ROYAL (8 page)

Royal

It’s a thirty-minute drive from Patterson Auto Body to my
apartment in Glidden, and it just so happens that Rixton Falls is the halfway
point.

I take a detour toward Demi’s neighborhood and rest at a
stop sign a minute too long. It’s just past dusk. She could still be at the
hospital for all I know, but she knows my car now. No more drive-bys. No more
watching like some fucking loser creep.

It’s probably all for the best anyway.

I need to move on. Clearly she did.

The honk of a horn behind me prompts my foot to gun the gas,
and I charge straight ahead, down Demi’s
Better
Homes and Gardens
street.

Her porch lights shine, and her car is parked in the driveway,
taillights glowing red then fading to dark.

Fuck.

I stop down the street and wait as she exits her Subaru and
heads inside. Forecast is calling for more snow tonight. It’s a shame she can’t
park in the garage. Last I knew, it was full of all Brooks’s “toys.”

Part of me wants to leave and come back another time. Give
her more space. I shouldn’t have shown up last night out of the blue, but I
couldn’t stand back and watch her suffer.

Not again.

Things were tolerable when I thought she was happy. She
smiled a lot, at least from what I could tell. I’d check her social media sites
from time to time. She seemed to love him enough. I stayed away, figuring she’d
moved on long ago.

And then I learned what kind of fucking asshole Brooks
Abbott truly is.

Demi deserves better.

I had to intervene.

I just didn’t know Brooks would be paying for his mistakes
with his life.

I punch the steering wheel, drag my hands through my hair,
and pull up to her house. By the time I’m knocking on her door, everything’s a
blur and I can’t breathe.

“I figured you’d stop by again,” she says when she answers
the door. I catch my breath when I see her face and those calming blue eyes of
hers. “Didn’t know it’d be so soon.”

I stand at her front door in gray work pants, greasy boots,
and a plain white t-shirt. I smell like oil and paint thinner. I look like
shit.

“Can I come in?” I ask.

Demi’s cheek presses against the door, and her shoulders
rise and fall.

“Yeah.” She swings the door wide. “But only because I want
some answers.”

“Expectations can be dangerous.”

“Not as dangerous as letting you back into my life, Royal.”

I smirk. I deserved that.

Removing my shoes, I glance into her pristine living room.
No way in hell I’m stepping foot in there in my work clothes.

“You bring Brooks’s pants back?” She lifts a brow.

“Nope. Threw ‘em away.”

Her jaw falls. “W-why would you do that?”

“Have my reasons.”

Demi’s arms fold, her hips angled as we stand across from
one another in her foyer.

“We can go to the kitchen, I guess.” She shuffles toward the
table in the breakfast nook, the one piece of furniture in that entire room not
covered in white. “I don’t know if it’s a territorial thing or what, but you
can’t just throw people’s things away.”

“Territorial? What am I, a junkyard dog?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

We sit across from each other, separated by some frilly
little centerpiece filled with fresh flowers in bright shades that contrast
everything around us. I move them aside so I can see her face unobstructed.

“Okay.” Demi sighs. “You have my attention. Now tell me,
Royal. Why the hell did you walk out seven years ago and never come back?”

I’ve replayed the events of that weekend a thousand times,
each time asking myself how I’d do it differently.

I thought I was doing the right thing at the time.

I thought I was helping someone who desperately needed my
help.

I never expected it all to blow up in my face, to create
some kind of butterfly effect, to completely change the trajectory of our
futures.

“We would’ve been married by now,” I muse, raking my nails
across the wood tabletop.

“Excuse me?”

“I bet we would’ve been married by now,” I say.

Demi rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well. You left. You decided not
to be with me, so—”

I shake my head.

“Not at all, Demi. I always wanted to be with you.”

Still do.

Her eyes glass over. She looks over my shoulder, refusing to
give me eye contact.

“Yeah, well, that’s not going to work on me,” she says.
“Woulda, coulda, shoulda. Your word is shit.”

“I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

“Then why are you here?”

“It’s not that simple.”

