Cracked Kingdom

  Kyle not only notices, but also reads my thoughts as if they were flashing on a sign above my head. “Yeah, we fucked, if that’s what you were wondering. You like giving head and are always on my jock. I can’t take you out in public because you’re too handsy. It’s embarrassing. I had to tell you to back off more than once.”

  I feel my face turn beet-red. I didn’t realize how humiliating not having a memory would be. “Ah, I’m sorry.”

  Kyle’s not paying me attention. He’s on a roll now. “You got mad at me once and tried to hook up with Easton Royal to get back at me, but I forgive you for that.”

  I got mad. Hooked up with Easton. Kyle forgives me. I try to process all of these but it’s hard. “Did we fight?”

  “Nah, you’re just a slut. You’ve probably whored yourself around to more Astor guys but Easton’s the only one Felicity told me about—I mean, that I know about.”

  Half of me is consumed by embarrassment at the idea that I whored myself around and the other half is angry at my own boyfriend slut-shaming me. I’m also real disappointed in myself for having shit taste in men. And did he say that his sole evidence is that Felicity told him I cheated on him?

  “How do you know that Felicity isn’t telling you the truth?” I challenge. Truth is a variable concept, right? And so Felicity’s truth could be very different than what really happened. Maybe she saw someone else with Easton…although, that picture was definitely me.

  “Why would she lie?”

  There’s something odd about how he says it, but I don’t have an answer for why Felicity would even know of my existence, let alone want to make up malicious rumors about me.

  “I don’t know. Tell me what happened, then,” I press. If I truly am not going to remember these things like Dr. Joshi suggested and I’m not going into a sensory deprivation tank until all my memories come back, then the only recourse I have is to collect as much information as possible.

  Kyle’s smirk turns to a sneer. “You want details? It’s not like you did him in front of me. He got jealous because I slept with his ex once, so to get back at me, he took you to the pier and got pictures of the two of you making out. I don’t know if you two screwed. You probably did because you’re kind of a whore and that guy’s seen more pussy than a gyno. He breathes in your direction and you girls fight to drop your shorts. You should be happy because I forgave you. You begged me nice and pretty.” He points to the floor with three fingers, clearly implying that I gave him not one apology blowjob, but three.

  Gross.

  “Why’d you take me back?” If I were in his position, I wouldn’t have wanted such an awful girlfriend. My blowjobs can’t be that good.

  “Because I’m a good guy and good guys don’t dump broken pieces like you.” He gestures toward the bed. “You can pay me back when you’re better.” The leer he sends my way tells me exactly how he’s going to extract payment.

  I see myself being sick for a very long time.

  “So Hart-lay, when are you getting out of here?” He mispronounces my name and I can’t tell if it’s intentional or, God forbid, his pet name for me. I cringe inside.

  “No clue.”

  “Great.” He doesn’t know what I said nor does he care. “Call me when you get out. We’ll hook up again.”

  That will be a hard no from me, but I figure I don’t need to tell Kyle that. He’ll get the message soon enough when I’m back at school and not calling him. I’d rather be a nun than get on my knees in front of this jerk. He doesn’t require a response. Already, he’s threading his way past the sitting room and slipping out the door.

  Man, pre-memory loss Hartley had some shitty taste—in girlfriends and boyfriends.

  Chapter 6

  Easton

  After an hour of cooling my heels near the nurse’s station, I finally spot my prey approaching. I shove my hands into my pockets and saunter casually up to the counter, trying not to look as desperate as I feel.

  “Doc Joshi, do you have a minute?”

  He breezes straight past me, the white coat flapping against his blue scrubs. “Watch room two-oh-five’s liquid intake and report any signs of stomach pain or increased fever.” He hands a chart over. “When does Doctor Coventry arrive?”

  “In an hour, sir.” The round-cheeked nurse makes a note.

  The doctor frowns. “That late? I need to eat now.”

  “I can grab you a burger,” I offer in a bid to grab his attention. It works, because he turns to me.

