The Rebel King (All the King's Men Duet #2) - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,78

since we argued about Lennix at Christmas, but we haven’t been around each other. The week of the funeral, by tacit agreement we called a cease-fire, both wanting to support Mom and Millie, and honestly needing the support of each other. Owen’s only been gone a month, and though I’ve spoken to my mother regularly, checking on her at least a few times a week, this will be my first contact with my father.

And it’s a sneak attack from him.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs, he stands in the middle of the living room, scowling at Rick.

“I didn’t ask for or need an escort,” he says, his deep voice like a mallet crushing the words over Rick’s head. “He’s my son.”

Even when we’ve been estranged for a decade and a half, there’s always a certain possessiveness to my father’s voice, always has been when he spoke of Owen and me.

“Rick’s simply doing his job, Dad.” I walk closer and smile at Rick.

“I won’t need an escort back either,” Dad says.

“It’s a big property,” I say, trying not to be annoyed. “Rick’s just helping.”

“Well, you can go,” he tells Rick.

Except Rick works for me. He looks to me, brows lifted, silently asking to be released. I nod and wait for him to leave. I sit, gesturing to the collection of couches and recliners in the middle of the room.

“Have a seat. Everything okay? Mom alright?”

“She’s doing as well as can be expected.” He sits, seeming to hesitate before going on. “Thank you for calling so often. It’s been helping her.”

“I wish I could say I’ve spoken to Millie as much, but she rarely answers her phone.”

“She’s lost the man she loves,” my father says, his voice uncharacteristically pensive. “If I lost your mother, I wouldn’t want to talk much to anyone for a long time either.”

I know he loves Mom, but he hasn’t said it often. I stare at him, searching out any other discernable differences between this more subdued man and the ruthless tyrant I’ve known all my life.

“Any more leads on Keene?” Dad asks, his tone soft but dangerous.

I had to share what we knew with my parents and Millie so they could be on high alert, in case Gregory tried to get to me through any of my other family members. Millie was quiet when I told her. She didn’t scream or weep. No accusations, which I would have welcomed like a scourge on my back. Just that silence, good-bye and the click when she hung up. She must hate me. There are so many mornings I wake up, and the first thing I think about is my brother being dead because of me, and I hate myself, too.

“No,” I answer my father’s question. “He’s laying low, but he’ll pop up when we least expect it.”

“I want that bastard to get the death penalty.”

“Oh, he’ll get what’s coming to him.” I don’t mention that I don’t intend to hand over the privilege of punishing him to anyone else. They’ll find him criminally insane, which is probably true, and he’ll live a nice comfortable life in some asylum, or they’ll bungle it some other way. I don’t have time or tolerance for all the ways our system screws up justice.

Dad searches my face, his eyes narrowed and his mouth tight before nodding.

“What’s going on?” I ask, shifting from Gregory, my new least-favorite word and subject. “I didn’t even think you knew about this place. What made you fly all the way out here?”

His stare is a laser. “Several well-placed people have approached me over the last month about you running.”

“Running where?”

“Not where, son. For what. Running for president.”

I laugh outright and lean forward. “And you flew all the way out here to what? Have a good laugh?”

“You don’t think you could do the job?”

My humor dries up. I hate that he knows how I respond to challenges, and knows just which buttons to push. When someone intimates I can’t do something, I immediately want to prove them wrong. That was how I broke my arm in third grade. Owen said I couldn’t fly.

Right again, O.

But that two-second hang time before I crashed was glorious.

“Not interested,” I say instead of what he wanted to hear.

“You’re telling me the job for the most powerful office in the world is open, and you don’t even want to apply?”

“I’m not convinced it’s the most powerful office in the world anymore.”

“Look, you want to do good, want to change the world or