Lost King by Piper Lennox (moboreader txt) 📗

shy, sweet, and very naïve, much like how the real Ruby used to be. She adores Theo’s rich-boy drivel and goes wild for that pristine smile.

Problem is, I veered off-script the minute I saw him enter the hardware store. The second I took those buckets and shoved them onto that upper shelf, waiting for him to walk by.

This plan has all the details of a bank heist, but none of the flawless rehearsals. Sure, I’ve fantasized about doing it a thousand times...but I never really thought I’d get the chance.

I hate to admit it, but I’ve got to blame his eyes. Staring into them made me feel fifteen again: desperate to have him.

Hopelessly hopeful that, if he just got to know me...I could.

So all these partial truths, snippets of the real Ruby, keep slipping out. Like now, when I tell him, “Uh...I was really awkward, growing up.”

My pulse floats behind my eyes. I calm it by reminding myself the details don’t really matter. He doesn’t remember.

“Yeah?” A smile plays at his lips. My guard goes up, readying for some cruel remark, but I realize it’s not a mean smile. It’s sympathetic. “How awkward are we talking?”

An image of my former self flashes through my head. It still makes me cringe to remember. I wish I could go back in time and tell that girl to stop reaching for the stars. There’s nothing good up there.

“Just...socially unaware. You know? The kind of person who makes all these mistakes and doesn’t even realize it. Clueless. Nerdy, but not even in a brainy way—just so uncool, there’s no other word for it. Trying way too hard, all the time.” My babbling finally sputters to a stop.

But not before one last verdict slips out of my mouth: “Weird.”

His sympathy strengthens. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself.”

“Hmm.” I press my spine against the chair, hands going back to my lap. “If you met younger me, I’m sure you’d say otherwise.”

“Maybe. Or maybe not. ‘Weird’ has an unfair connotation as being bad. It’s not. It just...isn’t the norm.”

“Which is bad.”

“Which,” he says firmly, “just means you were probably a million times more interesting than any of the people around you, at any given moment.”

Oh, yeah? Then why did you treat me like shit that night?

If I was so fucking interesting, Theo Durham—why didn’t you want me?

Anger twists my organs again. Thank, God. I need it.

“Excuse me for a moment.” I force a smile and push out from the table. Theo stands to pull my chair out for me, which just enrages me more.

The bathroom is too soft and calm. Mini chandeliers and flickering wall sconces throw seeds of light over my reflection. Lavender inexplicably fills the air, serving as Novocaine to my pounding heart.

“You’re so...interesting.”

“I’ve never known anyone like you.”

Tears clog my throat. I clear it several times and blink at the mirror.

“Don’t cry about it,” I whisper. “You don’t have to cry about it anymore. Never, ever again.”

Drop by drop, I feel my confidence return. The too-soft lighting stops being so calming, and starts reminding me of torches. Flickering fuses on bombs.

The embers of war, finally bursting into flames.

4

“You’re shivering.” As we walk, I shrug off my jacket and drape it on Ruby’s shoulders. “Should we go back to the car?”

She thanks me and puts her arms through. “I’m fine now. Or at least, not about to freeze. I can walk for a while. Besides...it’s really peaceful out here.”

Her gaze sweeps to the water, pitch-black and lapping on the shore below. The moonlight is faint, and streetlights are few and far between.

“Sorry. I brought you here because it’s, like, picture-perfect in the summertime. Guess I should’ve realized November’s not the same.” It’s only a quarter past six, and already too dark to see much.

“It may not look beautiful,” she says, shoulder bumping my arm, “but it sounds beautiful. And feels beautiful. Even if I wish it was warmer.”

Pausing, she turns to the water and draws a deep breath. “The way it smells is the best part, though.”

I step up beside her and do the same. It’s completely different from summer: compressed, the scents of wet earth and salt sharper than before.

“Woodsmoke,” I point out, both of us twisting to follow the trail that appears overhead. “Must be a local.”

“Must be,” she says, “since you’re the only summer boy left in town.”

“‘Summer boy?’”

Ruby falters, moving her hands to get the words out. I love how her fingertips are all I can see, her arms drowning in my jacket. “You know...not the tourists who pop in for a week or two, and not the locals who live here year-round, but the summer-only people. You own vacation houses, show up when the hot weather starts...then leave before everything can get all gray and cold and gross.”

“Didn’t know we had a nickname with you locals. Though I will say, it’s better than what I would’ve guessed.”

“What would you have guessed we call you?”

“Rich assholes.”

Ruby lifts her eyebrows.

“Ah.” I shove my hands in my pockets before the wind can chap them. “They call us that too, huh?”

“Well, I wouldn’t,” she laughs, “but...yeah. Only when the person really is an asshole, I think. Then again, I’m not a local.”

“I thought you lived here year-round?”

“I do now,” she explains, looking relieved when we circle back towards the car, “but I’m not from here, which in my head is, like...a real local. I grew up in Jersey.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Jersey is a perfectly lovely state, thank you very much. I’m so tired of everyone ragging on it just because it’s some easy punchline.”

“No, I wasn’t....”