Alpha – Chapter 19

Inheritance

Memphis – A week later

Lisa

We landed late in the morning, the sun already high and unapologetic about it. Memphis light isn’t shy: it hits you straight on, wide and warm, like it’s got nothing to hide. After the night flight, the private entrance, the careful choreography meant to keep our names out of mouths for as long as possible, that brightness felt almost intrusive, but I didn’t mind. I’d always preferred things that announced themselves instead of moving in the shadows.

The drive from the airport was quiet. Michael sat beside me, his knee brushing mine every time the car took a corner too fast. I watched the city slide past the window, familiar and strange all at once. I’d been gone long enough that everything looked slightly rearranged, like someone had come into my old room and moved the furniture just enough to throw off muscle memory.

Then the gates came into view.

Those black gates were as recognizable as a signature. The notes that everyone found cute and endearing were like a boundary line to me. As a kid, I used to count the seconds between the guard’s wave and the first slow swing of metal. At nine, I sat in a car and watched them anyway, waiting for my father to come back home the way he always did – until he didn’t. The gates opened now like they always had. My chest did the same old thing it did every time: tightened first, then let go.

The driver slowed. Security recognized the car immediately. A nod, a wave.

Michael glanced at me, checking in without asking. I reached out and gave his hand a light squeeze, doing my best to reassure him. After all, being at Graceland had been my decision.  I wasn’t unraveling, and that felt important. I wasn’t calm either, not exactly. It was more like holding something fragile without dropping it. My body felt heavy in that way it did then, seven months in, weight distributed differently, movement more deliberate. I felt present. I was here, whether every part of me was ready for it or not.

The driveway curved gently upward, the house revealing itself slowly. Pale stone, columns that tried very hard to look dignified instead of theatrical, green shutters blinking in the sun. It looked almost modest from this angle, which had always been part of the trick. You didn’t see the weight of it until you were already under it.

We stopped short of the front entrance, not the main doors. A side approach, quiet, practical. Someone had thought this through.

The first person I saw when I stepped out of the car was Mary. She’d worked here forever and, in fact, I couldn’t imagine this house without her in it. She used to sneak me cookies when I was little and then swear up and down she hadn’t. Her hair was grayer now, pulled back tight at the nape of her neck, but her smile hadn’t changed at all.

“Well now, look at you,” she said, her voice sliding slow and warm, vowels stretching the way only Southern voices know how to do. Her eyes shone as she took me in. “All grown up… and bringing company.”

“Hi, Mary,” I said, and I heard it immediately, the way my own voice shifted without me asking it to. Softer and rounder. That Memphis accent creeping back in where it had been sleeping for years. Saying her name felt like sinking into a familiar chair – a very comfortable one.

She hugged me carefully, the way people did at that point, acutely aware of my size without turning it into the whole story. “We’re real glad you’re here,” she said, quieter, like she was letting me in on something. “We been waiting to see you again for so long, Lisa Marie.”

Michael stayed just behind me, giving the moment its space. I could feel him there without looking. When Mary turned her attention to him, she smiled just as warmly, no hesitation, no performance.

“And you must be Michael,” she said, like she was confirming the weather rather than greeting the most famous man on the planet.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, polite as anything, and I caught the flicker of amusement in his eyes as he glanced at me. He’d noticed it too – my voice, the accent slipping back in. He always did. And God help me, he liked it.

“Well,” Mary said, stepping aside and gesturing us forward, “y’all are both welcome home.”

Home had always been such a beautiful word for me, even when I stopped being sure where home was. Or maybe, because of it.

We were inside, but not yet inside. Not the house. Just the threshold space where the air cooled and the noise dropped off. Someone took our bags without asking. Someone else offered iced tea. Real iced tea, sweet enough to make your teeth hum. I took a sip and closed my eyes for half a second. Memphis had always known how to feed people properly.

Michael watched me, amused. “That good?”

“Don’t judge,” I said. “This is medicine.”

He smiled and took a sip himself. “I get it.”

We followed Mary down a hallway that smelled faintly of polish and something older underneath, like fabric, dust, time. Even before stepping into the main rooms, the house revealed itself in small ways. The scale was intimate, closer than people expected. The ceilings didn’t soar. The walls leaned in just enough to make you aware of them.

“This place always felt smaller from the inside,” I murmured, more to myself than to anyone else.

Michael nodded. “It feels personal. Like a real home.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s the word people forget.”

The front rooms were as I remembered: formal, bright, only pretending to be neutral. White sofas that had never fooled anyone into thinking they were for real sitting. Mirrors that multiplied you. Chandeliers that caught the light and threw it back in little pieces.

“This is where everyone thinks I grew up. Like I spent my childhood gliding down staircases in dresses.”

“And you didn’t?” Michael asked, dryly.

I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Please. I spent most of it barefoot and annoyed.”

“Why am I not surprised?” This time, there was a glint of amusement in his eyes, that easy banter I’d come to love. It came out more often lately, like he’d stopped holding himself in reserve around me.

I slowed a little, letting him take in the space. “I wanted you to see this,” I added, not looking at him. “The real version of Graceland, not the postcard. You showed me your ranch, where you hide from the world. I figured it was only fair I showed you where I felt the safest.”

He didn’t answer right away. He just nodded, and I knew he perfectly understood the parallel between this mansion, my safe haven, and Los Olivos, his refuge.

