“Is this how he felt with me gone?”
“No,” Jason replies easily, his heart not strung on a line with no beginning or end like mine.
My emotions are sails caught in the winds of change. I’m pulled to the left, and the breeze blows me right. Fuck the darkness. I’d rather have his damaged soul to comfort me at night, than feel the holes he’s left behind.
I look over my shoulder when he says, “He knew where you were. He knew how you were doing. He knew you were safe.”
“He was letting me find my own way. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do the same for him.”
“Because you don’t have the information he had at his fingertips.”
“How do I get it? How do I find him?”
Jason sighs, redirecting his coffee-colored eyes over my shoulder. “I’ve tried.” When he stands, he looks back at me, and says, “You need to think about living again. There are worse ways to be stuck than with access to billions of dollars and a mansion.”
Legally, I probably have none of it, since we’re not officially married. “It came with a price.”
“A price you’ve paid, Sara Jane.”
“I’d rather have him.”
Disappointment flits across his face, but like always, he steadies his emotions. Indifference is quickly back in place. “If you don’t take control, April will.” He walks to the door. “You’re stronger. It’s time you prove it.”
The door closes behind him, and I sit down in the chair and spin slowly around in circles. Clues. Clues. Clues. I need answers or hints. Clues to where he went. Clues to why.
The book on the table catches my eye and I plant my feet, stopping the chair. I go to it and flip it open to the page where Alexander’s birth certificate is hidden.
The details remain, but what bothers me is the obvious mistake.
Father: Alexander Roman Kingwood II.
I pull my phone from my back pocket and call the only person who may be able to help me. It’s been a few weeks since we last spoke. I don’t know if she’ll take my call, but it’s worth a shot. “Shelly? I need your help.”
Forty-five minutes later, Shelly’s black jacket slides down her arms to reveal a black sweater dress fitted over gray tights and high-heeled knee boots. Her large Jackie O sunglasses are positioned on top of her head, holding her red hair back from her face. She’s not the same Shelly I’ve known more than half my life. Another variation in a life constructed of stages and transitions brings the more grownup version to my door.
I feel silly standing before her in a coral maxi dress and bare feet. But life has changed us both, obviously in different directions because of our own experiences. My dress is deceiving, almost convincing me I haven’t struggled, that life has been umbrella drinks on the terrace, full of laughter and close friends.
Any onlooker wouldn’t know that underneath the breezy cotton I’m hiding a physical wound related to an emotional trauma. Or that I’ve been abandoned by the one person who vowed never to leave me. My casual walk from the foyer into the living room doesn’t hint at the disappointment I’ve been to my parents, who just want to help me. Their helping me means leaving Alexander. I refuse to do that. Never again.
We may look pulled together on the outside, but the loss of our friendship strikes me deeper than the flair of a coral dress will ever reveal.
She looks around the manor and asks, “What’s going on, Sara Jane?”
“So much,” I whisper. “We’ll talk when we’re alone.” My eyes slide to her as we weave through the living room to the office. When I close the door behind her, she flops onto the loveseat, exhaustion sewn into the lines of her face. She looks older than the last time I saw her. Sitting on a chair next to her, I say, “I miss you.”
“With all the stuff that’s happened, why?”
“I wish I could take on your pain, but it’s time for us to be the friends we once were. I’m truly sorry, Shelly. With all that I am, I’m sorry. I never would have involved you or Chad or anyone else other than Alexander. I never meant to. But I’m not going to throw away all these years of friendship, meaningful sisterhood, without fighting to save it first.”
Her sadness diminishes a little, relief relaxing her shoulders. “I don’t want to be angry at you anymore, Sara Jane. I don’t. It’s exhausting. I just . . .”
When her pause in thought extends, she drops her head to her hands. “I know. You miss him. I do too. Chad was an amazingly good person. He loved you so much.” Tears fill her eyes as I reach over and cover her hand with mine. “I love you too. I miss you, and I need you in my life.” Alexander told me never to beg, but in this instance, I think he’s wrong. I want Shelly back. “Please give me another chance. I really want to heal the pain we’ve caused each other.”
She’s on her feet and bending over, her arms around me before I have a chance to stand. “I’ve missed you too. I’m so sorry I said such hateful things and pushed you.”
I stand and hug her back. It feels good to be in her soft embrace again. My own tears threaten to match hers, but I have other stuff—Alexander—on my mind so the tears don’t fall. “Thank you.”
When we sit back down, she asks, “How can I help?”
My body feels lighter, as if having my friend and confidante, someone who is willing to carry my burdens with me, can help calm some of my anxiety. “You’re my family, like Alexander and Cruise. I’ve missed you so much.”
Shaking her head, I see the friend I’ve always had return, her regret ever-present on her face by the way her lips turn down at the corners. “Cruise? I didn’t know you were so close?”
I desperately want to tell her that Alexander and Cruise are missing, but I know I’ll break down if I start there. “I think we’ve come to understand each other better.”
“That’s good. So, what can I help with?”
“I need your help with this.” I pull out the certificate and point to the father’s name.
Looking it over, she nods. “Oh my God. That’s the same thing I found. I gave King Chad’s password. There was an email I thought he should see.”
King. She calls him King. Fascinating. “He knows?”
She swallows, hesitant to talk, but seems to convince herself because she says, “The day of our fight I’d been on the phone with him. He was adamant it was a mistake because it happened all the time.”
“I thought so too at first, but now . . . what if it’s not?” Her hazel eyes go wide. “What if Alexander the second is really King’s father? That would make Alexander the third his brother. Why would Alexander the third raise my Alexander as his son? Why would he do that to Madeline? Why would Madeline accept that?”
At the same time, we turn to each other and say, “April.”
“She’s brought this guy around a few times.”
“Who?”
“Her nephew. Apparently, Alexander’s cousin, April’s sister’s son. He’s come around almost every day since—”