Lost King

by Piper Lennox

  Wow. My little reverse-psychology trick actually worked.

  “I’ll do better.” He sighs again, a shorter one like that’s that, everything’s set in stone.

  “It’s not just for me, you know. Like, yeah, I want to see you, but it’s for your sake too.”

  “I know.” The little bit of typing I’ve been hearing, scattered in the background, halts. “I, uh...I did invite Kimberly to the winter house, though.”

  The chair slips out of my hands, landing on the rubber tiles lining the storage space. “For real?”

  “Yes, for real,” he laughs. “That’s where I am now. I felt so bad when I woke up and realized I’d made her work through the holiday, I decided to give us both Friday off. When I mentioned the house, she said she’d love to join me, and...here we are.”

  “Shit, look at you!”

  “Ah, don’t get too excited. We’re in separate rooms.”

  “But you stayed there all weekend, just the two of you,” I point out. “That means something.”

  “Slow down, Theo. I don’t even know how she feels about me.”

  “She likes you. She’s made that very obvious.” I dust my hands off on my pants and close the storage area door, then start back up to the deck. Winterizing and covering the pool is also on my list, but I’m so tired after packing up the furniture, I decide a few more days won’t hurt. “The real question is, how do you feel about her?”

  Dad laughs again, then gets quiet, just breathing in the receiver. “I like her,” he admits. “But I feel...gun-shy, I guess you’d call it.”

  “It’s been a decade,” I remind him. Truthfully, though, I get it. Anyone who got screwed over by his ex as thoroughly as my dad did is bound to have long-lasting trust issues.

  “Kimberly is nothing like her,” I go on. I look through the glass wall to the television, where my video game is paused. Starting up the system was automatic, but something kept bugging me while I was playing. I realized I didn’t actually want to game today; I had a whole list of winter chores to finish, and then a date with Ruby tonight. And a lot of hours in between for something productive.

  Instead of going inside, I head for the poolhouse.

  Dad keeps typing. I don’t like that he brought the office with him, but better that than being in the office all weekend.

  I sit at the piano and play “American Pie,” keeping it low. It’s been a while since one of our phone calls went like this, with both of us lapsing into comfortable silence and doing our own thing, but still technically having a conversation. When we actually lived together, that’s how our quality time usually went. For all his real estate smiles and charm, my father has the same social stunting that I do. We’re both loners who hate being lonely.

  “Haven’t heard you play in a while,” he says, when I move on to some freestyle stuff.

  “Haven’t played in a while.” I clear my throat, already embarrassed when I add, “But I met this girl, and...she got me playing again. Actually, it feels like my whole life is different. Or that it could be.”

  Dad whistles to himself. “You’ve got it bad.”

  “Maybe.” Definitely. “And maybe Kimberly will do the same for you.”

  “Maybe,” he echoes quietly, sounding far less sure. “So. This girl—you met her out there in the Hamptons?”

  We chat for a few more minutes; I tell him some surface details about Ruby, while he tells me his plans to return to Manhattan for a couple weeks during Christmas, and how he hopes I’ll join him. I try to sound as excited as he does, but I still don’t believe it’ll pan out.

  When we hang up, though, I feel...hopeful. If my life can change this much in a month, so can his.

  I pry the Bluetooth out of my ear and hook it on my shirt, then go back to playing. This was one thing I wasn’t ready to share with Dad yet: how I’ve been thinking about a career in music, especially playing for schools, more and more lately. Mentioning it to Ruby engraved the idea in my head, and I haven’t been able to shake it since. I haven’t wanted to.

  It’s more than the job itself. I’ve been picturing this entirely different life altogether—what it would be like to have a place of my own, even if it’s complete shit compared to Dad’s houses. Waking up with a real plan every morning, instead of dragging through the days, distracting myself from my own damn boredom and unhappiness.

  Finally feeling like I’ve got a purpose, instead of wandering through the next two decades of my life.

