“No, I’m not sad, baby, just tired.”

“After breakfast we can bring all our blankets downstairs and watch The Lego Movie,” he suggested, like it was a sure fire way to cheer me up.

“I have to go somewhere today,” I told him regretfully. “But your Aunt Karla is coming again to mind you. Maybe she’ll want to watch it.”

He scrunched up his nose. “But she always sings the song. I like Aunt Karla, but I don’t like it when she sings the song.”

His response surprised a laugh out of me, because it was true — Karla didn’t have a note in her head.

“Okay, maybe I’ll tell her not to sing during the movie. How does that sound?”

He looked appeased, replying fervently, “Yes, please tell her that.”

After we ate I made quick work of bathing and dressing him, then did the same for myself. I put on some dark green skinnies, a yellow blouse, and ballet flats. I had an idea to get King to interact with me, but it was going to be a long shot. I planned to bring my chessboard to the circus and see if he’d play. We didn’t have to talk at all, but if I could at least get him to play, it’d be a start.

Karla arrived and I was off, driving back into the city again. I’d exchanged numbers with both Jay and Lille the previous night, so I tapped out a text to them saying I was on my way. It was almost lunchtime, but I wasn’t sure if the circus did daytime shows or just nighttime ones. Anyhow, I hoped it was quiet so I could find a decent parking space. A couple of minutes before I arrived, I received a text from Jay, telling me he’d meet me at the front of the tent.

I parked close by, got out, hitched my bag up on my shoulder (it was heavy because of the chessboard and all the pieces), and made my way to the entrance. When I got there I almost stumbled over my own feet, because standing beside Jay was the gypsy woman, Marina. King’s half-sister. She’d hardly changed at all since I’d last seen her, and when she looked at me, her eyes held a mix of warmth and wariness.

“Hello, love,” she said in greeting as she held her hand out. “I’m Marina. This is my circus.”

“You’re King’s sister,” I replied, not knowing what else to say.

She nodded, those wise old eyes of her eyes blinking slowly. A small capuchin monkey sat on her shoulder, which I would have found odd if she didn’t own a circus. I could just imagine Oliver’s excitement if he were here. Whenever I’d taken him to the London Zoo, he’d always gone apeshit for the monkeys – no pun intended.

“So Bruce Mitchell was your father?” I went on.

“That’s right, though I’d say by blood only. That man was never much of a parent.” Her voice was hard when she spoke of him, and I instantly knew she must have had just as much of an awful time with Bruce as King did. Perhaps that’s how they bonded. Also, she used the past tense, so I presumed she knew he was dead, but did she know that King hadn’t been the one to kill him?

“King didn’t kill him, you know that, right?” I blurted.

Her eyes widened as she shook her head. “I didn’t, but I do now. Young Jason here informed me.” My attention wandered to Jay, and I remembered how I’d told him last night, how he had a knack for pulling information out of me. “Though honestly,” Marina continued, “even if he had killed him, I wouldn’t have blamed him. Bruce was a despicable human being.”

For a second I was taken aback by the harshness of her words, the stark honesty in them. A silence fell between us, and I began to feel self-conscious as she studied me. What she said next almost knocked the wind out of my sails.

“You’re a mother,” she stated.

I sucked in a breath. “What?” How the hell could she know that?

She nodded to my hand, where there was a Disney-themed Band-Aid wrapped around my thumb. I’d cut it chopping vegetables the other day and hadn’t had any other brand in the house. Embarrassed for some reason, I hid my hand behind my back. Marina gave me a soft smile.

“How many do you have?”

“Just one,” I answered.

“What age?”

I didn’t want to tell her, but I had no other choice. “Almost six.”

She gasped, her face growing serious as she mentally added up the years. “King’s?”

I nodded. She looked away, frowning. Beside her, Jay swore under his breath.

“You can’t tell him,” I pleaded. “Not yet. It’s too early. I saw how he was last night. He’s so vulnerable. If you put this on him, he’ll freak.”

“Alexis, nobody’s gonna tell him,” Jay reassured me. “It’s your story to tell.”

Something in his voice, in the way he spoke, calmed me. I shot him a grateful look. “Thank you.”

“Come with us,” said Marina, composing herself. “King spent the night in my camper. Jack washed him and gave him some clean clothes. He hasn’t had a drop to drink since yesterday, so he’s sober, but he’s shaky, taciturn. He’s not going to be in the best mood, love. It’s the withdrawals — they make him sick because his system is used to having alcohol. Just know that if he’s cruel or mean, it’s not because of you or how he feels about you. It’s because he’s in physical pain.” Her kindness surprised me, because up until now I couldn’t quite tell whether or not she was happy to have me there. Now I knew she was; she just worried how my presence was going to affect her brother. “Jack told him you were coming, so he knows. He hasn’t said much, but I can see the change in him. I can tell he wants to see you.”

Her words gave me hope. We came to one of the larger mobile homes, and that’s when I saw him for the second time in so many years. There was a table and two deck chairs set up outside the van. King sat in one of the chairs, a half-finished cup of tea in front of him and what looked to be a bowl of porridge. I instantly noticed the changes from last night. His long golden hair had been washed, and hung over one shoulder. In a way, it was beautiful. He still had the beard, but it was clean. He wore clean clothes, too, a navy work shirt and dark jeans. I stood there, watching as he used a shaky hand to lift the spoon and bring some porridge to his mouth. It looked like he had difficulty swallowing, and it was a hard thing to witness.

His build was the same as before, but a little more filled out, less wiry and athletic. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t fat, just thicker around the neck and shoulders, as seemed to happen when men neared forty. His face had aged somewhat, but I thought that had more to do with the drinking than the years that had passed.

He must have sensed he had an audience, because he glanced up, and I swear air caught in my lungs the moment his eyes landed on me. He got up abruptly from the table, the deck chair falling to the ground behind him. My skin prickled with awareness when he started to move forward, my heart pounding fast the closer he came. His chest bumped mine softly, his eyes glittering in the sunlight just like they used to. I could hardly breathe as his hands rose to my face. His fingers started at my temples, then began to move slowly down to my cheeks. I swallowed harshly, my chest fluttering with butterflies to have him touching me. His fingers were callused, yet so tender, so gentle. I felt like I was holding still and allowing a wild animal to suss me out, realise I wasn’t a threat.

His fingers came to my jaw, and I remained standing there, as still as a statue, my breathing intensifying the longer his inspection continued. His gaze was intent on me, so intense, and I found it difficult to meet his eyes. Finally, I lifted them and they locked with his. His fingers were at my throat now. It was a vulnerable spot, sensitive. His fingers dug in a little, and air whooshed right out of me. Uncomfortably, I became aware of my arousal. He smelled clean, like soap, and he was the only man I’d ever loved. My body was programmed to respond to his, no matter the circumstance. My nipples hardened, a long untended-to ache lingering between my thighs.