Demi’s fist pounds the table. “Yes, it is. It
is
that simple. God damn it, Royal.”

“You sure don’t talk like a kindergarten teacher.”

Her gaze narrows. “I never told you what I did for a
living.”

“Not hard to find out around here.”

“What else do you know about me, huh?”

I could tell her I know how she goes to the Overlook sometimes,
stargazing by herself, like we used to do. I could tell her I see her pull
through the drive-up of the Highland coffee shop and order a caramel macchiato
with extra whipped cream every Saturday morning. I could tell her I’ve seen her
drive aimlessly around Rixton Falls, down the very same streets that remind me
of us. And I could name them in order: Freeman Avenue, Ellery Drive, Hayes
Boulevard, First Street, Violet Road . . .

 
“Not much,” I
say.

“How long have you been watching me?”

“Not long,” I lie.

Demi rises.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“I’m done here,” she says. “If you’re not going to be
honest, I’m not going to let you waste my time.”

She walks away.

Just like that.

I follow, reaching for her hand and taking her by the wrist.
She gulps a lungful of air when I take her by surprise and pull her toward me.

“I want to tell you, Demi. I want to tell you so fucking bad.
I want to tell you everything.” I stare into her crystal baby blues, missing
the way she used to look at me back when we were happy. Before everything
turned to shit. When we were just a couple of kids with our whole lives ahead
of us.

“Then tell me.” Her chest rises and falls. She smells like a
hospital room, a sobering reminder that she spent her day by
his
side.

“I need more time.”

Her jaw hangs, and then she scoffs. “More time? Are you
kidding me, Royal? Seven years wasn’t enough?” Demi yanks her wrist from my
hand. “Please go. We’re done here.”

Demi

I have to bite the inside of my lip to keep from lashing out
at him. All I want to do is scream at him for wasting my time, for squandering
away the last seven years, for showing up like some valiant knight with shitty
timing.

He lingers by the door, stepping into his grubby work boots.
He smells like a garage, and his nail beds are black. Once upon a time, he was
supposed to go to college with Derek, finish with law school, and then work at
my father’s practice.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he says.

I can’t look at him.

“Not yet, anyway,” he adds. “I’m just asking you to let me
at least try to make some of this up to you.”

“You can’t.”

“Demi.” He moves closer. I turn away. It’s juvenile, I know.
“You can’t even begin to imagine how many nights I laid awake thinking about
you. About us. About old times.”

I focus on a salt fleck on the floor of the foyer. It must’ve
been tracked in from outside, when I sprinkled ice melt on the steps earlier.

“If I could go back,” he says. “I’d make different choices.
I never would’ve left that night. I just thought I was doing the right thing.”

“Was there someone else?” I ask the heaviest question of
them all, the one that’s lingered over me like a dark cloud. It’s the only
plausible answer to this ridiculous question. My broken, teenage heart could
only ever accept the explanation that he left because he loved someone more
than he loved me.

“God, no.” Royal cups my face with his stained hands,
turning it to face him. “Never.”

Our eyes meet.

“I don’t understand.” I pull his hands from my face. “Why
can’t you just tell me?”

Royal gives me a nervous smirk, a dimple popping up on his
right cheek—the one I used to kiss when we were younger.

“Maybe I’m scared,” he says, puffing his chest out like I
needed any kind of reminder that he’s all man now.

“Scared of what?”

“Scared you might look at me differently. Think of me
differently.”

“I loved you more than you could’ve possibly known,” I say. “There
wasn’t anything you could’ve done back then to change that. I was
stupid
in love with you.”

His lips tighten, and he offers a pained smile.

“I want to tell you, Demi. You deserve to know. I owe you
that much.” His words come rushed, and he licks his lower lip. “But I’m not
ready, and neither are you.”

I offer a sarcastic “ha,” step away, and slap my hand
against my side.

“Fine, then,” I say. “If this is all the closure I’m ever
going to get, so be it. Can’t force you to tell me anything, so I won’t waste
my time trying.”

