Cracked Kingdom

  Guilt had spiraled through me when I looked up into those ocean-blue eyes. I felt like I’d done something wrong. When Bran’s hand came down on my shoulder, a moment of shock and hurt flashed across Easton’s face before the shutters slammed down and he tried laughing his way out of the situation. I felt as bad as if Easton had walked in on me and Bran naked.

  And Easton’s totally right. I’ve been doing everything that the doctor advised me against. Every night I strain to remember who I was for the last three years, and every day someone inserts some version of their truth into my head. Or I absorb it. Either way, it’s all mixed up like my head’s full of M&M’s and Skittles. I can’t tell the chocolate from the candy and when I try to, I get an awful taste.

  So maybe I don’t look back. Missing those three years is awful, but isn’t it worse trying to remember and failing? Or trying to remember and coming up with only really bad things? Maybe this is a gift? How many people get a very real opportunity to shed themselves of the guilt over their past sins and move forward unfettered?

  Why don’t I take this restart and form new relationships—with my parents, my sister, my teachers and my Astor Park classmates. I should count my blessings. It’s not everyone who gets a diploma from Astor Park Prep. I’ll be able to get into nearly any college I want based on the strength of my high school degree. Astor Park is that prestigious.

  What good is it to try to build a past with fragments of other people’s memories? They aren’t even memories, then, only stories—fictionalized events. If I had to create a film reel of my past, I’d be the heroine. Someone who read to the lonely elderly at retirement villages or who saved animals or dug trenches in villages. I wouldn’t be this spineless social climber who used anyone within her grasp to move ahead.

  Straining to remember or trying to make up for things I did in the past is only doing more harm than good. From now on, I’m going to own my memory loss. If someone seems to not like me, I won’t ask what I did, but instead ask for forgiveness. I’m going to stop entertaining stories from people like Kyle and Felicity, because even though some of the things they’ve told me are true, they aren’t helpful.

  So what if I can’t remember the giddy sweetness when I first held a boy’s hand or the triumph of getting a good grade on a project I slaved over? Or the warmth during the holidays sitting around a tree, singing carols and beaming with joy as people I love open gifts I carefully chose for them? It doesn’t matter, I tell myself. I can create new memories. And these ones won’t be tainted by whatever horrible moral code I had before my fall.

  I climb onto the bus, drop my change into the coin slot, and take a seat in the back.

  I’ll experience all those firsts again. The first love. The first kiss. The first time. I swipe the tears away from my face. It’s a miracle, really. A salty rivulet seeps into the corner of my mouth. The tears are coming faster than I can brush them off.

  A true blessing.

  I repeat this to myself all the way home, hoping that by the time I step into my house, I’ll believe it.

  Chapter 16

  Easton

  “It smells like a distillery in here,” Ella’s voice says from above. It sounds like she’s speaking through a tube, a long one.

  I gesture for her to come closer. “What’d you say?”

  “You stink.”

  Something wet and heavy lands on my face. “The hell!”

  “Can you stop slurring your words?”

  I’m not slurring them. I’m speaking perfect English. Something must be wrong with her hearing. “What’s wrong?”

  “Ugh. Sawyer. Sawyer! Oh, hell. You’re drunk, too. Just perfect. I’m sorry, Callum. But neither of your sons can come to the phone right now. They finished off a bottle of vodka.”

  I raise my fingers. It was three. How insulting she thinks we gave up after one nearly empty bottle.

  “Pour water in their faces? I threw a washcloth on Easton and he barely moved. Yeah, I’ll try again.”

  A washcloth! That’s what this thing is. I shove it off my face. It takes two tries before I can dislodge it enough to be able to breathe. “Give me the pho—”

  Splash!

  A deluge of water drowns out the rest of my words. I shoot straight up from the sofa and blink angrily at Ella through the fluid dripping into my eyes. “What the hell?”

  “That did it,” she says into her phone, surprise in her voice. She listens to whomever is on the other end of the line—did she say Callum?—and throws me a towel.