  “Who are you?”

  I open my mouth to answer, but the nurse pipes up before I can get anything out. “It’s Easton Royal, sir. Of the Maria Royal Royals,” she adds.

  Thank you, pretty nurse. I’m buying you flowers later.

  “Easton Royal, eh?” He scratches his head with a pen while the light bulb turns on. “What is it?”

  “I’m wondering about Hartley Wright. My sister said that you came and talked with them about her? I was sitting with my brother. I wondered if you could repeat it. Hartley’s my girlfriend and I want to make sure I don’t screw up.” I smile—or try to, anyway.

  “Your girlfriend, eh?” He sighs and tucks the pen in his pocket. “That’s tough. When your girlfriend fell, she struck the front of her head the hardest and that knocked around her frontal lobe. There’s no obvious damage from the CT scan, but we can’t see everything.” He shrugs. “What we can ascertain from the patient is memory loss, mostly autobiographical ones—which means she can’t remember actual events such as how you asked her out for prom, your first kiss, that sort of thing. She may not even recall that the two of you are dating. We don’t know how far back her memory loss goes, but…” He pauses as if there’s worse news than the stuff he’s already punched me in the face with.

  I stiffen my watery spine. “But what?”

  “But yesterday she said she was fourteen, so it looks like about three years or so of memory loss. Have the two of been dating since then?”

  Numb, I shake my head. Seb won’t wake up and Hartley lost her memories. I can’t believe this shit.

  “Tough luck, son. She might regain her memories. It’s early yet, so my recommendation is that you wait a bit before you start telling her about all the great times you had. And if you had some bad moments, well, this memory loss is a good thing. I wish my first wife suffered it. I might have ended up better after the divorce.” He winks and jabs me in the shoulder. “Any other questions?”

  “Is she awake?”

  “She was when I checked on her a few hours ago. You can go see for yourself. Put in a good word for me with your dad, will you?” Doc says way too cheerily and walks off.

  I drop my head to my chest and start counting backwards from a thousand so I don’t chase after him and bash his head against the tile.

  Beating up the doctor isn’t going to bring Hartley’s memories back sooner, says my better half.

  No, but I’ll feel better, I retort.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration. All the time I’m spending here in this tomb-like quiet with nothing but hushed voices and mechanical beeps and clicking machines is driving me crazy. I want to leave, yet the moment I step outside I grow so anxious I want to peel my skin off. Nope. I’ve got to stay here—close to Seb and Hartley.

  I make my way to Hartley’s room, knocking lightly as I open the door.

  “Mom?” Hartley’s voice calls out weakly.

  “Just me, babe.” I reply, rounding the set of sofas and chairs separating the hospital bed from the rest of the suite. My gut clenches again at the sight of her looking small and vulnerable under the white sheets. I crouch down next to the bed and pick up her hand, careful not to dislodge the monitor on her finger.

  “Um...” She stares at our connected fingers and then up at my face.

  The blankness there rocks me. She has no clue who I am. The doctor warned me, but I wasn’t prepared. What he’d said about her loss of memories hadn’t sunk in. It had floated on the surface of my brai
n like some random factoid that I knew but didn’t absorb, because it wasn’t important. Had it been because I was so arrogant to believe that she’d remember me regardless? No, it’s because I hadn’t wanted to accept the truth. But now that it’s clocked me in the face, I can’t ignore it.

  “It’s me, Hart. Easton.”

  Her eyes widen and recognition creeps in. Wait, she does know me. I let out a long exhale. I can breathe finally. Somehow just being in her presence calms me down.

  “Fuck, Hart, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  “You keep calling me Hart.” She’s staring at me. “Is that my nickname?”

  I pause for a second, because I realize I’ve never heard anyone else call her that, and I didn’t start doing it myself until after the accident. I guess…well, I guess it makes me feel closer to her to call her that, like she’s more than just Hartley to me. She’s Hart, and she’s my heart.

