Page 100 of King of the Crease

“Nicholas, what are you doing?” the king yells. This time, his stern tone doesn’t intimidate me. I’m so angry I could rip the columns out of the wall.

“You want me to say that I’m a drunk with an undisclosed mental illness? You want so badly for me to be the king, when all I want is to be your son.” My voice cracks, but I won’t give him tears. He’ll see that as weakness, as proof in Renata’s plan.

“Nicholas, leave this room immediately. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“I don’t care!” I scream. I stare him down with such daggers, he doesn’t dare try to stand up.

“I went to America, and I fell in love. I fell so hopelessly, wondrously in love. And now I’m here, being a good prince and a good son, while my heart is completely broken.”

Fuck it. Here come the tears. The last few days come crashing down on me, and it’s too much to button up inside.

“All I want is a father that I can talk about this with, who will listen and say, ‘I’m sorry you’re going through this’ and give me a hug. For the past twenty years, I’ve had to do that for myself. And I hate it. I’ve done everything you’ve ever wanted of me, but you won’t even do that.”

“Nicholas,” the king says, softening his tone. “you need to calm down. Please, lie down and rest. We can talk later.”

I wipe the stream of tears from my eyes. “I’m going to abdicate.”

“Nicholas…”

“I can’t live like this. I can’t be in a fake marriage for the rest of my life when I’ve gotten a taste at what being in love feels like.” I clear my throat and maintain that princely posture I was forced to work on ever since I could walk. “Goodbye, Father.”

31

HANK

Iuse holiday-themed sweets to help me get through my Nick withdrawal. For some reason, candy just tastes better when it’s Christmas-themed. I like M&M’s, but I love red and green M&M’s. The Reese’s Christmas trees are infinitely more delicious than regular-ass peanut butter cups. (The peanut butter-to-chocolate ratio is better, too, although real ones know that the Reese’s pumpkins are the most peanut butter dense.) Oreos with red cream in the middle just hit different, and we all know it.

The days after Nick leaves town are spent staying busy however I can. I take on extra plumbing jobs. I play hockey with my friends. I have Brody block websites on my computer and phone where I could read more mean comments about me. We watch Little Shop of Horrors a few more times. Because of all the media hubbub surrounding Nick, the principal decided to postpone the musical until after Christmas break when things in Sourwood will hopefully calm down. Fortunately, the drama teacher Mr. Calloway, so impressed with his dedication in rehearsals, agreed to change Brody’s grade on his transcript so he could send in applications before the deadline.

On Christmas Eve, I stand behind Brody as he clicks submit and rolls the dice with Stanford. A swell of pride fills my chest as I watch my son do something I never did.

“Congratulations.” I knock his elbow.

“I didn’t get in anywhere yet.”

“You’re still a winner in my book.”

“Thanks, Dad.” He shuts his computer. We head to the kitchen, where I put together a modest Christmas Eve dinner of roast chicken and potatoes.

“So when do you find out?”

“End of March.” There’s a rigidness to him. Nerves.

“Hey.” I pat his head. “Wherever you wind up, you’re going to do great. It isn’t about the school. It’s about you, and you have the goods.”

“Let’s change the subject. I don’t want to think about college applications ever again.” He shakes out his hands. “How are you doing about the whole Nick thing?”

“Can we change the subject again?” I shove potatoes in my mouth, although I’d rather be eating a Reese’s Christmas tree.

“Dad. I’m so sorry about everything.”

“It happens. Life knocks you down. You get back up. I mean it.” I hope that lessons like these get through to him.

“Of all the people you could’ve fallen for, you just had to fall for a prince.”

“Was that sarcasm?”

“Maybe.” His crooked smile that he flashes when he gets away with something hasn’t changed since he was a toddler bolting from bathtime.