  I catch it and wipe my face, not taking my eyes off her in case she decides to dump another gallon of water over my head. My brain sluggishly churns into gear. She’s talking to my dad.

  “I have no idea if he’s capable of carrying on a conversation. He’s got a towel in his fist and he’s probably imagining squeezing my neck with the same force.”

  I’m not gonna do that, but I am mad. Ella and I have always been tight. I didn’t think she’d rat out my drinking to my dad.

  I shove off the sofa and pluck the phone out of her hands. “How’s Dubai?”

  See, I remember what’s going on. My personal triumph lasts all of a second because the room starts spinning. Dad says something I can’t make out because it’s hard to concentrate on what he’s saying when I’m busy focusing on not tossing my metaphorical cookies all over the marble table. “Can you repeat that?” I ask.

  “I asked you to take care of everyone while I was gone. You promised that you could handle it.”

  There’s a pause. I guess he’s waiting for my input. “I’m handling it.”

  “By getting your underage brother drunk in the hospital room where his twin is lying comatose?”

  This time the churning sensation in my stomach has nothing to do with my liquor intake. “Well, when you put it like that, it does sound bad,” I say, cracking a shitty joke.

  There’s a prolonged silence on the other end of the phone as Dad is probably fantasizing about throwing me off his hundred-and-fifth-floor hotel room balcony.

  “I’m waiting for you to grow up, Easton. You’re eighteen. God help the people beyond Bayview, because I’m going to have to unleash you on them.”

  He makes me sound like an ecological disaster…although, didn’t I once tell Ella we Royals were like a Category 4 hurricane? Maybe he’s not so off. Still, it’s not awesome to hear your father run you down like this. Another shot of vodka could make this lecture so much more tolerable. I cast around the room, trying to locate my backpack. Did we drink it all or is there at least one bottle left?

  “Until you can prove you’re a functioning adult, I’m going to treat you like a child. That means in addition to no flying, there will be no car.”

  “I don’t drive a car. I’m a truck guy.”

  “I swear to Christ, Easton Royal!” he explodes. “This is not a joke. Life is not a joke. Your behavior is very dangerous. Straighten up or you’ll spend the next semester at The Citadel. From this point on, you have no wheels, you have no money. If you want something, you’ll have to get permission from me and I’ll want the request in written form. Do you hear me?”

  “I think the whole floor hears you,” I reply. I run my tongue around my dry mouth. I’m feeling super dehydrated. Where is that damn bottle?

  “I only care to get through to one person, but I don’t think it’s working. I’ll be back in twenty-four hours. Try not to fuck up too much until then,” he booms and then he hangs up.

  I stare at the phone. “He hung up on me.”

  Ella reaches over and plucks the device from my hand. “Are you surprised? You’re drunk in a hospital, Easton. Your little brother is passed out—the one whose heart is aching because his best friend and twin is in a coma. You’re cracking jokes about it because, for some reason, it’s too hard for you to apologize. I love you, East, but your wheels are coming off.”

  A dark, mean feeling rises in my chest. She’s not even family. Her last name isn’t Royal. It’s O’Halloran. Sh
e shouldn’t even be here. The only reason she’s even living at our house is because my dad felt sorry for an orphan who he found stripping in some dirt-hole club. She keeps her place in this family by sleeping with my brother. She—

  “Durand’s here to stay with the twins. I’ll drive you home.”

  My dad’s driver steps into the room, a magazine rolled up in his large fist.

  I swallow my angry words.

  “Super.” I stalk over to my backpack and throw it over my shoulder, pretending that the clinking noise it makes is the result of two soda bottles rubbing together rather than the empty Smirnoff containers. Shame prickles through me, and I find it hard to look at Ella. If she knew what I was thinking, she’d be hurt.

  When did I become this asshole? That’s my brother Reed’s role. Mine has always been the fun-loving Royal. The guy who knows how to have a good time. Is Ella right? Are my wheels coming off?

