The Rebel King (All the King's Men Duet #2) - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,119

primaries on someone they don’t think has at least a chance.”

“You mean they’ll assume I’m like every other independent candidate who has ever run,” I say, “and stop taking me seriously.”

“Right,” Lennix says with a brisk nod.

“Do you mean to tell me,” Dad says, “that the girl I saw facing down dogs and rubber bullets when she was just seventeen years old grew up to be a woman afraid of a little gossip?”

“Dad, I don’t think—”

“He’s right,” Lennix cuts in. “If you lose Iowa, I’ll never know if my direct involvement could have made a difference.”

“Then I suggest,” my father says, spearing a clump of green beans, “you get back where you’re supposed to be before you lose this thing worrying what people think. Cades don’t care what people think.”

“I’m not a Cade,” she parries.

“Yet,” I say. Our eyes lock, but there’s no doubt in hers. It’s only a matter of time. The right time.

“Goodness,” my mother titters. “I’m surrounded by testosterone and . . . “She studies Lennix with a tilt of her head, like she’s not sure how to classify her. “And whatever it is you have, Lennix.”

We all laugh and dig back into our meal.

“I’ll speak to Kimba,” Lennix says, “about coming back to the campaign.”

I pause my chewing. “Seriously?”

“That’s right,” my father says, raising his glass in a toast. “Fuck ’em.”

Lennix watches him as if he’s one of those pet boa constrictors who might turn feral without notice and squeeze the life from its owner during the night. Then she raises her glass, too. “Yeah. Fuck ‘em.”

The dining room becomes a war council, with my father, Lennix and me strategizing for Iowa and beyond, while my mother fakes looking mildly interested from time to time, but surreptitiously plays Wordscapes on her phone.

“You thought about a potential running mate?” Dad asks, smiling at my mom when she slices the apple pie the staff brought in and sets a plate in front of him.

“Peggy Newcombe,” I say.

“The congresswoman who was with you in Antarctica?” Dad asks.

“The same, but she’s a senator now.”

“She’s a democrat,” Dad says.

“She is. That should help peel off a few more Democratic voters.”

“Which we’ll need,” Lennix says. “Since Dentley’s shaping up to be the Dem’s frontrunner.”

It’s galling that the candidate Lacy and Glenn work for will probably be on the ballot as the Democratic nominee come November.

“I have a few Republicans in mind for cabinet positions, too,” I say. “To possibly garner some Republican support, and because I think they’ll do the job best.”

“Whole-team-of-rivals approach?”

“Since I’m not party-affiliated, they’re not necessarily my rivals. I’ll have the advantage of choosing the people best qualified for the job, not based on which party they’re from, but on what they offer.”

“And we’ll get a few key endorsements lined up pretty quickly if Iowa pans out,” Lennix says, forking the crust off her apple pie and tasting the filling.

“I know Millicent will want to endorse you,” my mother says.

The three of us stare at her. That never occurred to me. I would never ask that of her.

Mom shrugs. “She told me she would, that she wanted to.”

Millie and I haven’t spoken much since I told her the truth about Gregory Keene’s death. I could have let her believe the tale Grim wove that we leaked to the press. He planted a trail of crumbs for the authorities to follow leading to Gregory Keane’s body and fingering him as Owen’s assassin. My name was nowhere near that trail, and neither was Lennix’s kidnapping. The picture that emerged was half-truth— a man with a promising future, driven to madness by his mother’s demise as a result of our failed health-care system. Grim is as meticulous about covering up murders as he is about committing them, apparently.

Only Grim and I were in that basement. Only he and I know he pulled that trigger. Even though Lennix must suspect, she never asked me to confirm. She knows I’m as protective of Grim as he is of me, so that’s a secret we’ll both take to our graves.

The narrative provided much-needed closure for the public, but Millie deserved the truth. I went to Connecticut to tell her in person. Sobs didn’t shake her body when I held her. There wasn’t a tempo to her grief, but the unnatural stillness of resignation, like her body was just taking up space in the world until she can actually be here again. The twins keep her going through the motions of life. They necessitate she show