  During a pause in my playing, I hear the Bluetooth ding; someone’s sent me a message through Instagram. I don’t recognize the username...but the profile picture is of Ruby.

  I click Accept.

  tackc9: A little advice? Watch out for Ruby Jacobs.

  tackc9: She’s not what you think.

  What the fuck?

  I click on the profile. It’s got no followers, no following, and no pictures. Just that cropped, blurry profile picture.

  the0_d: Who is this?

  tackc9: You’ll find out soon.

  My gut twists. Not out of fear, but fury.

  The only part freaking me out is how in the hell they found my profile. It’s set to private, with a meme for my photo and no posts. I only made it so I could watch Wes and Van’s videos from time to time.

  But the rest? All it does is make my blood boil. I know exactly who this is.

  the0_d: Already have. And I’d be very careful about making threats if I were you, Callum.

  I screenshot the thread. He blocks me.

  After closing the app, I pull up the screenshot and debate sending it to Ruby, but decide not to bug her at work.

  Besides, I can handle him. For his sake, I hope he doesn’t try anything, because I’ve got a lot more reasons to fight than he realizes. Every time I remember those bruises he left on Ruby, I get a new wave of rage and a better idea of how to get him back.

  I go inside. There’s no way I can play piano when I feel like this.

  Ruby…Jacobs?

  The name slams around in my head like a mace. It gives me the same feeling as when you realize you’ve been publicly mispronouncing a word your entire life. I hear “Ruby” and automatically pair it with “Paulsen.” This, I reason, is why it’s bugging me.

  But the longer I pace my kitchen, trying to shake off the sour taste that convo left in my mouth, the more I accept why it’s really getting to me.

  For years, “Jacobs” was half of a name I couldn’t get out of my head. Half of a phrase I couldn’t stop searching.

  The Bluetooth sounds again. I start.

  Ruby: Got off work early. Still on for dinner?

  I stare at her contact photo until it stops looking right: no longer a face, but just pixels.

  Theo: Yeah. I’ll pick you up at your place.

  It feels shitty to admit this, but I’m kind of testing her. She told me Friday night she’d officially ended her friendship and all contact with Callum. That would explain his message: he’s throwing a fit.

  But some small piece of me wonders. I know it’s dangerous to indulge Durham paranoia, yet here I am, asking anyway.

  Even if she says no, she’ll meet me here—what does that prove?

  I disconnect my earpiece and go upstairs to change. When my phone pings, my blood pressure spikes before I’ve even read her reply. I talk myself down before checking it.

  Ruby: Okay. See you soon.

  About twenty heart emojis follow.

  I melt back across my bed, loving and despising how relieved I feel.

  “Are you okay? You’ve been...quiet.”

  Theo refills both our wine glasses to the top, breaking his own rule: full glasses can’t breathe.

  I couldn’t find my license, so he ordered it when I was in the bathroom to avoid getting carded. It’s way too dry for my tastes, but I take it anyway and drink it down to where the line should be.

  It takes him a minute to register that I’ve even spoken. “Sorry, what?”

  That’s another thi
ng: he’s been zoning out all through our meal. And not only am I doing all the talking, but I’m doing most of the eating, too. I’m halfway through my risotto, while his chicken is basically untouched.

  I can’t tell if he’s mad, bothered by something, or just feeling antisocial today. Even the last option concerns me, because he says he never feels like that when it’s just us. Sure, sometimes we’re quiet, spending time together while in our own heads...but it’s never like this.

  Now, as his eyes focus on my face, I repeat myself.

  “Oh. Just…distracted.” He scratches his beard, which he’s letting grow out, and stares down at his plate like he’s looking through every layer of the earth. “Callum messaged me earlier. I think.”

  About a hundred questions spin in my brain, but only one makes it to my mouth. “Think?”

  “Yeah, I mean...I don’t know for sure it’s him, it’s just—” Cutting himself off, he shakes his head. “You know what, forget it.”