As we moved deeper into the house, the temperature seemed to shift. Light thinned. Colors darkened. Upstairs, the Jungle Room waited like it always had, unapologetic in its timeless weirdness. Green shag carpet swallowing sound, furniture carved like it had been pulled out of some myth and dropped here by mistake. The waterfall murmured steadily, indifferent to visitors. In that room, time didn’t mean anything and all had stayed the way my dad had left it.

“This was his favorite room… And mine.”

Michael didn’t ask why. He just stood there with me, hands in his pockets, taking it all in. I watched his eyes move, cataloging without judging.

“My dad liked places where he could disappear without actually leaving,” I added. “Somewhere loud enough to drown out his own head.”

I remembered him here. Daddy in silk pajamas, laughing too loudly, scooping me up and spinning me around until I got dizzy and squealed. I remembered him tired too, eyes glassy, hugging me too hard, like he was trying to memorize the feel of me. He’d tell me stories about his childhood, about being poor, about being lonely, about wanting things to feel normal even when they weren’t.

I also remembered him vanishing. Weeks that blurred together. Tours, hospitals, pills. The house swallowing his absence just as efficiently as it swallowed sound. That fear, that sense of loss, had never really left me.

“People think loving him was simple… But it wasn’t. It was beautiful and astonishingly intense, but not simple. And it never lasted long enough.”

Michael nodded. “Yeah… I get that. I do.”

I smiled at that, and not because it was funny, but because it was accurate.

Someone cleared their throat gently behind us. A staff member. A quiet word exchanged with Mary. I caught it out of the corner of my eye, the subtle shift, the way a household that’s been running for decades adjusts itself without fuss. A nod. A decision made.

“They’ll have food out in a bit,” I said quietly, already knowing.

Michael glanced at me. “You hungry?”

“When I’m here? Always. And let me tell you… this place doesn’t let people stay that way for long.”

We didn’t need to say more. Graceland had its own reflexes, and feeding people was one of them.

Thirty minutes later, lunch was laid out in one of the side rooms, unpretentious and generous and delicious. Fried chicken, collard greens and okra, mac and cheese, sweet potatoes that smelled like childhood. And of course, bread pudding. I ate like a wolf, without thinking too hard about what it meant to be here doing this now. Michael savored those traditional recipes like he approved deeply, which made me laugh, as he usually didn’t seem very interested in food.

“Careful,” I said, glancing at the plates. “This is how people get attached. The soul food.”

“Hey, I’m just appreciating the culture,” he replied, grinning. “I’m a grateful guest.”

Afterward, we walked the grounds slowly. I didn’t rush. There was no reason to. The garden paths were trimmed and familiar, the trees exactly where they’d always been. I felt the weight of memory without letting it tip me over.

I felt this was my true inheritance. Not the brand or the myth, but the house that had watched me grow up, watched me lose the man I loved the most, watched me become something else entirely.

Only, this time I hadn’t come alone.

Michael walked beside me, close enough to feel, far enough not to crowd. He didn’t try to fix anything. He let the silence and the place speak.

For now, that was enough.

Ahead of us, the path curved toward the back of the house, toward quieter ground. The Meditation Garden, where my dad rested.

I took a deep breath and kept walking.

Graceland – The Meditation Garden

Michael

They’d closed Graceland for the day.

I knew before anyone said anything. The gates were locked from the inside, and the usual flow of visitors was likely redirected elsewhere. The mansion felt like it was holding its breath, waiting. No footsteps echoing from other rooms, no distant voices, no one hovering with that mixture of reverence and curiosity people brought to places they considered sacred.

It was just us.

The back of the house opened onto the garden without fanfare, a simple path that narrowed as it led away from the main grounds. The light changed. Even the air felt different, quieter, like it had absorbed decades of grief and learned to carry it without announcement.

Lisa slowed – just enough that I adjusted my pace without thinking, falling into step beside her. She didn’t reach for my hand. By now, we’d learned each other well enough by now that silence did its own work.

The Meditation Garden appeared ahead of us.

Stone and water and careful symmetry. Everything arranged with intention, built to last. The fountain murmured steadily, a thin clean sound that felt honest compared to the more dramatic water features inside the house. This wasn’t about spectacle, I could tell from the way everything felt. Intimate and careful, familiar even for a stranger like me. This was about memory and grief.

The graves curved around the fountain in a gentle arc, polished stone catching afternoon light. Names that meant something to the world, but one name that meant everything to her.

She stopped walking.

I stopped too, a half-step behind, close enough to be present but not so close I’d intrude. This moment wasn’t mine to fill.

I’d been to memorials before. Shrines where people brought their grief and admiration all tangled together until it was impossible to separate what belonged to the dead from what belonged to the living. This wasn’t that. This was something more private, more essential.

This was a daughter standing in front of her father’s grave. This was the woman I loved showing herself to me at her barest and most vulnerable. I loved her even more for that.

Lisa didn’t cry right away. She stood there with her shoulders back, staring at the stone like she was steadying herself for something that had never really stopped hurting. Her hands hung loose at her sides, fingers flexing once before going still.

“Hi, Daddy.”

The word hit me differently than anything else she’d said all day. Not Elvis. Not my father. Daddy. Her voice didn’t shake. It sounded like something she’d said before, maybe hundreds of times, in conversations no one else was meant to hear.

