Page 76 of King

“You’re not alone, Joey.” King held his gaze. “You have Amara as your blood. And you have me and the rest of the Warriors.”

“Amara has you now,” Joey said, then frowned. “She doesn’t have time for my shit, King. She’s got her own life. She didn’t sign on to be a stepmom to me.”

King exhaled, the sound heavy in the quiet room. He sat up, rolling his shoulders, his gaze sweeping over the space. The air was thick with the weight of grief, but he’d seen enough loss to know that sitting in it too long could drown a person.

Joey was hurting. Anyone with a damn heart could see that. But King also knew pain could either forge a person into something stronger or break them into pieces too shattered to put backtogether. And letting the kid sink into self-pity wasn’t happening on his watch.

King leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he studied Joey. The kid was barely holding it together, grief twisting his features, making him look younger than he was. King understood that kind of pain and how it settled deep in your bones, heavy and unshakable. But he also knew that drowning in it wouldn’t bring Lee back.

“There’s nothing wrong with mourning the ones we lost,” King said, his voice even but edged with steel. “But a real man doesn’t let grief chain him down. He rises from it and does what’s right.”

Joey’s gaze stayed locked on the casket, his fingers digging into the fabric of his pants. Then, finally, he looked up at King, his eyes shadowed with uncertainty. “And what’s the right thing?” he asked, his voice rough, lost.

King exhaled, standing to his full height. “By being the man your dad would be proud of.” His words were firm, unshakable. “It’s as easy as that. Amara’s going to need you just as much as you need her. Your father would expect you to care for her, and so do I when I’m not around.”

He let that sink in, watching Joey process it, watching the shift in his expression—the hesitation, the fight, and finally, the understanding. King nodded, then turned and walked out, giving him a moment alone.

The second he stepped into the next room, his eyes found Amara. King didn’t hesitate. He moved toward her because that’s where he needed to be.

“Sir, I am going to open the door now.” The funeral director informed him.

“Thank you,” King responded but didn’t stop until he was next to Amara. “You okay?”

“No,” she said, her eyes going to the room Joey had disappeared into. “But I will be. Is Joey okay?”

“No,” King tilted her face to his when he saw the worry in her eyes. “But he will be.” He repeated her words back to her.

She reached up and gently touched his face. “Thank you for being here for him, King.”

“I’m here for you also, Amara,” King whispered, taking her hand from his face to kiss her palm before pulling her into him for a hug.

Movement caught his attention, and he watched as Joey slowly made his way to the casket. Once there, he scooted one crutch behind the casket. Turning, he stood to the side of where his father lay, his shoulders squared. Their eyes met, and Joey gave him a nod just as people started filing inside. King had never been a father and never would be a father, but in that moment, he knew exactly how a father would feel about a son like Joey...proud as fuck.

King shifted his attention to Amara, taking her hand in his larger one. Without a word, he led her forward toward Joey. She didn’t hesitate, stepping up beside Joey, standing tall beside him.

King leaned down, his voice low and firm in her ear. “You won’t be out of my sight.”

Amara looked up at him, her pale eyes shimmering with unshed emotion. She gave him a small, shaky smile and nodded, her fingers squeezing his in thanks before she let go.

King moved to the side of the room, his back resting against the wall. His stance seemed casual to the untrained eye, but his attention was anything but. His gaze tracked each person who walked through those doors. He read their movements, expressions, and intentions. If anyone thought to harm the two people who were becoming the most important thing in his world, God help them.

Amara stood beside Joey,the weight of grief pressing heavily on her chest, making it hard to breathe with each passing second. The room was filled with low murmurs, the quiet rustle of movement as people paid their respects. Some faces she recognized, like Lee’s coworkers and old friends from their childhood, while others were strangers. The Warriors and their Mates were amazing, surprising her and Joey with their support.

As time passed, faces blurred together, names swirled in her head, and an underlying fear gnawed at her through it all. What if one of these people had played a part in Lee’s death? What if she shook hands with someone who knew more than they let on? Someone who had hurt Joey? The unknowns made her skin prickle with unease, and the anxiety coiled tightly in her chest like a vice.

Each time she felt herself spiraling, her gaze instinctively sought out King. He never strayed far. Even when speaking with one of the Warriors, his sharp golden eyes never stopped tracking her. The way he watched her, guarded her, was like an anchor against the storm raging inside her. His steady presence was the only thing keeping her standing, the only thing keeping her from unraveling completely.

Then, a voice she hadn’t expected shattered what little composure she had left. “Amara.”

Her eyes snapped away from King, landing on Bud as he stepped forward, reaching for her hands. An icy dread slithered down her spine the moment his skin touched hers.

“I was so sorry to hear about Lee,” Bud said, his voice laced with a sickly sweetness that made her stomach turn.

Amara barely heard him. Her instincts screamed at her to pull away. She glanced at Joey, whose expression was dark. His glare was murderous, filled with barely restrained fury.

Panic flickered in her chest as her gaze swept the line of mourners behind Bud. She refused to make a scene, not here. She gritted her teeth and tried to free her hands, but he held on too tightly.

“Thank you,” she forced out, attempting to free herself again. His grip didn’t loosen. Her patience snapped. She yanked hard, breaking his hold, and narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing here, Bud?”

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