Page 80 of Fallen Crown

“But it wasn’t the experience I was mourning. Seeing the blood, and realizing what was happening, what it meant. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to reverse time more in my life.” She takes a deep breath. “Since I’d always been on the fence about kids, Enzo didn’t believe me when I said I hadn’t known I was pregnant.”

The anger sweeps through me so quickly, I don’t dare open my mouth. She’d been in an accident bad enough to require an airlift to a hospital, broken her ankle, and miscarried while her husband sat at her bedside laying blame at her feet. If she married him, he must have some good qualities, but I have yet to discover a single one.

If I got a call that Tucker had been injured that badly at a race, my first thought would be relief that she was alive, not to blame her for going. To get through this conversation without adding to Maren’s load, I may have to employ some royal training.

“I would have sat beside you and held your hand and been so grateful you were okay,” I say, because “I’m sorry that happened to you” is inadequate for the depth of my feelings.

Tears leak out of the corners of her eyes, and she raises her head to brush them away with her fingertips. “I would have been really grateful for someone like you too.” Her voice hitches on a sob.

“Oh, Maren. Come here.” I roll onto my side, and I tug her tight against my chest. She wraps her arms around me, and she lets the tears come. And while she cries, I think about what a privilege it would be to have someone like Maren Tucker decide you’re worthy of her love and attention forever. To throw that away is truly unfathomable.

I can’t even imagine the lengths I would go to if I was her husband to keep her safe and happy and satisfied. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do—climb a mountain, lay beside her in silence, walk through hell with her in my arms. Anything. Whatever she needed. How do you marry someone and not feel that way?

The walkie-talkie crackles over by the fridge, and then a male voice announces, “The water has receded. The race will resume in one hour. All contestants should be at the place they left off when the race recommences.”

When Maren sniffs and tries to draw away, I tighten my embrace, and I kiss the top of her head. The race is secondary compared to what’s happened between us over the last eighteen hours.

“We need to eat and pack and get dressed.” Maren’s lips move against my chest. “And I need to fix my leg.”

Where the other things didn’t grab my attention, the mention of her thigh does the trick. I can’t have her going back onto the course with any chance of getting an infection. I leave the mat to grab her first aid kit, and I rummage through it until I find the waterproof bandages. Easing off the previous patch, I frown at the bright-red wound, and I try to remember from my wilderness first aid course whether this color is normal.

“It’s fine,” Tucker says, reading my mind.

“You’d say that even if it wasn’t.” I get out the wipes to clean it. “You like pushing yourself to the limit.”

“Guilty,” she says. “But it really is fine. That looks normal.”

Rather than arguing with her, I decide to take her word for it as I patch her up. She hobbles around the cabin while we repack, and I worry the next two days are going to be hard on her. She’s not hiding the pain she’s in right now, but I know her well enough to understand as soon as Iris and the camera are within view, Maren will grit her teeth and mask her pain.

The whole time we’re getting ready to leave, a lingering question dogs me, but I’m not sure I want to ask it. Or more accurately, I’m not sure I want the answer. We’re at the doorway, getting ready to head back out into the cooler, damp air of the early morning when I decide I need to understand before we’re back with everyone else.

“Do you know why he left? I can’t understand it.” I hate saying his name, but she’ll know who I mean.

“It’s complicated,” she says, but she doesn’t look at me. “A lot of reasons. Not enough reasons.”

“Tucker.”

She rubs her cheeks and opens the cabin door. “Once the dust settled,” she says over her shoulder, “I told Enzo I didn’t want to have any kids. One miscarriage was enough.”

Before I can respond, she ducks out the door and starts walking toward the cliff face we’ll need to navigate down to return to the water’s edge. Her revelation is a stone dropping into my stomach, weighing me down. The intensity of my sadness is a surprise. My ideas about me and Tucker were only half formed and definitely not something I could pursue with her right now. But they existed.

I stand there, watching her walk away, and I replay the way she threw the comment over her shoulder like an afterthought. She didn’t make eye contact, and there was a false note to her words. The part I’m not sure about is where the falsehood or inaccuracy lies. Is it simply how she boiled down something she claimed was complicated to a cut-and-dry answer?

I draw the door closed behind me, and I trail Tucker toward the cliff. Maybe her claim is accurate, and maybe it’s not. The one thing I know is that, at least for now, I’ve got Tucker, and I’m not throwing away one more minute trying to puzzle out why her marriage failed. What we have isn’t what she had with him. There’s no doubt in my mind this is better.

Someone who was so unsupportive and victim blaming wasn’t a good husband, and he would have been an equally bad father. With him in the rearview mirror, I have time to show her that what I can offer is exactly what she needs.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Maren

I didn’t lie to Brice, but I didn’t tell him the complete truth either. Knowing what he wants out of life, I had to be clear that I’m not an option. I thought telling him I didn’t want kids, rather than the truth, that having kids is extremely complicated for me, would drive a wedge between us. But that hasn’t happened. Instead, he’s the same fun, flirty guy. As though I never told him that our futures weren’t aligned, and in some ways, as though our time in the cabin never happened either. His ability to flip himself to the other side of a coin is impressive and unnerving.

We’ve met up with the rest of our team, and he’s fallen back into the race mentality faster than me. Where can we cut time? How can we inch ahead in the final days?

Maybe he’s the same because he’s never considered having anything with me beyond this race. Perhaps I’m flattering myself. Sex might always be magical when you’re Brice Summerset.

Just because I’ve thought about what a boy with brown hair and light-brown eyes would look like doesn’t mean he’s done the same for me.