“I brought someone with me,” she continued, her head tilting slightly in my direction without looking back. “I wanted you to meet him. I think you would’ve liked him.”

My chest tightened from the weight of being named in a place this sacred to her.

She lowered herself carefully onto one knee in front of the grave, moving slowly because of her belly. I stayed standing for a moment, then thought better of it and knelt too, off to the side on the stone path. I didn’t touch her. I didn’t move closer. I wanted her to know that I was present without taking up space.

“I’m going to have a baby,” she said simply.

The word sat there between her and the stone, uncomplicated and real.

“I know you missed a lot after I turned nine.” Her voice was steady, matter-of-fact. “You missed… pretty much everything. I used to think that meant you’d stopped caring about me somehow. Like I’d slipped out of your life and you didn’t notice.”

She reached out and traced the edge of the stone with her fingertips, the movement slow and careful.

“I don’t think that anymore. I think you loved me the best way you knew how. I think you tried. I just…” She paused, swallowing. “I wish you’d been able to stay.”

Her voice caught. Just barely, but I heard it.

I tipped my hat and looked away, giving her privacy even though we were alone. Some grief needed to exist without being witnessed too closely.

“I’ve spent most of my life trying to figure out what love is supposed to feel like. What it costs. What you’re supposed to sacrifice to keep it.” She let out a breath that carried something bitter in it. “Turns out I learned most of that from losing you.”

The fountain murmured behind us. Leaves shifted in the trees overhead. Nothing else made a sound.

“I picked men who felt familiar… unavailable, complicated. Always halfway gone before they even arrived. I told myself it was about passion or independence or bad timing.” A pause. “But it was grief, really. It was loneliness. I just didn’t know it yet. I keep thinking if you’d stayed… maybe I wouldn’t have spent so much time trying to make other people stay.”

I stood perfectly still, hardly breathing, letting her words go where they needed to go without interruption.

“This is Michael.” She said it more softly now, almost tenderly. “He’s different. He gets it… all of it. And maybe all of me. He doesn’t try to fix me or control me or make me into something more manageable.” A quiet laugh escaped her, breaking and mending in the same breath. “I think you’d be relieved.”

She rested one hand on her stomach. Not for show or to make a point. Just because that’s where her hand went naturally now.

“I think he’s going to be a good father,” her voice got thicker, weighted with emotion she was barely holding back. “I think our baby is going to feel safe with him. Really safe. The way I felt with you when you were there. When you were still alive and everything felt possible.”

Her shoulders started to shake.

“I just wish you could meet her,” she whispered. “My little girl. I wish you could hold her. You were so good at that. At making everything feel both enormous and completely okay at the same time. I miss you, Daddy. So damn much.”

That broke something in her.

Lisa bent forward until her forehead touched the stone, and a sound came out of her that wasn’t quite a sob, wasn’t quite a sigh. Years of compressed grief releasing all at once. Relief and loss so tangled together there was no separating them anymore.

I didn’t move, I didn’t speak. I gave her the time she needed, watching the way her back curved with each breath, the way her hand stayed pressed against the stone like she was trying to absorb something from it.

When her body shifted slightly, leaning back just a fraction, I knew.

I moved in behind her slowly, carefully, wrapping my arms around her from behind and pulling her up and against my chest. One arm across her shoulders, the other around her middle just above where our baby was. My hands settled gently, holding her without confining her.

She leaned back into me immediately, sighing, her full weight trusting me to keep her upright.

Her crying stayed quiet. Private. The kind of grief that finally had permission to exist without performance or explanation. I held her and let time stretch out. Minutes passed, maybe more. I didn’t count because time didn’t matter and there was nowhere else in the world I needed – or wanted – to be.

I pressed my cheek against her hair, feeling the dampness there, and matched my breathing to hers. Slow, regular, steady. Letting her know without words that I wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’ve got you,” I murmured once, barely audible, not to interrupt but to anchor. “I’m right here, baby girl.”

She nodded against my arm, her hand coming up to grip my forearm tightly.

We stayed like that for a long time. Long enough for her breathing to even out, for the shaking to subside, for some of the tension to leave her body. The garden held us in its quiet. The water kept moving. The afternoon light shifted across the stones.

When she finally straightened, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, I loosened my hold but didn’t let go completely. She turned her head slightly, looking back at me with red-rimmed eyes and a face more open and unguarded than I’d ever seen.

“Thank you,” she simply said, her voice rough.

“For what?”

“For being here. For not making this weird or trying to rush me through it.”

I touched her cheek briefly. “I would never do that.”

A faint smile crossed her face. She wiped at her eyes again, then looked back at the grave one last time, her hand still in mine.

“I’ll bring her back,” she said to the stone, to her father, to herself. “I promise. She’ll know who you were. She’ll know you loved me.”

We stayed there a while longer, just letting what had been said settle into the ground, into the air, into whatever space grief occupies when it’s finally been acknowledged instead of carried alone.

When we did turn to leave, I kept my hand at the small of her back. The path ahead looked the same as it had before, but something felt different. Not lighter – that wasn’t the right word. Clearer, maybe? Like a weight she’d been carrying had finally been set down, even if just for a moment.

