Prince

by Cambria Hebert

  I knew he could feel me shaking. It didn’t matter how stiffly I tried to hold myself. The trembles still came. His large hand stroked my hair, and the feel of his breath against my ear was soothing.

  “I’m not going anywhere, puppy.” He reassured me.

  “But you said—”

  “I said I can’t keep my hands off you, and that’s why this conversation is coming after I’ve already had you.” His words were a bit sheepish, and hearing him put it that way made me calmer. “I feel like I’ve done everything backward with you. Not at all the way I should.”

  “I don’t understand,” I whispered, my rigid limbs giving up their fight and allowing me to surrender against him completely.

  “It’s because I’ll take you no matter what. It doesn’t matter if you don’t want to talk about your past or about her.” I sucked in a breath, but he moved on. “I don’t need to know everything there is to know about you because, to be honest, it won’t change how I feel. I want you no matter what. But I realize that probably isn’t the case for you.”

  Gasping, I twisted around to stare at him, incredulous. “Yes, it is!”

  His smile was a bit sad, and it made me want to hug him. “But I should have told you.”

  “Told me what?”

  “My parents don’t know I’m gay.”

  Oh. Was that what this was about? All the worry I’d felt just moments ago drained away, leaving me relieved yet worn out. I shrugged. “Okay.”

  Ethan’s eyes widened. “Okay?”

  “I kinda already figured most people didn’t know. I mean, up until last year, everyone thought you were with Ivory. But I guess I thought maybe your parents knew, the people closest to you.” But then I thought back to when I’d met his father and made a face. “Well, actually, no. Your dad is scary. Are you worried he’ll hate you?”

  A funny look crossed his features. “Partly.”

  Sadness enveloped me because I knew what it was like to hope for acceptance even when you knew you wouldn’t get it. “It’s okay,” I told him quietly. “You can tell them when you’re ready.”

  “Really?” he asked, the relief in his tone too great for him to conceal.

  “Yeah. I understand.” For once, I wondered if maybe having a parent who never cared was better than having one who only cared when you were who they wanted you to be. The hovering possibility they could take away their love at any moment was probably crippling.

  “There’s something else.”

  I looked up, inner meanderings forgotten. There was something in his tone. Something I didn’t want to acknowledge but definitely couldn’t ignore.

  “What?” My voice turned timid. The anxiety I thought was gone reappeared, churning my stomach almost like a warning or a venomous snake waiting to strike.

  I was tired of talking. I wanted him to kiss me instead.

  “My father is trying to set me up again.” As he spoke, I noticed the way he watched me very carefully.

  My eyes widened. “You mean like with a girl?”

  “With a wife.”

  “He wants you to date a married woman?” I demanded, completely offended. “I know you’re rich, but that’s not right!”

  Ethan laughed and ruffled my hair, but I moved from the touch to scowl.

  Still chuckling, he lowered his hand. “No. He wants me to get married.”

  My mouth formed an O.

  “He seems to think my lack of finding anyone who interests me is the perfect reason for a marriage of convenience.”

  I blinked. I didn’t know what that meant.

  “For money and for business,” Ethan explained. “Like with Ivory.”

  He reads me so well. He pays such close attention.

  The warm thoughts left me cold. Cold because we were talking about his impending marriage. And if he got married… What about me?

  Suddenly, I was pummeled with insecurity, fear, and doubt. Instinctively, I pulled in on myself, tucking my knees closer against my body and scooting back for some distance between us.

  I got attached.

  I shouldn’t have gotten attached.

  Now I knew why he wanted to tell me before we had sex.

  I probably wouldn’t have slept with him…

  A distressed sound brought my head up as he reached for me, but I jerked back, denying us both.

  It hurt. It hurt to think last night was not only our first but our last.

  You’re disposable to him, Fletcher. You aren’t anyone’s forever.

  He said he was your only… but he never said you were his.

