Cracked Kingdom

by Erin Watt

  I stalk out of the bakery before I ram my foot through one of the glass display cases in frustration. Pausing on the sidewalk, I consider my options. There’s only one that appeals to me. I know I won’t be welcome at her house, but I have to see if she’s okay.

  My foot is off the curb when I hear someone stutter my name.

  “E-Easton?”

  I spin around. “Hartley?” I search the front of the store for her, not seeing her. Maybe I’m hearing things. Maybe I’ve spent so many hours thinking about her that my mind is gone. Soon I’ll be talking to a pretend Hartley, shutting my eyes and—

  “Over here.”

  My gaze drops to a figure crouched on the curb about twenty feet away. The figure rises and morphs into Hartley Wright.

  “What happened?” I ask, crossing the space between us in about two seconds. I grab her shoulders, drag her into the light, and inspect her from head to foot. “You okay?”

  She looks beautiful in the lamplight, her long black hair a silky curtain framing her face. She’s covered up in one of her trademark oversized hoodies and her legs are sexily displayed in her dark skinny jeans. Her gray eyes look almost black as she stares solemnly back at me.

  “I think so.”

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “I was waiting for the bus.” She points to the sign above her head.

  “It doesn’t come this late. The bus service stops at like ten.” I only know this because Dad arranged for a stop to be placed here back when Ella used to be an employee. Despite having a car of her own, she prefers being driven around even if it means riding with thirty other strangers.

  “Oh.” She rubs her arms and shivers. “They didn’t tell me that.”

  I swing my coat off and around her shoulders. I’m guessing they refers to Kyle and Felicity. “What were you doing with those two?”

  She gazes at me with troubled eyes for a second before shifting her gaze to the dimly lit parking lot and the darkened pavement. “They were telling me things,” she admits finally. Despite my coat, she shudders again.

  Fear curdles in my stomach. What the hell could they have said? Actually, it’s the breadth of lies they could’ve told her that scares the shit of me, starting with the one where she’s Kyle Hudson’s girlfriend. Is that sick fuck trying to con her into bed with him? Bile coats crawls up my esophagus.

  “Like what?” I croak.

  “Things…” She licks her lips. “Bad things.”

  “About you? There’s nothing bad about you. They don’t even know you.”

  “No. About you,” she says quietly.

  I rear back. This I don’t expect. I know Felicity hates me. She hates me because one drunken night I promised her I’d pretend to be her boyfriend so she could be in some photo shoot. When I sobered up, I told her that the promise was void, and apologized. Then I took Hartley to the pier and she kissed me for the first time.

  Felicity decided that we were mortal enemies, got Hartley suspended for cheating, and told me that she was only getting started.

  “Look, whatever she told you was a big fucking lie.”

  “She said you slept with the girlfriends of your two older brothers.”

  My protest dies in the acid pooling at the back of my throat. “They were ex-girlfriends.”

  Except for Savannah. She and my oldest brother Gideon had a love-hate relationship for years. During one of their breakups, I convinced her that we could console each other—with our clothes off.

  Guilt seeps into my gut.

  A faint look of disgust flickers across Hart’s face. Shit. Of all the things about me she’s going to remember, this is it.

  “That was before you,” I argue.

  Her jaw tightens. “Kyle said you slept with his girlfriend while they were dating.”

  “I don’t even know who Kyle is,” I grind out. Is this how Scrooge felt when all his sins were being thrown in his face by the Ghost of Christmas Past? At what point do I get a break?

  “He said you’d say that. Because he’s not rich enough or popular enough for you to notice him, but he had a pretty girlfriend and one night at a party at Jordan Carrington’s house, you had sex with his girlfriend in the pool while Kyle watched.”

  My stomach sinks to my feet. Fuck, I could’ve done that. I’ve definitely had sex in the Carrington pool. I’ve had sex in a lot of pools with many girls and a few adult women. Did I knowingly screw them while they were dating someone else? No. I wouldn’t do that. But at a party when you’re drunk and horny, it’s not like I fished out a questionnaire and asked about their dating status. I assumed if they were ready to ride my dick, they were free to do so.