Behind us, the fountain kept murmuring as the garden kept its vigil. And Lisa walked beside me with her head up, her hand finding mine again as we made our way back toward the house.

Lisa

Mary found me near the side entrance, where the house narrowed back into hallways that felt more functional than grand.

I was rinsing my hands in the small sink just off the corridor, still carrying that raw, tender feeling from the garden. It wasn’t quite pain, that blind desperation I had felt for years just by coming here and having to face, once again, that my dad was gone and would never come back. Right now, it was more like the soreness that comes after something buried has finally been touched and exposed to air.

Mary didn’t interrupt right away. She stood in the doorway watching me with that particular kind of patience she’d always had – the kind that came from decades of caring for a family that wasn’t hers by blood but was hers in every other way that mattered.

“Sugar,” she said finally, her voice low and gentle. “I don’t want to upset you.”

I turned off the tap and looked at her, my hands still dripping water into the basin.

“What is it?”

She took a breath, just steadying herself. “Your mama’s on her way here.”

The words landed with perfect clarity. No shock, no confusion. Just immediate, sinking recognition.

Of course she was. My mother was always a step ahead of me.

“When did she call?” I asked, my voice coming out flatter than I intended.

Mary glanced at the clock mounted over the doorway. “About twenty minutes ago. She said she was already in Memphis. Asked if you were here.”

I leaned back against the counter, letting the cool porcelain edge press into my lower back. My hands gripped the sink on either side of me. Michael and I should have known this: Priscilla had her way of discovering what she needed. It was very possible – no, it was fucking certain – that her people had gotten a whiff of our little trip to Graceland. No doubt about that.

“And you told her what?”

Mary’s mouth tightened. “You know I can’t lie to her, love. She’d get upset. I told her you were visiting and that the house was closed for the day. I told her that this wasn’t a good time.”

“She doesn’t care about bad timing,” I said quietly. “She only focuses on what she wants.”

Mary let out a soft sound that might have been a laugh if she’d allowed it to fully form. “I know, honey. Anyways… she said she’d be here inside an hour.”

There it was. The ambush I should have anticipated but somehow hadn’t, even though this was exactly how Priscilla operated. Never asking permission, never respecting boundaries. Just arriving with the certainty that her presence was always justified, always necessary, always welcome, whether you wanted it or not.

I nodded, mostly to myself.

“Alright, then. Thank you for the warning. Really, Mary. Thank you.”

Mary stepped closer and touched my arm, quick and familiar, the gesture carrying years of affection. “You don’t owe her your time today, sweetheart. You don’t owe her anything. Not ever.” She glanced down at my belly. “And especially not now.”

“I know.”

And I did know. That was the problem. I knew it rationally, could say it out loud, could even believe it in moments of clarity. But there was still this old, persistent part of me, small and young and desperate, that wanted her approval so badly it physically hurt. That part didn’t care about boundaries or self-respect or any of the growth I’d managed. It just wanted my mother to look at me and be proud instead of disappointed.

That part of me was fucking exhausting.

I dried my hands on a towel and headed back toward the main part of the house, Mary following a few steps behind.

Michael was waiting in the hallway near the front rooms, leaning against the wall like he’d been there a while. He straightened when he saw my face, reading something in my expression before I said a word.

“What happened?”

“She’s coming,” I said, anger burning my throat. “Priscilla. She’s on her way here right now.”

He didn’t need further clarification.

“How long do we have?” he asked, his voice calm but his jaw tightening slightly.

“Less than an hour. Maybe forty minutes.”

He absorbed that information, his eyes narrowing as I watched him start running through possibilities. Planning was instinctive for him. Protection ran even deeper.

I shook my head – this wasn’t his mess to fix.

“We’re leaving. Right now.”

The words tasted bitter. I’d wanted to stay longer, to walk Michael through the rest of the house and rest with him for a bit, maybe even stay for the night. I wanted to let him feel more of what Graceland meant to me. But Priscilla had a gift for ruining things without even being present yet.

“Okay,” he replied immediately, without hesitation or debate.

That steadied me more than anything else could have. No questions about whether I was sure, no suggestions about facing her or trying to work it out. Just immediate, unquestioning support for what I needed.

We moved quickly but deliberately. That distinction mattered to me. I didn’t want to feel like I was running away. I didn’t want to give her that kind of power over me.

Mary reappeared with my bag already in hand – she must have grabbed it from upstairs the moment she’d hung up with Priscilla. Someone else had brought the car around to the side entrance. The house staff had always known how to move people discreetly when necessary.

As we walked toward the waiting car, I felt it building – that old, familiar pull. The urge to call her first. To explain myself. To soften what I was doing so it wouldn’t hurt her feelings or make me seem unreasonable. To somehow make this easier for everyone, which really meant making it easier for her.

I stopped walking a few feet from the car.

“I need to call her,” I said, looking at Michael.

He studied my face for a moment. “You sure that’s what you want?”

“No. But I need to do it anyway. Before she gets here and finds us gone. I need to tell her myself. I don’t want her to lash out at the staff… and believe me, she will.”

“Alright.”

He stayed close but gave me space, his presence solid without being intrusive.

The car had a phone mounted between the front seats, beige and clunky. I slid into the passenger seat and pulled the door closed, needing this conversation to happen in relative privacy even though Michael would be just outside.

