Cracked Kingdom

  “Shhh,” some nurse says to me as I whip down the hall. I ignore her and bust into the room.

  “You fucker scared the shit out of us!” I holler.

  Sebastian responds with the middle finger. Elation fills me. For a while there, I thought the Royals were crashing and burning like Ella said, but nope. You can't keep us down.

  "What'd you need? You thirsty? Hungry?" I scan the room, stopping at the wardrobe in the corner. There's probably food and water in there. Sawyer had to be existing on something.

  "Thirsty," Seb says, his voice like gravel.

  "You sound like you've been crawling out in the Sahara," I say over my shoulder as I whip open the cabinet doors. Bingo. On the shelves, I find a row of water bottles. I grab one, twist it open and hurry back to the bed. "Where's the up button on this unit?" I need Seb to be in a sitting position so he doesn't drown as I try to feed him some water. Fumbling around, I find a little remote and after a false start, I have him at a slight incline.

  “Here you go.”

  The water dribbles out the side of his mouth and he curses. “The fuck, East. Can’t you be more careful?”

  My eyebrows shoot into my forehead. “Sorry, dude. Nursing isn’t in my bag of tricks.”

  He tries to shove my hand aside—tries being the operative word. The boy is weak as a kitten. All that happens is more water sloshes onto the sheets.

  “Dammit! Stop hovering! Gahhhh!” He clutches his head.

  I nearly drop the bottle of water in panic. “What is it? Holy shit. How do I call for a nurse?” I scramble over to the wall behind the bed and slam my finger against the red emergency button.

  “Stop! What are you doing?” Seb attempts to swat me away again.

  “Getting a professional in here. What do you think?”

  “Where’s Sawyer?” he demands, looking toward the door as if he could will his twin to appear.

  “Ella took him to get some food. The cafeteria is down on the first floor. Food there is terrible so I expect the food up here is going to be trash, too. Don’t worry. I’ll sneak stuff in for you.”

  “Why would you do that? I’m going home.” He sweeps the sheets off his legs and slides them over the edge.

  “Are you nuts? You’re not going home.” I whip his legs back onto the bed and pull the sheet up. Or try to. Seb gets his hands under mine and starts shoving. “This is ridiculous. Wait until the nurse comes.”

  The door bursts open and in runs the on-duty nurse, her dark ponytail flying high behind her. “Move out of the way,” she orders.

  I back off.

  “Where’re you going, Mister?” she chides to Seb, who is trying to plant his feet on the floor.

  “I’m leaving.”

  “No, you’re not. Hand me the chart at the end of the bed.” She holds out her hand and I slap the metal clipboard in it.

  Seb glares at the both of us as he struggles into a sitting position. “I want to go home.”

  “Mr. Royal, you have been in a coma for two weeks. You will not be going home today or any day soon.” She slaps a blood pressure cuff around his arm and stares at her watch.

  “What’s taking Sawyer so long?” my brother whines. “What a dick. I just woke up. He should be here.”

  “Your twin wouldn’t leave the room unless we physically carried him out. He needs to eat or he’ll be taking your place here.” I scan for signs of injury but don’t know what I’m looking for. I inject as much casualness into my voice as I can muster so I don’t worry Seb. I don’t want to shock him back into a coma with bad news. “Everything okay?”

  “All his vitals are looking good,” the nurse says. She jots a note in the chart.

  My knees turn watery with relief. I grab the rail of the hospital bed. “That’s good news. Isn’t it, Seb?”

  But Seb’s too busy staring at the nurse’s rack. I clear my throat. When he looks up at me, I make a slicing gesture across my neck. He needs to cut that shit out before the nurse jabs him in the nutsack with one of her extra-long needles.

  He raises his middle finger and goes right back to undressing the woman with his eyes.

  “Can you tell me where we are?” the nurse asks, thankfully oblivious to Seb’s behavior.

  “I’ve already answered this before.”

  “I know,” she tries to soothe him. “But we need to check your vitals each day to make sure that we’re providing the right treatment.”

  “Just answer her,” I interject impatiently.

