Prince

by Cambria Hebert

  The blanket and yarn fell to the floor when she shoved to her feet. One fist clenched around one of the needles while the other rolled between the cushions of the couch.

  “How dare you?” she crowed, voice crackly and low.

  My entire body tensed, and I stared at the needle still in her grasp. Instead of using it like I thought she would, she slapped it on the table to pick up the cup and down almost all the liquid.

  Before she could even swallow, she pitched it right at me, the thick glass smacking into my chest, remnants of the vodka splashing my coat and peppering my jaw with the strong-scented alcohol.

  It bounced off, falling to the floor and shattering into a thousand tiny pieces.

  “Look at what you’ve done!” She raged. “You’re nothing but a nuisance. I wouldn’t need to drink if it wasn’t for you!”

  Sniffing, I took a step back, shaking the glass away from my feet.

  The room went silent for a moment, and then she spoke, eyes trained down. “New shoes.”

  I gave the shoes Ethan gifted me a cursory glance, thankful they didn’t seem to be torn from the glass. Guess it was pretty useful for them to have spikes.

  “Mine were worn out,” I said, sidestepping the little bit of liquid on the floor.

  Her eyes were that of a hawk’s when they swept over the rest of me. “What have you been doing?”

  “The same thing I always do. Working.”

  Her tongue jutted out, wetting her bottom lip. “Where’s my money, then?”

  Pulling my hand out of my pocket, I brought with it some cash. Taking a step forward, I held it out.

  She looked at the bundle, her eyes slipping to the small patch of sleeve from my hoodie that was sticking out from under my coat.

  Her eyes snapped up.

  “Do you want it or not?” I said, gruff, motioning for her to take it.

  With a hiss, she snatched the cash, dropping down with it in her lap.

  “Clean that up.” She gestured to the glass.

  I thought about refusing, but suddenly, I was tired.

  I want Ethan.

  I bent and began plucking the shards of glass off the scuffed-up, worn wood floor. As I piled all the chunks into my palm, the pungent scent of straight vodka burned my nose.

  A small hiss slipped from between clenched teeth when a sharp piece stuck my finger. Shaking it out, I watched blood well and begin to drip.

  “Stupid. Can’t even pick up some glass without bleeding.” She griped.

  “Why did you even have me?”

  My question hung heavily in the air, silencing all her insults.

  “What?”

  Straightening from the floor with a handful of jagged shards, I repeated what I wanted to know. “If you hate me so much, why did you even have me?”

  Her cheeks paled, turning her face ghostly compared to her dark hair. Her eyes, which were always glassy, turned a little dull.

  “My father left because the idea of me was so gross, and you’ve hated me since. So why?” I challenged. If there wasn’t anything at all about me she thought she could love, what was the point?

  Her back straightened, demeanor turning even frostier than usual. “You think you can just question me and my life choices?”

  “When it’s about me, yes.”

  “You ungrateful, spoiled child!” she shrieked, the sound so piercing my hand involuntarily clenched around the glass. Pain stung, but I ignored it, walking into the kitchen to dump the trash, then stopping to run the bleeding cuts under the faucet.

  When I came back, she was in the middle of the room, clutching the vodka bottle and staring at me with malice.

  “You know why I kept you?” She seethed. “Revenge. So that man would know there was a piece of him out there that he would never see. That the piece of him was being kept by me, the woman he hates!”

  Confusion muddied my brain. “But I thought it was me he hated, not you.”

  Her eyes widened a bit but then narrowed all over again. “Get out!” She raged, shaking the bottle in her fist. “I can’t stand the sight of you! You’re nothing without him! Nothing!”

  “You better make that money last because I won’t be back for a while,” I said, stomach churning as fresh blood welled from the cuts on my hands.

  “Good!” she roared and, to my surprise, hurled the entire bottle of precious vodka at my head.

  I ducked, and it hit the wall, exploding everywhere.

