Page 37 of King

Becky moaned softly but pushed at his chest with a laugh. “Let’s go before your office fills with Warriors again.”

Sloan reluctantly released her, grabbing his keys off the desk. His gaze fell on the fax machine, and he smirked. “Thanks for handling that, babe. You saved me from losing my mind.”

Becky arched a brow, her lips curving into a soft smile. “This place has been a mess since I left, hasn’t it?”

Sloan’s expression sobered as he turned back to her. “I would never ask you to come back if you weren’t happy here, but justknow that anytime you want to work for them—not me—you’re always welcome.”

For a moment, Becky’s expression softened, and he caught a flicker of sadness in her eyes before she quickly masked it. “Let’s see how today goes,” she said lightly, brushing past him with a smile that was almost a challenge. “I might be persuaded to help out... here and there, but it would be for you, not them.”

Her words struck him like a lightning bolt, piercing through the doubts quietly eating at him. Without hesitation, Sloan wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. The familiar scent of her hair, the warmth of her body, and the steady rhythm of her breathing grounded him in a way nothing else could. Maybe their relationship wasn’t as troubled as he had feared. For the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to believe they could find their way back to what they once had.

Still, something lingered just beneath the surface. He could feel it. There was an unspoken tension in the way she hesitated before speaking or the flicker of something unreadable in her eyes when she thought he wasn’t looking. Whatever it was, he vowed silently that he’d uncover it. He needed to. Because there was no version of his life where losing her was an option.

But for now, he wasn’t going to press her. Right now, he was going to savor this rare moment of peace, holding her in his arms as if the world beyond the two of them didn’t exist. She was his mate. His wife. His everything.

CHAPTER 18

King stood in the hospital room, his arms crossed over his broad chest, watching silently as Joey and Amara talked. She had already signed all the paperwork for Joey’s surgery. Now, they just waited. Despite everything the kid had been through, Joey looked much better today. His color had returned, and his eyes were bright with his usual mischievous spark, though the tightness around his mouth betrayed the pain he was still dealing with. His mood, however, was unmistakably Joey-like, even with the looming surgery ahead of him.

Earlier, a young, cute nurse had come in to take his vitals, and Joey had wiggled his eyebrows at King with a cheeky grin. King had merely raised an eyebrow in return, but Amara had rolled her eyes so hard King was sure she’d gotten a headache from it. That small exchange had lightened the room, if only for a moment.

Still, no one mentioned Joey’s father. The air around that subject was too heavy, and now wasn’t the time to address it. The focus needed to be on getting Joey through the surgery. King knew Amara was carrying that weight for both of them. Earlier,after King had made sure she’d eaten something, she had gone through the stack of paperwork Lee had left behind...the kind of paperwork no one wanted to go through when tragedy struck. Whatever Lee’s faults as a father, at least he’d had the foresight to ensure things would be taken care of if something ever happened to him.

The door opened, and another nurse stepped inside, clipboard in hand. She looked at Amara and smiled gently before speaking. “We’re ready to take more blood,” she said, her voice soft and professional. Then she turned to Joey and added, “Won’t be long before we have you prepped for surgery.”

Amara nodded and stood, but Joey grabbed her hand, stopping her. “Thanks for bleeding for me, Aunt Amara,” he quipped with a wide grin. “I know how much you hate needles.”

Amara smirked, leaning down to ruffle his hair gently. “I’d do a lot more than that for you, kid. Just don’t get used to me being this nice,” she teased, though her eyes betrayed the depth of her love for him. “And stop calling me Aunt Amara. It makes me feel old.”

“You are old,” Joey shot back with a snort.

Amara sneered at him but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. She followed the nurse out, and King’s eyes lingered on her as the door closed behind them. There was a strength in Amara that he admired more with every passing moment, a fierce, unwavering determination to protect Joey no matter what it cost her. King knew she was running on fumes, holding herself together with sheer willpower.

He turned back to Joey, who was watching him with an expression far too wise for his age. “You like her,” Joey said, smirking knowingly.

“Stay out of grown folks’ business,” King replied, his tone dry but not unkind.

Joey laughed, the sound a little strained but genuine. “I don’t know, King. You might wanna step it up. She’s pretty amazing, you know.”

King’s jaw tightened, though he didn’t respond. The kid wasn’t wrong. Amarawasamazing—strong, selfless, and beautiful in a way that made it hard for him to focus on anything else when she was in the room. But now wasn’t the time to think about that. Joey needed to make it through this surgery, and Amara needed someone to hold her up when she finally let herself feel everything she’d been bottling up inside.

Joey sighed, breaking King’s train of thought. “You’ll take care of her, right?” His voice had softened, the playful tone replaced by something much more serious. “I don’t know what my dad was involved in, but it wasn’t good. She’s all I got now.” Unshed tears filled his eyes, but he blinked them away.

King’s eyes locked on Joey’s, and he nodded once. “No one will touch her...or you.” His voice was low, but the promise in it was unshakable.

Joey nodded, briefly closing his eyes as if that answer was all he needed. King stood by the bed, silent and watchful, as the weight of his words settled over him. Taking care of Amara wasn’t just something he was going to do. Hewantedto do it with every fiber of his being.

“King?” Joey’s voice broke into his thoughts.

"Hmmm?" King responded, his focus snapping back to the boy in the bed.

Joey hesitated, then exhaled. "I'm scared." His voice wavered slightly. "Does that make me a pussy?"

King didn’t hesitate. “No, it doesn’t make you a pussy.” He walked over and sat in the chair Amara had been occupying earlier. “Everyone gets scared, Joey. And if they say they’ve never been scared, they’re lying. Fear is just part of life.”

Joey frowned, his skepticism clear. “Warriors don’t get scared.” His expression was doubtful as he studied King. “I can’t see you being scared of anything.”

King let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “That’s not true. A real man has fears, Joey. Even Warriors.”

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