Page 103 of Royal Beast
Looking up at him, I take a deep, shaky breath. “When I was young…” I pause, the memory coming back unbidden. “Max tried to make this luxury pet fashion line. He didn’t know jack shit about fashion, or animals, and it fizzled out fast. He was always full of those dumb get-rich-quick schemes.”
I close my eyes, a ghost of a smile on my face. “But when I was in high school, he came up with something that I actually thought could work. It was an all-natural cleaning product. You might have heard of it. He called it MaxFresh.”
Kellan’s eyes widen in surprise and he nods.
I sniffle. “Anyway, I convinced him to patent it, and he made a pitch with one of the big box stores and they bought it, and he made a ton of money. Enough to buy the house that we were in.”
Taking a deep breath, I continue. “I think he realized how much of a useless bum he’d been while I was growing up, how much money he wasted chasing his dreams, and maybe that’s why he started gambling around that time. He wanted to make up for lost time, make sure we’d never feel the sting of poverty again.”
Kellan nods and strokes my back, just listening. “I wish it were different,” I say, balling my hands into fists. “But I know now why he did it. Doesn’t make it right, but I understand.”
The tears start up again and Kellan holds me close, letting me cry. His eyes mist over, and knowing I’m not alone in my grief helps the tears slow down.
Dr. Milton politely knocks on the door and enters. “It’s time,” he says, giving me a soft, sad smile.
I nod, reaching out to take Kellan’s hand as we stand up.
“We have to tell Rose,” I say, my voice tight.
“She deserves to know,” he agrees, wrapping an arm around me as we leave the room.
48
KELLAN
It’s been almost a week since Max passed, and everything still feels too quiet. The tension between the Russians and our side has been surprisingly calm lately. I’m cautiously optimistic, but Rory’s not buying it. He keeps saying it’s just the calm before the storm.
I glance over at Darcy. She’s doing her best to hold it together, but I can see the sadness in her eyes. Rose is withdrawn, barely speaking, barely playing. It’s tough to watch, but I know they’re both hurting, and as much as I want to help, all I can do is be here for them, keep them close, and wait for the pain to ease.
The day of Max’s funeral dawns, gray and drizzly outside. It’s still hard to believe he’s gone. We get dressed in silence and head to the funeral home.
Darcy steps up to the podium, her heels clicking softly on the floor, and I watch her shoulders tense. She clears her throat before speaking, her voice quiet but steady.
“Max was never a perfect man,” she begins, her words hesitant but firm. “But no one is. He had his flaws, his weaknesses, just like the rest of us. And he made mistakes,plenty of them. But despite all that, he was still my father. And I loved him.”
Her eyes flicker toward Rose, who’s standing by her side, holding the small bouquet of flowers that Darcy picked out for the service. I see the sadness in Darcy’s eyes, the way she’s fighting to keep herself together, but there’s something more there—something soft, a tenderness she’s trying to hide.
“The thing about Max,” she continues, her voice catching slightly, “was that he loved in his own way. And no matter how much he messed up, he cared. He did. Maybe not always the way we wanted him to, but it was there. I can’t deny that.”
I watch her swallow hard, taking a moment to collect herself. There’s no bitterness in her voice, only a resigned acceptance. She’s grieving, but also coming to terms with the fact that Max, for all his faults, was still her father. And that complicated love is something she’ll carry with her, even if she never got to say the things she wished she could’ve.
“Rose,” Darcy says, her gaze falling to the little girl seated next to me, “This is your grandfather. This was Max. He wasn’t always easy to understand, and I know I didn’t always have the answers, but he was part of your story. And I hope one day, you’ll understand that, too.”
I can’t help but admire her strength. She’s standing there, so composed, even though I know she’s falling apart inside. “Goodbye, Dad,” she says, finishing her eulogy and stepping back, leaving the podium behind.
I reach for her, offering a hand, and she takes it without hesitation, her fingers cold and trembling. I pull her close, my arm wrapping around her shoulders, and I feel the weight of the moment settle between us. Darcy needs me right now. Rose needs me. I may not have been Max’s biggest fan, but I’m here for them. I’ll always be here for both of them, no matter what.
After the service, as we head toward the car for the burial, one of Max’s old gambling buddies approaches us to pay his condolences. We chat for a moment, and he chuckles to himself, shaking his head. “That was my guy. Max, always thinking ahead, huh? Can’t believe he put all that money aside for his granddaughter.”
Darcy and I exchange a confused glance. “What money?” I ask, my brow furrowing.
He blinks. “The big win?” he offers.
When he sees the look of confusion on our faces, he clarifies. “Max had one last good bet—cleaned up enough to pay off all his debts and then some.”
We both stare at him, processing the news.
“He didn’t keep it for himself?” Darcy asks quietly.
