Fallen Heir

by Erin Watt

  “I don’t think anyone saw anything.”

  “Then how did it get out?”

  I focus straight ahead. I don’t want to see her expression when I admit this. “I might’ve inadvertently said something. It was stupid. Pash was hassling me about hooking up with an Astor girl and when I said no, I might’ve implied that I liked a bit more of a challenge.”

  “So Pash told?”

  “Well, I don’t think Ella or Val would.”

  “Easton Royal! How many people did you blab to?”

  “Too many,” I say miserably.

  “Why? Why on earth would you do that? Are you proud of what went on with you and Ms. Mann? Are you happy that she’s going to get fired?”

  “She’s not going to get fired. We both denied anything happened. And no, I’m not proud, and no, I wouldn’t be happy if she got fired. I just…I wanted to have a good time.”

  My response sounds terrible, because I have no justification other than I’m Easton Royal and my goal in life is to do what makes me happy. So long as no one else gets hurt, it’s all good. The problem is, someone is always getting hurt.

  I wait for Hartley to lay into me, rightfully so, but she surprises me.

  “All right. Well. It’s done and there’s no point in dwelling on it, right?”

  Right. I throw her a grateful look and start the engine. “Where should we go?” I ask as we leave the school behind.

  “Will you go by my house?”

  She sounds so uncertain that it summons a smile. What’s she so worried about, that I’ll make digs at her house? I’ve already been there twice. “Sure. So should we stop for food and eat at your place?”

  “Not my apartment.” She sighs. “My house…my old house.”

  “Oh.” I want to slap myself on the forehead for being so dense. “Sure.”

  We make the ten-minute drive in silence. I’m itching to ask a thousand and one questions but miraculously manage to keep my mouth shut.

  “Watch the curve,” she murmurs as we get close.

  “Yeah, I know. I almost ran into my brothers the first time I was here.”

  “Lauren lives down the road.” Hartley points off to the distance.

  “I figured.”

  I go past her driveway and then swing a U-turn, bringing the truck to a stop across the street from the front door. “It’s a good thing I have a pickup instead of a van. Someone might think we’re kidnappers. We aren’t doing that, right?”

  I slide a glance toward her, half-teasing, half-serious. She’s not paying a lick of attention to me. Her eyes are glued to the house.

  Two cars sit to the left of the house, close to a side door. One’s the Mercedes SUV that was parked in front of the Hungry Spoon Diner. I’m guessing that’s Parker’s wheels. There are filmy curtains drawn closed in the front window, so we can’t make out exactly what’s happening inside.

  Out of nowhere, Hartley says, “I’d tell you about what went down in there, but I can’t.”

  I frown. “Why not?”

  “Because I’m trying to win my way back into my family. I’m hoping I can get my mom to meet me. But if I blab about the past, then I’ll keep being punished.”

  Even though I’m dying of curiosity, I don’t push for more details. “Do you want me to go up and check if your dad is home? Maybe he ran out for milk.”

  She snorts. “Even if he was dying and needed to drink it to save his life, he’d make Mom do it. But no, he’s not home.” She gestures to the cars. “His Beemer’s not there. Parker’s here, though—”

  She breaks off as people start pouring out of the house. I recognize Parker, who’s carrying a dark-haired boy. Next are Joanie Wright and a tall man with shiny black hair. Behind them, a little girl dressed in patent leather shoes and a pretty dress holds hands with a sullen teen wearing ripped skinny jeans and a tight midriff top.

  Hartley slaps a hand on the window and whimpers. I swear the brooding teen hears her. The girl stops in her tracks and stares in our direction.

  Not wanting Hartley to get caught, I lunge across the console and push her down. Under my chest, I can feel her body shake with silent sobs.

  I brush a hand over the side of her face and quietly narrate the scene. “They’re getting into the cars. Dylan and some guy—”

  “Parker’s husband.”

  “—Parker’s husband and Dylan are getting into Parker’s car. Parker is in the passenger side. The little girl is going with your mother.”

