Just This Once (The Kings)

The buzz of the table saw filled the air as sawdust floated out the door to my workshop. New wood was arranged in neat piles, but my favorite pieces—reclaimed barnwood, old beams, a centuries-old table with a missing leg—waited patiently while I decided how to use the materials. The early-morning May air still held a chill, but stacking boards and ripping planks for my next project had worked up a sweat.

I had learned early in my career as a firefighter that while the flexibility of my shifts was nice, it also meant increased downtime—downtime that made me feel itchy and stagnant.

Fishing was too boring, paddleboarding left winters unproductive, and a second job somewhere else lacked the freedom and flexibility I craved. I didn’t have artistic talent like my brother, Royal, nor did I have the passion for operating my own business like Abel. I had fallen into furniture making by accident after my house had been built. Once I moved in, I realized the Swedish particleboard end tables and milk crate stools wouldn’t do the house justice.

So I read books, followed Instagrammers, and YouTubed every episode of This Old House to teach myself a new skill. It required patience and fine-tuning, and the attention to detail necessary ensured that my thoughts wouldn’t wander.

It meant I didn’t have to think about keeping up appearances to meet Dad’s expectations or irresistible women with dark-blonde hair and eyes that promised to see past all your bullshit.

Nope.

Definitely not thinking about her.

Instead, I imagined my sister Sylvie’s eyes when I dragged my latest finished piece over to the home she shared with Duke Sullivan. My project was a gift for my new nephew and the heritage farmhouse-style trunk was made from handcrafted oak. Little Gus could pile all his toys inside, or maybe it would become the world’s best hide-and-seek spot for him. Wanting to test my hand at a new woodworking skill, I’d used tulipwood to make a contrasting border inlaid across the top.

It was functional and timeless and gave me the opportunity to share a bit of myself with my nephew without having to actually have a conversation with my sister regarding her relationship with a Sullivan. Their relationship should never have worked, but there was no denying the love in Duke’s eyes when he looked at my little sister. The fact that I couldn’t even manage to hate him on principle alone made me want to punch myself in the face.

Or maybe it was just the realization that a love like that wasn’t meant for a man like me.

Ah, fuck it.

I let the wood plank slap against the concrete floor. I swiped a frustrated hand across the back of my sweaty neck, gripping the tension that resided there.

“Still haven’t reined in that temper, I see.” My father’s voice filled the empty workshop, and I found him standing in the doorway. Time and stress had aged him. His shoulders were powerful and square, but the beginnings of a paunch exposed a life behind an expensive desk rather than that of his blue-collar father. Russell King had done everything in his power to escape his working-class roots.

The tips of his shiny loafers didn’t breach the threshold, as if the mere act of entering a working man’s space was beneath him. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his navy slacks as he rocked back on his heels.

Unexpected visits from Russell King were always a sign of trouble—if not for you, then most certainly for someone else.

“Hey, Dad.” I reached for a rag and attempted to scrub the remnants of stain from my fingertips.

Russell King was a ruthless businessman, exceedingly smart and cunning. There was very little that didn’t move the tide in his favor. People in town saw him as a shrewd businessman. He was cunning enough to know where to spend his money in a way that shed the best possible light on the King family.

If he fucked someone over or a deal went ass up, he’d simply make a huge donation toward renovations at the public library, garnering him a nice article in the Outtatowner news and completely overshadowing any misdeeds.

He had lived his life in such a way that no one would believe a bad word said about Russell King, but his children knew the truth. So did the Sullivans, which I suppose is why the generations-long feud had not only persisted but deepened when my father took the helm of the King family businesses.

“What is all this?” Disgust was evident on his face as he looked at the toy chest.

I moved to obscure his view of my work. “It’s nothing important.”

His lips pursed. “You shouldn’t want to be anything other than a firefighter. That’s honorable work. Makes the family look good to have a hero. Don’t waste your time on things that don’t matter.”

I nodded, unsure if I was agreeing with him or at a loss for what to say next.

Everything Russell King did was about optics, never about the long-lasting impact his actions had on his children. It was a marvel only one of us had ended up in prison, and even then, with the help of our father and some hard work, Abel had managed to land on his feet.

There was no world in which a King failed.

The only person who had ever bested Russell King was our mother, and she was the smartest one of us all. She beat him simply by leaving the game—and her children—behind.

“I saw the article in the paper about the Chief’s Company being selected. Congratulations.”noveldrama

My shoulders bunched. I had been among the few selected for the Chief’s Company award. I was pleasantly surprised, and the pride of being selected only swelled when I locked eyes with Emily. I had sneaked a stolen wink and savored the flush of her cheeks as I shook her father’s hand and accepted the award.

But as he did, my father had a unique way of leaching the joy out of any accomplishment. My stomach soured. “Thank you, sir.”

It was important to stay on the good side of a man in power.

“Perhaps one day I might be able to say that my son is a lieutenant in the fire department rather than a lackey.”

