Heartless King

by Hughes, Maya

  Without another word, he left, closing the door behind him.

  I stared down at the envelope and tugged it open. There was silver writing on the cream card.

  You have been cordially invited to the commencement ceremony for

  Olivia Frost

  On May 13th

  Her graduation. In eight months, she’d be a college graduate. Things moved so quickly. Too quickly. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be.

  I abandoned the cereal bowl on the counter and headed back into my office. Pushing open the closet door, I pulled the box out of the bottom.

  Liv had always been big into pictures and reminders of the past. I’d always been less sentimental. From under my letterman jacket, I pulled out the framed pictures. Mom and Dad stared back at me from beneath the dirty glass of the dark wood frame. Seeing my small face wedged between the two of them was like looking in a funhouse mirror: they were my features, but so much smaller.

  It was one of the few pictures I had of the three of us. A reminder that there had been a time before Liv was even born and I wasn’t a big brother, but just another little kid.

  There had been a blizzard. We’d been trapped in the house, but I’d never been happier. Usually, in bad weather they’d stay at the hospital rather than risk not being able to get back to work, but the storm had come out of nowhere, blown in overnight, and they hadn’t had the warning.

  Two days before Christmas, we had a movie day. They were pulled away for phone calls here and there, but it was a full twenty-four hours I had them all to myself. A rare treat. Then the hospital sent a snow plow for the both of them and they were gone. That was the downside of having renowned parents. People deferred to them and always needed their help, and our parents had never been ones to shy away from that responsibility.

  But it meant I’d had to step up too. Once I turned twelve, I told them we didn’t need a babysitter anymore. I could handle Liv. I’d wanted them to be proud of how I held down the fort while they were away. And they were always away.

  Sometimes I wondered why they’d even had us. They’d missed every parent-teacher conference—I’d gone to Liv’s in their place and made sure I never flagged in my schoolwork, so they’d never have to go to mine. They missed every field trip. Every one of Liv’s ballet recitals or short-lived volleyball season. They missed every one of my games. All but one.

  “We’re traveling for a conference that weekend.”

  “It’s my last game of the season. As in no more hockey games at my school. Ever.”

  “You’ll be playing in college.”

  “Like you’ll go to those games. Do you even know what position I play?”

  Dad tugged down his glasses and lifted his pen from his tablet. “Center. You’re the team captain. You’ve scored thirteen goals this season.”

  “You had one of your residents compile a factsheet, didn’t you?”

  He set his glasses down. “You asked a question. I answered.”

  “Colm, we want to be there, but we can’t. This conference will have over two hundred surgeons from around the world there.”

  “And you said yes, knowing my last game was happening.”

  “There will be other games.”

  I slammed my fists down on the desk. Papers fluttered and a pen rolled off the side. “Not this game. Not this season. Not with this team.”

  “The same could be said for our work at our conference.”

  “What does it say about the two of you as parents that me telling you something is important to me doesn’t matter to you? That your son, asking that you attend one fucking game in his entire high school career doesn’t rank in your world?”

  “Language,” my mom chided.

  “I’ve packed the lunches. I’ve gotten up at 4am to drive to the rink with Liv. I’ve sat down and helped her with her homework. I’ve been the babysitter every night you’re both called into surgery. I’ve done all that and you can’t do this for me? Why the hell did you even have us?”

  I stormed out of their office straight to the front door. Flinging it open, I ran into Ford, ripping the doorknob out of his hand.

  “You need to get out of here?” He stepped back a step.

  “Yeah, let’s go.”

  “Where’s Liv?” He looked past me at the closing door.

  “She’s at a sleepover tonight.”

  We drove to Ford’s house. His place always felt more like a home than mine.

  Lifting the garage door, we ducked under and he dropped it down behind me.

  I walked over to the door to the house and flicked on the light, not needing to see my way there after traveling this path hundreds of times.

  When I turned, a pair of heavy gloves hit me in the chest.

  “Put them on.”

  Ford grabbed the punching bag from the shelf and lifted the chain at the top, attaching it to the hook in the center of the room.

  “Looked like you could use a few rounds.”

  I nodded, shoving my hands into the gloves.

  “They’re not coming to your game, are they?” He held onto the bag as I drove my fists into the black and red leather panels.

  “Nope.”

  Ford shook his head and stepped back, now that I’d found my rhythm with my punches. The steady cadence of my hits filled the garage. The weights clanked as Ford added fifty pounds to the bench press bar.

  “Any reason this time?”

  “A big conference they can’t miss.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Still sucks.”

  “Just know you’re not the only member of the shitty parent club.”

  “Your mom’s a saint.”

  “True. But dear old dad won’t be winning any awards anytime soon.”

  “One out of two isn’t bad.”

  He grunted, pushing the bar up off the braces and dropping it to his chest.

  My arms protested when I threw the next punch. Grabbing onto the bag, I panted and rested my head against the now-warm leather. Sweat poured down my face, soaking my shirt and dripping off the tip of my nose. I yanked off my gloves, leaving the cotton wraps still wound around my hands.