  “Macy is my mom’s favorite,” Hartley mumbles.

  The car doors slam shut and the red taillights turn on. “Those girls safe in there?”

  She hesitates. “I think so.” And then, more forcefully, “Yes. The thing between me and my dad was a one-time deal.”

  I didn’t like the moment of indecision, but I don’t say anything. I slide down lower as the cars pull out. The engines rumble and then grow distant as they get farther away.

  Now that it’s safe to sit up, I ease off Hartley’s back. “Want me to follow them?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. So what are we doing?”

  Hartley meets my gaze. “How do you feel about breaking and entering?”

  I ignore the tear-glistened eyes and grin. “One of my top ten activities.”

  “Of course it is.”

  We both hop out and run toward the side door that Hartley’s family just exited. She passes it by. I catch up with her at the back of the house.

  Every good Southern home has a veranda, and this one is no different. The wide, covered deck runs the length of the house. Two French doors, one leading to a kitchen and another to a family room, are framed by floor-to-ceiling windows.

  She tries the first one. It’s locked, but the second one is open. I hear a beep when the door opens and notice a red light above the frame. The security system marks when the doors are open and closed.

  “Ignore it,” Hartley tells me. “It’s just for show. Dad had it installed when I was a kid, but he got into a fight with the security company over them not showing up fast enough when he called, so he cancelled the service.”

  I nod and examine my surroundings. It’s a nice house as houses go. Smells like cleaner. Looks immaculate.

  Hartley passes through the family room and makes for the stairs. I follow her up, stopping at the top as she pauses.

  “Which room is yours?”

  She points to the last room on the left.

  “Do you mind?” I ask, because I’m bursting with curiosity.

  She gives me a half smile. “Knock yourself out.”

  Strangely, she chooses to go into the second room on the right. I keep going to the end of the hall. Hartley’s bedroom. Damn, I’m excited. I’m finally going to get some insight into her.

  Or not.

  When I open the door, a big wall of nothingness greets me.

  There are a few boxes in the middle of the floor. The walls are a stark white. There’s no bed or furniture.

  It’s as if no one has ever slept in this room.

  Disheartened, I back out and retrace my steps to the landing. As I pass through the hall a second time, I notice the family pictures on the wall, but it’s as if this family only has two daughters instead of three. It’s like they erased her. Man, that’s brutal.

  I wonder if she knows. She must.

  I knock on the open door, pushing it wider to see Hartley sitting on the side of the bed, a purple pillow clutched in her arms. The walls are purple, too. The bed is littered with stuffed bears and dogs. The posters on the wall feature boys with hair dyed the color of Easter eggs. This room obviously belongs to her younger sister, the one she hasn’t seen in three years.

  I tug on the collar of my shirt. It’s getting hard to breathe in here. “Let’s get out of here,” I say gruffly.

  Hartley glances up at me and gives a weak nod.

  I don’t wait for her to change her mind. I pull her to her feet and hustle her down the stairs.

  *
* *

  We end up at the pier. The lights are on and twilight is giving way to evening. I park and jog around to Hartley’s side of the truck. She lets me help her down. She lets me take her hand. She lets me lead her over to a food stand where I order a hot chocolate and funnel cake.

  After she’s downed the drink and eaten half the cake, her zombielike expression softens. “Thanks for dinner.”

  “My pleasure. Want to ride the Ferris wheel?” I suggest. “You haven’t been in one since you were twelve.”

  “You remember that?”

  “Of course.” I don’t give her any time to think about it. I pop over to the ride counter, buy our tickets, and then lead her toward the giant bucket of rust. The things I do for this girl.

  “Know why I love the Ferris wheel?” she asks as she steps into the shaky metal basket and takes a seat.

  “Because you have a death wish?” I climb in after her and wait for the safety bar to lower.

  “Because you can see the whole world from the top.”

  “You should try flying,” I suggest. “It’s a thousand times better—and safer—than this.”

