I exhale sharply through my nose. My mother shouldn’t have to see husband’s infidelities at his funeral. Madison should know the deal. Dad paid them to stay quiet and out of sight. That didn't change because he died.
My sister steps up next to me. “You look even angrier than usual. What’s up? Sleep bad on the train.”
What I’d give to rewind to last night. To be back in Ivy’s bed. I shake my head, dismissing that thought. I’m not the kind of man that fucking pines after a woman.
“Because she’s here.” I point with my chin, quick and sharp, toward Madison.
Lillianna follows my gaze. "Oh."
"Did you know she'd be here?" I ask her and my brother.
"No. But, Thorne, she's fourteen. Her mother just died. This is—"
"Don't." My voice is flat. “She shouldn’t be here.”
I can feel Lillianna's disapproval, but she doesn't understand. Sympathy is a luxury we can't afford. Not today. Not with all ofKentucky watching us. Not with the little shit forcing us to meet with her.
Mom appears at my elbow, her face pale but composed. She's noticed Madison too. For a long moment she stares at the girl in the back pew. Then she straightens her shoulders in that way that's pure steel wrapped in Kentucky grace. “Handle her, please,” she says to us, but I know she means me. It’s my role in the family—dealing with the messes everyone else wants to pretend don't exist. I’ve always been good at it. Even when I wanted a different part to play.
I walk down the center aisle, my footsteps echoing off the vaulted ceiling. Madison doesn't move. Doesn't look up. She keeps her gaze trained on that casket with her jaw clenched tight.
Entering the pew before hers, I stop in front of her. "What the hell are you doing here? How did you even get here?”
She turns her head slowly, and even through the ridiculous oversized sunglasses, I can feel the weight of her stare. "Paying my respects. My new guardian dropped me off.”
"Respects?" The word comes out sharp. "To a man who paid your bills and fucked your mother but never let either of you near his real life? You think showing up here does what, exactly? Proves you're family?"
"I am family." I catch the slight tremor underneath her statement.
"Biology doesn't make you family. It makes you a complication." I lean against the pew, arms crossed. "Bad enough you're forcing a meeting with us, making demands like you have any right to, but showing up here? Sitting in my father's funeral, where my mother has to see you? That's not respect. That's a power play."
Hurt flickers across her face, but she blinks it away. "You think this is a power play?" She stands up, and even though she's afull foot shorter than me, there's something in her posture that reminds me of Dad when he was about to destroy someone. "I came here because my parents are dead. I have a right to—”
"He wasn't your parent." I shift closer, resting my hands on the back of the pew, forcing her to tilt her head back to hold my gaze. "He was your mother's married boyfriend who knocked her up and kept you both secret for fourteen years. That's not a parent. That's a mistake he tried to hide."
Her hands ball into fists at her sides. “I have the right to—”
"You have the right to show up at our office in twenty minutes for the meeting you demanded. That's it.” I still can't believe this teenager is commanding the most powerful family in Kentucky like hired help. “Now get out.”
“No.”
My annoyance shifts to anger. “What do you mean, no? I refuse to let you hang around here embarrassing my mother, the Blackstone name, any more than you already have just by existing."
She stares at me, the silence stretching. I stare back, waiting. Then she yanks off her sunglasses. Her eyes are red-rimmed but dry. Angry.
“Says the guy who messed around with his brother’s wife before she was an ex.”
The air leaves my lungs. That story was buried. Paid off, sealed, destroyed. Dad made sure of it. Only a handful of people know the truth.
The phantom taste of bourbon floods my mouth from that night. I'd told myself I was too drunk to know better. But I'd been sober enough to want to prove what kind of woman she was. Sober enough to know Sebastian deserved to see the truth. Drunk enough to be the one to show him.
“How the hell do you know about that?”
"Dad talked. After—" She swallows. “People think kids don't pay attention. Aren’t listening.”
She shakes her head and stands, turning to the closest exit. "Mom said you were the most like Dad. Cold, smart, and always ten steps ahead.” Her voice cracks. “I hope she was right.”
I’m not sure what she means, but I don’t ask because she’s leaving. Objective met.