“Closure?” He lifts a single eyebrow. “Closure means we’re
done forever. Means we’re never going to see each other again.”

“Exactly.”

I didn’t wait seven damn years for him to stand in my home
and refuse to give me the answer I deserve. All those years, I’d painted him as
some kind of idyllic fantasy. He represented youth, and carefree summers, and
can’t-sleep-love. Happily-ever-afters and everything little girls dream of. He
was a cool breeze on a hot day. Electric kisses and mischievous firsts. An
addiction I couldn’t get out of my system.

And I still can’t.

“I want to see you again,” he says.

My gaze snaps to his, fitting perfectly. The thundering
heartbeats in my chest threaten to knock me over with each boom. I hate that his
six little words so easily command my attention.

“Maybe I don’t deserve it,” he says, “but it doesn’t change
the fact that I still want it.”

I fold my arms. “Entitled much?”

“I’ll tell you what happened, Demi. I promise. But not yet.
Let’s get to know each other again. Let me take care of you,” he proposes. “And
when the time is right, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

I exhale. “How can I believe you? How can I trust you?”

“You can’t.”

My breathing halts.

His expression hardens. “But I’m asking you to try.”

I walk backward until I bump into the bottom of the stairs.
Perching on the second to last step, I rest my head in my hands.

“I don’t know. I have a lot on my plate right now.” My gaze is
fixed on his worn boots. In my heart of hearts, I know he’s had a rough seven
years, and my chest burns when I think about all the ways his life could’ve
turned out better. “I don’t think I have the energy for . . .
this
. . . right now.”

“Yeah, that’s not a good enough reason for me to walk away.”
He takes a step toward me, dropping to my level and pulling me up. “I’ll be
here in the morning to shovel your driveway before I go to work. I won’t bother
you. Don’t worry.”

His hand reaches behind me and helps itself to the back of
my jeans, where he retrieves my phone and keys in his number.

“There.” He slides it back in my pocket, his fingertips
brushing my hips and sending a hitch to my breath. “You can reach me anytime.
Anything you need. And I’ll drop off some dinner for you tomorrow night. Just
text me and tell me what you want.”

“Why are you doing this?”

He shrugs, as if to imply it doesn’t matter. But it does. It
matters. So much.

“No, really. Why?”

“Making up for lost time, I guess,” he says. “Making up for
a lot of things.”

“I hate to inform you, but it’s going to take a lot more
than shoveling snow . . .”

I’m smiling.

What the fuck?

No.

No, no, no.

I’m supposed to yell at him.

Stomp my feet.

Curse his name.

Beat my fists against his chest and then kick him to the
curb.

And here I am, grinning like some love struck teenager,
letting the high school quarterback charm his way back into her life.

I wipe the smile, and any traces of it, clean off my face.

“It’s probably not a good idea,” I say.

“What are you talking about?” His expression hardens. He’s
displeased with my refusal of his kindness, but what did he expect?

“With Brooks in the hospital, I can’t be spending my free
time with an ex-boyfriend. Do you know how bad that looks? And if my parents
found out—or Derek . . . no one would understand. Hell, I wouldn’t even
understand.”

I shake my head.

“It’s too much. I can’t. I appreciate it, but I can’t accept
your help right now.” I rise and walk to the door, the polite, Rosewood way of
asking someone to leave. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“He was cheating on you.”

Royal’s words suck all the oxygen from the air.

My knees wobble and my face numbs. I step back, losing my
grip on the doorknob.

“Brooks had been seeing someone on the side.” He speaks
slowly. “For quite a while. Well over a year.”

“No.”

Royal nods. “I confronted him last week. He had no clue who
I was, but I told him I was an old friend of yours. Told him if he didn’t make
a decision, I’d tell you everything. Said I’d make damn sure he’d live to
regret ever hurting you.”

He rakes the back of his hand along his five o’clock shadow,
his head cocked and eyes wincing.

“The night of his accident,” Royal says, “he was headed
north on highway nine. Crashed a couple of miles outside Glidden, not far from
her house. He was going to
her
,
Demi.”