  Ford lifted the bar one more time, the left listing a bit to the side. Ripping the gloves off with my teeth, I kept my eyes on him. It clanked against the bracket, metal slamming into metal. Ford faltered. I dove for the bar, catching it less than an inch above his chin.

  With the last of my strength, I kept it from cracking him in the head.

  “Shit, thanks. I thought I had another one in me.”

  “Always trying to push yourself too far. You never want to say you need help.”

  “Eh, I’d have made it out okay.”

  “With a cracked jaw, you asshat.” I laughed and sat beside him on the bench.

  “Feel any better?” He leaned back and rummaged around in his mini fridge. He handed me a cold beer.

  I cracked it open and gulped down half. “Damn, these are good.”

  “We can thank Heath. You owe him two, though.”

  “Two? I didn’t even ask for this one.”

  He smirked at me, clinking his bottle to mine. “You needed it.”

  I had. And my parents had been gone that next week. Killed on the way to my game, racing to make it after presenting at their conference. If I hadn’t freaked out at them, would they have tried to make it? No one blamed me, but that didn’t mean I didn’t blame myself. I’d done all I could to replace some of what Liv lost. But it felt like everything that had gone wrong in my life since then was punishment for my selfishness.

  This was what I deserved, and no amount of talking was going to change things.

  10

  Imo

  How bad could it be? Ha!

  So freaking bad. My stomach had been a wreck since leaving Terry’s office with the file Bailey gave me after signing a thick stack of non-disclosure agreements and other contracts. I’d choked down some toast this
morning, but it had almost come back up in minutes.

  My hands were clammy and my stomach was flip-flopping like I’d downed a liter of coke and a whole package of Mentos.

  Townhouses with flowery window boxes and navy blue shutters lined the street like the whole thing had been coordinated by a designer. Given the price tags on these houses, they probably had been. Perfectly spaced trees lined the streets, their leaves already changing although the fall chill hadn’t settled into the air yet.

  Looking up at the red brick townhouse nestled in amongst the others with the shiny 37 beside the mailbox, I swallowed against the lump in my throat. The house looked different in the daylight. More imposing and ominous, like there was an old church organ on the corner playing me to my doom. I hadn’t exactly looked around that night when we’d fallen through his doorway, taking turns ripping each other’s clothes off.

  Standing on the doorstep, I figured I’d knock and Colm wouldn’t answer or he’d open the door, take one look at me, and slam it in my face. Instead, Emmett held it open and pulled me into his arms in a giant hug.

  “You showed.” He set me down inside the house and closed the door behind him.

  I froze, waiting for the ‘get out’ from Colm, but one didn’t come. My racing pulse slowed.

  “I told Bailey I would.”

  “Not like we didn’t do some serious arm twisting to make it happen.”

  I glanced around the room—no Colm. “Thanks so much for all your hard work in getting me here today.” They didn’t seem to care about my deadpanned response.

  “Did Colm have to go somewhere? We can totally reschedule.” Hope sprung from my voice like a leaky bucket.

  “Nope, he’s upstairs.”

  Upstairs. The stairs he’d pressed my back against while palming my breasts, teasing my nipples until I threaded my fingers through his hair, dragging his mouth up to mine. “Should I wait for him to come down?” I pressed my fist against my lips like the blistering kisses still lingered against my flesh.

  They all exchanged glances, looking at one another like they’d found their sacrifice to a rumbling volcano. Not suspicious at all…

  “It’s probably best that you go up.” Declan held onto my arms and guided me toward the stairs.

  “His room is the last door at the end of the hallway,” Heath offered.

  I caught the ‘I know’ on the tip of my tongue that threatened to blow my whole, ‘I haven’t banged Colm six ways to Sunday in this very house’ cover. Nodding, I walked to the bottom of the staircase. You’ve got this, Imogen. It’ll be fine. He’ll take one look at you, tell you to get out and then you tell the guys you gave it your best shot. And you kill Terry’s dreams of overhauling the center and stop hundreds of people from the quality of care they deserve.

  Looking over my shoulder, I gave them a half-smile and they shot back a thumbs up. The three of them were lined up like my own cheerleading squad minus the pompoms.

  I climbed the steps, my heart pounding in my chest like a drum. I ran my fingers along the railing. The same one I’d held onto while Colm pushed himself inside me, sending sparks of pleasure ricocheting through my body.

  My shoes sunk into the carpet that had been soft and plush against my bare feet as Colm bracketed me against the wall. The matte paint had rubbed against my skin with each shuddering breath against his shoulder.

  The door at the end of the hall was cracked like he was expecting me.

  My breakfast was charging for the gates with each step closer to the dim light peeking out through the barely opened door.

  Rapping my knuckles on the solid wood, I pushed it open. Three things hit me the second I crossed the threshold:

  The musk. It was a cross between a locker room and a bar. Under all that was the hint of the cologne Colm wore, but it smelled nothing like the last time I’d been here.

  The mess. Clothes were all over the floor. Discarded bowls and take out boxes littered most surfaces. The sheets were half off the bed, leaving the mattress exposed.