  The whispers were savage and sounded so much like her in the back of my head that it sent me scrambling back until there was no more mattress, and I dropped onto the floor with a yelp. Echoes of pain shot through me, reminding me all over again of last night.

  A night I might never have again.

  “Fletcher!” Ethan rushed around the end of the bed.

  The second he was within arm’s reach, I held out my hand. “No. Stay back.”

  Face pale, he lowered his hands but didn’t back away. “I won’t touch you. But please just keep listening. Please.”

  I made a sound kind of like a scoff. I hoped it sounded uninterested and pissed off. In reality, it was me groaning because I couldn’t run. My legs felt too weak.

  “He flew in a socialite from California. Her father could be an ally in business. She’s staying with my family, and he’s hoping we’ll hit it off.”

  Dread was a heavy emotion. It was like an anvil that could anchor you at the bottom of the sea. And I could do nothing but sit here. Sit here and drown in the ache his words created within me. “You met her.”

  He made a strangled sound, sinking to the floor. “He brought her to my office yesterday. I, ah, I took her to dinner.”

  Sudden anger gave me strength. The immense hurt I felt took a back seat, and I embraced the heat. Shooting up, I felt daggers stab from eyes. “You met your future wife yesterday and then came home and slept with me?” My voice was fierce.

  “No!”

  “It’s a little late to lie,” I spat, turning toward the door to leave.

  You let him fool you, Fletch. You let him convince you that maybe, just this once, you were good enough. Stupid. Stupid boy.

  Mother’s laughter rang out in the back of my ears. I flinched, trying to get away from the sound.

  Strong arms locked around me from behind. I bucked and struggled, trying to get free. “Let go!”

  “No. Listen to me!”

  Why should I keep listening? Every single word you say hurts worse and worse. I expected better from you, Ethan.

  In the end, you’re just like everyone else.

  “I said let go!” I roared, stomping down on his foot.

  He grunted but didn’t loosen his hold. In fact, his arms shackled me tighter.

  “You’re hurting me,” I whined pathetically, but sadly, it was true.

  He let go instantly, and honestly, that just hurt worse. Did the idea of physically hurting me bother him?

  No. You just aren’t worth the fight.

  No one wants you. You’re worthless.

  A sob caught in my throat, burning and robbing me of breath, but still I forced it down. I would not cry in front of him. I would not let him know just how badly this was killing me.

  Wrenching away, I fled, flinging open the door and running as if my life depended on it.

  He shouted my name and begged me to come back. The sound of his pounding feet giving chase was like the heavy beating of a drum.

  It wasn’t until I was in the elevator that I looked back.

  “Fletcher!” he exclaimed, rushing out of the penthouse.

  I hit the button a thousand times, willing the doors to close quicker. His eyes were wild, his mouth set. In his haste, his strong frame knocked into the fancy table with the huge vase of flowers. It crashed to the floor. The sound of it shattering was deafening.

  Ethan didn’t even pause but ch
arged through the broken glass, water, and scattered flower petals, trying to make it to me.

  “Wait.” His voice was strangled, and he reached out a hand.

  But it was too late.

  The doors eased shut, redrawing the line between us that never should have been erased.

  29

  Ethan

  * * *

  Glass and crumpled flower petals stuck to the bottom of my feet. Wet footprints trailed behind me as I dragged myself up the stairs.

  I’d run out of the penthouse, shouting onto the street. People stared and made wide arches around me as they walked, but I didn’t care.

  All I cared about was Fletcher.

  “Fletcher!” I roared, pounding up and down the sidewalk, searching desperately for his retreating frame.

  He was fast, somehow an expert at escape.

  I searched and searched until my nose ran from the cold, my eyes watered in the wind, and my dirty, bloody feet were numb. Even then, I paced down close-by alleyways, shouting his name, desperation clinging to my vocal cords.

  He was gone.

  Somehow he’d slipped away no matter how earnestly I searched.

