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“He’s still King,” Snapper croaked. His voice strengthened. “He’s still King,” he repeated. “He’s still the man wh

o became my father. The man who for years has been our president. He’s still King.”

Meg reached out and grabbed Snapper’s hand. “You’re right, honey. Nothing will ever change any of that. He’s always going to be King.” Her words were strong, but a part of me wondered if she was trying to also convince herself.

“Lo,” Snapper corrected her. “He’s your Lo.”

Meg sniffled. “Always.” There were few people that called King by his real name. Meg, Snapper, Remy, and Ethel were the only ones King allowed to call him Lo. Zig had tried one time, and King had sucker punched him in the gut. That was the first and last time Zig had called him Lo.

“Ma’am.” A nurse walked into the waiting area. “We can have two visitors at a time now.”

Snapper moved before anyone else. “Let’s go, Mom.”

I had never heard Snapper call Meg “Mom” before. When he was growing up, he called her “Mama Meg,” and then when he got older, he just called her “Meg.” King and Meg always made sure Snapper knew who his mom and dad were and that they were amazing people who had been taken away from all of us too soon. They were Snapper’s second set of parents who kept Turtle’s memory alive.

Maybe the idea of losing King had made something shift inside of Snapper.

Maybe it had shifted something in all of us.

We had been family for so long that we had been taking each other for granted.

We were all lucky to have each other, and none of us were going to go another day taking it for granted.

Meg and Snapper headed through the swinging doors, and we all settled back into our chairs.

“I’m next,” Rigid called.

Demon chuckled. “We calling dibs?” he asked.

Rigid shrugged. “Do what you want because I already got dibs on next.”

Dad sat down next to me. “You doing okay?” he asked me.

“I guess as good as I can be.” I wasn’t really sure of anything other than I wanted to see King.

“Your mom went to the clubhouse to make lunch, and she said the fridge and freezer were all full.” Dad chuckled. “Whoever cooked just helped you guys dodge a bullet for the next couple of weeks.”

Thank God. I loved my mom to death, but she was just not a good cook. She always tried new things while she didn’t know how to make the basic things. And she also thought the strangest things would make good combinations.

Black olives and mac and cheese still haunted me to this day.

“Bristol,” I said.

Dad tipped his head to the side. “Who’s Bristol?”

I cleared my throat. “Uh, she works for Marco. She made some food for the club.”

“Some?” Dad asked. “Your mom said she had never seen so much food.”

“Well, she’s a chef. Food is her thing.” I had seen all of the food. It was impressive Bristol had been able to stock the fridge and freezers so full.

Dad nodded. “So, how long have you been seeing her?”

I sat back, shocked. “Uh, we’re no—”

“You’re really gonna deny it?” Dad shook his head and folded his arms over his chest.

I looked around the waiting room and leaned toward him. “How did you know?” I whispered.

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