Dethroning Crown

by Lila Felix

  I froze for the second time that day. First the winking and now—he’s holding my hand? There was no longer any need for coffee—I had enough adrenaline in my body at that moment to propeller a helicopter.

  I hated it. I hated every second of this obviously one sided gooey feeling.

  “Don’t look so shocked. Don’t people hold hands?” He whispered in my ear. It just made everything worse. It was one thing to know that I was blushy and feeling like a fifteen year old who just got her boob touched accidentally. But for him to say it out loud was just too much.

  “I guess.”

  Houston came back with our drinks and mine had something written on the side of the cup, but for the time being, I chose to ignore it. I was more interested in how Crown managed to have the exact temperature hands that made mine warm without being hot.

  “Come see me again, Lyra.” Houston called before we got into the door.

  I glanced back and nodded. Crown face didn’t move, like the comment hadn’t fazed him in the slightest.

  The closer we got to Eric’s dock, the more aggravated I got. There had to be a way to stop myself from feeling anything about the prick next to me.

  I was letting it all get out of control.

  “So, that guy. What’s the deal with him?”

  “Who?”

  “The latte boy.”

  “We went out a couple of times. He called and left messages, but I just wasn’t interested.”

  “He’s still leaving messages.” Crown picked up my cup and tapped the hand-scribbled note with his pointer finger.

  “It’s pointless. There wasn’t any…It was just pointless.”

  “Tell me why.”

  “He kissed me.”

  Crown straight up laughed at me for that.

  “You broke the poor guy’s heart for kissing you? What a crime.”

  I let silence fill the air for a few moments, deciding how I would play this. I realized that even if I told Crown my life story, nothing would come of it. He wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t tell anyone. And as soon as he went back to his high profile life, my confessions, along with me, and the things we’d shared that I’d bloated in my mind, would all disappear.

  Might as well use this as a therapy session.

  I hadn’t had one of those in years.

  “The crime was that when he kissed me it was like kissing my brother. Well, what I feel like kissing my brother would be like. I have no brothers.”

  Crown continued to stare out the window. I didn’t think the boy had seen this much landscape in his life. Soccer field grass just didn’t count.

  “I haven’t kissed a girl in years.”

  Hold the damned phone.

  “Shut up.”

  “I really haven’t. You don’t have to kiss a girl to—well, I wasn’t really focused on their mouths.”

  I hoped that cinnamon lattes tasted as good coming up as they did going down. I was about to find out.

  “That’s a shame. I’ve only had one amazing kiss in my life. And I was fifteen. But I always compare other guys to him.”

  He had nothing to say to that.

  Too much information.

  Eric was at the road when we pulled onto the small gravel parking lot along False River. He was waving like he was in a parade and I laughed a bit at his enthusiasm. Crown didn’t know what he was missing by denying himself a relationship with Eric. If Crown asked Eric to give him the whole business, Eric would do it.

  People with nice, decent families find a reason to separate themselves from them and people who have dysfunctional families are constantly together.

  I took one long chug of my coffee before grabbing my bag and getting out. Crown took his time, walking markedly slower than he had before.

  Eric hugged me like a father would and then shook Crown’s hand.

  We got onto the boat and Crown looked wobbly. He took the lowest seat. I, on the other hand, knew where the fun was to be had. I climbed up to sit right next to Eric at the helm. I made sure Crown put his earmuffs on. He had no idea how loud these things could be.

  I twirled my hair up into a bun, securing it with three hairbands and a hat. The last thing I wanted was my hair caught in the fan of the airboat. I was just there for the tour, not the scalping.

  “Hold on, you two. It’s been a while.”

  Been a while didn’t quite cover it. It took Eric a full hour before he got the feel for the boat and how fast it turned. Once around a bend, he turned so jerky that Crown nearly fell off the side.

  Three hours later, I’d laughed until I cried at Crown’s reactions to things. The first time he saw an alligator, he pulled his arm back into the boat so fast, he nearly hurt himself. Eric pulled into a cove-like section of the swamp where he said an old friend of his was. The old friend turned out to be a ten foot gator. Eric fed him an entire ice chest full of rotten chicken while Crown gawked in disbelief.

  I’d taken those things for granted. The Spanish moss. The sounds in the swamp. The haunting splashes of murky water. The slip of a turtle back into the water. The flight of eagles overhead.

  I’d miss those things.

  We stayed in that cove for hours. The tour long forgotten, the three of us were satisfied with where we were. Eric fished over the side of the boat while I pointed out things to Crown. Everything was new to him. It was fun to see this through his eyes.

  He and Eric started talking about Crown’s mom after Eric mentioned that she liked the swamp. Feeling like I was intruding, I moved to the front of the boat and did my best not to listen which was hard when we were the only three people for miles.

  “Well, if I don’t get home for lunch, Mama will think I drowned.”

  “Thank you, Eric. This was nice. Can you take a picture of Lyra and me here?”

  I pretended not to be astonished at Crown making an attempt to be nice to his uncle. I also pretended not to be disappointed that the day had turned into another ploy for publicity. Could he not leave his career behind for one minute?

