The Fearless King (The Kings #2)(90)

Something like respect flickered through Esther’s blue eyes. “I’ll be staying in town for a while.” She smiled and it was almost—almost—warm. “I’d like to see you—all of you. And I’ll be stopping in to visit with Eliza regularly.”

She wasn’t exactly asking for permission, but then she didn’t really need to. She owned properties locally, and the Bancrofts had several smaller businesses in Houston. The timing was nothing less than suspect—she no doubt planned to ensure her wayward grandchildren agreed to her terms, and held up their end of the bargain.

We’ll see about that.

Game on, Esther.

After her grandmother left, some of the tension bled out of the room. Anderson rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m glad you’re okay, Jo.”

“Did you…” She hesitated, but the question had to be asked. “Did you have something to do with Elliott’s boat going down?”

Her brother looked her straight in the face and lied. “Of course not.” His mouth twisted. “You weren’t supposed to be aboard.” His blue gaze flicked to Frank. “Neither of you were.”

God, Anderson. She kept her thoughts to herself. They made it out alive and she didn’t think for a second that her brother would have endangered her on purpose. Journey pulled the trigger that ended their father’s life.

She didn’t exactly have a pedestal to stand on when it came to patricide.

He cleared his throat, the subject effectively closed. “It’s going to take some work to reverse the damage Elliott did in the short time he was here.”

Journey perched on the arm of a chair and tried to pretend it wasn’t because her legs were about to give out. “We put out the biggest fires first and then deal with the rest. The next order of business needs to be updating the budget.” The list of things needing to be addressed seemed to grow by the second.

Frank’s hand closed on her shoulder. “Not today. Not even this weekend. You need to rest and recover.”

She started to argue, but Anderson was already nodding. “Take a three-day weekend, Jo.” He pushed to his feet and crossed to pull her into a hard hug. It whooshed the air from her lungs, but she hugged him back just as fiercely. Anderson stepped back. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m going to be.” And for the first time in a really long time, she believed it. There was no easy fix, no Band-Aid big enough, no magic spell to banish the pain of her past. But…maybe that wasn’t the end of the world. She’d faced down her own personal demon.

Journey survived.

He didn’t.

After this, she was damn near bulletproof.

“Get out of here.” He smiled, though the expression faded as he looked over her shoulder at Frank. “Thank you. I haven’t always been gracious when it comes to you, but I was wrong.”

And then there was nothing left to say.

Journey and Frank left, which was just as well. The strength abandoned her legs, and she weaved on her feet as they took the elevator down. She caught him looking at her with brows drawn. “I’m fine.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. You’re getting all frowny at me, which means you’re considering scooping me up and hauling me back to your lair.” She made a face. “Okay, I’m punch-drunk. We really do need to go home.”

“I have a car waiting out front.”

Of course he did. He must be as exhausted as she was, and he’d still stood at her back and let her handle shit that probably could have waited until they recovered. She was glad to have gotten everything out of the way now, to put a period at the end of the nightmarish sentence that was Elliott’s time in Houston.

He’s really gone.

Forever.

She wavered, and Frank was there, slipping his arm around her waist and keeping her on her feet. “I’ve got you, Duchess.”

“I know.”

It seemed like they made it back to her apartment between one blink and the next. She managed to hold it together long enough to shower with Frank—neither of them having the energy to do more than wash each other’s backs—and then she let him wrap her in one of her silly pink fluffy towels and carry her to bed. If there was an energy meter for the day, hers was at zero.

But when they lay under the covers, her cheek pressed against Frank’s broad chest, she couldn’t quite still her racing thoughts. “He’s gone.”

“Yes.” Frank pressed his hand to the small of her back, bringing her more firmly against his side. “It’s okay to feel conflicted about that.”

“I’m not.” It was the truth. Elliott might have been her father, but he was the monster under her bed, the boogeyman in her closet, the footsteps stalking her through a dark and deserted alley. She felt nothing but relief when she thought about his being dead. She turned her face into his chest and inhaled. “I don’t know how this is going to play out. We’re both workaholics who have people depending on us. How does a relationship even develop in those conditions?”

“One day at a time.” He pulled the covers up higher around their shoulders. “Close your eyes, Duchess. Give that impressive brain of yours a rest for a little while. I’ll keep you safe.”