Just My Luck (The Kings)

The drive back to my granddad’s property was a blur of panic, sadness, and confusion. What had started as a quick grocery trip after school had turned into a literal mess of Ben crumpled on the floor. My grip tightened on the steering wheel as I fought back the helpless feeling that threatened to overtake me.

One minute we’d been negotiating the nutritional merits of Pop-Tarts, and the next Ben was frozen with panic. He’d melted to the floor, and I’d lost him to whatever all-consuming emotions had overtaken him. Poor Tillie was collateral damage as I did anything I could to get Ben off the linoleum floor.Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

My eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. Ben’s gaze was unfocused as he looked out the window. Tillie was doing her best to lighten the mood by jabbering away and filling the silent car with anecdotes about her day. She wasn’t looking for a response, but simply grasping for a sense of normalcy amid the crisis we’d all just experienced.

Bless that sweet girl.

“We’re almost home, bud. You doing okay?” I was proud how strong and sure my voice sounded despite the worry gnawing at my stomach.

Ben nodded but didn’t respond.

“Who was that man?” Tillie bravely asked.

That man.

A flash of Abel’s strong arms lifting my son and effortlessly carrying him through the grocery store was no match for how sweetly he’d gripped Tillie’s hand. She’d accepted it as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

My chest caved in.

I’d needed help, though it sucked to admit it. In the most public, mortifying way, Abel had appeared out of nowhere and, quite literally, saved the day. How could that be possible if he really was someone who’d harmed a child? The two warring versions of Abel King tussled in my head as I drove the quiet country road toward my granddad’s property.

“That man is my boss, sweetie.” I attempted to keep the conversation light.

“Is he your friend?” she pressed.

“Um . . .” I hardly knew anything about him, but the way he’d shown up for me spoke volumes to his capacity for friendship. “Kind of.” When that didn’t sit right with me, I lifted my shoulders and accepted the truth. “Yes, he’s my friend.”

“He’s big.” In the mirror I could see Tillie’s eyes go wide as she emphasized the word.

My brows lifted. “Baby, we’ve talked about how it’s impolite to comment on someone’s size. That’s an inside thought.”

Her little brown eyebrows tipped down. “I didn’t mean fat. He’s, like, a giant.”

I suppressed a laugh. She wasn’t wrong. “Yes, Mr. King is very tall.”

And built. And handsome in that broody kind of way . . .

“And strong,” Tillie added. She bumped her brother’s arm. “Did you see how he picked you up like you weighed nothing?” Ben shrugged off his sister and continued to stare absently out the window.

The conversation drifted back to Tillie reminiscing about her day at school. I knew it was her way to reassure us, and I loved her even more for it. When we turned into the long gravel driveway, I averted my gaze. The blackened wood of the farmhouse was a painful reminder of the house fire we’d survived. If it were up to me, I’d find another way in, but driving past it was the only way to reach the cabin.

Our only saving grace was that the farmhouse was on Tillie’s side of the car and not Ben’s. I was sure that his most recent meltdown stemmed from the trauma of the fire. We unloaded ourselves, without groceries, and I suggested the twins play for a bit before starting on any homework. I needed a minute to catch my breath anyway.

Tillie ran ahead, tossing open the cabin door seemingly without a care in the world. Ben was slow moving, and I stepped up beside him, gently placing my arm around his shoulder. He leaned into my affection, and a tiny spark of hope grew brighter.

“I love you, Benny,” I whispered.

“Love you more,” he answered.

“Love you most,” I countered as we made our way toward the front door.

“Love you moster, toaster, chicken roaster.” A small smile tugged at his mouth, but immediately it fell. After a moment Ben found his voice again. “I saw him.”

Confusion clouded my brain and my brow furrowed. I crouched to be eye level with my son. “Saw who, baby?”

Worry knotted in my gut as fear flickered over my son’s face. “Dad . . . at the grocery store.”

My eyes searched his. The twins hadn’t seen their father since the divorce. Despite our custody agreement, Jared was unreliable and absent. Despite my efforts, after one too many no-shows and disappointed children, I’d given up on trying to force a relationship with him. When our verbal arguments escalated further, I ran.