My lips pressed together. I didn’t have the energy to feed into stroking his ego by telling him about my conversation with Chief Martin.

My father adjusted the cuff of his cashmere sweater, his gold pinkie ring glinting in the light. “You know, Chief Martin’s wife is on the board for the Remington County Historical Association.”

And there it was.

He was always angling for something.

“JP and I are working on a deal, and they’ve become a bit of a problem.”

I lifted an eyebrow but didn’t contribute to the conversation.

“The building I have my eye on would be an asset—an asset I plan to acquire.” On the outside he appeared calm, but I could see the annoyance ripple through him before he tamped it down. “Problem is the historical society is hell-bent on declaring it a historical landmark.”

“Is it?”

My father’s lip curled. “Does it matter? It’s going to be mine.” His dark eyes looked me over. As the years passed I had mastered the art of not squirming under his assessments, but my skin still went hot. “Women have always had a soft spot for your charm. Perhaps applying a little pressure is in order.”

I bit back an oath. “That doesn’t really have anything to do with me.”

Dad’s nostrils flared, but he remained steadfast and offered a small smile. “What’s good for the family is good for you, William. Don’t ever forget that.”

Good for the family.

My whole life was an endless loop of choices and decisions made in the best interest of the King family—to increase our wealth, to save face. Never once because it was anything that any of us wanted or needed in our lives.

I should be disgusted at his manipulation, but the truth of the matter was, my father had been the only person in my life who had never left.

And for that, I owed him.

I tossed the rag on my workbench. “Chief Martin’s wife isn’t typically around the fire station.” Marilyn Martin was a sweetheart, always smiling and bringing treats into the fire station. When she looked at you, her eyes held a maternal warmth that was fascinating.

Dad smiled. “Ah, but I’m sure there are times when you see her.” He shrugged. “Just a small conversation if you find the time. That’s all.”

That’s all. Yeah, right.

I knew my father meant for me to dissuade Mrs. Martin and the historical society from claiming the building so he could purchase it. With me, he saw an opportunity and wasn’t afraid to exploit it.

Defeated, I met his gaze. “Sure.”

I stood, still unsure of where to go next with this conversation. I had known this man my entire life and had yet to find a way to truly connect with him.

My father finally broke the silence. “Well, I’ll let you get back to”—he waved a dismissive hand over my workshop—“whatever this is.”

He turned and my shoulders slumped. I had done so much to ensure I was nothing like Russell King, only to never have the balls to truly be any different at all.

Royal

Checking in on the new apprentice but then I’m free. What’s up?

I was thinking of having a few at the Grudge. Want to join me?

Royal

Can’t get your own dates?

Fuck off.

Royal

Maybe you’re hoping to run into a certain librarian?

I never should have told you.

Nine.

Fuck, I was getting old if my body screamed at the thought of going out at nine o’clock on a Saturday night. Royal was used to late hours at his tattoo shop, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that being a firefighter fucked with my sleep schedule. Not only was I wired at odd times, but I could also fall asleep nearly anywhere when fatigue hit.

For the past few days, I had been dog tired.

I was attributing my fatigue to the new workout routine Brooklyn had started for our shift and not the mental gymnastics I’d been doing regarding Emily.

Chief was right—I didn’t need any distractions right now, and a spitfire woman with kissable lips and a bad attitude most certainly qualified as a major distraction.

Still, the chance she might be out tonight had crossed my mind. Her being a distraction didn’t stop me from putting in a little extra effort by pairing my scuffed boots with a new pair of denim jeans and a T-shirt that I was well aware was about half a size too tight in the biceps.

Hoping to clear my head, I parked my truck in the public lot near the north beach. Though the beach was technically closed, I could walk the pier toward Outtatowner’s historical lighthouse and let the crash of Lake Michigan’s waves drown out the thrumming in my skull.

On my way back up the hill toward town, I spotted Lee Sullivan’s obnoxious black truck. With tourist season starting earlier and earlier each year, traffic through downtown was still steady even at this time of night. I glanced around but didn’t recognize any faces or seem to be drawing any attention.

As I passed the driver’s-side door, I tested the handle. To my surprise, the door popped open. I stifled the giggle that bubbled up from my gut.

“Fucking idiot.” Nerves and excitement danced through me.

I had been waiting for the perfect opportunity to get back at the Sullivans for their latest prank, and Lee was always my favorite target. He loved his lifted truck and was always careful to ensure it was locked up or parked under a streetlight, making it nearly impossible to fuck with.

But tonight he had messed up, leaving his truck unlocked and making it an easy target. I cast one last look around, ensuring I wasn’t drawing attention before slipping the multi-tool from my pocket.

In under a minute, I had the fuse box in his dash open and made a few minor adjustments before closing it back up and shutting the driver’s door.

When I stood to my full height, I startled at Miss Tiny, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, hands on her hips and scowling at me.

My eyes went wide. Ms. Tiny was crotchety, but her alliances stood firmly in King territory.

