I don’t know what to expect next, but it’s not the shudder down his spine, and it’s certainly not him hurling the ball, arm jerking as it catapults it down the court. The ball slams into the backboard and ricochets, the sound of hollow rubber echoing as it bounces away.
“Why?” he says, shoving the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Why did he have to be such a dick?”
The weight of his words rock me. Daniel was the closest thing to a father I’ve ever known, but it was never real. “I don’t know.”
“Everything was a game to him.” He looks up, eyes ringed in red. “His businesses. My mother. Even Ms. Crane.” I step toward him and slide my arms around his waist, ignoring the tightly coiled tension in his muscles. I lay my cheek on his chest, hearing the rumble of his voice. “He fucking destroyed her, you know that? He took everything from her, just because he could. He liked to break people. He fucking loved it. Lived for it.” The tension in his body doesn’t go away, but his palm on the back of my head is as gentle as his voice. “He wanted to break you so fucking bad.”
I tighten my arms around him, eyes falling closed. “Well, he didn’t.”
“But I did. Didn’t I?” His hand runs up my back and I feel the tremble in his fingertips. “Is that what I am? Just another fucked up Payne mowing people over?”
I look up at him, my voice as strong as the grip I have wound around him. “No.” It’s true that they tried, but they also fought for me. Bled for me. Championed me. I was put through the gauntlet and came out stronger. Very carefully, I tell him, “It’s okay to both hate him and be sad that he’s gone.”
“I’m not sad he’s gone.” But despite his words, there’s grief in his eyes.
I take a guess. “Then it’s okay to be sad that his potential is gone. The potential to wake up one day and be better. But Killian…” I let him go to take his face in my hands, making sure he hears what I’m saying. “The potential isn’t gone. He left it with you. Maybe I was wrong before. Maybe you weren’t born for this. Maybe you were born to do it better.” When he rolls his eyes, I angrily jerk him back. “You know what my mom told that detective? She told him Daniel cared about South Side. That he had compassion for the downtrodden. You and I both know that’s bullshit. I’m sure she does, too. But it doesn’t have to be. Not for you.”
He makes a soft, derisive sound. “What do I know about the downtrodden?”
“Probably nothing,” I concede, lifting a shoulder in a loose shrug. “But Dimitri does. Ms. Crane does. I do. That’s the difference between you and him, Killian.” I strain up on my toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “You’re not alone.”
He drops his head to my shoulder and clings to me like a lifeline. I fight my own tears. Not because I’m sad for losing Daniel, but because I know that Killian’s right. Everything changes now.
If Killian is about to become King, what does that make me?
27
Story
“Do you want to stop for something to eat?” Marcus asks, driving away from campus. Cars are pulling in, cars are pulling out. The sidewalks are full of co-eds and administration, going for drinks, going for dinner, going home. The sun is slumbering its way toward the horizon, painting the sky with warm, amber hues.
So strange that the world keeps on turning, even when it’s been knocked off its axis.
“No, I’m fine,” I answer, watching life happen as we pass by. “I’m ready to get home. It’s been a long day.”
What it’s been is a long week. I’ve known dead people before, but yesterday was my first funeral. It took Killian and my mother—separately; myself acting as an in-between—two days to plan it. I’d like to say it was sparsely attended and exceedingly dull; the exact kind of sending off Daniel deserved. In reality, it was a tense, crowded affair, full of important people and too many accolades. My stomach is still sour at the memory of all those people—business leaders, politicians, anyone who’s anyone—speaking of Daniel as if he were god’s gift to humanity.
Through it all, I sat between Killian and my mother, both my hands wound with theirs, trying to be their strength despite all my weaknesses. My mom’s tiny, agonizingly controlled sobs still ring in my ear, but the sound that burrowed its way inside my chest was Killian’s pointed silence. He stared directly ahead the whole time, still as stone, even as people bent to give him condolences. There was a moment I almost considered telling him to try to act sad, but in the end, I didn’t.