  “We’re in the Maria Royal Recovery Center—you know, the place my dad built with his guilt money after my mommy OD’d on her prescriptions.”

  The nurse’s pen jerks across the chart. Seb doesn’t miss her surprise. “Oh, you didn’t know that? I figured it was still common gossip.”

  “Seb,” I admonish. “Let the nurse do her job.”

  “What do you have under there? Thirty-six D? You look juicy.”

  I groan and cover my face.

  The nurse slaps the clipboard shut with a bang. “You must be feeling better, Mr. Royal. The doctor will be right in.”

  My own nuts turn cold at the frost in her tone.

  “You have a nice ass, too,” Seb unhelpfully yells after her.

  “Would you shut up, man? What is your problem?” I move over to the head of the bed so I can smother him with a pillow if he tries to heckle his nurse again.

  He scowls and crosses his arms. “I’m just having fun. Besides, I wanted to see if the equipment downstairs still works.”

  I glance down and see a slight tent in the sheets. “Congrats. You can generate a woodie. I could’ve loaded some porn on your phone if you were that curious.”

  “Don’t be so uptight, East. If you were lying here, you’d be doing the same thing.”

  “Negative. I’ve seen your nurse’s arsenal of tools—the needles, the tubes, the bedpans.” I shudder. “I’ve got mad respect for her. Anyway, you hungry? Because for the last fourteen days, this is all you’ve been getting.” I tap the IV bag and read, “Total Parenteral Nutrition. Real tasty, I bet. Say the word and I’ll get you something.”

  “Why don’t you bring me someone to suck my dick?” Seb snaps.

  I know my brother has been sick and passed out for the last two weeks, but I did not expect him to wake up a sex-crazed asshole. “I’m gonna step outside and see where Sawyer is.”

  “Probably fucking Lauren.”

  Is that what this is about? Sawyer must not have relayed the bad news, which is understandable.

  “I doubt it,” is all I say.

  My brother’s mouth curves into a sneer. “A lot of good you are. Since you aren’t doing anything worthwhile, give my morphine bag a squeeze. I have a headache and you’re making it worse.”

  “I’ll get right on that.” Reminding myself that Seb just woke up from a coma, I force myself to walk out without another word. I’m in time to see Sawyer careening down the hall with Ella at his side.

  “How’s he doing?” Sawyer asks.

  “He’s in a bad mood.”

  Ella grimaces. “Still? I thought once he got his bearings, he’d be okay.”

  Sawyer laughs. His grin is so wide, the ends reach each ear. “So what if he’s in a bad mood? He was in a coma for over two weeks.”

  “He asked about Lauren,” I relay.

  My brother’s grin disappears. “Shit.”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “Don’t. I don’t want him hearing any bad news.”

  “I’m not going to tell him.”

  Sawyer swings a glare toward Ella. She holds up her hands. “Me either, but the longer you wait, the worse it will be.”

  “He’s going to notice something’s off when she doesn’t show up,” I point out.

  “Just keep it to yourself,” Sawyer snaps. “I’ll decide when he finds out.” He pushes past us into the room.

  Ella hangs back, and as soon as the door is closed, she turns to me. “Something is wrong with Sebastia
n.”

  “You mean because our sweet, docile brother woke up a rude sex fiend?”

  “Yes,” she nods emphatically, “exactly that. I walked in and he asked me if I was there to give him a blowjob. He said it was my sisterly obligation. And when I reminded him that I was his brother’s girlfriend, because I thought maybe he had some kind of amnesia like Hartley, he replied that since we weren’t actually related I could climb up on the bed but that he preferred the reverse cowgirl so he didn’t have to look at my face!” She ends with a shriek.

  The few staff in the hallway turn in our direction. I grab Ella’s arm and drag her down the hall, away from curious eyes.

  “Like Sawyer said, Seb’s been in a coma for two weeks. It’s normal to wake up with a boner, and maybe he’s not processing his feelings appropriately, but he’s probably loopy on drugs. Why don’t you go home? Sawyer and I have got this.”

  Ella casts a guilty look over her shoulder toward the hospital room. “I really shouldn’t.”

