“P-pushed me?” The hospital? Is he talking about the night I fell and hit my head? I suddenly feel queasy.
His harsh laughter is cut short by a cough. “You tripped…with help.”
Tears burn my eyes. Oh my God. My father is the reason I lost all my memories? He did this to me?
“I never wanted you kids…None of you...none of you…” he repeats in labored breaths. “A burden, all three of you girls. A worthless, money-sucking burden.”
He rolls over painfully onto his stomach, pushing himself along the pavement until the bag is in his grasp.
“Stop moving,” I order, gathering my wits and scrambling after him. He’s too weak now to push me away. I pull him onto his back and scream over my shoulder, “Help me! My dad is shot. Help me.”
“Don’t…want…help.” He tries to pry my fingers off his chest, where the blood is burbling up like a small fountain. “Leave me to die…worthless…child.”
“Come away, Hart.” Strong hands grip my shoulders. “Dad’s called an ambulance. Someone will be here soon.”
“He’s hurt, Easton. My dad’s hurt.” But he’s more than hurt. His eyes are staring sightless at the sky. His chest has stopped moving.
Easton pushes my face into his shoulder so I stop staring at my dad’s dead face. “I know. I’m sorry.”
I cling to him as my father’s terrible admissions ping around in my head. I wish my memory loss began today. A kid shouldn’t have to hear that her father wanted her dead, that if he could rewind time, he would’ve hurt her worse. Hot tears scald my cheeks. He got what he wanted. His words, his confession, his rejection are tearing me to pieces.
“It’s going to be okay,” East murmurs into my hair.
But the cold sound of a bullet being chambered tells a different story.
“Easton, my boy, come over here by the rest of the family.”
We both look up to see the ugly barrel of Steve’s gun pointed in our direction.
“What are you doing?” Easton growls, immediately stepping in front of me.
“We’re going to resolve this by ourselves. You, me, your dad, Ella. I never would’ve hurt you, Ella. You know that right? You’re my daughter. I needed to scare Dinah and you happened to be there.”
“You pointed a gun at me, just like you’re pointing it at Easton!” Ella exclaims.
“No. It’s pointed at Ms. Wright. I wouldn’t hurt Easton, just like I wouldn’t hurt you. Callum knows this, don’t you, friend?”
“Steve!” Callum yells. “Stop this.”
Steve responds, low and unintelligible. Or maybe I just can’t hear because panic and horror have filled my head.
“You’re going to have to shoot me to get to her.” Shoulders rigid, Easton spreads his hands out.
“No. No more,” I snap. I’ve reached my blood and guts limit. I’ve cried all the tears I have in my body. I can’t take another moment of this drama. “Stop this. Mr. Royal, put a stop to this,” I beg Easton’s dad.
Callum springs into action, rushing toward Steve, who swings around reflexively. I’ll never know if he pulled the trigger intentionally or whether it was in reaction to a threat, but the bullet flies out anyway.
“Dad!” East screams.
“Callum!” cries Ella.
I shout in horror.
Because it’s not Callum whose body jerks as the bullet finds a target. It’s not Callum who staggers backward in shocked pain. It’s not Callum who collapses with his hand pinned to his side.
It’s not Callum.
It’s Easton.
Ella and I lunge toward him, but it’s Callum who catches his son.
“My God, what have you done?” he howls to Steve.
Ella’s father tries to take a step but his knee folds underneath him. “No.” The declaration comes out on a hoarse shudder. “No,” he repeats.
“Call it in,” Callum orders to no one or everyone.
“I already called the ambulance for Mr. Wright,” Ella says quickly.
“Call them again!” Callum screams.
Terrified, Ella can’t move. I clench my fist and realize I have my dad’s phone in my hands. I dial emergency, but I don’t take my eyes off Steve. The gun’s still in his hand.
“What’s your emergency?”
“Gunshot wound to the stomach,” I babble. “Gunshot wound. Winwood Park.”
“Ma’am, there’s already an ambulance on the way to that location.”