  But explaining that to Hartley, a girl who I want to take me seriously, a girl who I have some strong feelings for, a girl who I want to like me? That’s an impossible task.

  I run an agitated hand through my hair. “I partied some. I had sex with girls, but after I met you, I never touched anyone else. Hell, I didn’t even make the first move on you—” That’s shading the truth, I think. Shut up! “You kissed me.”

  She nods slowly. “Yes, I guess I could’ve, but it seems like the question is, should I have?”

  “Hart.”

  She doesn’t respond. The blood’s pounding hard in my ears. There’s a thickness in the air—a swampy, soupy, heaviness that’s weighing everything down. I fight through it and step off the curb to position myself where she can’t avoid looking at me.

  “Hart,” I say softly. “I did shit things the past. Not gonna lie, but I’m different now.”

  When she finally raises her eyes to meet mine, they are full of pain. “They said you like girls you can’t have. Like your foster sister, Ella. And when you couldn’t have her, you turned your attention to me. That I’m going to be the most exciting forbidden fruit ever dangled in front of you because I hurt your brother and your family hates me. Are you telling me that it’s all untrue?”

  It was that bitch. That bitch! I hope she fucking dies.

  I could tell her the truth, but she’s in so much pain. Besides, once Seb wakes up—and he will—Sawyer’s not going to be mad anymore. Ella and me are so far in the past that I can barely remember why I kissed her that one time in the club, other than I was lonely and she was lonely and I enjoyed taking the piss out of my brother Reed who was watching the whole time.

  The truth will only hurt Hartley more.

  “I’m telling you that Felicity and Kyle aren’t saying these things to help you out.”

  “I know that. I just want one person to be straight with me. Is that you?”

  The reply sticks in my throat.

  “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies, huh?” She exhales heavily, reading me all too well. “I guess since there’s no bus, you’re my ride home.” She tugs my jacket around her shoulders.

  She’d rather walk ten miles than get into my truck, I think, but climbs into the cab anyway. Her choices have been narrowed down to bad and worse. I’m the bad option so I win by default.

  She’s quiet on the drive, and since I’m afraid of answering any more of her questions, I keep my own mouth shut. When we arrive at her house, I opt not to walk her to the door. If her dad sees me, all hell will break loose and she doesn’t need that.

  Halfway out the door, she turns. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “Tomorrow, wait for me outside in the morning. I’ll walk in with you. Astor’s not the easiest place to navigate.” The students there love preying on the weak. And right now, Hartley’s as fragile as they come.

  A sad smile crosses her lips. “Funny. That’s the same thing that Kyle said. I guess he didn’t lie about everything.”

  And with that disturbing last word, she slams the door shut and runs into her house.

  * * *

  Dad calls me into the office the next morning. I lumber in, a bowl of hot oatmeal in my hand and a spoon poking out the side of my mouth. “What’s up?” I ask.

  “I’m glad you’re u
p early.” He scrambles around his den, throwing papers into his flight bag.

  I’m early because I never slept. Last night, I kept turning over the Hart, Kyle, Felicity scene in my head. I vaguely remember Kyle. Scratch that—I don’t remember him at all. Obviously, we go to school together, but I can’t think of a single instance where we exchanged so much as a hello. But he’s got a beef with me, and if I did screw his girlfriend, he clearly hasn’t gotten over it. Why else would he risk the Royal wrath by messing with a girl that belongs to one of us?

  Not that Hart belongs to me.

  Yes she does.

  Fuck. Fine. Okay, I do see her as mine. And I don’t want Kyle Hudson and his nonexistent neck anywhere near her.

  Felicity’s motives are equally easy to guess. She hates me, period. She’s out for revenge. And though I have zero interest in making amends with that bitch, I realize in dismay it might come down to that. I can’t have Frankenstein and No Neck screwing with Hartley’s head. She’s confused enough as it is.

  My dad hurriedly shoves a file folder into his bag, interrupting my thoughts.

  “You going somewhere?” I say in between bites.

  “I have to go to Dubai today. Ben El-Baz contacted me about an order for ten of the new jets. I need to close this deal in person.”