  “No, tell me.” I can’t stand the thought of him closing off, right when I’ve just gotten the hang of honesty with him.

  Theo hesitates, then stands halfway to dig his phone from his pocket. While he swipes through, he explains, “I told myself to just let it go. Not let it get to me. But something he said, it just keeps….”

  Don’t shake, I command my hands. Pissed as he undoubtedly is, Callum wouldn’t reveal my plan to anyone, let alone Theo.

  Would he?

  “Well, here, I’ll let you read it. I took a screenshot before he blocked me.” Theo slides me the phone. I leave it on the table in front of me while I read.

  When I look up, he’s leaned back in his chair, spinning his butter knife against the table.

  “So.” He takes a breath. “What do you think?”

  I think I’m going to have a fucking heart attack, if I don’t calm down soon.

  “It’s...probably him.”

  “And?”

  Here comes the dry throat again. I drain half my glass before digging back into my food, as my old habit—letting hunger drown anything unpleasant—roars back in perfect form.

  “And,” I manage, swallowing too soon, so that every piece of rice feels like stuck vitamins in my throat, “yes. That’s my legal last name.” I wipe my mouth too hard with my napkin, instantly chapping my lips. “It was my dad’s. Mom and I finally stopped using it when I was a senior, but we never got around to actually changing it. Callum and all our friends out here…that’s what they know me as.”

  Slowly, he nods. I wonder if he can feel my leg bouncing a thousand times per minute under the table.

  “I knew a Jacobs,” he says, “a long time ago.” He blinks, brow furrowing at himself. “Well, I didn’t know her, but—”

  “There are lots of Jacobses out there.” I grab my wine again. Whether I want to stifle the panic or loosen my tongue, I’m not sure.

  “Yeah,” he sighs, as though he expected this answer. I’m not prepared for the flash that glints in his eyes when he looks back up. “But the thing is, you’re the only one who’s suddenly looking really…really familiar.”

  My heart pounds even worse when he looks away again.

  I want that green spotlight on me, no matter how much it hurts. I want him to force the truth to the surface, once and for all.

  The waiter stops by to ask how everything is. Without consulting me, Theo asks for two boxes and the check.

  “One box,” I correct. Theo’s plate is full, but mine’s got almost nothing left. What little bit I haven’t stress-eaten was abandoned solely out of habit, to make myself feel better for technically not eating the entire thing.

  Technically. I’m starting to hate that word.

  At the car, Theo holds my door open and nods at my thanks. He aims all the vents straight at himself until the cold air turns warm, then points them all my way. On the surface, things are fine.

  But I know it’s what underneath that matters. And a current is picking up, fast.

  “Oh, you forgot your food.”

  Theo looks around, then buckles up. “It’s fine.”

  “Here, I’ll run in and get it.”

  “It’s fine,” he says again, sharper.

  “You barely ate any of it.” I’ve already opened my door. “Really, I don’t mind. It won’t take lo—”

  “Ruby,” he barks, “it doesn’t matter.”

  I freeze. The chill of the air clashes with the heat. I imagine a hurricane forming, right inside the car, to sweep me away.

  Gradually, I sit back down and shut the door.

  “Fuck.” Theo braces both hands on his head, halfway pushing his hair back, halfway getting a grip. He shuts his eyes as he leans into the headrest. “Just— Tell me I’m not being paranoid, here. Or, hell, tell me I am.” He laughs, the sound mangled and breathless, chipping my conscience into pieces when he looks at me.

  I regret the wine. My head pounds in sync with my heart, thoughts forming too slowly.

  “About Callum?” I ask. “Or...me?” Call me stupid—which, as we’ve already established, I definitely am—but I really don’t know which he means.

  “Forget it.” Theo motions to my seatbelt. While he whips out of the space, I put it on.

  “I don’t want to forget it.”

  I don’t want to lie anymore.