  I let him down.

  I did the one thing in this entire world I never wanted to do.

  The hurt in his eyes was something that would haunt me the rest of my days. The way he stared at me as if I were a stranger was not at all the way he’d look at me last night.

  This was why I hadn’t wanted to tell him about Sienna.

  This is exactly why you should have told him sooner.

  I should have held him down. I should have let him punch and kick and scream. I should have ignored his proclamation that I was hurting him because at least he would still be in my arms.

  Now he was… gone.

  Running the streets with no shoes, no coat, and a shattered heart.

  If only he’d let me finish. If only he’d have listened.

  This isn’t his fault.

  No. It wasn’t. It was mine. His trust was misplaced for a reason. His panic and doubt had obviously been learned.

  I wanted to be his exception.

  But now I was just like everyone else.

  In the bedroom, a tiny mewling sound hit me in the chest. The small white kitten stood impossibly small and thin, staring up at me with questions in its eyes.

  I sank to my knees in front of her, and after a moment’s hesitation, she strolled close. Her fur was soft against my knee, but she didn’t purr. Instead, she stared with wide, curious eyes, asking me where her savior went, why I chased him away.

  My fingers stroked over her back, recalling the way Fletcher’s had done the same. Leaving me behind, Gwennie—as Fletch called her—walked to a pile of fabric I hadn’t noticed before.

  My T-shirt. The one Fletcher slept in last night. The one he’d been wearing when I made love to him this morning.

  A rough sound ripped from my throat, and the base of my skull pierced with sharp pain.

  I watched the kitten do a little turn in the center of the fabric before curling up in a ball.

  Ignoring the migraine threatening to overtake me, I pushed to my feet.

  “I’ll bring him back,” I told the kitten. “This is where he belongs.”

  30

  Fletcher

  * * *

  I wasn’t too good at school, but I didn’t so much mind going. The buildings were old, but they were warm, and the ladies in the cafeteria always gave me extra mashed potatoes. Cold air didn’t seep in around the windows, and the teachers never yelled.

  I never really did my homework, but this year I would try.

  I liked it when my teacher smiled at me. It didn’t matter if I got all the answers wrong. She smiled anyway. Her smile was like the sun. Bright.

  Yesterday when I’d come to school with missing buttons on my coat, the teacher sewed new ones back on. They were different colors and sizes, but I didn’t mind. She buttoned me up before I walked home, telling me to make sure I stayed warm.

  Today, we spent all morning working on crafts. The teacher told us to make something for someone we loved.

  My mom wasn’t as nice as her, and she didn’t ever smile. But I loved her anyway because she was my mom, and she was the only person I had.

  I wanted to see her smile. I thought maybe if I made this gift for her, I might finally get to see it.

  I worked all morning, gluing popsicle sticks together, skipping snack time, and getting glitter all over my jeans and hands. When I was done, I showed it proudly to my teacher.

  “Wow, Fletcher! That’s the most beautiful snowflake I’ve ever seen!” she said.

  Pride welled in my chest. For sure, this would make Mom smile!

  “Do you think my mom will like it?” I asked, hope making my heart flutter.

  “Absolutely. She will love it.”

  My teacher even helped me wrap it up with red tissue paper and tuck it into a little brown bag.

  I clutched it the whole way home, anticipating Mom’s face when she saw the gift I made just for her.

  It was okay if she was grouchy a lot, and it was okay if our house wasn’t as warm as school. She didn’t really like me much, but maybe this would change her mind.

  I left my backpack by the front door the second I walked in.

  “Mom!” I called up the stairs. “Mother!”

  The house stayed quiet, and I glanced into the small living room.

  “Mom?”

  A few seconds later, she appeared out of the kitchen, a small glass clutched in her palm. “What is all this racket?” she yelled. “What the hell do you want?”

  “I made this for you at school today!” I beamed, holding up the bag.