  But she really wants to. “Go. We’ll be fine,” I assure her.

  She doesn’t need to be told twice. She squeezes my arm, mumbles some platitude, and scurries off. Seb must’ve really freaked her out.

  When I get near the room, I hear a bunch of shouting. I hurry up and push open the door. Inside, it’s a flurry of motion.

  “What’s going on?”

  “We’re doing tests,” one of the staff members informs me.

  More people shuttle in, and soon Seb is being wheeled away to get his head examined—literally. All the while, he alternates between cursing the staff out “Fucking get your fucking hands off me, you fuckers!” and harassing them, “On a scale of one to wet, what’s the condition of your panties now that you’ve stared at my dick for five minutes?”

  “What was that all about?” I ask quietly when Sawyer joins me in the hall. “Did something set him off?”

  Sawyer slumps against the wall, all his smiles replaced with a weary, exasperated expression. “The nurse made him piss in a bedpan.”

  “Ah, so that’s what the shouting was about.”

  “It took two orderlies and me to hold him back from throwing the pan at the nurse’s head. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.” Sawyer looks baffled.

  I pat my brother on the back. “He woke up on the wrong side of the bed, obviously.”

  Sawyer cracks a small smile at this bad joke. “I guess it doesn’t matter. He’s awake and that’s what’s important.”

  “Yup. Now you can go home.”

  “What?”

  “Go home, Sawyer. You’re exhausted. You haven’t slept a full night in the last fourteen days. There are finals coming up and you need to take care of yourself.”

  “Since when did you become Dad?” Sawyer jokes, but I can see the relief in his eyes.

  “Since our real one flew to Dubai to get some rich Arabs to buy planes from us. Now that we gotta share part of our inheritance with Ella, the real one has to start making more money.”

  To my surprise, Sawyer agrees. He must be exhausted. “All right. But if Seb is mad, I’m blaming it on you.”

  “I can take it.”

  “Remember—no Lauren.”

  “Trust me. I’m not bringing it up.” If Seb’s throwing around bedpans because he can’t piss standing up, he’s going to do a lot more damage when he finds out his girlfriend couldn’t keep her shit together for two measly weeks.

  It’s nearly three hours later when Seb is rolled back to the room, completely out of it. I follow the staff inside and wait for an explanation.

  “We had to sedate him to do the CT,” the nurse says when I ask what’s wrong. “But everything is fine. You should go home, too. He probably won’t wake up anytime soon.”

  “Someone’s got to be here when he does.”

  “We’ve really been lax about our rules, but now that Mr. Royal has turned the corner, we need to impose some order for his own health. You want him to get better, don’t you?”

  What kind of dumb question is that? I seethe. “Of course.”

  “Then we’ll see you tomorrow.” She shuts the door firmly behind her.

  I shoot off a quick text in the family group chat informing them I’m getting kicked out, expecting Sawyer, at least, to tell me to stay put, but instead I get a single message from Ella.

  Sawyer’s passed out. Let Seb sleep, too. They both need it. You too.

  I think of Seb and his wild antics. He’s doing this because he’s scared and the last thing that should happen is for him to wake up to an empty room.

  Nah. I’m gonna stay.

  Why Easton Royal. That’s so adult of you. *winky face*

  A strange, unfamiliar warmth spreads through me. I tuck my phone away. Maybe I am growing up. It doesn’t feel so bad, after all.

  Chapter 23

  Hartley

  “I’m sorry I came home so late,” I tell my mother as I dump brown sugar on my oatmeal.

  “You did? I didn’t realize. Dylan, where is your helmet?” Mom yells.

  “In the mudroom,” comes a disembodied reply.

  “I looked there already,” Mom mutters, tossing a towel onto the counter and disappearing into the nearby mudroom.

  Helmet? I wonder what that is for. Dylan comes rushing into the kitchen. I study her closely for signs of injury. Has she accidentally broken anything in the past three years? Were Dad’s actions an aberration or is he abusing my sister on a regular basis?

  “Hey, Dylan, you doing okay this morning?”

