything is muted.
“Did you miss me, baby?” the man grits in Donovan’s ear. They both stop in an instant. I whip my head around to the sound of the front door swinging open, my feet rooted to the ground. Donovan’s brothers step out front, his mother and father close behind. I’m bewildered to see Kerry and Wyatt grinning.
What the fuck is going on?
The man releases his hold on Donovan. Sandy blonde hair and a wicked smile emerge from under the hood of his sweater. Donovan turns around to face him, his mouth gaping. “Logan?! Holy shit!” Donovan yells out, his arms wrap around Logan’s neck with force.
Logan fucking Harper.
Grace hurries down the steps when she sees the discomfort on my face. It’s a mix of relief and absolute embarrassment. My hands tremble as I try to regain composure before Donovan sees me upset. Grace’s hand comes to my side, rubbing over my arm like a warm blanket. She gives me an apologetic smile as my hand drags to my chest, feeling my heart thump wildly. So this is what it feels like to have a mother’s comfort.
“Surprise, motherfucker!” Logan kisses Donovan on the forehead, prompting an elaborate bro sequence of aggressive hugs and back pats.
Logan and I make eye contact as I struggle to shake the remnants of fear from my expression. “Awww, I’m sorry, Winthrop. I didn’t mean to spook you,” he says apologetically. I half-heartedly chuckle as he pulls me in for a tight bear hug that lifts me off the ground.
He’s as tall as Donovan with a similar build, but more square and angular. The afternoon light flickers off his sandy blonde hair, highlighting the wavy locks tousled on top and shaved trim on the sides. The man’s cheekbones must be the envy of every girl in Texas. He beams his signature crooked grin, accentuated by one boyish dimple.
“Watch your hands, Harper,” Donovan scowls. Logan sets me down gently, squeezing my shoulder before giving Donovan the finger and going up to greet the rest of the Kings.
Donovan pulls me aside from the commotion, his hands cupping my face. “Are you okay, Mouse? I’m so sorry about that. I had no idea he would do that,” he whispers, the pads of his thumbs stroking my cheeks.
“Yeah, I’m okay. I thought…I thought—” I fight back tears, instantly upset with myself that I’m about to cry in front of his entire family. He pulls me into his chest, immediately breathing in his scent laced with clean laundry. God, he always smells so good.
“Shh, it’s okay. I’m so sorry, baby,” he murmurs into my hair. I pull back from the hug, proud of the fact that I didn’t let a single tear slip.
“It’s alright, Donovan. Let’s go inside,” I say, eyeing my cinnamon rolls at the bottom of the steps. Fortunately, the goods are still secure.
Donovan guides me up the steps with his hand on the small of my back. Grace extends her arms and gives me a proper greeting.
“Audrey, sweetheart, thank you so much for coming. We are so glad you are home,” she croons. Grace kisses both of my cheeks and leads me up the remaining steps, taking me from Donovan. Bergamot and floral perfume flood my nose. It’s a comforting scent—I wonder if my mom would smell the same way. Do all moms smell like a warm hug?
Kerry and Wyatt pull me into their arms and squeeze me in a group hug, coercing an earnest giggle from my lips. “Welcome back, Audrey. Happy you’re here,” Wyatt says with a tight-lipped grin. “It’s about time!” Kerry beams. My eyes dart between their faces. I see so much of Donovan in them. The thick chocolate locks, the olive skin that’s kissed by the sun, the piercing deep blue eyes they’ve inherited from their mother.
I can see the tight bond of brothers as Donovan pulls them into a raucous group hug, kissing the tops of their heads. The affection between them is heartwarming. I’m hit in the chest with the teeniest pang of unexpected envy, wishing I had a sibling bond like that. Being an only child is lonesome, but I dealt with it. I had Gran and Pop, and that was enough for me.
I round the doorway, landing me face to face with Caleb King. It takes a second, but his stoic expression morphs into a tight-lipped smile as he reaches his hand out to shake mine. I hesitate, but I clasp my hand in his, giving him the most awkward hand shake of my life.
“Thank you for coming, Audrey. We are happy to have you here with us,” he says flatly.
“Thank you, Mr. King,” I reply politely. He puts his hand up to me and shakes his head. “Please, call me Caleb,” he insists, and I match his tight-lipped smile with a nod.
Donovan’s hand finds mine as he locks eyes with his dad. There’s a tension in the air that you can cut with a knife. I can see why Donovan doesn’t talk much about his dad. This vibe is weird.
They stand there, staring at each other, mirroring each other’s expressions. It’s like a calculated chess game, waiting for your opponent’s move to counter attack. I nudge Donovan subtly with my hip, shaking him out of this weird stand off.
“Son, good to see you,” Caleb utters, keeping his hands by his side. “Sir,” Donovan replies curtly, quickly ushering us past him through the front door. Once inside the foyer, I look at Donovan, surveying the scowl carved on his face.
“Donovan, what was that?” I ask, curiously. He grumbles, continuing to lead me further into the house. I take that as a sign to drop it.