  The man. Colm walked out of the bathroom and froze, locking eyes with me. His scruffy beard wasn’t enough to hide his chiseled features, but it hinted at the turn his life had taken.

  His face morphed between ten different emotions before settling on one. Anger—no, make that blind fury. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Not the reception I’d hoped for, but not unexpected. He wasn’t looking at me like he had that night: hungrily, raw, filled with an all-consuming passion. Now he looked at me like he’d rather I disappeared before his eyes.

  I squared my shoulders. “The guys said you could use a little help.”

  His glare shot through the open door behind me like he could roast them from one floor up. “I don’t need their help, and I certainly don’t need yours. You can go.”

  Did he just try to dismiss me?

  My eyes adjusted and I got a better look at what he’d been doing with himself since he was injured. His shaggy hair and beard made him almost unrecognizable, other than his bright blue eyes, piercing, sawing through me like he could see straight to my soul. Then his words registered.

  I looked around at his room and all the signs of what was going on hit me like the wall of funk. He was in it. He was in the place people went to when they gave up any hope of getting back the life they’d built. I’d been down this road before and the destructiveness could have far reaching implications that didn’t need to happen, if the person accepted the help they needed.

  “I was invited.”

  “Sure as hell wasn’t by me.”

  “Colm—”

  “Leaving would be best. It’s what you’re good at.” His jaw was clenched and even under the beard, I could tell the muscles were flexing.

  “Did you get my messages?” It was a subject I’d hoped we wouldn’t have to broach, as though he might have chalked that night up to a fever dream and forgotten all about it. No such luck.

  “Messages I didn’t need. We had a meal. We f—had sex. You left.”

  “It was—”

  “If you’re here for some bullshit apology, you can save it. I don’t need it. I don’t need you.”

  Like that night in the bar, he was good at the performance, but not good enough. The cracks were showing. He’d keep pushing until there wasn’t anyone left, if we let him.

  “The Howard Hughes levels of crap in this room are definitely communicating all types of fine to me. Are the jars of toenail clippings under your bed or in the closet?”

  “They’re in the nightstand right beside the bottles of piss.”

  “Must be handy when you’ve drunk yourself into a stupor.” At some point he seemed to have abandoned glasses for drinking straight out of the bottle.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “I haven’t—” He moved his foot and it hit a half-empty bottle, knocking it into a completely empty bottle beside his bed.

  I lifted an eyebrow and he glared at the bottles like he could turn them back into sand with a look.

  “So I’ll see you on Sunday at 7am for our first session.” I’d have to brute force this, not only for how helping him helped others, but because he needed it. He needed someone who’d get him to see what possibilities his life could have. Keeping my distance would be hard when the pull to him was so strong, but I could do it for him.

  “We’re not working together.”

  “You need it.”

  “But I don’t need you.” That kind of hurt. Okay it really hurt. He was half fire breathing dragon, half lion with a thorn in his paw.

  “Unfortunately, you’ve run off everyone else who could help, so I’m who you’re stuck with.” I clapped my hands together. “I’ll be here bright and early Sunday morning and we’ll get you back on the ice in no time.”

  “Does no one hear me? Is this thing on?” He tapped an imaginary mic. “I don’t want, need, or accept your help.”

  “Glad to see you’re in the fighting spirit. You’ll need that on Sunday.”
I turned to hightail it back down the steps.

  “Don’t come back, Imogen.” Was that a curl of smoke coming out of his nostril? The door slam rattled the railing as I hit the first step.

  The beard, the gruff attitude—he was lashing out at everyone near him and pushing them away, even though that was the exact opposite of what he needed.

  The guys all stood at the bottom of the stairs just like I’d left them, but the thumbs up were replaced by grim faces.

  “At least you tried.” Declan’s shoulders slumped.

  “And succeeded.”

  “Didn’t he just say not to come back?” Emmett’s eyebrows dipped.

  “He did.”

  “And…”

  “I’m sure he’s said the same to you guys, right? But you’re still here.”

  “If he’s going to be an asshat, you don’t have to put up with it.”

  “How do you think I got Preston through the worst of it? Sometimes you’ve got to push someone to take those first steps and then after that they need to make the decision. But I’m not ready to give up yet, are you?”

  They were all hugs and wanted to hang around for a bit longer to make sure Colm was okay and probably finish the paused video game they had going. Even their presence would help Colm. Just knowing he wasn’t all alone was a start.

  The afternoon sun painted the sky with pinks and oranges that contrasted with the storm brewing inside the stately brownstone I stepped out of.

  The summer air was giving way to fall, taking the heat and humidity off the city streets as the sun set. Instead of getting on the bus, I hung a left and walked to my new destination. Home could wait for another hour. I wanted to soak up the green and sun before I was cooped up inside my house and then the rehab center for another night and day.

  Even when I went down the shore, even if I wasn’t dead on my feet, I didn’t get to enjoy the sun. Every time I heard the rolling waves of the beach at night, my thoughts drifted to Colm. Not Preston, even though we’d spent years on the sand hiding out from work at the Surf Shack.