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"I think that's exactly why it's happening now."
Of course it is. No doubt. "Fucking asshole. Alright, I have to go take care of Luna. Talk to you later?"
"Yeah. Kingsley? We've got your back."
"I know. I'm going to need it."
I don't tell her that we have to leave just yet.
I give her one last perfect afternoon. Well, as perfect as it can be with her wrapped in bandages and rolled around in a wheelchair.
Despite those things, it's still pretty close to idyllic.
We go for a walk along the path around the lake and over her favorite bridge. When she starts to feel peckish we head into town, and I take her to her favorite gourmet boutique where she picks out a few cans of pâté, and then points through the window at the butcher. choosing some of their special sausages..
We grill them on the back deck and eat them sandwiched in fresh baguettes with roasted peppers as we watch the few ducks that have decided to brave the winter come right up the pier tous. She drops handfuls of oats onto the bench beside her and they jump right up and eat, closer and closer until they peck right out of her hand, making her laugh so heartily, the air around me feels like it's spring dawning early.
Sharing about her attack seems to have lightened the load on her mind, rather than burdened it.
If she could transfer them to me, then I'll listen to her talk about every single one of the heavy thoughts on her mind. I would carry all her hurts multiplied by a hundred and ten if it meant she never had to worry about anything again.
"Kingsley?" she asks, as we watch the ducks waddle back out to the water once they realize they’ve eaten all the oats.
"Yes, Luna?"
"Do you regret bringing me here?"
I shade my eyes as I turn back to her, her face warming in the sunlight, with a smile. "It's funny you should ask that."
"Why?"
"Because I was just about to tell you something."
Her eyes light up in interest. "What's that?"
"That I did the right thing, saving this place for you."
She doesn't complain too much when I tell her that we have to head home. Doesn't even really question it. Just makes sure that she takes care of what she can, and then waits for me to pack up the car.
On the drive to the airport, all she asks is, "Can we come back?"
When I tell her, "Yes. And next time, we don't have to leave until you're absolutely ready to," she seems content with the answer.
Once we arrive at home, I make sure she's settled in bed, bandages clean with her medications taken, and fast asleep, before I sneak out to meet my brothers in the living room.
Based on the number of cups of coffee, half empty bags of chips and chocolate bars, they've been holed up in the makeshift war room for a while.
"So. What's the word?" I ask, sinking into an armchair.
Matthias shrugs. "Nothing. He's really kept his cards close to his chest. He has the same board members in his pockets and we have ours but other than that, it’s anyone’s game right now."
"How can we have heard nothing? Can he really have more allies here than us?" I ask, rubbing my tight forehead, already tired from the trip back to London. "Have I been neglecting our relationships here?"
"Honesty, you're the only one who can answer that."
All my relationships and connections in the industry flash through my mind like a conveyor belt, as I try to tick the boxes of things I’ve always paid attention to, things and people I know are important to have on my side.
"I do all the things I'm supposed to. I go to the monthly dinners at the club. I go to every charity gala there is. I went to four fucking christenings in the last six months alone. Christenings. So many babies having baths. I smiled, I wrote giant checks. I wore light colored suits and stood on the grass and made small talk. I brokered and mediated mergers for some of our biggest allies. What have I overlooked?"