  The tin can starts to sway. A bead of sweat breaks across my forehead and my stomach turns over. I lean my head against the thin metal post and start counting backward from a thousand. Maybe this is a mistake. I should get off. I push at the bar, but it doesn’t move.

  “You okay?” I hear Hartley say. Her hand touches the back of mine.

  Okay. Mind changed. I can handle this. “Yup.”

  “You’re sweating.”

  “It’s hot out.”

  “It’s sub sixty and you have a T-shirt on.”

  “Anything above freezing is hot for me.”

  “You have goose bumps.”

  The basket sways and the creak of metal against metal makes my heart pound.

  “Because I’m sitting next to you,” I push out through gritted teeth.

  A soft body presses against mine. “I think I stepped in a pile of poop in the funhouse the last time we were here.”

  “That place needs to be condemned. Val got someone’s chewing tobacco stuck on the bottom of her shoe.”

  Ugh. And if they can’t maintain the funhouse, then what about this piece of terror? I start timing my breaths with my counting.

  “Are you afraid of heights?” Hartley’s voice is gentle. So is her hand as she lightly strokes my knuckles. “I thought you loved flying.”

  “I do love flying. I hate incompetence. In the air, I’m in control. I know who built the plane. I know the instruments. I control it. This thing could be held together with wire and gum.” The basket rocks again. “And that’s probably giving them too much credit.”

  “Why’d you come on this thing with me, then?”

  “Because you wanted to.”

  She’s silent for what seems like an endless moment. I close my eyes. Maybe if I can’t see anything, I’ll stop picturing this rickety car plummeting from the sky.

  “Are we at the top yet?” I ask.

  “Almost.”

  “I’m not kissing you at the top,” I tell her. “Even though it’s probably expected, I’m not easy like that.”

  She snickers. “I never thought you were easy.”

  “That’s a lie. You think I’m a slut.”

  Her body shakes as she laughs again. “I think the term is partner-inclusive.”

  And that makes me laugh. “Okay. I take it back. I am kissing you at the top.”

  “Uh-uh. Best friends don’t kiss.”

  “Since when?” I counter. “You’re only supposed to kiss your best friends. It’s one of the best-friend privileges.”

  “So you’ve kissed all your best friends?”

  The car jerks to a stop. “No. I think you’re my only best friend.”

  Maybe even the only real friend I’ve had outside my family. I don’t say that to her, though. I already feel way too pathetic.

  There’s a featherlight touch against the side of my cheek. I hold my breath. The touch becomes firmer. It moves from the side of my cheek to my lips.

  I turn to face her. Her eyes are open and she smiles. I can feel the curve of her lips against mine.

  “Don’t worry. You’re not kissing me,” she whispers. “I’m kissing you.”

  My mouth parts. Her tongue slips in. Up here, time stops. It’s a freeze frame. Me, her, the endless sky.

  In the vast void, her kiss tells me I’m not alone. She touches her tongue to mine, and a groan slips out. I think it comes from me. I’m dizzy and breathless and full of strange emotions that I can’t make sense of and don’t want to. I know the gist. I’m happy. This is a high I’ve never been able to achieve through pills or booze or other people.

  Hartley makes a soft, breathy noise that drives me crazy. My fingers curl around her hip, pulling her closer. Our tongues meet again and I swear my heart nearly explodes from my ribcage, it’s pounding so hard.

  This kiss is goddamn amazing. I want to grab on to her, hold her close and keep this moment going endlessly.

  But then the gears of the spinning wheel of death start again and the bucket begins its downward rotation.

  Hartley releases me and slides away. Not far, but enough to let me know that the barrier she likes to place between us is back in place.

  “Thanks for distracting me up there,” I blurt out before she can get out anything cutting.

  “Of course,” she replies, but the sound is flat. Did I piss her off?

  When the ride comes to a halt and the safety belt lifts, Hartley hops off. I take my time. Hell, I kind of want to buy the entire ride and take it home so I can have the car bronzed. It was that kind of moment. The kind you want to etch in permanent ink so you can relive it again and again.