  Fear tore through me. Eric wouldn’t understand my need for not wanting my face shown.

  “We are gonna sit on the edge of the boat. Can you take it from the back?”

  Eric seemed appalled. “And hide that pretty face?”

  “I’ve got no make-up on. You know Chela wouldn’t let you take a picture if she didn’t have her face on.”

  Eric thought on it for a minute. “That’s true. Alright, come on.”

  Crown sat next to me and as soon as he did my whole body came to life again. Tingles and flutters didn’t even begin to describe the bloom he created in me. It was ridiculous and completely in rebellion of what I was set on feeling.

  Still, it couldn’t be denied.

  No matter how much I wanted to.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Crown

  Falling Down

  Hell, how was it that Lyra fit against me just right no matter what position we were in?

  The picture was taken and Eric got back into position to drive us back—or motor us back—whatever the term was.

  By the time we got back to her car, I was whipped. Not physically, but just tired—inside. She found it necessary to bring me into an emotional spiral every time I was with her.

  Might as well make a day of it.

  “How far away is Brusly?” I asked her when she started the car up.

  “About twenty minutes or so from this place, why?”

  Her face hid no secrets. She was constantly looking hopeful like I would reveal any second that I was some deep, sentimental guy. Maybe she wanted to see someone smart or thoughtful. Maybe she wanted to find that underneath it all I was a humanitarian at heart.

  I wasn’t.

  I was just Crown Sterling.

  And underneath it all there was nothing.

  “I want to go to the cemetery.”

  “And…” She pressed. Lyra never let me get away with anything.

  “And could you please take me there if
you have nothing else to do. Please.”

  “You said please twice.”

  Rolling my eyes, I agreed. “I know. It’s growing on me.”

  “Brusly cemetery it is.”

  True to her word, later we pulled up at the cemetery. It was smaller than I’d expected and the graves looked like they were long forgotten.

  “Look, the office is right there. Just give them the name and they will tell you where the grave is.”

  She threw the car in park. I went inside and asked the girl at the front if I could find out where a person’s grave is.

  “What’s the name?”

  “Catherine Sterling.”

  “It looks like Section D, row seventeen.” She handed me a map but the way she called out the location reminded me of the seats in the stands. “There’s a flower shop next door if you want to pick up flowers.”

  Tippi had given me a note through Lyra the day before saying that she’d isolated three hundred dollars and put it into my account. That was supposed to last me a couple of weeks. Going into the flower shop, I was immediately overwhelmed.

  “Mother, father, friend?” A rail-thin woman approached me asking questions.

  “Mother.”

  “Fake or real?”

  “She was my real mother.”

  She let out a loud laugh and I wanted to shush her. I’d thought that the rules of libraries were in effect in funeral homes as well. Apparently, not.

  “No, I meant artificial flowers or real ones.”

  Another social concept I had no knowledge about.

  “Artificial, I guess.”

  “You’re leaving soon. You should go with the artificial.” Lyra’s voice startled me. I turned around in a swift movement. I knew that I was leaving soon, but when I said it, it sounded like something to look forward to.

  And when Lyra said it, it sounded like finality.

  For some reason I didn’t like the sound of finality on her lips.

  “Let me work something up. Give me about ten minutes.” The saleswoman skipped away. The place stunk of over-perfumed plants and that woman’s rowdy perfume.

  “If you batted those eyelashes one more time, she would’ve planted a whole garden wherever you wanted.”

  Her voice was laced with jealousy and I liked it a lot more than I should have.

  “Well, I doubt that. What about you?”

  She bit back a smile by rolling her lips through her teeth, but her eyes told me all I needed to know.

  “What about me?”

  God, I needed to know. I craved the knowledge that I had the same or even a fraction of an effect on her as she did on me. I could still feel the imprint of her from the night before and hear every noise she made while she slept on me echoing in my ears.

  “Come on. You’re Crown Sterling. Crown Sterling makes all the girls drool.”

  Mocking from anyone else wouldn’t be tolerated. Anyone would’ve been floored or fired for the same act.

  Plus, mocking from Lyra actually stung.

  Not that I cared what she thought of me—much.

  I looked toward the back where the woman went before. She needed to hurry up. The more time I was allowed to talk and attempt to socialize, the further into the mud I sank.

  As if she’d heard my call, the woman came out bursting with pride at the bouquet she’d made. I paid for the flowers, much more than I’d wanted, and showed Lyra the map.

  “Which one?”

  “This one.”

  “Let’s go.”

  She was even perky about seeing a grave.

  A few minutes of friendly bickering later, we found the grave, marked with an aged picture of her encased in glass with her name and the day she died.

  “This is your mom?”

  She said it in present tense as if my mom was standing in front of us as opposed to buried six feet under. I wasn’t prepared to feel anything about it. I didn’t even know her. The only memories I had of her were imitations, planted there by baby pictures and stolen moments with Dad’s photo albums.

  “Yeah.

