Page 18 of King

Jared nodded, already moving as Amara continued. “We told Joey I was in Mexico for my job to keep him safe...from me. Joey didn’t question it. He knows I travel a lot for work.” She sighed, a weary, bitter sound that seemed to drain her strength. “We still talked on the phone almost every other day.”

“Lee kept Joey in the dark to protect him...” His voice trailed off.

“Yes,” Amara whispered, her trembling hands clenching into fists. “But now Lee is gone, and Joey is in the hospital fighting for his life. I should have been there, but the risk to Joey outweighed everything.”

“Should I have the hospital contact Joey’s mother?” Slade, shifting seamlessly back into his role as Dr. Buchanan, asked with a clinical calm that contrasted the tension in the room.

Amara’s reaction was immediate and fierce. “No. She won’t care. She washed her hands of them long before she walked out the door. Joey hasn’t spoken to her since he was little. Calling her now would only hurt him more. Lee had full custody of Joey.”

“You said you’ve been turned for six months?” Slade continued, steering the conversation.

Amara nodded. Six long, lonely months, but she kept the truth of her isolation locked behind her lips.

“And you haven’t fed on blood or experienced sickness?” His sharp eyes watched her every move, his interest more scientific than personal.

“That’s right.” She nodded again, her voice growing steadier. “The only real changes are one of my eyes turning gold, and I get short bursts of something like adrenaline when I’m scared or under extreme stress.”

“Like when you almost kicked my ass?” King’s grin broke through the tension, his teasing laced with warmth and a hint of admiration.

To her own surprise, Amara laughed. “Yeah, like that.” She offered a small, shy smile. “You were my first-ever fistfight.” Her smile faltered as worry reclaimed her, the weight of fear pressing heavily on her heart.

“You’re safe, and so is Joey,” King reminded her firmly, his voice carrying a promise.

“How can you be so sure?” she whispered, her eyes searching his face for answers her heart desperately needed.

“Because,” King said, his tone like unshakable granite, “they’ll have to go through me first.”

Before Amara could reply or even process King’s words, a nurse hurried into the room, her expression urgent. “Dr. Buchanan.”

Amara’s heart clenched at the sight of the nurse. Anxiety flared in her chest, and without thinking, she grabbed King’s arm, her grip tight as her mind screamed with fear, praying Joey was okay.

“The orthopedic surgeon is here,” the nurse said quickly, her voice a rush of professionalism. “And Joey’s awake. He’s asking for King. I don’t know what that means.”

Amara gasped at the news, her hand tightening on King’s arm as a flood of emotions hit her. Relief, fear, and confusion had her glued to the spot. Before she could even think to move, King grabbed her hand, his grip firm and steady as he pulled her out of the room. He moved quickly, his long strides forcing her to keep up, but all she could focus on was the pounding of her heart.

Joey was awake. Relief surged through her, but it was tangled with a hundred questions. Her eyes darted to King’s determined face as he led the way. Joey had asked for King, not Lee. Her stomach twisted. Did Joey already know his father was gone?

They rushed into the hospital room, and King immediately released her hand, his focus zeroing in on Joey. He moved straight to the boy’s bedside, his presence commanding but gentle.

On the other side of the bed, Jessie sat holding Joey’s hand, tears glistening in her eyes. Her grip on Joey was fierce and protective as if she could shield him from the world with just her touch.

“King,” Joey’s voice was hoarse but unmistakably steady as his eyes flickered open. He looked pale against the hospital sheets, but there was a spark in his gaze that gave Amara hope.

King leaned down, his tone soft. “I’m here, buddy.”

Joey’s lips twitched into the faintest smile, but his gaze shifted past King to land on Amara. “Aunt Amara?”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she stepped closer, her legs trembling. “I’m here, Joey.”

Jessie wiped at her eyes, giving a shaky smile to King. “He’s been asking for you since he woke up.”

Joey looked between King and Amara, his voice trembling, barely above a whisper. “My dad’s dead, isn’t he?”

The room froze, the weight of his words suffocating. Amara’s throat tightened, her chest aching as she looked at King. His jaw flexed, his features hardening, but his eyes held the grief he tried to conceal.

King shifted his gaze to Amara, silently asking her permission. She nodded, tears brimming in her eyes. Joey deserved the truth, no matter how much it hurt.

“I’m sorry, Joey,” King said, his voice gentle but resolute. “I swear to you, I’ll find out who did this, and they’ll pay.”

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