  I join her on the ground. “Hartley,” I start.

  “Yes?”

  A light breeze blows and ruffles her dark hair. I press it down, shaping her scalp against my hand. She reaches up and grabs my wrist right above the leather band, not to draw me away, though. To hold me in place. Or to pull me closer.

  I swallow hard. “I want—”

  “You two look so sweet together! Smile!”

  Hartley and I both look up in surprise. A flash blinds me, and by the time the white dots in my vision clear up, the culprit is hurrying away. Two of them, actually. They’ve got blonde hair and high-pitched squeals and they’re not even trying to lower their voices as they dash off.

  “Felicity is gonna freak when she sees this!”

  “Post it on Instagram, and then do a Snap story!”

  Shit.

  I scowl at their retreating backs. Figures that the one time Hartley lowers her guard around me, a bunch of Astor Park gossips capture the moment.

  “Should I be worried?” Her dry voice jerks me from my thoughts.

  I glance over and manage a careless smile. “Nah. I doubt it.”

  Her eyes tell me she isn’t convinced of that.

  Neither am I.

  Chapter 25

  “Here are your notes,” Hartley says when I approach her desk the next afternoon. “I forgot I had them.”

  “I didn’t need them back.”

  “I know.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course. You probably have the textbook memorized. Your whole ‘I’m a bad boy who hates school’ act is easy to see through.” She swivels to face the front, but not before I see a hint of a blush on her cheeks.

  Is she thinking about how she kissed me last night? I am. It’s all I’ve been thinking about since I opened my eyes this morning. And all I thought about when I got home from the pier yesterday. It’s really hard to sleep with a hard-on that won’t go away, so once again I had a crappy night and once again I was a zombie at practice.

  I tuck the pages away in my notebook. “It’s not an act. I don’t test well.”

  “Or you have a hard time focusing,” she guesses.

  “That, too.”

  I decided to sit behin
d her today, flopping down and stretching my legs out on either side of her desk. I like watching her from behind. I can see her shoulders tense and relax. The curve of her neck sometimes appears when she bends over. The little knots of her spine have somehow become the cutest thing. I’d like to take a big ol’ bite there.

  I shift as my uniform trousers grow tight.

  “Where’s Ella?” Hartley twists around to look at me, gesturing to Ella’s empty desk.

  “She’s got the day off. She and my dad are meeting our lawyers in the city.”

  Hartley’s expression fills with sympathy. “Will she really have to testify at her father’s trial?”

  I nod. I’m grateful to focus on something other than Hartley’s way too pretty neck. And really? Necks? That’s what I’m hot for these days?

  “Yeah. She was there when Steve confessed to everything.”

  “That sucks.”

  I don’t particularly want to rehash Steve’s actions, so I change the subject. “Better question is—where’s Ms. Mann?”

  Two rows over, Tonya Harrison pipes up. “She was down in Beringer’s office. That’s twice this week.”

  “Someone’s in trouble,” my teammate Owen sings.

  A bunch of kids turn and look in my direction. I glare at Owen, but either he really is confused or he’s a far better actor than I knew. I make a tiny slicing motion across my throat to indicate he better keep his lips shut tight. His response is to wrinkle his forehead.

  Suddenly the door bursts open.

  “Oh my God. Someone’s getting busted today!” exclaims Glory Burke, the captain of the girls’ field hockey team.

  A chorus of questions arises from my classmates.

  “What do you mean?” Tonya asks.

  “Beringer and Officer Neff are looking through someone’s locker,” Glory answers.

  “Can they do that?”

  “What about student rights?”

  “The honor code says that if there’s a reasonable suspicion a crime has been committed, the lockers can be searched,” Rebecca Lockhart explains. She would know. She’s our class president.

  Worried whispers spread as the debates begin over who’s in trouble. There are few angels here. Some kids are taking uppers. Some are sleeping around. Some are drinking. Some are doing all of the above.