“There’s an ambulance on the way,” I repeat, dropping the phone to the ground. I want to go to East but I’m afraid of Steve. He has a trapped look on his face. He’s already shot two people. I don’t think he’s going to stop there.
“Goddammit, Steve. Why?” Callum’s eyes are flooded with tears. His fingers are getting stained with the same dark red that mine are covered in. “I gave you that bag. You could’ve taken it and walked away.”
“I would’ve gone to jail. I can’t go to jail!” His eyes are wild, his voice shaking. “I just wanted to get rid of the Wrights. I knew you and I could work it out. I didn’t want this to happen. You have to believe me. I wouldn’t have ever hurt Easton. He’s my son.”
If I had any breath inside me, I’d have gasped.
“No,” Callum says, strong and loud. “In every way that matters, Easton is my son. He has always been my son.”
“He’s not,” Steve insists. “Maria and I, we were carrying on and off for a long time. She was lonely and I comforted her.”
“Do you think I’m a fool? I always knew. Of course I fucking knew.” Callum shakes his head. “Easton’s a carbon copy of you. Not in looks, but everything else.”
“He’s not your son,” Ella bursts out. She spears Callum with a glower. “Easton’s nothing like that…that…monster.”
Callum’s tone gentles. “You’re right, sweetheart,” he tells her. “East isn’t entirely like him. My boy has a heart. He cares, deeply, about others.” His gaze briefly flicks toward me before returning to Steve. “But the addictions, the rashness, the thoughtlessness he can’t always control, the mood swings. That’s all you, Steve.”
Rather than deny it, the other man nods.
“That’s why I never questioned Maria,” Callum says. “I loved Easton like he was my own, because he is mine. He’s my son. I don’t fucking care that you share the same DNA. He’s mine and you’re not going to take him from me.”
Sirens blare in the distance, growing louder as help gets closer. I swing my eyes toward the road in relief.
“They’re coming,” I say quietly.
Steve’s head comes up. He knows the walls are closing in.
I tense. Can I jump him? Can I kick the gun out of his hand? I have to do something. I’m not going to lose one more person without a fight. So I rise onto the balls of my feet and ready myself.
“Use me, Steve,” Callum pleads. “Take the money and take me hostage. We’ll get you out of here. Just leave my kids alone.”
“How did it come to this, Callum? How did our perfect lives come down to this shabby park and a bag full of money? We’re supposed to be kings. We’re Royals.” Then he barks out a horrible laugh. “No. You’re Royals. I’m just the hanger-on. I’m a shit friend. An even worse dad. I slept with my best friend’s wife. I let him raise my kid. I abandoned my other one. But I killed to protect you. I killed that woman to protect you.”
“I know you did,” Callum replies. He draws a shuddering breath. “I know you never meant any harm. That’s why I’m begging you to go and not do any more damage.”
Steve shakes his head. “I won’t last a day in jail. Not a day. Cover his eyes, Callum. I love you. I really do.”
He raises the gun to his temple, and before I can reach him, he pulls the trigger.
Ella screams.
Callum breaks down.
I collapse on the pavement next to Easton.
“We’re going make it through this,” I whisper to him. “I promise. I promise.”
I k
eep repeating that even as he’s strapped to a gurney, rolled into the ambulance and driven away. I repeat it to Ella, who grips my hand so tight that my fingers become numb. I say it all the way to the hospital, during the long wait through surgery, until he finally wakes up hours and hours later and grins at me with his crooked, devastating smile.
“We’re going to make it through this,” he says, laying his hand over mine. “I promise.”
Chapter 33
Hartley
“I feel like I live here,” Easton says crossly.
It’s only been three days since the surgery, yet the way this boy complains, you’d think it was four years ago. I’m so used to his grumblings that I don’t bother looking up from my textbook. “Good thing your name is on the building.”
He laughs and then groans. “Stop saying funny things. It hurts to laugh.”
I mock gasp. “Who would’ve imagined that your stomach would hurt after getting one of your kidneys removed?”
He sighs. “You still pissed?”