My hand trembled slightly as I picked up the receiver and dialed the number I knew by heart.

She answered on the second ring.

“Lisa Marie.”

No hello, no greeting. Just my name, delivered like an accusation.

“Mother.”

“Where are you right now?”

“At Graceland. Where you apparently knew I’d be.”

A brief pause. I could practically hear her recalibrating, adjusting her approach. In the background, the car engine hummed.

“I was told you were visiting,” she said, her tone shifting toward something that might have sounded like concern to someone who didn’t know her better. “Why wasn’t I informed of your travel plans?”

“Because I didn’t invite you.”

“That’s not how family works, Lisa.”

“It is now. At least for me.”

The silence that followed had weight to it. She was regrouping, deciding which angle to take.

“I’m less than fifteen minutes away,” she said finally. “Hopefully, the past couple of months have made you more reasonable than the last time we spoke. And you know we’ll have to talk eventually. About the baby. About your situation. About what happens next. So why not do it now, since you refused to meet me at your boyfriend’s place?”

“We don’t need to talk about anything,” I tried to keep my voice as even as I could manage. “And I just wanted to tell you I’m leaving before you get here.”

“Once again, you’re being emotional, childish and irrational.”

I almost laughed. The response was so predictable it was almost comforting in its familiarity.

“No, I’m being clear. Maybe for the first time in a long time.”

“You’re seven months pregnant, dear,” she said, as if that explained everything, as if pregnancy somehow revoked my right to make my own decisions. “You can’t just run around the country making impulsive choices without thinking about the consequences.”

“I can. And I am. I’m not a child anymore and those are my choices to make. We’re going around in circles, so don’t make me say it again.”

I glanced out the window. Michael stood beside the car with one hand resting on the roof, his posture relaxed but alert. He wasn’t looking at me, he was giving me privacy, but I could feel him there, steady and present.

“This is exactly why I needed to come,” Priscilla continued, her voice taking on that particular edge that always preceded a lecture. “You’re not thinking clearly. Just like I predicted, you’re letting that man influence you, letting him isolate you from the people who actually care about your wellbeing and-”

“Stop,” I said. “Stop it right now.”

The words came out harder than I’d intended. Not loud, but final. Absolute.

“He’s not making me do anything. I’m not confused or manipulated or suffering from pregnancy hormones or whatever moronic explanation you’ve invented to avoid accepting the truth. I’m an adult woman who’s making her own choices. And one of those choices is that I don’t want to see you today.”

“You don’t get to just shut me out of your life,” she said, and for the first time I heard something beneath the control. Something that might have been genuine hurt if it wasn’t so thoroughly mixed with indignation.

“I do get to,” I replied. “I have to. For my own sanity. For my own peace.”

The silence stretched between us, taut and humming with everything neither of us was saying.

“You’re making a terrible mistake,” she said finally, her voice going cold and precise. “And when this all falls apart – and it will fall apart, believe me, Lisa Marie – don’t expect me to be there to pick up the pieces.”

There it was. The threat dressed up as concern. The conditional love packaged as protection.

I swallowed hard. My throat felt tight and my eyes were burning, but my voice held steady.

“I’m not asking you to pick up anything. I’m asking you to let me live my own damn life. To let me make my own mistakes if they are mistakes. To stop treating me like I’m still nine years old and incapable of functioning without your supervision.”

Her breath hissed softly through the phone line.

“If you won’t listen to reason,” she said, her tone shifting into something colder, more calculated, “then I’ll have to handle this situation myself. I won’t stand by and watch you destroy your life and your child’s future.”

The words were delivered calmly. Too calmly. That was what made them frightening.

“I know you will,” I said tiredly, because that was the truth. She always did what she thought was necessary, regardless of what anyone else wanted. “You’ll do whatever you think is right. You always have.”

“I love you,” she added suddenly, quickly, like she’d just remembered she was supposed to say it. “Everything I do is because I love you.”

I closed my eyes, feeling tears pressing behind my eyelids.

“I know you think that. I know that’s what you believe. But love isn’t supposed to feel like this, Mother. It’s not supposed to hurt this much or require me to give up this much of myself.”

“You’re being-”

“Irrational and childish, I know. Whatever. I have to go,” I interrupted, unable to continue the conversation any longer. “Goodbye, Mother.”

I hung up before she could respond, before she could find another angle to push, before I could lose my nerve completely.

My hand stayed on the receiver for a long moment, gripping it like it might somehow explode if I let go of it. Then I carefully placed it back in its cradle and leaned my head against the seat back, closing my eyes and trying to calm my breathing.

The car door opened and Michael slid in beside me, moving carefully, giving me space even in the confined area.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know,” I replied honestly. “Ask me in an hour.”

He accepted that answer without trying to fix it or improve it or reassure me that everything would be fine.

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not yet. Maybe later. Or maybe never. Right now, I just want to leave.”

“Then we leave.”

He reached over and took my hand, his fingers warm and solid around mine. I squeezed back, holding on harder than I probably needed to.

The car pulled away from Graceland smoothly, professionally. In the side mirror, I watched the gates recede, then the trees that lined the driveway, then finally the mansion itself disappearing behind us.

I didn’t look back after that. I’d spent too much of my life looking back.