  “Do you want me to leave, so you can talk to her?”

  Talk to her? It wasn’t like she was going to hear me. My voice came out in a whimper. “What would I say?”

  “Come on Crown. You’ve never had trouble talking about yourself before. Want me to start?”

  Pushy—that’s what Lyra was—pushy.

  “Sure.”

  She cleared her throat and if I had been asked to guess what she would say it would’ve been that I was handsome, talented, famous—a remarkable athlete.

  So when Lyra began to speak, she left me dumbstruck.

  “Mrs. Sterling, you would be so proud of Crown. He’s learning so much and being so strong. Inside, he’s a kind soul. He’s extremely gentle.”

  I wanted to check her for fever.

  “What about soccer and being the best player?”

  Lyra shrugged next to me and placed a hand on my lower back. “That’s not who you are, Crown. That’s what you do. There’s a difference.”

  There was not a difference. I was soccer through and through. Her glamorizing one night of trying to help her didn’t define me—one night of weakness.

  That’s all it was.

  With the toe of my shoe, I swished away some grass clippings and dirt. I didn’t know her, but she didn’t deserve a forgotten grave site and no flowers.

  “The flowers will make it better.” Lyra kneeled down and placed the flowers so that the arrangement’s original form held its shape. She was constantly doing nice things.

  I never did anything nice.

  I did what helped me.

  “I wonder who I would be if she’d been there.”

  Lyra stifled, but didn’t stop cleaning the grave. She picked the weeds that insisted on touching my mother’s name.

  “Do you think you would’ve been different?”

  “I don’t know. Get up, it’s fine.”

  It wasn’t that I minded her cleaning the headstone, but I would’ve preferred her next to me. Something was tornadoing inside me and I felt like at any minute I would need something to hold onto.

  “I think he taught me soccer because it was the only thing he knew. I can’t remember anything else my dad could do that didn’t involve the game. He couldn’t cook, we had a maid, and he didn’t really participate in my school activities. Maybe I would’ve been more well-rounded. Does that make sense?”

  “You’re not dead.” She remarked.

  “What?”

  “You’re in your twenties, Crown. If you want more than what you have. If you want to be more than who you are, then do it. You’ve got a lifetime.”

  Crown Sterling fought against her words. I was soccer and soccer was me. Period. But this secondary part of me, a part that flourished in this place, reached out to her and she came willingly, fitting pliant against my side, her arms wrapped around my waist. She believed in me and not because I was showing off or demanding her praise.

  Lyra just believed in me.

  It was overwhelming.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Okay.”

  The ride home was silent. Though we’d obviously broken contact to get into the car, I twitched with need to feel her again. When had I become so frightened of rejection?

  Her hand fiddled with something in the cup holder. Without looking at her, I reached across and slid my open hand against the inside of hers. Damn, her hands were so soft and warm, just like her. To my surprise and relief, she linked her fingers with mine and kept driving like she hadn’t just given me a gift.

  I didn’t like it—this needing something from someone else. So, as I hold her hand, the original Crown Sterling is fighting me all the way. The thing is, maybe he wasn’t the original after all. Maybe who I was had been covered and smothered by the other one.

  Another thing I had to figure out.

  Louisiana sure did get a man thinking.

  ~~

  “Blak
e’s here.” She said as we pulled into her driveway. Blake was sitting on the stoop of my apartment like he had nothing better to do.

  “He is.”

  “I’ll see you later.”

  She hesitated. Maybe there was something else she wanted to say to me. Maybe there was more I wanted to say to her.

  Ah, hell.

  I watched as she got out of the car and gave a quick wave to Blake who didn’t even check her out as she passed. That boy was whipped beyond control.

  “What’s up, man? You been here long?”

  He stood up and nodded. “Nope. You ready to work out?”

  I was. Sitting in that boat and car all day hadn’t done anything to help the flexibility of my knee.

  While we worked out in the backyard, I looked to Lyra’s windows every chance I got. I didn’t understand my obsession. I was stuck on her—needing to know what she was doing or what carb-loaded thing she was eating or if she was scared again.

  She hadn’t said anything about the night before and I hadn’t brought it up.

  Between sets, my eyes were locked on her back door.

  Every noise made me think she was coming outside.

  Blake was making me do some weird squat things and after about four, I heard a snort and turned around to see him laughing his ass off. His shoulders were shaking and even his damned nostrils were flaring.

  What a dill weed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  That caused a whole new round of laughing and knee slapping.

  “Don’t you ever—ever—bag on me for getting calls from my wife. Ever!”

  My eyebrows scrunched together. “What?”

  “You are so caught up in what’s going on with the girl next door that you don’t even know what you’re doing. We stopped doing squats three sets ago. I’m over here doing stretches and you’re back to squats with your eyes on her window. Stalker, much?”

  “Shut up. At least I don’t get calls from my ‘beautiful wife’ ten times a day.”

  He huffed. “It’s gorgeous wife. And you look like a phone call from her would just make your day. I have six brothers, Crown. I know that look when I see it.”

  “You don’t know shit.”