  “What about Seb?”

  “He’s in stable condition. If he wakes up, I’ll be home before you know it. Now, I’m counting on you to take care of the rest of the kids while I’m gone. You’re the oldest and I don’t want Ella to worry about the twins. She has a meeting with the DA’s office over her testimony.”

  “Fuck.” Ella has to testify against her father, Steve O’Halloran, in his upcoming trial. I hadn’t realized that was approaching, but I guess the February trial date isn’t too far away.

  “Exactly.” He hands me a slip of paper. “I’ve obtained permission for you to skip school for the rest of this week and possibly the next, depending on how long this transaction takes.” He zips closed his flight bag.

  “Skip school?” I need to be at Astor to protect Hartley. “I’ve already missed the last two weeks.”

  Dad tilts his head. “Who are you and what have you done with my school-hating son, Easton?”

  I shift uncomfortably under his fatherly gaze. I can’t tell him why I need to go to school in case he’s got a hate-on for Hartley like Sawyer does. “I don’t hate school. I just choose not to go some days because I’ve got better things to do.”

  “And this week you have better things to do.” He claps his hand on my shoulder. “Ordinarily, I wouldn’t trust you to be responsible for a minute, let alone a week, but these are your brothers and I know you love them.” He grabs his bag and walks briskly out into the foyer where Durand, his driver, waits. “Make sure Sawyer’s eating and getting some rest. Call me if there’s any change in Sebastian’s condition, and be there for Ella if she needs a shoulder to cry on. I’ll see you in less than a week.” He gives me a salute and takes off.

  Fuck.

  I grab my phone and text Hartley.

  Change of plans. My dad’s flying out to Dubai and I need to go check in on my brothers. If you see Ella, go in with her.

  I re-read my text and realize Hart may not know who the hell Ella is. I find a picture of her and Reed hanging all over each other and send that.

  I don’t get a response. I wait three seconds and send another text.

  Or Val. She’s solid.

  I return to my photo roll, find a picture of Ella, Val, Reed and me out by the pool last summer. I crop out Reed and myself and send Hart the modified image.

  Ella’s the blonde. Val’s the one with the bob and the mole.

  Still nothing. I glance at the clock. Do I have time to drive over to Hart’s house, pick her up and drop her off? I decide I do if I hurry.

  I drop my bowl off on the marble table in the entryway and hurry to the kitchen where I left my backpack. Ella’s there eating a yogurt and fruit.

  “Where are you going?” she asks.

  “Hartley’s, Astor, and then the hospital.”

  “Hartley? Is that a good idea, Easton? Shouldn’t you wait until you see if Seb wakes up?”

  I swing around to confront Ella. “What are you talking about? The accident wasn’t her fault.”

  “I know that, but Sawyer is hating on her right now. I don’t think it’s good for him to know that you’re hanging around with her.”

  “Then don’t tell him,” I say, irked by Ella’s position.

  “But—”

  I ignore her complaints and jog to the door. I don’t need to hear that stuff, especially not after I told Hartley to walk in with Ella and Val. All the more reason to drop Hartley off and make sure she gets inside the school okay.

  After that…fuck, I don’t know what to do after that. Maybe I can convince Hartley to skip and come to the hospital with me. But then where do I put her? Sawyer will blow up if he sees her.

  This is a fucking mess and I don’t have a good solution. I’ll figure it out when I get to her house.

  I’m coming to pick you up, I shoot off. Tossing the phone on the passenger seat, I power up the truck and head for Hartley’s. I check for a response when I reach the gate at the end of my lane and then again at the stoplight a mile down and then again at the intersection near her house, but I see zero replies.

  When I reach her house, I debate whether I should go in. Her father hates my guts. There’s a fifty/fifty chance he’s at work. I’ve gambled on way worse odds, I decide. I hop out of the truck and hurry up the front walk. At this rate, Hart’s going to be late for school.

  I take the stairs in two leaps and press the doorbell. It rings and a few seconds later, I see a figure through one of the glass panes. The door swings open to reveal Mrs. Wright. Shit.