  She was still screaming when I left the house, every part of me shaking. It took several tries for me to get the violin out of the hiding spot, and once it was, I didn’t bother covering it back up. Instead, I left it wide open and hurried away, willing my knees not to give out.

  23

  Ethan

  * * *

  One phone call.

  Two hours.

  Four stops and three train changes.

  Finally finding Fletcher?

  Worth every minute.

  The pressure release when the doors opened on the enclosed bullet-shaped car was nothing compared to the pressure release I felt the second I stepped onto the platform and heard his violin.

  I didn’t need my eyes to know it was him. I didn’t have to wait for the crowd to thin to follow the sound his heart made.

  The lighting was dim down here, harsh from the fluorescent bulbs overhead. There wasn’t wind like on street level, but as the train closed up and departed, there was definite movement in the air. Even with the warm bodies bustling about, the temperature down here was chilling. The atmosphere wasn’t as loud as I expected. The sound of his melody hushed everyone, even in the grittiest of places. Even in this dark, cold tunnel with tired faces, grumpy passengers, and worn-out tourists, there was a sense of life.

  Tucking my hands into the quilted down jacket I wore, breath puffing out in a white cloud, I walked, my eyes searching for him.

  Emotion welled beneath my skin from the reedy, eloquent tune he played, which somberly wafted through the tunnel. He played a dark sound this night, a muted, mellow song that was underscored by a harmony of sadness and longing. It was the sound of pain but also of something else… Longing.

  I sensed he was unsettled this morning when he got out of my car, but I didn’t want to push.

  I should have pushed. Maybe then, the melody wouldn’t be so powerfully sorrowful.

  Hands clenching in my pockets, I craned my neck, looking ahead toward a wide stairwell that led up to street level.

  The music was louder. I knew he was closer.

  A person passed up the stairs, and he came into sight, shoulders hunched in on the wooden instrument, back turned away to me as his entire body moved and swayed, creating the music wholly and not just with his hands.

  My entire midsection clenched from my throat all the way to my lower stomach. He seemed to me like a thin reed billowing in the wintry night air while people passed by, maybe seeing his beauty but somehow overlooking everything else he was.

  Did they not see his fragility? Hear the vulnerability in those notes? Did he not seem small to them as he hunched in, trying to be invisible even as everyone within earshot could hear?

  I didn’t know what ailed him most. I didn’t know how he played with such hopeful sorrow. And honestly, I didn’t care.

  If he was shattered, I’d love every jagged piece.

  If he was cracked, I’d try and fill in his spaces.

  If the hope still flickering inside him needed fanned into a flame, I would be his oxygen.

  It didn’t matter to me what form Fletcher came in. It only mattered that he was mine.

  A particularly powerful chord was struck, his frame arching into the billowing sound. Feet stalling out, I stood rooted in place, just watching, listening… appreciating what he was and even what he wasn’t.

  Emotion welled up inside me, pressing against the backs of my eyes. I wanted to run to him, but I also wanted to prolong this moment of essentially being invisible to him so I could selfishly tak
e in every detail without him knowing.

  The platform began to empty, not nearly as busy as it had been when the train emptied a few minutes ago. His back remained to me, his case open near his feet as he played. People would stop and listen, appreciating his talent before moving on. The hat on his head made him appear more melancholic because it hid the messy mop of hair usually flopping wildly about.

  As he played, his body straightened, and I felt rather than saw his attention move outward, focusing instead on something else nearby.

  It took a while to find what I thought might have caught his eye, the movement low to the ground and difficult to make out.

  As I stared, a man in an ill-fitting business suit with a briefcase from the 1940s passed, nearly tripping and falling. His curse echoed to me because the music suddenly stopped.

  Dropping the violin and bow, Fletcher rushed over to where the man had tripped, nearly being knocked over by the way he angrily stormed off, muttering something clearly nasty.