  It’s the hospital. Between Hart showing up with Bran, and Seb still in his coma, I’m losing it. I rein in my temper, remind myself that Ella’s on my side even if she isn’t acting like it, and exit behind her. Neither of us says a word as we walk down the hall or into the elevator to the first floor. The silence feels heavy and awkward as if she knew what I was thinking.

  I try to break the ice. “The hospital is actually the number one place to have a bender. If you’re in any danger, there’s a nurse to hook you up to an IV.”

  She sighs. “And I’m sure that was your first thought when you refilled your underage brother’s glass, wasn’t it?”

  “The twins drink all the time, Ella. You think this is the first time Sawyer’s gotten wasted?”

  “That’s not the point. He shouldn’t be drinking when he’s this upset over Seb—”

  “Did you become Sheriff since I last saw you or what?” I snap. I’m having a real tough time keeping the big ammo back. Does she want me to bring up her damn past?

  “Excuse me for caring,” she snipes back.

  The pressure in my chest grows again. “Listen, Ella, I already have a dad, so why don’t you back the fuck off,” I growl.

  “Fine.” She throws up her hands and stomps out. “I’m worried about you, okay? I love you. I don’t want you to end up in a body bag!”

  “Yeah, well, I will if I don’t let off steam now and then,” I shout back.

  “Is there a problem here?”

  We both jerk around to see a cop staring at us with an anxious expression. My dad would have a coronary if he gets a call in Dubai that Ella and I got hauled into the city jail for fighting. I don’t know how much more trauma my family can take.

  “No,” I say.

  “No,” Ella choruses at the same time. “We were just leaving,” she adds and grabs my hand. I let her drag me along behind her until we reach her car.

  I shake her off and climb in, moving the car seat back as far as it goes. Deciding it’s best if I keep my mouth shut, I close my eyes and pretend to rest.

  Unfortunately, Ella’s not done with me. “Val saw you with Felicity at the IC. What did she want?”

  Shit, there are spies everywhere.

  “To suck my dick.” I prop my knee up because there’s no room in Ella’s tiny car for my legs. How does Reed even fit in here? I swear my old man bought this matchbox of a car so that Ella and Reed wouldn’t have any space to mess around in it—not that it’s stopped them. The two can’t keep their hands off each other, and their bedrooms are about ten feet apart. The only thing that keeps them from screwing like bunny rabbits is Reed’s absence. He’s up at State during the week so Ella spends most of her nights alone.

  I suspect they do some kinky shit using their computers, but I’m not real interested in their sex life, particularly since I’ve been in a serious dry spell. Hartley and I never made it that far—not for lack of effort on my part. She wasn’t ready, so I had to tuck my dick away. That wasn’t easy. Beating the meat is never as good as being inside a girl.

  “What’s the sigh for?” Ella asks. “Felicity?”

  “Fuck no. I’m thinking about how many times I’ve had to jerk off because Hartley wasn’t ready for sex.”

  Ella groans. “Really, East? You could’ve kept that information to yourself.”

  “Babe, you asked what the sigh was for. I answered. If you don’t like the answers, don’t ask the questions.”

  “Fine. Fine.” She sinks into her seat.

  I refuse to feel bad for snapping at her. Or sharing some lewd thoughts with her. Ella ratted me out. If she’s not interested in my business, she should learn to keep her damn nose out of it.

  “Where’s your spare set of keys?” I ask.

  “What for?”

  “What do you think?” I frown at her obtuseness.

  “I can’t lend you my car, Easton. Callum said we’re not allowed to help you.”

  For a girl who used to strip for a living to pay for her bills, her straight edges are sharper than flint.

  “Ella, now is not the time to remember obedience. We don’t answer to Callum. We Royal kids are our own country. The only people in charge are us and if we stick together, then we’re strong. It’s once we start eating our own that the walls all fall down.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “It’s not what I think. It’s the truth.” Has she forgotten her own past? The one where we stood by her, held her up under the Royal name, served as her fucking shields? I’m starting to lose it.

  “I don’t know, East. Remember what you said before? About how all you know is tearing stuff down and not building it up? I feel like we’re on the verge of ruin. Like we’re standing on the Cliffs of Insanity and one wrong decision and the cliff will drop away.”