However, my suspicions that Jared wasn’t just mean but dangerous peaked when the house fire was ruled arson. There was only one person I knew who would ever want to harm us, and it was Jared.

My father and stepmom had both warned me when we were dating that they had concerns, but I was too stubborn and foolish to accept it. They saw what I wouldn’t—Jared was a spoiled kid who’d grown into a man who couldn’t handle not getting what he wanted.

“Are you sure?” I gripped Ben’s hand, not wanting to believe Jared was here.

He nodded, tears welling in his eyes.

I steadied my breath. How the hell was I supposed to navigate this without losing my shit or traumatizing him more?

“I believe you.” I wrapped him in a hug. “I will keep you safe. You don’t have to worry. Your dad is upset at me, not you. Everything is going to be okay.”

My words were reassuring, but I wasn’t entirely sure they were true. Jared was a wild card, and I wouldn’t feel safe unless I knew for sure whether he was lurking around Outtatowner.

Determined to salvage our evening, I plastered on a happy face and went through the motions. All the while, worry gnawed at me.

How the hell was I going to get through this?

Utterly emotionally exhausted from an evening of pretending everything in my world wasn’t crumbling around me, I collapsed onto the pile of blankets on the floor. Ben had fallen fast asleep, and Tillie and I cuddled a few minutes longer than usual. She put on a brave face, but I had a sneaking suspicion her people-pleasing ways were a defense against the fear and worry she carried.

I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and adjusted the brightness in order to not wake the kids. I pulled up my email and sent a quick message to the children’s therapist, explaining the incident today and asking for help. Hopefully a professional could do more than me. Still, it was hard to not feel like I was failing my kids.

A new message was waiting for me in my inbox. I recognized the bank’s email and opened it up while holding my breath.

Subject: RE: Inquiry about Trust Fund Access

Dear Ms. Robinson,

It was a pleasure to hear from you. Per our previous discussions, there are specific provisions attached to the trust in your name. I am happy to discuss those in detail, but for the sake of clarity, a substantial life event would include marriage, birth of a child, private school tuition for the children, or college tuition for one or both children.

Outside of those parameters, the funds would be available to you as equal, lump-sum payments on your thirty-fifth and forty-fifth birthdays. Again, I am happy to make an appointment to discuss the details further. Please reach out to my secretary at your earliest convenience. I have attached her contact information below.

Regards,

Regina Cumberton

I read the email at least five times.

Marriage? Nope.

Birth of a child? Hell no—I’d have to be having sex for that to be even a remote possibility.

Private school? No way. The nearest private school was across the state, and I couldn’t imagine sending my kids away.

College tuition? Jesus, I needed to get them through second grade. I couldn’t bear to think about either of them moving away for college. College also wouldn’t help Granddad.

Dejected, I closed out of my phone and stared at the ceiling.

Anxiety crept over me in the darkness like an icy blanket. I worried my gut was right and Jared had been responsible for the fire. I had hoped the ensuing public investigation would be enough to keep him away.

What if he had come back for us? What if he’d never left?

I’d wasted years of my life not seeing the signs that Jared was a twisted and dangerous man. He’d manipulated and controlled me, and I’d been a willing participant. Once we’d gotten pregnant with the twins, his jealousy over his own children was astounding. He’d been convinced I could never love him as much as I would love the babies.

He was right.

When I realized my sham of a marriage was over, I spent my days in secret, plotting and planning my escape. It wasn’t until we had disappeared to my grandfather’s coastal small town that I ever felt safe. Still, he found us.

I wouldn’t be controlled. I couldn’t. Trouble was, with mounting debt and no way to access the trust that would be our lifeline, I was drowning.

That night I dreamed I was floating away. Ben and Tillie stood on the shores of Outtatowner’s beach, waving as I struggled to swim to them. The tide took me out—farther and farther from them. I screamed and rioted against the crashing waves as they dumped over my head. My arms and legs were leaden. Water choked me and burned in my lungs. My feet thrashed as a dark figure loomed over my children in the shadows. I screamed, and still no one came. I fought.

Then suddenly a faintly familiar grumble and a strong hand gripped my arm and hauled me ashore.