Free ROYAL by Winter Renshaw

room as them to feel them
watching, waiting for me to crumble apart again.
    “Are you eating?” she asks.
    “Of course.”
    “Why’d you throw up last night? You’re not pregnant, are
you?”
    “God, no.” Thank God. “Probably stress.”
    “Mom and Dad are coming by tomorrow, I think. Derek’s coming
too. He’s bringing Haven. He’s got her for the weekend.”
    There’s a glimmer of something to look forward to in all of this,
and her name is Haven. My niece is my world, and I rarely get to see her ever
since Derek split from his ex.
    “I don’t think they allow kids under twelve into the ICU,” I
say.
    “Between all of us, we can work something out. Derek really
wants to see Brooks though. I think he’s taking it harder than we realize, and
that’s why he hasn’t come to visit yet.”
    An unlikely friendship spawned between Derek and Brooks the
last couple of years. I blame it on a fateful golf game three Memorial Day
weekends ago. They’ve been tight ever since.
    “Daphne texted me earlier,” Delilah says.
    “Yeah. Me too.”
    “She feels awful for not being able to come right away.”
    “She’ll be back at Thanksgiving.”
    “Yeah, but if anything happens to Brooks, she’ll never get
to say . . .” Delilah blinks and turns away. “I don’t even want to finish that
thought.”
    My head pounds, and I eye my front door. As soon as I’m
behind it, I can shut out the rest of the world for a few hours. Make the day
fade away with a hot bath and an Ambien. Tomorrow, I get to do it all over
again. Put on my brave face. Pretend I’ve got it all figured out. Allow
everyone to think I’m stronger than I’ve ever been. Ignore the flood of guilt
coursing my veins every time I look at Brooks and feel resentment. And in the
back of my mind, wonder when Royal’s going to show up at my door again.
    Because no matter what, that undercurrent remains.

 

Chapter Nine

 
    Royal

 
    As soon as I get home, I toss Brooks’s pajamas into the
garbage, where they belong. It killed me, fucking killed me, to wear those pants.
    The scent of clean laundry fills my tiny studio above a
noisy laundromat. It’s the only good thing about living in this dump. It’s like
I live in the inside of a dryer. The place is perpetually warm, which works out
nice in the winter, and the place always smells good, even when the floors need
cleaning and the bedding’s due for a wash.
    Whipping the fridge door open, I grab a carton of milk and
chug it straight from the container before putting it back. I can taste the
fact that the sell-by date was yesterday.
    I grab a shower, scrubbing the scent of Demi’s white-washed house
off my skin but refusing to release the image of her from my mind. Watching her
from afar has never been a substitution for the real thing, but it was the only
option I had. And as painful as it was to stand there and let her shoot daggers
my way this morning, I hope someday she’ll understand.
    And forgive me.

 
    ***

 
    “Morning, Royal.” Pandora swipes a credit card and hands a
set of Corvette keys to a middle-aged man trying desperately to pull off a
cracked-leather bomber jacket. “Twenty minutes early today. What’s gotten into
you? Couldn’t wait to see me?”
    “You know it.” I don’t look at her, my words dry and flat.
    I grab my work shirt from a hook behind the reception desk
at Patterson Auto Body. My name is stitched across the breast in royal blue
cursive thread. The very same color I’ll be painting my Challenger as soon as I
get the funds saved.
    The bells on the door jingle when the customer leaves, and
our parking lot sits empty.
    “We’re getting an Escalade in about an hour.” Pandora smacks
a piece of neon pink bubble gum. Probably watermelon. Her tongue always tastes
like watermelon. “Real bad shape. Front and back. Thing’s totaled, but the
owners want to fix it anyway. Bet it’s got a huge backseat.”
    She winks.
    I punch in and glance toward the back