Page 58 of Fallen Crown

“It must be weird,” Wren says, “to spend most of your life pretending to be someone you’re not.”

Brice is still an enigma, even to me. Is he the genuine, heart-on-his-sleeve guy or the incorrigible flirt who takes nothing seriously? It’s almost impossible to believe both can be true.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Brice

We leave for Fiji in a week, and I’ve been a coward about speaking to Tucker. Instead of confronting her about my little party or about what’s going on between her and Enzo or any of the other thousand things floating around my head, I’ve been burying myself in solo training. I meet the team when I’m told to, but I don’t say much.

For her part, Tucker hasn’t been seeking me out either. It’s as though we’ve both decided whatever was starting to happen between us isn’t worth it. That’s not how I feel at all, but I’m having trouble reconciling how I ended up in this situation. She’s all I think about. If I’m not thinking about my dad, I’m thinking about her. Her laugh, her confidence, the cocky grin she gives me when she bests me. I miss all of it, and I understand the solution is to buck up and speak to her. That’s the adult approach, but I’ve never been particularly good at taking the high road. It’s so much easier to be blunt when you don’t give two fucks about the outcome.

Jag and I are out on a run when the security device in his ear goes off loud enough for me to catch the incoming beep. He touches his ear while we both check for traffic before crossing the street at a slower jog. I never carry my phone when we run. Too distracting, but Jag maintains that one of us has to be connected for emergencies.

“That was Wren,” he says to me once we’re across the street. “Paxton has been injured. We’re to meet them at the hospital.”

“Oh shit,” I say, and I mentally calculate how long it’ll take us to get back to the palace.

“I have a car on the way,” Jag says. “It’ll take too long to get back to the estate.”

We stop at the curb, and my mind races. If Paxton is really injured, it puts our team in jeopardy. We’d be one person short of a full team for the race, and if I’m remembering the rules right, the organizing body doesn’t allow last-minute substitutions or changes. I’m sure InterFlix would if it’s the difference between me competing or not. They’ve spent a lot of money on advance promos, trips to the island, and extensive interviews with my entire team.

“I’ve got a bad feeling,” Jag says. “Wren sounded pretty down on the phone.”

“Until we’re there, I’m not speculating,” I say. “Could be a twisted ankle, and people are overreacting with the race being so close.”

The royal car draws flush with the curb, and Gary is driving. Jag climbs into the front, and I slip into the rear passenger seat. When we arrive at the hospital, it’s clear from the minute we enter the waiting room that Paxton isn’t well. Wren looks pale, Riker appears distraught, and Tucker doesn’t even stand to greet me. Her head is in her hands.

“Is someone going to tell me?” I ask. The sight of Tucker so low sends my stomach plummeting. If we were in a different place, I’d sit beside her, let her lean on me.

“Paxton was on a hike. He was going through a creek, and he slipped. Tore his ACL,” Riker says.

That’s not good, but it’s not life or death either. Everyone is acting like this is the end of the world. “But he’ll be okay.”

“We can’t race,” Riker says through gritted teeth. “We need four people.”

The solution seems simple to me. Tucker takes his place, and I’ll get Gary or another royal staff member to take her spot on the support team.

“This might seem insensitive, but we can replace Paxton,” I say.

“It’s against the rules,” Wren says. “Two days ago, we could have switched it. But now? It’s an illegal switch.”

Sounds like bullshit to me. An arbitrary deadline. What’s the difference between two days ago and now? Until we set foot in Fiji, there’s room for negotiation.

“Leave it with me,” I say.

“You can’t royal your way out of this,” Riker says.

“Watch me,” I say. It’s the first time anyone on the team has given me grief about my status, and it pisses me off. “Tucker, are you good to compete?”

“Maren is not competing.” Wren steps in front of my line of sight.

The emergency room doctor comes out to get Tucker at Paxton’s request, and she rises and follows the doctor without glancing at me. Her ability to ignore me might be the death of me. It’s grating on me an unreasonable amount. The two of us blow so hot and then so cold around each other. A wildfire or hypothermia.

“We’re not asking Maren,” Wren says again once Tucker is gone.

“Why not?” I ask. “She’s been training with us.”

“Not enough,” Riker says. “Not enough for her to be okay.”