  Her mouth drops open. “Easton Royal?”

  I give her my brightest, winningest smile that makes nuns want to pinch my cheeks and mothers want to fuck me. “Yup. I’m here to pick Hartley up.”

  The door slams in my face.

  “Go away and don’t ever show your face here again,” I hear through the heavy wooden door.

  I’ve never been good with orders. I pound on the door. “I told Hart that I’d pick her up.”

  “She’s already at school. It started ten minutes ago. Now leave or I’ll call the police!” Hartley’s mom yells. “My husband is an assistant district attorney. He will put you in jail!”

  I swallow a sigh and drag a hand through my hair. This day is a clusterfuck and it’s not even eight am.

  Chapter 11

  Hartley

  I stick my thumbs under the straps of my backpack and smile and nod to everyone. I feel like I’ve been thrown back to kindergarten, stumbling off the bus without my mother’s hand in mine and wading past the legs of the teachers and older students, searching for a friendly face—any friendly face. Easton said to wait for him, but I’ve been standing on the curb for what feels like forever.

  A bright blonde swath of hair catches my eye. Felicity’s about ten steps ahead of me. There are three equally blonde girls huddled around her. Part of me wants to run up and hide in that group of girls. The other part of me knows Felicity would bite my head off and then step on my bloody, exposed neck. So I trail behind.

  I’m not sure why she hates me, but she does. I’m positive it has something to do with Easton, possibly something to do with Easton and me. Were they dating at the time that I slept with him? Of all the things that bother me about my loss of memory, the sex one is the worst. I can’t remember who saw me naked. Who laid their hands on me. Who I touched in return. I can’t remember any of it. But they do. Some of the boys that walk by have seen me—my bare chest, my stomach, the private place between my legs.

  And it makes me feel sick and violated even though I must’ve given them all consent. So, yeah, of all the things I despise about my amnesia, this is at the very top of my list. It keeps me awake at night, makes my stomach churn and my
head ache. I scan the passing boys, straining to find some kind of recognition, some kind of familiarity, but there’s nothing.

  My gaze swings back to Felicity. She didn’t even try to hide her glee last night as Kyle and she took turns detailing Easton’s sins. Easton’s a pill-addicted drunk who will stick his dick into any available hole. The only reason he’s popular, swore the two of them, is because his father owns this town. I’d wager it’s because he’s wickedly attractive and has a smile powerful enough to knock a statue off its copper base.

  As for me, I’m a cheat and a liar. I cheated on Kyle. I cheated in math. Felicity even implied I cheated to get into Astor. I don’t really understand that one.

  I’m not convinced everything they’ve told me is the truth. They both have an ulterior motive, one that I don’t fully understand at this point. I’m guessing, based on the not very well subdued violence in Kyle’s voice, that his beef with Easton has to do with an ex-girlfriend—the one that Easton screwed in the pool. The reason for Felicity’s hatred may also stem from an Easton-related incident, but her happiness at my circumstances makes me believe that her anger is related to me in some way.

  One thing I feel must be true is that I did hook up with Easton, which seems the most improbable of all the things Felicity has laid at my feet. God created a billion men, developed the perfect face, and stuck it on Easton Royal. It’s unfair the way his dark hair droops slightly over his right eye, making your fingers itch to brush it back. It’s criminal how blue his eyes are. Dark-haired boys should have unthreatening and bland eyes, not piercing blue ones that make you think of oceans and seas and skies on the sunniest, prettiest days. His chest is broad and his arms are defined, but not bulging in a gross way. He’s the vision that you conjure up in your dreams at night.

  It’s hard to comprehend that a specimen of male beauty like Easton would ever be interested in me. It’s not that I’m a dog in the looks area, but there are leagues that a person plays in. My league is not the same as the Royals’. The Royals date girls in college, the ones who are the head of the cheer squad or president of their sorority. The Royals date girls with money, girls who are listed in the Daughters of the Revolution directory, girls who are beauty queens or television personalities or Instagram models. They do not date dumpy, round-faced girls who live with foulmouthed sisters, DA dads, and social-climbing mothers.