“Glyndon, is that you?”
At Grandpa’s voice, I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and step out from behind the table, tub of ice cream in hand and an awkward smile on my face.
Grandpa stands near the entrance, wearing silk gray pajamas and an open robe. Grandma peeks from behind him, her black hair falling to her shoulders, her face free of makeup save for red lips. And she’s wearing a matching pajama set.
“See, I told you it was probably Glyn, Jonathan.”
“Hi. I didn’t mean to intrude this late.”
“Nonsense.” Grandpa gathers me in a hug. “You never intrude, princess.”
My fingers clench into his back and it takes everything in me not to break down in tears.
“Missed you, Grandpa.”
“Is that why you haven’t returned my calls in the past…two days?”
“Your clinginess is showing, Jonathan.” Grandma wrenches me from Grandpa’s embrace for her own hug. “How are you, hon?”
“Okay, I guess.”
She stares at the ice cream and then back at me. “Forget about this and let me get you something more soothing.”
Then she disappears with my junk food, leaving me alone with Grandpa.
“Now, tell me who made my princess cry so that I can castrate him.”
I wipe at my tears. “I wasn’t crying. Something just got in my eyes.”
“Uh-huh, the last time something got in your eyes, that boyfriend of yours died and we nearly lost you, in retrospect.”
“Devlin was not my boyfriend.”
“You went through all of that for a non-boyfriend?”
“He was a friend, Grandpa.”
“Friendship goes both ways. If he was only using your support and good heart, he wasn’t your friend, he was a parasite.”
“And how would you know? You only have Uncle Ethan as a friend.”
“His husband, Agnus, too.”
“He hates you.”
Grandpa grins. “So what? I love riling him up, so that makes him my friend. Don’t tell this to anyone, but it’s the highlight of my week to make that man jealous.”
I smile, loving how carefree he becomes when talking about his friends, business partners, and in-laws.
Though friends is a strong word.
They mostly bicker.
“You can be so evil, Grandpa.”
“Can be? I invented evil, princess.” He pats my cheek. “Now, talk to me.”
I rub my hand on my shorts, then pause, recalling that I’m trying to get rid of the nasty habit. “I’m just…lost, I guess. Have you ever trusted someone and they murdered that trust?”
“Not really, but I might have to check the morgue for any traitors I may have forgotten existed.”
I snort. “Well, I did. And I know I should be angry, and I am, but I’m more heartbroken. I’m more…mad about being blindsided. See, I knew he wasn’t normal from the beginning, and Lan even gave me a way out, but I didn’t take it. I was headstrong and high on dopamine and the power of having my own choice, but it eventually hurt me, Grandpa. I eventually found out that Lan was right and he’s always right.” My voice chokes. “And now, I’m so broken that I don’t know which pieces to pick up. That is, if there are any pieces left.”
“Come here.” He gathers me in his arms, and this time, I let the tears cascade down my cheeks.
“It hurts, Grandpa.”
“Being stabbed in the back does that.” He strokes my hair. “But remember, Glyndon, they’re not the only ones who can do the stabbing.”
I pull back, sniffling. “W-what do you mean?”
“You’re a King. We don’t stay down to take the jab. We hit right back.”
“I can’t. He’s…much stronger.”
“No one is stronger than a King.” He fishes out his phone and enters a number, then puts it on speaker.
My eyes widen when I see Levi on the screen.
“Why are you calling my dad?” I whisper-yell.
Grandpa puts a finger to his lips as my father picks up, sounding groggy. “Uncle? Why are you calling this late? Are you dead?”
“Obviously not,” Grandpa says in his signature hard voice. I learned early on that it only ever softens around Grandma and me.
“Then call me back in the morning. And next time you’re having late evening episodes, call that fucker Aiden.”
“There’s an emergency about your daughter.”
My eyes widen and Dad pauses before he sobers up. “What happened? She was texting me just fine yesterday.”
“Someone broke her heart and we need to break his legs.”
“Grandpa!” I try to hang up, but he keeps the phone out of reach.
“I see.” Dad sounds contemplative.
“Be here in twenty minutes.”
“On my way. Let me scold the hell out of my boys first for failing to protect their sister.”
“Dad, don’t!”
“We’ll talk in a few, Glyn.” Beep. Beep. Beep.
I groan. “Grandpa, why did you do that?”
“You said you can’t hit this tool yourself, so we’ll happily do you the favor.”
It dawns on me then. Grandpa was trying to teach me a lesson, to tell me that I had to do this for it to work.
“If you hit him for me, I’ll always feel helpless.”
He raises a brow. “Maybe.”
“But if I do it myself, I’ll get closure.”
“Who knows?”
I reach out and kiss him. “Thanks, Grandpa! Can you have Moses drive me back to campus?”
“I’ll do you one better and send you on my private jet. That is, if you can handle flying?”
“No, no flying three times in two days. And can you please call Dad and tell him the plan is off?”
“Who said it’s off?” He smirks. “We can always hit him after you’re done with him. No one messes with a King and lives to talk about it.”
By the time I get to campus, I’m boiling with the destructive energy Grandpa has fueled me with.
Because he’s right.
Why should I be heartbroken, crying, and feeling miserable when the bastard doesn’t feel any of those emotions and never will?
The least I can do is hit him where it hurts to prove he has no hold on me.
And where it hurts is his mountain-sized ego. At first, I think of rubbing another man in his face, because I know how much he hates the mere thought of any man breathing near me.
But then I recall that he could and would kill them and I’m not ready to have that on my conscience. So the best way is to make him believe that without putting a specific person at risk.
After Moses, Grandpa’s trusted driver and bodyguard, drives me, I ask him if I can have a picture of me holding his hand on the armrest of the car and he says, “Whatever you need to get back at the loser.”
So I take the picture and upload it on Instagram with the caption:
I finally found my type. Older men, yum.
Before I can start backpedaling and thinking of the consequences, I hit Post.
Then I walk to my car in front of the dorm, slide inside, and drum my fingers against the steering wheel.
One minute passes.
My phone lights up with the thousandth call from Killian that I ignore like the rest.
So he switches to texts.