Page 82 of Fallen Crown

Yvette beams at him, likely surprised he knew her name. I didn’t realize he did. Then he leans down close to my ear and says, “One cockiness point in someone else’s hands.”

“I’m really not sure you should be putting your cockiness in so many other people’s hands.”

“If you’re offering to put your own hands all over my c—”

I press my palm to his open mouth, and he chuckles against it. He turns his head away, and my hand falls. My body is lit with amusement at his joke and our easy comradery.

By the time we get back to our tent, Brice has given up every one of his extra confidence points to other people—people I didn’t even realize he knew. Their joy at being recognized for whatever small thing Brice noticed about them was infectious.

In a corner of the team’s tent, as I ease off my pants for Brice to tend to my wound, I’m still buzzing from the kindness he showed other people. Nearing the end of a grueling race, his comments clearly lifted other people’s spirts. Even my mood has completely shifted.

He takes some salve out of the first aid kit, and he smears it across my injury with incredible tenderness. When he glances up at me, I’m forced to acknowledge that Brice has been taking care of me, in one way or another, for a lot longer than I ever realized.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Brice

I’ve looked out for and after other people before. Sort of. Truthfully, mostly just Nick and a bit with my father toward the end. No one lets me have Grace unsupervised.

But the concept of caring for others isn’t foreign, even if most of my life other people have been doing those helping pieces for me, I understand how it works. As the former third in line to the throne, there was always someone to clean up any mess I made or guide me through any crisis. I’ve been on the receiving end more often than I’ve been the one providing care. When I have helped others, it’s been predominantly financial, or I gave a bit of my time, and overall, these ventures required little from me.

Which is basically what Maren accused me of months ago, and I denied it. My emotional investment in caring for others was virtually zero before my father got sick, and even then, I joined this team largely to avoid my own helplessness and inadequacy. Watching him deteriorate was gut wrenching, and I’ve never felt so inept.

However, aiding Tucker during our last two days on the course has given me the weirdest sense of satisfaction. The trust she’s placed in me by coming on this trip, by opening herself up, by relying on me for support gives me a strange sense of power. As though it’s impossible for anyone else in the world to know Maren Tucker, all the sides and angles of her, the way I do. Where I might have skimmed along the surface with my other commitments, I’m in so deep with Maren that I can’t see the light above me, and I have no idea where the ocean floor is. I’m completely lost, suspended in a sea of feeling, with the strangest, most satisfying stillness in my soul. Whether we win or lose the race, I already feel like I’ve won.

According to Riker, we’re ten kilometers from the finish line, and we’re just about to descend a cliff to get on an outrigger to sail to the final talisman and then on to the end. We’re in second place, and we haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours. Adrenaline is our fuel, and I’m amazed at Tucker’s stamina. She keeps telling me her thigh is fine, but I’m not convinced. Wren asked to look at it, but Maren refused. That alone tells me she’s not being honest about how much pain she’s in, but I also realize she wouldn’t forgive me for seeking help when we’re so close to the end. Maren’s stubbornness is admirable and frustrating, and I wonder how many times her obstinate nature has led her to places she never had to go.

Like hating me, for example.

Though I don’t know if we would have had this, whatever this is between us, if we hadn’t battled to start with. As much as I hated our relationship initially, being around her has changed me in ways I never could have anticipated.

We pick our way down the cliff in the early morning sun, and ahead, the Australian team in first place is just pushing their outrigger into the ocean. We’re setting a brisk pace with our main competition within sight. When Maren steps onto the sandy beach, her ankle buckles, and I loop my arm around her waist, practically carrying her as we rush toward the outrigger.

Wren climbs into one of the seats in the boat, which is a combination between a canoe and a sailboat. Riker glances at Maren and gestures for her to take the other seat, leaving him and I to propel us into the water before hopping on.

“I can push,” Maren says.

“Get in the boat,” I say, and I lift her off her feet and ease her into the seat, mindful of her leg.

“Brice!” Tucker yells at me before catching a paddle from Wren.

I’m already stepping behind the contraption, and Riker is beside me. “I’m surprised you’ve managed to keep all your limbs, manhandling her like that,” he says.

“Tucker likes it when a man handles her,” I say, loud enough that I’m sure she can hear. Her body rises and falls with what’s likely a huff of annoyance, but when she turns to glare at me over her shoulder, all I can think about is how she looked in the cabin, lit by the glow of the electric heaters while I entered her from behind.

Fucking hell. What an image.

After the race, we’ve got two nights at the hotel, and I’m already trying to figure out how to convince Riker and Wren to share instead. The cameras will still be running at the after-party, so I’m not sure I’ll be able to persuade Tucker that a room change is for the best. But I can’t stand the idea of not being with her. Our time in the cabin solidified my feelings, and I’m done pretending they don’t exist.

Riker and I propel the boat into the water, and we hop onto the back, both of us settling into makeshift seats. Wren tosses us both paddles from where she had them wedged in beside her. The nice part about being on this team, aside from all the time with Maren, has been how fluid and effortless their planning is. No one told Wren to shove enough paddles in beside her. Years of experience and numerous races guided that instinct. Neither Riker nor Maren asked where the paddles were—they knew.

We don’t gain much on the Australian team as we make our way to the talisman, but once we’re there, I don’t wait to discuss who will swim to the ocean floor to get the final disc. Instead, I dive off the side of the boat with Brent’s advice ringing in my ears. When my chest tightens, I release a little air, which lets me get to the bottom. With the talisman in my hand, I kick and pull my way back to the outrigger, hoping the Australian team wasn’t as quick.

Riker is at the surface, and he grabs my shorts, yanking me out of the water and into paddling position.

“Go!” he yells.

I tuck the medallion into the closest bag, and I fumble for my paddle with water still streaming down my face. The saltwater stings my eyes. Maren, Wren, and Riker are already in sync, paddles dipping in and out of the ocean at a frantic pace. Beside us, the Australians are only half a boat length ahead of us.