Page 46 of Royal
“Your dad is in love,” Mom said, her voice taking on a note of hurt. “Tracy saw him post a photo of them on Facebook.”
“And why are you having your best friend check up on him?” I asked, shaking my head at her. “That’s not healthy, Mom.”
“I know it’s not.” She folded her hands and pressed her thumb into her palm. A nervous tick.
Almost six years had passed since they’d divorced, but she still loved him. Her heart hadn’t healed yet. Dad, however, seemed happier than ever. He and I didn’t talk much, and I had no intentions of changing that any time soon. He blamed me for Jonathon’s death. The last time I talked to him, we’d gotten into a huge argument and he’d told me not to reach out to him again. So, I hadn’t.
I only wished Mom could move on.
“Why don’t you and Tracy plan a girl’s night?” I suggested. “Go get your hair and nails done at the salon, buy a new outfit, and hit the town.”
She gave a shy smile. “Oh, Royal, I don’t think so. I’m not in my thirties anymore.”
“You’re still young and beautiful, Mom.” I reached across the kitchen table and grabbed her hand. “You don’t need to stay cooped up in the house all the time.”
She lived in the country in a two-story farmhouse. Not many neighbors were around, and she was alone a lot. I hated it.
“Maybe Iwillplan something with Tracy.” Her brow pulled together.
“You should.”
I looked around the kitchen, at the same floor and wallpaper I’d grown up with. As much as my dad and I didn’t get along, my childhood had been amazing. So many good times were had in the house.
A dull ache formed in my chest.
“Is it okay if I take a walk around?”
“You know you don’t need to ask,” Mom answered with a smile. She knew what I was going to do.
I walked down the hall, running my hand along the wall and touching the marker scribbles Jonathon had made when he was four. Mom could never bring herself to cover them. Framed pictures lined the wall, and I looked at each of them: mine and Jonathon’s school pictures and ones of us with our arms around each other, huge cheesy smiles on our young faces.
Reaching the staircase, I stopped.
Memories of Jonathon and I running up and down the stairs sprang to life, our laughter reverberating through my mind like haunted echoes. He’d had such a high-pitched giggle, one that’d followed him into manhood. Much like Brysen.
It was one reason I was so protective over my best friend. He reminded me so much of Jon. When we’d first become friends, I’d taken it as a sign. That I was being given a second chance at what I’d lost when Jon had died.
As I looked at the stairs, I saw a little boy with curly blond hair and a black mask over his eyes run up them, giggling as his older brother chased him. Jon had been dressed like a bandit, and I’d been the sheriff chasing him down to arrest him.
My eyes watered, and I went up to Jon’s old room. It’d changed once he’d reached his teenaged years, going from an army of stuffed animals to posters of rock bands andSports Illustratedmodels. Mom kept the room clean, but she hadn’t moved any of his things.
I walked across the room and knelt down beside the TV stand, smiling when I saw the old PlayStation sticking out from the bottom.
Being the older brother, I’d always made him my sidekick. When we playedSuper Mario Brothers, I played as Mario. He’d whine and say it wasn’t fair, that he didn’t want to be Luigi. I told him I’d let him play as Mario one day.
That day had never come.
I sat on the edge of his bed and looked around, tears blurring my vision. March had marked eight years since his death, but the pain was still fresh. It felt like only yesterday I’d called him a little shithead and ruffled his blond curls.
March was my least favorite time of year. I’d lost so much in that month. First, Grayson, and then a week and a half later, Jonathon. A part of me wanted to hate Grayson for not talking to me after Jon died, but another side of me understood why he hadn’t. Not that it was an excuse to be an asshole, but we’d been twenty-two year old guys who hadn’t matured enough yet.
It took me close to twenty minutes to pull myself together, and I walked back downstairs to my mom. We visited a while longer before I left. Once in my SUV, I called Brysen.
“Hey, whore,” he answered.
I grinned through watery eyes and cleared my throat. “What are you up to?”
There was a pause.
“Royal? Are you okay?” Brysen asked, not sounding like his usual, sassy self.
“Yeah. Do you want to hang out today? You can come over to my place. I’ll order Chinese food, and we can game for a while. If you want.”
“You had me at Chinese food.”
I told him to meet me at my house in about an hour and got off the phone. The day had started out nice and sunny, but dark clouds were beginning to roll in. By the time I pulled into my driveway, it was piss pouring.
And through the rain, I noticed a black car parked on the curb outside of my house.