  Christ. That’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever thought in my life. No way am I going to say that to her.

  So I shrug and say, “It’s my nickname for you. Not sure about anybody else.” Then I lace my fingers through hers, lifting them both to my lips. Her fingertips are pink, like mine. She must be feeling healthier. A couple of her nails are shorter than the rest. She must’ve broken them in the accident. I run the stubby ones across my bottom lip. “These past two days have been a nightmare, babe. It could’ve been worse, though. That’s what I keep telling myself. It could’ve been so fucking worse. So how do you feel?”

  There’s a prolonged silence and then the only fingers against my mouth are my own. I glance up to see her wide eyes staring at me with genuine alarm tinged with…is that fear?

  “Hartley?” I ask uncertainly.

  “Easton...Royal?” she says as if she’s never said my name out loud before.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  She really doesn’t remember me.

  Her pink skin turns white enough to match the sheets on her bed. “I’m going to be sick,” she croaks, and starts to gag.

  I spin around and look for something she can barf into. I see nothing but a discarded lunch tray with most of the food uneaten. I shove it on her lap just in time. She tries to retch onto the tray, but it gets messy. Tears stream down her pale face.

  I curse and press the call button. “Hartley Wright needs some help in here.”

  I dart into the bathroom and grab some towels that I use to wipe her face with. She cries harder.

  “What can I do?” I plead. “Do you want some water? Should I carry you to the shower?”

  “Go. Just, please go,” she gasps out.

  The door to the room bursts open as the round-cheeked nurse rushes in. A serious expression has replaced her jolly one. She spears me with a heated look. “You can leave now, Mr. Royal.”

  The nurse calls for backup and soon the room is filled with people pushing me out of the way as they try to help Hartley. I stand there like an idiot, with wet towels in my hands as sheets are pulled off and washcloths are applied. An orderly grabs me by the shoulder. “Sorry, buddy, but we’re going to have to ask you to go. Patient needs some treatment.”

  “But I—”

  “Nope,” he doesn’t let me finish, and somehow I find myself in the hall staring at the closed door with the dirty towels still in my hand.

  “Did you have a nice visit with your girlfriend?” a viper says behind me.

  I spin around and scowl at Felicity Worthington. “What are you doing here?”

  She shoots me a fake smile. “My grandmother broke her hip and she’s here recovering from surgery. She might die because of her old age and brittle bones, but thanks for asking.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter. Of course, I’d mess this up too. I shift uncomfortably, and the odor of vomit rises up between us.

  “You smell like you took a bath in day-old moonshine and puke. Haven’t you showered since the accident?”

  I take a sniff. Shit, I do reek. Is that what made Hartley sick? I ball the towels up. There are showers next to the waiting room. I might as well make use of those. Then I can go back and apologize to Hartley.

  “What have you been doing?” Felicity dogs my steps.

  “Thanks for your non-genuine concern, but I’ve been worried about Hartley and my brother.”

  “When he does wake up, he’ll be sent back into his coma the minute he catches wind of you.” She waves a hand in front of her face. “I can’t believe I seriously considered you boyfriend material. You’re foulmouthed and foul-smelling. Gross.”

  “You’re mistaking me for someone who gives a shit.”

  She wrinkles her nose and drops back. “I’d tell you to shower before you go see Hartley again, but it probably won’t matter. She still won’t know who you are.” She gives me a smirk and starts to turn away.

  How the hell does Felicity know what went on in Hartley’s room? I grab her by the shoulder and spin her around. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Ugh, stop touching me.” She shrugs my hand off.

  “Repeat what you just said,” I demand.

  “You didn’t hear?” she asks with saccharine sweetness. “Your girl has amnesia. She doesn’t remember a thing, including how your entire family would like to see her blotted off the face of the earth. But don’t worry, sugar, because I set her straight.”

  “You set her straight?” I seethe. If Felicity so much as stepped foot in that room to fill Hart’s head with a truckload of lies, I’m going to choke her until all her diamonds fall off.