I lower my voice and repeat his words back to him. “‘Don’t do anything dangerous. We’re only there to take pictures.’”
“Okay, so maybe I was a little reckless.”
I peer over the top of my book. “A little? That’s like saying yesterday’s twelve-inch rainfall was a sprinkle.”
He grunts a non-response and then pounds his head on the pillows. “Now I know why Seb wanted to leave immediately. I think I’m getting sicker each minute I spend on this bed. Shouldn’t I be up, moving around? Doing physical therapy or some shit?”
“I don’t know, Doctor Royal. Since you’re the expert, why don’t you tell me?”
“Were you always this sarcastic or is this a new thing developed for my torture?”
“New thing developed for your torture,” I answer.
He pats the side of the bed. “I think your torture would be more effective if you were closer.”
I set my calc book aside. “Is that right?” I glance toward the door. The last time the nurse caught me lying in bed with him, I almost got thrown out. Only his haughty reminder that he was Easton Royal saved me. Wealth has its privileges.
East makes room for me, wincing lightly as he moves. “I think the VIP suites should have bigger hospital beds,” he whines.
I climb onto the sheets and tuck my hand under my head. “I don’t think they’re meant for two people.”
“Yeah, well, maybe if the beds were bigger and a guy could sleep with his girlfriend, he’d heal faster.”
“I’ll drop that in the suggestion box before I go to school in the morning.”
He runs a finger across my forehead. “I appreciate that.”
We stare at each other. We’ve spent a lot of time since he woke up just staring at each other, memorizing each other’s features. We’re both so grateful to be alive. I stop his hand in its trek across my forehead and bring his fingers to my mouth. I lace our hands together and clasp them to his heart where I can feel the steady beat of his life blood moving through.
It’s odd, because my life is divided into halves, but the demarcation line isn’t when I lost my memories. It’s before the park and after the park. Before the park, I had no answers. Now I’m full of them but the knowledge doesn’t make me feel better. Before the park, I seriously considered breaking up with East because his brother, Sebastian, was so opposed to us being together. After the park, I’ve decided that only an act of God will sever East and me. And even then, I think I’d fight heaven or hell to be back by Easton’s side.
Easton presses a kiss to my knuckles. “I’m sorry for everything.” Everything being that his dad killed mine.
“Me, too.” When Mom came to the hospital, she was full of fire. She was going to sue the Royals. She was going to send everyone to jail. I think she meant me, too. I explained to her about the evidence we had against Dad for the bribes, and she shut right up.
Dad’s crimes will eventually be exposed. The police found a USB drive in Steve’s pocket that had a full accounting of Dad’s shady deals—not just with Steve, but with many others, including Mrs. Roquet. Steve had done that for insurance, in case my dad double-crossed him. There really is no honor among thieves.
“How’s Astor Park holding up?”
“You’re a hero. I think they’re going to hold a celebration in your name. Ella is telling everyone how you threw yourself in front of a bullet to save me, your dad, her, and maybe even all of Bayview.” I pat his cheek. More seriously, I add, “No one knows the stuff Steve said at the end.”
“I don’t care,” he replies. “I think having a near-death experience can clarify what’s important. Callum’s raised me since birth. He never once let on that he knew I wasn’t his biological son—but blood doesn’t amount to much here, does it? Steve only cared about himself. And the fucking coward killed himself because he didn’t want to go to prison. What a jackass.” He chokes out a broken laugh, because it hurts him more than he wants to admit. “Seriously, though, I know who my family is. Gid, Reed, and the twins are my brothers. Ella’s my sister. Callum’s my dad. Maria’s my mom. And you, you’re my heart.”
I blink to keep the tears at bay. You wouldn’t think I had any more since I’ve done nothing but cry buckets since I woke up in the hospital with no memory.
“I saw Dr. Joshi in the hall. He asked me how my memory was and I told him it’s still shit.”
“Yeah?”
“He said I’d probably never regain all my memories.”
“How are you feeling about that?”
