Page 45 of Fallen Crown

“You coming?”

Oh, I will be. The thought causes me to stifle a grin, and she cocks her head in response.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” I go to her side while Jag and Gary are getting ready to belay us. “You climbing beside me tonight?”

She looks up at me, and my heart does that funny thing in my chest again. I can’t resist, and I smooth down her hair and I place a lingering kiss against her temple. She wraps her arms around my middle, and we stand pressed against each other for a few beats. Then Gary coughs, and I release a sigh before stepping back. Appearances matter to Tucker, even if I don’t give a fuck. No need to have Gary running his mouth, even if it’s just to other staff members, about how close we’ve gotten.

“You okay with me climbing beside you?” she asks as she steps into her harness.

“Only if you climb slightly ahead of me too. The view is better.”

She slaps my arm, and I laugh. But my comment does what I wanted; it cuts the intimacy, the tender closeness that’s been cultivated since the moment she walked into the barn tonight. Having her here makes the sadness lessen, but I don’t want her presence to cause something just as dire to increase. Whatever this weird feeling is in my chest, I have to keep it in check.

For the next few hours, we navigate various routes along the wall, challenging each other and poking fun at each other’s mistakes.

At the end of the session, Gary and Jag have stepped outside to get some air, and Tucker hesitates at the door. “Do you have someone for tomorrow? I mean, I know you have a lot of friends…”

“I’ll be fine.” The reminder causes the cloud to descend over my mood once more, and I’m sure we both know I’m lying. But I can’t ask Tucker to be there. That would be insanity for so many reasons. She can’t be the person holding my hand because she already gave her hand to someone else.

“If you need someone—”

“I’ve got lots of someones, Tucker. You don’t need to worry about me.”

She bites her lip and searches my face. Then she places her water bottle on the table again, and she envelops me in another hug, rising onto her toes to drag me tight against her.

“You don’t ever have to pretend with me, okay? You don’t have to pretend. You call me if you need me.” Then she kisses my cheek, grabs her water bottle, and she’s out the door before I have a chance to sink into her one more time.

The air around me contains the faintest scent of peach, but it’s the loss of warmth, more than anything else, that signals her departure.

I’m not sure what made everyone decide some sort of twilight send-off to my father was the best course of action, but it’s meant I’ve spent the entire day watching the clock and dreading what was to come. Breakfast with my father where I tried not to think of it as the last while also memorizing every little movement and gesture, cataloguing each expression on his face, trying to record the sound of his soft chuckle in my memory. Surreal and terrifying.

Then I went for a run. I ran and ran and ran, but one side effect of all the training I’ve been doing is that it’s becoming harder and harder to exhaust myself.

Truthfully, the day wouldn’t have been any better if the time had been set for the crack of dawn. Today was always going to be a day that felt too fast and too slow.

The leaving ceremony, as my mother dubbed it, is taking place in my parents’ suite of rooms. Instead of their bedroom, an adjacent room with a spectacular, unobstructed view of the ocean has been set up with everything Dad needs. It’s a massive space, but when I walk in the door an hour before my father is to be served his final cocktail via IV, I’m stunned at the number of people milling around. Maybe I shouldn’t be. We’ve always had to share our father with the rest of the country. Why would now be any different? Likely at one of the various meetings where I only partially listened, this chain of events was discussed, but it’s unnerving to have to put on my royal face when I really just want to be a boy about to lose his father.

Uncle Augustus, my father’s youngest brother, spots me from across the room, and he gestures for me to come to his side. I don’t know what the next hour will hold, but I understand what comes after that, even if I can’t fathom what it’ll feel like.

The next time I leave this room, my father will truly be gone.

Chapter Twenty

Maren

I’ve been for a run, a swim, and a bike ride. The combination of the three activities back-to-back, given the distances I put in, should be enough to exhaust me, but I’m still wired. Everywhere I’ve gone today, I’ve carried my phone, turned to the highest volume in case Brice calls. Three quarters of me is sure he won’t, but there’s still that one remaining quarter that suspects he might, even if he has to drunk dial me.

Last night, I couldn’t resist consoling him. When I stepped through the barn door, and I saw the expression on his face, I remembered what it was like to be that low, that in need of comfort. My heart ached for him, and I broke all the personal space rules I’d firmly established since I returned from Boston. No touching without a reason, no unnecessary close contact, no spikes of hard-to-control feelings. Impossible to be tempted when you keep temptation at bay.

Seeing his face last night burned down all those defenses. There was no way I wasn’t giving him what I would have needed in his place. Warmth, love, and reassurance. But the contact has opened a valve in me, and I don’t know if I can wrench it closed again.

My phone pings on the coffee table, and I snatch it up. A text from Nathaniel. When I click on it, my heart sinks. He’s linked a breaking news article from the Bellerive Bullet that indicates the former king passed away peacefully surrounded by his family. All the funeral details are already laid out for public consumption, and although Brice and I never discussed it, I can’t even imagine how much those meetings gutted him.

For most of us, King George was a, sometimes, imposing figure at the center of political decisions or island-wide controversies. A public figure who symbolizes wealth and power but who didn’t rate much more thought, at least from me, until now.

Brice has told me enough over the last few months, in bits and pieces, for me to realize King George was also a loving father. An awful loss. I close my eyes and fall back onto the couch with my phone still clutched in my hand.