  I couldn’t hear, but I started forward, angry he would direct any of his ire at Fletcher.

  Fletcher wasn’t focused on the retreating man. Instead, he dropped to his knees, carefully leaning forward.

  Was he hurt?

  Did the man hit him and I didn’t see?

  Worry robbed my senses, pushing me forward at the same time Fletcher stood and turned.

  Our eyes met over the distance between us, people rushing through our line of sight but never once breaking our stare.

  His eyes widened with surprise, but then emotion filled them. An entire plethora of sentiments poured from those honey orbs. Pain, relief, happiness, desperation… need.

  I wanted all of it.

  Heart pounding, stomach fluttering, I opened my arms, offering him a choice. He hesitated only a split second, then rushed forward, burying himself into my chest as a shuddering breath moved through him.

  I held him as tight as I dared, clutching around his waist and palming the back of his head. Despite the relief I finally knew at having him close, my heart still thundered wildly.

  And standing there in the murky, arctic underground cave, I felt at home.

  Meow.

  A loud but muffled yowl broke us apart. But even as we both looked down, my hand reached out, curling around the back of his arm so he didn’t go far.

  A scrawny, dirty, and obviously loud kitten was clutched against Fletcher’s chest.

  “Is this what you ran over there for?” I asked, staring at the animal.

  “That man practically kicked it and didn’t even stop,” Fletcher said, shifting it a little closer. His hand was massive compared to the small furball.

  I wasn’t really an animal person, but seeing the way he was staring at the pitiful creature softened my heart.

  “I’ve seen it before.” Fletch went on, stroking its filthy head. “Last time, it was with its mother and a few other kittens. She’s the smallest and had a hard time keeping up. I guess this time she got left behind.”

  He shivered slightly, and I realized what a poor excuse for a coat he was wearing. Reaching down, I felt his fingers, gasping when I felt how icy they were.

  “Come on.” I cajoled, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Let’s go.”

  “Go where?” he asked.

  “My place.”

  “But I—”

  “I’m not sleeping without you tonight, puppy.” I cut him off.

  He nodded once. “My violin.”

  I packed it up for him as he stood close by, eyes trained on me the whole time. I wanted to tease that, clearly, he wanted to come with me, but I didn’t want to poke fun at his need.

  Especially when that need was obviously me.

  “Come on.” I ushered him toward the stairs. We’d take a cab back to my place.

  When he didn’t immediately follow, I turned back.

  Hugging the kitten a little tighter, he lifted his doe eyes to meet mine. “Her mother left her behind. I can’t do that.”

  Like I would deny him. “Bring her along, then.”

  Light brightened his eyes, mixed with honest gratefulness I hadn’t seen from almost anyone. “Really?”

  “If it makes you look at me like that, then yes.”

  Rushing up the stairs between us, he threw himself into me for a hug. “Thank you for finding me.”

  I didn’t think those whispered words were meant for my ears. But it wasn’t my ears that heard them anyway. It was my heart.

  “If you needed me, why didn’t you call?” I asked, the hat preventing me from stroking his hair, so my palm settled against the back of his neck.

  He shook his head, face rubbing against my chest.

  The brakes of an approaching train squealed, and so I bustled him, the cat, and his case up the stairs, holding on to him even as I signaled for a car.

  Inside the cab, I gave the address, and before I was even done, Fletcher was pressed against my side, his cheek resting on my shoulder. Gazing down, I watched him stroke the kitten who was clinging to the front of his coat for dear life.

  “I won’t abandon you,” he murmured softly.

  Heart pinching, I started to shift so I could pull him even closer into my side, but he sat up to speak to the driver. “Can we stop there a minute?” he said, gesturing to some sort of corner store.

  It didn’t look very reputable, and the quality of their items was probably poor.

  “What do you need?” I asked as the cabbie swerved abruptly toward the curb.

  “Meter’s running!” he said, tapping the box on top of the dash.