I nodded and suppressed my grin. “Ma’am.”

“Didn’t see a thing.” She smiled sweetly before whistling and shuffling away.

I exhaled in relief. Part of the fun was getting away with our ridiculous antics and never letting on who pulled which prank. That way your opponent never knew which angle you were going to attack from. A skill I had undoubtedly learned from my father.

I hurried up the sidewalk and passed King Tattoo, peeking in only briefly and continuing on to the Grudge when I didn’t spot Royal.

The kick drum from a live band thumped through the large wooden door as the neon skeleton smiled down at me. Inside, the dinner crowd was long gone, and the shift from family eatery to dance hall had begun. The band was well into their set of country classics as I scanned the bar.

My brother’s bulky, tattooed frame stood out among the gathering, and I made my way toward him.

“What’s with the shit-eating grin?” Royal clamped his hand into mine.

“Nothing, man. Best if you’ve got no knowledge of it.” I squeezed back.

“You see Sullivan’s truck parked up the road?” Royal asked before taking a sip of whiskey on ice.

I suppressed my grin. “Yup.”

“You take care of it?” he asked slyly, his eyes never leaving the dance floor.

“Sure did.”

Royal’s wide palm slapped against the high-top table. “Well, all right, let’s get you something to drink then.”

The band was good. Kings, Sullivans, and tourists alike melted onto the dance floor. A rowdy bachelorette party caught Royal’s attention, but I wasn’t in the mood to flirt. With a shake of his head, he shrugged me off in search of a good time while I sulked into my beer.

When he returned a while later and I was still nursing the same beer, Royal frowned down at me. “Are you feeling all right?”

I sighed and rolled my neck. “Yeah, just wound a little tight tonight. That’s all.” My middle finger scraped against the chipped wood of the high-top table. “Dad stopped by today.”

Royal shook his head and drained the last of his drink. “Yeah, that’ll do it.”

“Do you ever wonder sometimes why we do it?”

Royal’s brows knit down.

I continued, unable to look at my older brother. “Why he says jump and we ask how high?”

Royal sighed. “What else are we going to do, man? Leave him like Mom did? He’s done a lot for us.”

My teeth ground together. He’s taken a lot too.

I wasn’t brave enough to voice the traitorous thought, so instead I swallowed it down with a gulp of beer.

“You sure are mopey for someone who asked me out tonight.” Royal’s assessing eyes never left my face, and I shifted under the attention.

“Just been a long week.”

A low, disbelieving grunt vibrated through him, but he didn’t call me out on my outright lie. “Thought maybe you caught wind that Charles Attwater was sniffing around your librarian.”

My head whipped up, catching his gaze, and he gestured toward the dance floor with his chin.

Sure enough, on the edges of the marred, wooden floor, Emily was politely smiling at Charles. Charles Attwater was a transplant relatively new to Outtatowner, but in a tourist town like ours, it was no wonder his boutique wine shop was a hit.

In all reality, JP and my father were just pissed they hadn’t thought of that business venture first. Word around town was Charles’s business was making money hand over fist.

Quiet, lean, and seemingly meek, Charles hadn’t made any particular impression on me, and I had never viewed him as any kind of threat, business or otherwise. That was, until I saw the way Emily peered up at him, her blue-green eyes holding every bit of his attention. Her pants were a soft hunter green and cropped at the ankle. Her white top had delicate black stripes and was tucked into the waistband of her bottoms. Compared to the skimpy bar clothes most women at the Grudge were wearing, it was tasteful and unassuming, but no amount of modesty could hide her curves. Her sandy-blonde hair cascaded down her back in soft waves. I knew exactly what that hair felt like around my fist, and my hand itched to touch it again.

Fire burned in my gut as I watched them. The guy was clearly born with two left feet, and in a town where your only bar was a honky-tonk, we had all learned to dance circles around any tourist who passed through.

Charles was struggling, and Emily’s tan, open-toed heels were no help against his fumbling. More than once he crushed her toes as he led them in an off-beat bounce that no one in their right mind would call dancing.

Still, Emily smiled up at him.

I wrenched my gaze away, stuffing down the tightness in my chest. Somehow Emily had become a hostile squatter, occupying every inch of my brain.

It didn’t help that her pants were painted on. The soft material stretched over the curve of her ass, and my palm itched to grab another handful.

Royal’s low whistle drew my attention. “You are so fucked, brother.”

My face twisted, and I shrugged him off. “She’s the chief’s daughter. Not my type.”

Royal’s hearty laugh rumbled through the loud bar. “Is that why it looks like you’re about to rip the guy from limb to limb and beat him to death with his own arms?”

I laughed at Royal’s ridiculous—though not really a bad idea—comment. The last time I’d been face-to-face with her, I may have acted like a jerk, but she ghosted me.

I had zero interest in giving in to the temptation of her.

Despite all that, when she left the dance floor and disappeared down the back hallway, I followed.