  He glances at me, almost running a Stop sign. I adore the feeling of his hand reaching out, bracing me against my seat when he brakes, even though I know it was just instinct.

  “I feel batshit for even....” He trails. His hands tighten on the wheel.

  My heart stops pounding, and starts aching.

  I have to tell him. Tonight.

  Now.

  “Can we go to your house?” I ask.

  “Depends,” he says softly, but the edge is still there. “Is whatever you’re about to tell me the kind of thing that’ll make me not want you spending the night?”

  I flinch, even though he didn’t snap: he actually asked this. And it’s a pretty fair question.

  “I’m not sure.” Through my window, I watch the smaller homes and average neighborhoods of the Hamptons blur past, their Christmas decorations blending into shivering neon streaks. “Probably so. I guess I’m just hoping it isn’t.”

  Wordlessly, he takes the turn that leads to my complex, instead.

  Theo ambles stiffly through my townhouse, hands in his coat pockets. I offer him a drink, but he declines before I can finish listing what I have.

  I make us both coffee, anyway, even though he’s been strictly following a “no caffeine after noon” rule. He takes the mug with a nod, sips twice, and stares into it while I remove my coat, in the hopes he’ll do the same. He doesn’t.

  Tell him. Instead of spinning back and forth in the armchair and waiting for some perfect words to descend from the heavens, I should just start blurting stuff. Let the truth flow, as easily and freely as all my lies did in the beginning.

  The coward wins again, though. I go for the slow, painful lead-in.

  “You said you feel crazy for even thinking something,” I begin, the breath I take feeling caustic, “and...I want to know what that something is.”

  “No.” He tenses his jaw. His mug sloshes when he sets it down.

  I watch as he pulls the sleeve of his sweater out from his jacket, over his hand, to mop it up. It’s a small but selfless gesture that makes my sinuses sting. One more reminder that this Theo Durham, all grown up and reformed, is too good for me.

  “Because,” he continues, “I want to be wrong. Because it’s such an insane idea, I have to be wrong. So say what you think it is. If my thing is way off, I’ll shut up, we’ll move on, and I’m spared the embarrassment of sounding like a complete fucking lunatic.”

  I toy with the fake pearls around my neck, missing the real ones my mother used to own. We had to pawn them after she lost her job. After Theo did what he did.

  “What if it’s not way off?” I whisper.

  He looks at me from
the side. His shoulders rise and plummet with every breath.

  “Tell me it is,” he says.

  And it’s in this moment my heart must finish breaking, everything that came before simple previews of the pain to come—fractures, fissures, chips...but not a complete collapse, like it feels now.

  Because here he is, begging me for one more lie. Just one last technicality, one final twist of the truth, so we can be together. And I’m too selfish to give it to him.

  I’d rather lose him with honesty than keep him with a lie.

  And I know, without a doubt, I’m about to lose him.

  32

  “Before I tell you this,” I begin, voice catching in my throat, “I just...I need you to know, it wasn’t supposed to—”

  The front door shakes with five consecutive bangs. Theo starts, but I barely react. I just shut my eyes and curse. Only one person knocks like that.

  “Ruby!” Callum keeps pounding, louder and louder with every millisecond I keep him waiting. “Open the door. I know he’s in there.”

  Theo stands, looking ready to fight. I get up and put my hand on his chest. “Don’t. He’ll go away.”

  “Wouldn’t be so sure about that, babe.”

  Callum’s voice booms from behind me, no longer muffled or distant.

  I spin to face him. “How did you—”

  He tosses something in my direction. It lands halfway under the armchair. I kneel and sweep it out with my hand.

  It’s his key.

  As I stand, all I can picture is him digging through my car at the ice rink. All I can do is shut my eyes and berate myself for being so foolish—for trusting him with even that little.

  For leaving my purse on the seat.

  For putting his old key right where he could find it, in the little zippered pocket where he knew I keep anything small and valuable.