  I try to joke because if I don’t, I might bite her head off. “You’re thinking this way because you’re not getting enough dick. I’d offer you mine, but I don’t think Hartley would like it.” If she ever remembers she’s dating me.

  “God, Easton, it’s not all about sex, okay? It’s about us as a family. Sebastian’s in a coma. Sawyer’s unraveling each minute that Seb is not awake. Gideon is wrapped up in Savannah and can’t see past her tits while Reed is busy with college. You and me”—she waves a finger between us—“we have to be the adults.”

  “Here’s the problem with you, Ella. You don’t get what it means to truly be a Royal. Adulting is for people who don’t have trust funds or five-figure weekly allowances. In order for our great economy to roll along, you and I have to spend that money—that means we go out and pursue fun in all its glorious forms.”

  “And how do you propose to do that while Seb is in a coma? Because Callum has thrown all his money at the problem and Seb still isn’t awake. Have you looked at your other brother? He’s like a zombie. A walking coma victim.”

  I blow out a long, frustrated stream of air. “You’re a real buzz kill.” My old man took away my pilot’s license last year after a hard bout of drinking. I figured I’d just wait him out. Eventually, he’d cave. He always has in the past. Not this time, though. It’s just gotten worse. “I can’t believe Dad took my truck away.”

  I mean, yeah, if I wasn’t drunk, I wouldn’t have confronted Hart’s dad, which means she wouldn’t have driven away upset and Seb’s speeding would’ve been another day on the road. Still, it’s one thing for me to feel guilty and a whole other thing for my dad to be placing the blame on me.

  Ella shoots me a sad look. “And the motorcycle. You’re fully grounded now, not just from flying but all forms of motor vehicles. He said Durand will drive you from now on.”

  “I’m not even the one who got in the accident. It was Seb.” But I don’t say it with much conviction, because I feel pretty damn guilty.

  “And he’s paying for it, isn’t he? Callum doesn’t want to lose another one of his sons.”

  “Come on, Ella. You know this is bullshit. I’ll just buy another car. I can easily do that with the money in my bank account.” I’ve got more than one account. There
’s a checking account, a savings account, a money market account, a brokerage account, and, obviously, my trust fund. So Dad cut me off from my trust. Big whoop.

  Her gaze shifts to stare out the window. Suspicious at her evasion, I pull out my phone and navigate to the bank app. Sure enough, it’s zeroed out. I open my stock app, but I can’t even get into it. The password’s been changed. I check the other apps and those too are locked.

  “Motherfucker!” I heave my phone against the dashboard. There’s a sickening crack as it falls to the floor. I pick it up and run my finger over the broken screen. “How’d you find out about this?” I demand, with barely leashed fury.

  She still can’t look me in the eye. “Callum texted and asked me to drive you home. He called you a dozen times. He was worried.”

  “That asshole lets me drink all the time when I’m at home.”

  “Home being the operative word,” she cries. “When you were home, he could monitor you. But, East, sometimes you take it too far. Sawyer shouldn’t be drinking right now, not in the state of mind he’s in. He’s already messed up as it is.”

  “Yeah? So why can’t he have a fucking moment’s peace in his head after everything he’s going through?” I shout back. “That’s all we want! For the voices in our heads to shut the fuck up!”

  “Reed says—”

  My rage hits an incandescent level. “I don’t want to hear what motherfucking Reed has to say.”

  My brother and arguably my closest friend are conspiring against me. In my family, I’ve always been the odd kid out. Reed and Gid were the oldest. They were super fucked-up but stuck together, keeping their secrets that nearly got Ella killed and Reed thrown in prison. The twins were nearly one unit. They spoke their own silent language, took all the same classes, swapped clothes, played the same sports, slept with the same girl.

  Mom gave me extra attention because of it. This is why I’m getting shafted now. Reed is jealous because he always wanted more of Mommy’s time and didn’t get it. Now he’s turning Ella against me.