Lost King by Piper Lennox (moboreader txt) 📗

“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