  The audacity of this man was why I preferred to drive.

  Well, that and my car didn’t smell like nachos and dirty feet.

  “Here, hold her,” Fletcher said, using his hands to pry the kitten off the front of his coat.

  Appalled, I drew back. “Me? What for?”

  “I need to go in there and get a few things for cats.”

  “I can call Jane—” I started to object, but he shook his head firmly. “It’s late, and I’m already here.”

  I glanced at the small creature he held out.

  “Meow,” it complained loudly.

  A pleading look crossed his face. “Please, E? I’ll only be a minute.”

  “All right.” I gave in, reaching for the animal.

  Her claws sank into my arm immediately, but I didn’t complain because Fletcher was staring at me with a soft look on his face.

  “Am I doing it wrong?”

  He shook his head once. “She looks even smaller when you hold her.” Without warning, he bounced forward, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

  By the time I blinked, he was already out of the cab and hurrying into the store.

  “Meter’s running.” The cabbie reminded me.

  “I would never think otherwise,” I replied as the cat climbed up toward my shoulder.

  Startled, I grappled at the little thing, trying not to hurt her as I tugged her back down.

  It meowed forcefully, and I frowned.

  “He’ll be right back.” I assured her.

  “Cats are extra,” the cabbie said.

  I rolled my eyes. “Naturally.”

  Of all the places I could have hypothesized I might end up tonight, sitting in a grungy cab, holding a stray kitten while waiting for Fletcher to shop in some uncivilized store was not even close to any guess I would have made.

  The cat started wiggling around again, climbing up to my shoulder and poking me with its vicious claws, when Fletcher jogged back out to the cab, dropping all his purchases on the floor and scooting all the way across the seat until our bodies bumped.

  “We can go now,” he called up front.

  The cabbie sped off, throwing Fletch back into me.

  “Aww, she likes you,” he crooned.

  “I think this cat is having an identity crisis,” I announced.

  Fletcher’s face grew serious. “Really? Why?”

  “It’s trying to sit on my shou
lder like a parrot.”

  He smiled, a low giggle bubbling from his chest. “Come here,” he cooed, scooping her back into his arms.

  She settled there as though she belonged, making me feel a ping of jealousy, but Fletch’s light shiver made me forget quickly.

  “I’m buying you a new coat, and that’s final,” I said, shifting so I could pull off my coat and drape it over him and the cat like a blanket.

  “Warm,” he whispered, snuggling into it and making my heart clench.

  His eyes were heavier than before when they focused on me, taking in the fitted white dress shirt with black buffalo check on the inside of the collar and down the center where the buttons fastened. The top button was undone, but there was a black silk scarf covering my neck where it opened. With it, I wore black dress pants and designer leather ankle boots.

  “You look fancy. Were you still at work?” he asked, eyes scraping over me once more.

  I thought about the dinner I’d just endured. I thought about the sadness I’d heard in his music and the way his eyes clung to me. Now wasn’t the time to tell him about Sienna. He was already exhausted enough.

  “I had a business dinner.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. My time with Sienna tonight had been for business.

  Father just hoped it would turn out to be more.

  “Will you be cold without your coat?” He worried.

  I nodded sagely. “Very. You’d better sit real close and keep me warm.”

  Releasing a worried sound from his throat, he pushed me against the seat, then proceeded to climb into my lap.

  Shock rendered me silent as he wiggled and settled with a deep sigh.

  “Are you warm now?” he asked, side curled against my chest, head tucked into my neck.

  Oh, he is going to be the end of me.

  His shyness was overruled by worry I might actually be cold. He was clearly so needy for affection that he climbed into my lap to soak it in.

  Heart tumbling, I hooked an arm around his waist. “Yeah, puppy,” I murmured low. “I’m warm now.”

  The loud purring of the cat was almost interrupted when the cabbie glanced at us in the rearview.

  I cut him off before he could even utter his nonsense.