  “Are you still drunk? My God, I bet you are. This is hilarious. I bet you scared the pants off of her. A big, stinking hulk like you in her room declaring your undying love.” As I grind my back teeth into fine dust, Felicity laughs with genuine, evil delight. “I didn’t realize Santa was bringing one of my Christmas presents early.” She skips down the hall, her long hair waving like a flag behind her.

  The fucking injustice of it, I seethe. I haven’t drank since the night of the accident. As I rein in the urge to go tackle her, I hear the doors behind me open and close. I twist and catch a glimpse of an angry nurse stomping down the hall. I run after her.

  “No visitors right now,” she says, anticipating my question.

  “Fine, but what’s wrong with her?”

  “She’s suffering from short-term memory loss, and whatever the two of you were talking about in there triggered a vestibular disorder that caused her to vomit. Doc Joshi told you to let her remember at her own pace.”

  “I didn’t say anything…” But I trail off, because I did. I held her hand. I kissed her fingertips. I told her that I’d been worried out of my skull for her.

  The nurse pounces on my hesitation. “Whatever you did say made her sick, so be careful next time or we won’t be able to keep letting you into her room.”

  “Right,” I grit out and let her go. I want to shout but the nurse already dislikes me so I can’t give her more reasons to keep me out of Hart’s room. I try to gather my thoughts and focus. First things first. Hart’s ill. She needs me to be strong for her. Seb’s in a coma. He needs me to keep it together. I tell myself to breathe. I’ve got to focus on the positive. Everyone’s alive. Sure, they’re banged up, but they’re all breathing. This is going to work out.

  I return to the VIP lounge and head for the back where the showers are. After toweling dry, I put my old clothes back on and make my way to Seb’s room. As quietly as possible, I depress the latch and walk in.

  Sawyer’s slumped over the end of the bed. He’s been in here since Seb came out of surgery. I don’t think the kid has eaten or slept. He’s going to join his brother if he doesn’t take better care of himself. Knowing the twins, I wouldn’t be surprised if that was Sawyer’s goal. The two are inseparable. They even date the same girl.

  I cross the room and place a hand on my brother’s shoulder.

  Sawyer jerks up. “Is he awake?”

  “No, but I’ll watch him. Go get some sleep in a bed.”
br />   Sawyer shrugs my hand off and glares. “Piss off. We don’t want you here. It was your girlfriend that did this.” He jerks his thumb toward the bed.

  “Seb was driving seventy around that corner,” I snap.

  “Fuck you,” he spits out. “Fuck you and your girlfriend. If it wasn’t for her, he wouldn’t be here. We’ve driven that route a million times and never once had an accident.”

  “You guys almost ran me over the first time I went there,” I argue without thinking.

  “Are you saying this is Seb’s fault?” Sawyer’s suddenly on his feet and in my face. “You saying he put himself in that coma? It was that bitch. That bitch!” he repeats, red-faced and furious. “I hope she fucking dies.”

  I spin on my heel and walk out. It’s either that or deck my grieving brother.

  Outside the room, I slump against the wall. This is a horrible fucking mess. Hartley wasn’t playing back there. She legit didn’t remember me for a moment, and when she did recall my name, it made her sick enough to vomit. My youngest brother is lying in a coma and his twin is praying for my girl’s death.

  I don’t need anything from you. You’ve caused me nothing but trouble from the moment I met you. All you do is break things.

  Hart’s words, the ones she said right before the accident, haunt me. This is my fault. Drunk off my ass, I thought I could solve everyone’s problems, but instead I made them worse. I drop my head into my hands. If anyone deserves to be in a hospital bed, it’s me.

  Chapter 7

  Hartley

  “Is there a medical diagnosis for not remembering things that happen right now?” I ask Nurse Susan as she helps me back onto the bed with its freshly changed sheets.

  Her cheeks plump up as she smiles. “It’s called anterograde amnesia.”