As we drove toward the airport area, Memphis spreading out around us in the afternoon light, my hand stayed in Michael’s. He didn’t let go, didn’t make jokes or try to distract me or tell me I’d done the right thing. He just sat there beside me, letting me process what had just happened in my own time.

“She meant it,” I said finally, breaking the silence. “When she said she’d handle things herself. She wasn’t bluffing.”

“I know,” Michael murmured, even though I still hadn’t told him anything about the phone call.

“I don’t know what she’s going to do.”

“Neither do I. But whatever it is, we’ll deal with it together.”

I turned to look at him, this man who’d somehow become the most stable, most trustworthy presence in my life.

“Thank you for not trying to fix this. For just being here with me.”

“Always.”

The road ahead was clear and straight, leading us back toward safer grounds, back toward Hayvenhurst, back toward whatever Priscilla was planning in her determination to “protect” me from my own choices. I hated that I couldn’t include Graceland, my father’s much-loved home, in the list of the safe spaces I could hide in.

For now, though, we had distance. We had each other. We had time to figure out what came next. It would have to be enough.

Michael

By the time we entered downtown Memphis, Lisa looked like she’d packed a week’s worth of living into a single afternoon.

She wore exhaustion like a second skin, the kind that came from carrying too much for too long. Sitting in the car, she angled her face toward the window, quiet but not shutting me out. Her hand rested in her lap, shoulders held back through sheer will.

The driver broke the silence, his voice calm and professional as he asked where we wanted to go next. “Airport? Straight through? Whatever you’ve arranged, boss.”

I looked at Lisa instead of answering.

She glanced over at me, took her time. Blinked a few times like her eyes were gritty. When she turned to face me fully, I caught a slight tremble in her jaw before she lifted her chin.

“I don’t think I can face the plane tonight,” she said, her tone steady.

No drama. Just a simple truth.

I nodded. “Okay.”

She released a breath, like she’d been bracing for an argument.

“We’ll stay,” I said, meaning it completely, no conditions attached. “And we’ll fly back to L.A. tomorrow, if you’ll be up to it.”

The hotel we chose knew how to handle people like us. Soft lighting, polished surfaces, guests who dressed expensively without showing off. The staff didn’t gawk. If they recognized us, they had the good sense to pretend otherwise. We took a service elevator down a corridor to our suite.

Lisa stepped inside and paused near the window, not looking out, just standing there like she was listening to her own thoughts.

“Are you hungry? Want room service?”

She turned slightly. “Yes. If you’d suggested going out, I might have just bitten you.”

“I’ll take that as a promise for later.” She smiled, the closest thing to a laugh she’d managed since we left Graceland. “Room service it is, then.”

“Something greasy, please,” she hesitated. “Or something sweet.”

“I’ll order both…” I picked up the phone.

While she sank onto the couch and carefully removed her shoes, I made the calls, ordering what we needed without using names. I’d gotten good at that, being specific while keeping things vague. The world thrived on details, and I wanted to minimize the burden on us.

When I hung up, she was staring into space.

I crossed the room to sit beside her, close enough that our shoulders touched. I hesitated to pull her into an embrace right away, knowing some moments needed gentleness rather than handling.

“How are you holding up?” I asked softly.

She looked over at me, her eyes heavy but dry. “My body’s fine. It’s my mind that’s… I don’t know, Mike. I guess it’s just a lot right now.”

I nodded, absorbing her words. “I’m gonna ask you again. Do you want to tell me more about what she told you?”

She considered it, then shook her head. “Hell no. It’s the same old shit we had to deal with before. Just Priscilla being Priscilla.”

And that was enough for me.

A minute later, she leaned her head back against the couch, closing her eyes. The exhaustion on her face tugged at something protective in me, tender rather than panicked. For once, I didn’t feel helpless. I felt useful.

“I’m going to run you a bath,” I decided to offer something solid to hold on to. “So you can actually relax.”

She opened one eye, skepticism lacing her voice. “You’re not turning into a nurse on me, are you?”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” I grinned.

That got a genuine sound out of her, short and rough. “Oh, God.”

I left her on the couch and headed to the bathroom. The suite had a large, deep tub, big enough to welcome two people. Maybe even three. I ran the water, testing it until it was just right, then added some mild, fragrant bubbles from the little bottles arranged like toys. When I came back, she’d shifted to lying down, knees bent, one arm thrown over her eyes.

“You really need to move,” I told her gently. “Water’s perfect.”

She made a noise that might’ve been a protest if it had held more energy.

I offered my hand. She took it and stood slowly, her body betraying frustration with its limitations. I stayed close without hovering. The last two months had taught me how to help without making her feel fragile.

In the bathroom, she leaned against the counter, looking at herself in the mirror before turning away, as if she didn’t want to be caught up in her thoughts.

“You want me to leave you alone for a bit?” I asked, sensing her need for space.

She looked over her shoulder. “Do you want to?”

“No.”

“Then don’t.”

So I didn’t.

She undressed without self-consciousness. We were past that, especially tonight. She slipped into the bath and let out a long sigh as she sank down. For the first time since Mary’s warning at Graceland, her shoulders relaxed.

“That’s much, much better,” she mused.

I settled on the closed toilet lid, elbows resting on my knees, watching her. Not hungrily, but as if I was taking stock, ensuring she was still present with me.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, catching me staring.

“Nothing,” I smiled.