“Surprisingly okay. I mean, maybe in a year I’ll break down in the middle of the college cafeteria in distress, but for now I’m okay with it all. Dylan’s safe. You’re alive. That’s all I want.”
We sit there for a ridiculous amount of time, just smiling at each other, because it wasn’t so long ago that this simple pleasure might have been taken from us forever.
A knock at the door has me jerking away and East frowning.
“Who is it?” he growls.
“Me.”
I look up to see one of the twins standing by the door.
“Seb,” Easton says warily.
“I’m going to go and get us an ice cream treat,” I say hastily. East doesn’t want to fight with his brother, but I know he’ll go to the mat for me. Which is the last thing I want.
“Wait, actually. I’m here to talk to you,” Sebastian says to me.
“About what?” East sits up and pins a glare on his brother.
“I’m going to apologize. Got a problem with that?” Seb juts his chin out in irritation.
I hurry over and drag a chair next to the one I’d been sitting in. “Please, come in.” I laugh nervously at my own arrogance. “That’s stupid of me to say. Like you can’t come into your own brother’s room.” I rush over to the closet where I’ve been keeping a small stash of contraband items like Cheetos, sour candies, and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups that I feed to Easton in between his regular, terrible hospital meals. “Want something?”
“No.” Seb shakes his head. “Can you just…come over here?”
“I love you, Seb, but just because I’m in this hospital bed doesn’t mean I can’t kick your ass for mistreating Hart.”
“Easton!” I cry in dismay. “Just let your brother talk.”
“Yeah, let me talk, asshole.” Seb jerks the chair back and drops into it with a huff. “Sit.” He points to the extra chair. “Please,” he tacks on.
I do as he asks.
“I’m sorry,” we both say at the same time.
On the bed, Easton laughs and eases back against the pillows. “This might be the most entertainment I’ve had since Hart dumped that drink on Felicity and then we all watched Felicity slipping and sliding in a puddle on the floor like an idiot.”
“Shut up,” Seb snaps at the same time I cry, “Easton!”
He makes a show of zipping his lips shut.
“I’m sorry, Sebastian. I’m so sorry for
what happened to you. If I could change things, I would.”
He nods slowly, a frown marring his high forehead. “Yeah, I’m sorry, too.” He drags a hand over his mouth. “Look, I shouldn’t have said what I did before. Sometimes there’s a thick cloud in my head and the pressure builds and builds. I try to keep it in but when I do, it just gets worse. I know I shouldn’t say half the shit that I do, but it comes out anyway. I can’t stop it and no one—no one—gets it.”
He peers at me with desperate, pleading eyes and I experience a kinship so acutely that I might as well be inside his head. He’s been changed irrevocably. He’s not going to be able to reclaim who he was before. He can’t, and maybe I’m the only one who truly gets it. Our heads are so fragile, but our hearts are even more delicate.
When he says no one, he’s referring to his twin. The two of them have been cleaved in half. Sawyer’s responding by never wanting to leave his brother’s side, whereas Sebastian is trying to figure out where he belongs in this mad world.
I want to wrap my arms around this poor lost boy and hug him, but I know he’d hate that. All I can give him is affirmation that he’s not wrong to feel the way he does, that he’s not a bad person for changing.
“I know,” I say. “You’re not the same Sebastian you were before and you never will be. And that’s okay. It will be okay.”
He firms his lips and nods once and then again. He swipes a hand across his eyes and gets to his feet. “Good talk, Wright. See you around.”
I turn to find Easton gnawing his bottom lip in concern.
“He’ll work it out,” I assure my boyfriend. “But we have to let him do it on his own.”
“Dumbass,” Easton mutters affectionately as I climb in next to him. “We don’t care if he’s a surly asshole. We’re just happy he’s alive.”
“He knows that. It’s coming to terms with his changes that’s the hard part.” I snuggle close, careful not to bump his surgery site.
He rests his chin on the top of my head. “And you. Are you having a hard time coming to terms with everything? Your mom was screaming at you over the phone.”
“You heard that, huh?”