  She sticks her head in the fridge and ignores me. She’s been avoiding me all morning. When I woke up, I knocked on her door but she didn’t respond. I waited in my room, listening for any sounds in the hall. When I heard her, I leaped out only to be too late. She’d already escaped into the bathroom.

  I go over and tap her on the shoulder. “Dylan, are you okay this morning?”

  She jerks away from my touch and slams the fridge door shut. “I heard you the first time. I’m fine. Can you go back to leaving me alone like you have the last three years?” Milk in hand, she stomps over to the pantry and pulls out a box of Cheerios.

  Guilt lodges in my throat and I have to clear the lump before I can speak. “I’m sorry I was gone for so long. I didn’t mean to be. That’s why I came home, you know, to be close to you.”

  “Whatever,” she mutters. Her phone is out and she’s scrolling through her messages.

  I’m sure I sent her some while I was gone. I wonder what I said. Maybe I was really mean to her or she told me things and I didn’t listen well, caught up in my own drama.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

  She glances at me above the top of her phone. “I’d have to care to be hurt.”

  “Ouch.” I rub my chest and try to laugh off the blow she just dealt. “Okay, I hope you know I love you.”

  Dylan’s response is to pick up her bowl, carry it to the sink and yell, “Mom, did you find my helmet?”

  “Still looking.”

  I rub a hand across my mouth. It’s as if they wish I didn’t live here.

  “It’s almost time to go. Can’t you just bring it later?”

  “Yes, fine. Put your shoes on and we’ll go.”

  I grab my Astor Park blazer and tug it on. The back door opens.

  “What about Hartley?” Dylan says.

  “Oh, I forgot about her.” In a raised voice, Mom hollers, “Hartley, it’s time for school.”

  “God, do we have to wait for her?”

  “I’m right here,” I respond.

  Dylan looks over her shoulder in surprise and then scampers to the car, ducking into the backseat. Mom hurries around to the driver’s seat.

  “Get in,” she says to me. Over her shoulder, she addresses Dylan. “Do you have all your homework?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t forget to change before I pick you up.”

  “Yeah, Mom. I get it.”

&nbs
p; “Well, last week you didn’t remember, did you?”

  Dylan falls silent. I flip down my visor and pretend to check my non-existent makeup but really use the mirror to spy on my sister. She tucks her headphones into her ears and stares at her phone.

  I really need to know that she’s unharmed.

  “Mom, about last night. Maybe I can help remind Dylan to take her meds?”

  Mom brakes at a stoplight and turns with a surprised look, as if she forgot I was even in the car. “Oh, Hartley. You should get a ride home from a friend. Dylan has horseback riding lessons this afternoon,” she says, completely ignoring my suggestion. Maybe she didn’t hear me.

  “Last night was scary.”

  “Your father has a temper.” She waves it off. “And everything is all right because Dylan will take her meds or she won’t be going to the horse show this weekend.”

  Mom checks the rearview mirror and waits for a response, but we get nothing. Dylan’s music is turned up so high we can hear it through her earbuds.

  “Dylan,” Mom repeats.

  My own blood pressure is rising because of Dylan’s lack of response. I reach in the back and snap my fingers. She doesn’t flinch.

  “Dylan, turn that down,” Mom shouts as she brakes hard in front of Astor Park. “It’s so loud I can hear the music. You’re going to lose your hearing.”

  “Get out. You’re making me late,” Dylan snaps.

  I remind myself that my baby sister is traumatized from last night and God knows how many other nights, and calmly get out of the car.

  I’m glad I’m not being yelled at, but there’s a kernel of discontent brewing at the fact that it seems like I’m an afterthought to my own mother. It’s not as if I want, or need, sympathy, but I was in a bad accident not too long ago, I’m still suffering the repercussions of hitting my head at the hospital, and I’m back after three long years of absence. Shouldn’t she be yelling at me for coming home at three in the morning?

  I step onto the Astor Park sidewalk, feeling bitchy. Maybe Felicity will get in my face today and I can curse her out. That’d make me feel better. Sadly, I don’t get Felicity, but Kyle decides to talk to me in the library during study hall.