“Nothing usually means something,” she replied, tired yet teasing. “Tell me what’s going on in your head.”

“Just that you did well today. You were so brave.”

Her mouth tightened, a hint of frustration surfacing. “I didn’t do anything. I just… tried my best to get through it.”

“And you don’t think that counts for something?”

She stared at the water, her expression distant. “I don’t know. It still got to me.”

“It was supposed to, Lise. It would’ve been strange if it hadn’t.”

Her eyes flicked back to mine, checking my sincerity before she looked away, quietly accepting it.

When the tension started easing from her face, I stood. “I’m getting you a robe. Then you’re eating something.”

“Yes, daddy,” she muttered, a playful edge to her tone.

I chuckled. “Oh, man. You truly are something else.”

She smiled faintly and sank a little deeper into the water.

When she emerged from the bathroom, the room service cart had arrived. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes and greens, plus a slice of chess pie that looked homemade. The staff had left it without questions, and I appreciated their discretion.

Lisa sat sideways on the couch, robe wrapped tight, hair damp at the ends. She ate like her body had been waiting for permission to stop performing and just exist. Halfway through, she looked up at me.

“Aren’t you gonna eat?”

“No, I’m not hungry right now.”

She didn’t like that, I could tell. But my stomach was tied in knots. I was good at appearing calm, but Lisa’s pain and her mother’s behavior had gotten to me. I wouldn’t tell her that tonight, though.

“This is absurd,” she said as she attacked the meatloaf. “I feel like I ran a fucking marathon.”

“Well, you kinda did,” I replied, taking a sip of water. “Today was an emotional roller-coaster, to say the least.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Don’t start talking like a therapist.”

“I won’t. But still, you did.”

She chewed thoughtfully, then pointed her fork at me. “You’re being annoyingly insightful tonight. I don’t know if I like you right now.”

“That’s okay. You’re allowed to not like me sometimes.”

“And you’re still here. Despite me being pissy at the entire world.”

“Yeah,” I replied simply.

Her expression softened, and the bravado slipped away for a moment. “Thank you,” she said, her voice laden with genuine feeling. Her eyes shimmered and she immediately lowered her gaze.

I reached over and absentmindedly wiped a smudge of gravy from the corner of her mouth with my thumb. She froze, then exhaled, her eyes fluttering closed.

“You’re doing that thing again,” she murmured, a hint of accusation.

“What thing?”

“Being sweet when I’m trying to be tough.”

“I like you when you’re tough. But I also like you when you’re sweet. And you are extremely sweet, Lisa. Whether you like it or not.”

She made a face at that. “Shut up.”

But there was no anger in her tone.

Later, with the plates pushed aside and the room dimmed except for a lamp near the bed, she climbed under the covers, lying on her side facing me. Her eyes looked clearer, still tired, still shadowed, but more present.

I turned off the lamp, leaving only the soft glow from the bathroom light. Outside the window, the city was peaceful, traffic reduced to a distant hum.

Lisa reached for me, fingers curling into my shirt. “Come here.”

Our kiss was slow, devoid of urgency. Her hand slid up my back while mine rested on her waist, careful and familiar. Her body relaxed against mine, tension melting from her shoulders.

As her mouth brushed against my jaw, she whispered, almost teasingly, “You’re still pretty.”

I chuckled softly against her hair. “Pretty? Not handsome? Not the sexiest man you’ve ever seen?”

“Don’t be greedy. It’s still a compliment coming from me,” I could feel her smile against my skin.

We moved slowly. I won’t pretend I didn’t want her the way I always did. That pull was never far from the surface. Even exhausted, even bruised by the day, that current between us stayed steady.

But that night, more than anything, she wanted to be held. To be touched without it being about solving a problem.

So I held her.

I kissed her until her breathing softened and her fingers unclenched from me. I traced her shoulder, her arm, her side, the curve of her belly with something that felt reverent. She pressed her face into my neck, releasing a sound half sigh, half surrender.

“Michael?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t leave me.”

The words shocked me. She’d never allowed herself to be this defenseless in front of me. She had never asked for anything like this. Her armor had finally cracked.

I swallowed hard. “I’m right here.”

“I know. Just… say it again.”

“I’m here,” I said firmly.

Her eyes fluttered shut, her hand resting against my chest.

It would’ve been easy to let that lead somewhere, and it did eventually, because we were who we were. And when it did, it felt like coming home instead of running away.

We made love slowly, for the longest time. I guided her to sit on the edge of the bed, her legs parting as I stood between them, our eyes locking. My hands traced her thighs, sliding higher, entering her with a slow thrust that drew a soft gasp from her lips. She leaned back on her hands, her body opening to mine as I moved, deep and controlled, feeling her respond with subtle shifts, her warmth drawing me in with each deliberate push.

Her breathing came faster as I took the lead, my hand tracing her side, fingers finding the paths that made her arch against me. She moaned, nails grazing my arms, and I deepened the kiss while my free hand slipped between us.

“Tell me what you want. What feels right.”

She guided my hand slightly. “There… touch me as you fuck me. Yes. Like that.”

As I touched her, she touched me – making my head spin.

Toward the end, rawness took over. Her body clenched around me in instinctive pulls, heat building until it unraveled us both. I felt her shatter first, her release pulling her into that beautiful collapse, and I followed immediately, coming with a low groan, the world narrowing to just the feel of her.