  She seemed surprised. “You made something for me?”

  I nodded vigorously. “Open it!”

  She put aside the glass and turned toward me.

  I bounced from foot to foot as she opened the sack, pulling out the bundle of red paper. Holding it in her palm, she pulled the edges back, and even in the dim lighting of our living room, the glitter I’d applied so meticulously sparkled.

  “What is this?” she asked, staring down.

  “A snowflake!” I exclaimed. “I put all the sticks together, I painted it, and I even made it sparkly.”

  She glanced up at me. “You did all this?”

  I nodded proudly. “I made it just for you. Teacher said to make something for someone that we love.”

  Something in the room shifted. The excitement I’d felt dimmed. My tummy felt a little funny, and I waited for her reply.

  Mother’s lips curled in a snarl, her brows slashing over her eyes. “Someone you love,” she spat.

  “That’s you, Mom,” I said, still hopeful.

  She threw back her head and laughed. It wasn’t at all a happy sound.

  Her body was stiff, her shoulders rigid. Eyes flashing at me, she looked back at the snowflake. “You used too much glue here, and you missed a spot with the paint.”

  I bit down on my lip.

  “And this glitter,” she spat. “I hate glitter! So shiny and sparkling, pretending to be pretty when, really, it just gets everywhere and never goes away!”

  “I did my best,” I said, hope extinguishing as though it hadn’t even been there.

  “Of course you did!” she wailed. “That’s why it's worthless! Because you are worthless!”

  I recoiled. “I-I’m s-sorry.”

  The red paper drifted to the floor as she held up the snowflake and snapped it in two.

  I gasped. “Mom!”

  “It’s hideous!”

  The delicate wood snapped again, glitter raining down to the floor.

  “I don’t want your love. I don’t want it! No one wants you!” She threw one of the broken pieces at her feet.

  Tears welled in my eyes, and I tried so hard not to let them fall. The last time I’d cried, she made fun of me for a week.

  Crybaby. Crybaby. Wah-wah-wah.

  �
��I just wanted to see you smile.”

  “If you wanted me to smile, you should never have been born!”

  My hands went to my tummy. It didn’t feel good at all.

  Throwing the rest of the snowflake on the floor, she stared with a cold look in her eye. “What’s that on your coat?”

  I glanced down at the multicolored buttons. “N-n-nothing.”

  “Don’t tell me it’s nothing! I can see it’s something. Where did you get those buttons?”

  “T-t-teacher sewed them on.”

  A wild noise ripped from her throat, and she rushed me. I stumbled back, falling onto the floor, and she was over me, ripping at my coat.

  Ping. Ping. Ping.

  The sound of buttons hitting the floor and rolling away was louder than even her yell.

  Closing my eyes, I waited until she was gone to roll onto my side and curl into a ball.

  “Being warm is a luxury I will never allow!” she wailed.

  I waited for her to take her glass and go back to the kitchen. Long minutes passed, and I finally rose to my knees.

  Broken popsicle sticks lay on the floor. The glitter was no match for the dark and dirty floor.

  I stared at the snowflake I’d lovingly made as cold air prickled through my buttonless coat.

  I would never see her smile. I guess you couldn’t smile at something you didn’t love.

  The memory overwhelmed me, slamming into me like a sucker punch. The bitter flavor of my childhood splashed up the back of my throat like acid, bringing with it the taste of blood. I stopped bringing her gifts after that day because I knew it wouldn’t matter what I brought. Nothing would make her love me.

  My entire life was filled with moments like these, reinforcing the idea that I had no value and there was nothing remarkable about me to love.

  The only thing that kept me going was something deep inside that never completely went out. It didn’t matter how cruel or cold she was or even when she managed to snuff out the flickering flame.

  Hope always reignited. It always offered just a tiny bit of warmth to get me through the coldest of days. Sometimes it came to me in sleep, in the melody of a violin, a sound that swirled in my head for days.