Afterward, we lay together in bed and she curled against me, heavy and warm, eyelids fluttering as sleep called.

I should’ve let it end there.

But I’d been carrying the ring in my pocket for days. Since my mother and I talked at Hayvenhurst, when she said I’d know the right moment. I hadn’t bought it for this specific moment. I’d bought it because it felt true. Because I wanted it. Even if Lisa wasn’t ready, she needed to know I was.

Carefully, I slipped my hand from under her and reached into the bedside drawer where I’d hidden the box. My pulse was steady, not frantic. I wasn’t trying to fix anything or bind her to me. I just wanted to ask when we were at our most open.

“Lisa,” I said softly.

Her eyes flickered open, unfocused at first. “What is it?”

I smiled. “Don’t say it like that.”

“I’m tired…” But there was amusement in her tone.

“I know.” I took a breath and set the small box on the bed between us, right in the slice of light from the bathroom. “I just want to show you something.”

She stared at it, uncertainty crossing her face before she looked back at me.

“Michael…”

“Just open it.”

Her mouth tightened, not out of anger but cautious intrigue. She pushed herself up on one elbow and flipped the lid.

The ring caught the light. Simple, beautiful, nothing flashy. Made to be worn every day.

For a moment, she didn’t speak. Her eyes lingered on it as I watched her swallow. I had caught her off guard.

“I’m not doing this to trap you,” I said quietly. “It’s not because we had a bad day. It’s because I love you, I am in love with you… and I want us to build a life together.”

Her gaze snapped to mine, sharp with feeling.

“I know you do,” her voice carried wonder – and sincerity.

That made me pause. No sarcasm, no deflection, just honesty.

“So… I’m asking you again. Will you marry me?”

A long moment passed. Lisa closed the box carefully and set it back on the bed. Then she exhaled slowly, like she’d been holding that breath since she opened it.

“I love you,” she said softly. “I’m head over heels in love with you, you must know that.”

My heart shifted in my chest.

“And I want you,” she continued, her voice low. “I want this. I want us. I really do.”

I waited, allowing the silence to stretch, not rushing her with reassurances.

She glanced away toward the window, then back at me, her eyes shining but holding back tears. That stubborn control she had was always part armor, part pride.

“But it’s too soon,” she said finally. “Not because I don’t mean it. It’s just… too much, too fast. I can feel my brain trying to make this a disaster before it even happens.”

“Okay. I get that.”

She looked surprised by how easily I accepted it.

“I’m serious,” I said. “It’s okay.”

Lisa let out a shaky laugh, almost irritated with herself. “You’re supposed to be upset.”

“I’m not,” I replied. “I asked, and you answered honestly. That’s what I wanted.”

She stared at me, searching for the catch.

“There’s no trick. I’m not going anywhere. And I know you’re not gonna ask me to leave this time.”

Her chin quivered as she looked down at the box again.

“Keep it,” she said suddenly, pushing it toward me. “Don’t give it back. Don’t return it. Just hold onto it.”

I picked it up, feeling its weight in my hand.

She placed her fingers over mine, keeping the box steady. “At some point, I’m going to want it. Maybe I’ll even be the one asking. I know that, I can feel it. I just need to get there without feeling like I’m stepping onto a stage where everyone is waiting for me to fail.”

That was the truth of her. She could love entirely yet still be wary of what love would demand once it turned formal. She could desire something and still flinch when it felt too close to the control she’d always known.

I kissed her knuckles softly, loving her even more for her disarming honesty. If that was even possible at that point.

“I’ll keep it. And you tell me when you’re ready.”

Her eyes filled with tears, finally letting the emotions show, and she looked furious about it. “Fucking hell,” she muttered.

I smiled gently. “I know. Fucking hell.”

She leaned forward and kissed my forehead, her lips lingering there as her hand caressed my hair. “You’re not scared?”

“Of you?” I murmured, smirking, trying to make light of something that was, in fact, heavy. It carried the weight of the world for me.

“Of everything. Of it ending.”

I didn’t lie. I gave her no polished answer.

“I think you talk yourself into expecting the worst because it makes you feel prepared. Disillusion is better than disappointment.” I brushed my thumb beneath her eye, catching a tear. “But we don’t have to live there if we don’t want to.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing hard.

“I’m so fucking exhausted, Mike,” she whispered.

“Yeah… I know.”

She settled into the pillows again, turning onto her side, and stared at me. I tucked the ring box into the drawer, not as a concession, but as a promise kept close. Then I wrapped myself around her carefully, holding her in a way that asked nothing of her except to rest.

In the dim light, her voice came soft.

“When we get back, we should talk about names.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And schools. And all that normal stuff.”

“Okay. We’ll talk about it.”

She nestled closer. “And maybe,” she added, sleepy yet stubborn, “you could stop being so calm all the time.”

I chuckled quietly. “I can try.”

“Nah, never mind. Don’t. It’s annoying. But it’s… also good.”

Her breathing slowed, the tension in her body easing until she finally let go. I stayed awake longer, listening to her steady breaths, feeling her weight against me, contemplating a ring in a drawer and a child on the way. For once, the future didn’t feel like a threat.

It felt like a path we’d walk together. And I knew, with absolute certainty, that she would want that ring at some point.