Broken Prince: A Novel (The Royals Book 2) (4 page)

He nods emphatically. I toss the phone between my hands and wait for a response.

Fight @ 11. Dock 10. E in?

E’s in.

Coach comes out of his office and signals that halftime is over. After the offense scores again, we’re told that this will be the last set of downs for the starting squad. Which means I have to sit for the rest of the third quarter and all of the fourth. This sucks balls.

By the time I line up across from Bettman, the trigger on my temper is about a centimeter long. I dig my hand into the artificial turf and test the bounce in my legs.

“Hear your new sister is so loose it takes two of you Royals to fill her.”

I snap. Red washes over my eyes and I’m on that jackass before he can pull his hand off the ground. I rip his helmet off and swing with my right fist. The cartilage and bone on his nose gives way. Bettman cries out. I punch him again. A mob of hands hauls me away before I can land another hit.

The ref blows a whistle in my face and jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “You’re out,” he yells, face redder than a boiled lobster.

Coach screams from the sidelines. “Where’s your head, Royal? Where’s your fucking head!”

My head is securely on my shoulders. No one talks about Ella that way.

Back in the empty locker room, I strip down to my jock and sit my bare ass down on a towel in front of my locker. I realize my mistake within seconds. Without the action of the game to distract me, all I can do is obsess over Ella again.

I try to push thoughts of her aside by concentrating on the faint whistles and cheers from the field, but eventually images of her creep in until they flash in front of my eyes like a movie trailer.

Her arrival at the house looking sexier than any girl had a right to be.

Her coming down for Jordan’s party wearing the good-girl outfit that made me want to tear all her clothes off and bend her over the banister.

Her dancing. Damn, her dancing.

I shoot to my feet and find my way to the showers. Angry, with lust pumping through my body, I wrench the cold water knob on and duck my head under the freezing stream.

But that does nothing.

The need is relentless. And hell, what’s the point of fighting it?

I take myself in hand and close my eyes so I can pretend I’m back in Jordan Carrington’s house watching Ella move. Her body is sinful. Long legs, tiny waist, and perfect rack. The tinny music from the television transforms into a sultry track when told through the sway of her hips and the grace in her arms.

I grip my dick tighter. The image switches from the Carrington house to her room. I remember the taste of her on my tongue. How sweet she was. How her mouth formed this perfect, fuckable O when she came for the first time.

I don’t last long after that. The tension tingles at the base of my spine and I imagine her below me, her shiny, sun-colored hair against my skin, her eyes staring up at me with greedy desire.

When my body quiets, the self-loathing returns in full force. I stare at my hand wrapped around myself in the middle of the locker room. If I could sink much deeper, I’d be halfway to China.

The release leaves me hollowed out. I turn on the hot water and wash up, but I don’t feel clean.

I hope the guy I fight tonight is the biggest, meanest asshole in three states and that he lays the hurt on me—the one that Ella should deliver but isn’t here to get it done.

E
ast
and I skip the post-game party and head home to kill an hour before the fight. I’ll regain some control and perspective when I’m smashing some dude’s face in with my fists down at the docks.

“Need to call Claire,” East mutters when we walk inside. “Wanna see if she’ll come over later.”

“Claire?” I wrinkle my forehead. “I didn’t know you were tapping that again.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know you were screwing Brooke. Guess we’re even.”

He lifts his phone to his ear, dismissing me.

His actions sting. East has been icing me out ever since Ella took off.

When I get upstairs, my bedroom door is ajar, and a sick sense of déjà vu washes over me. Suddenly I’m transported back to Monday night, when I found Brooke in my bed.

I swear to God, if that bitch is playing games with me again, I’m gonna lose my shit.

But it’s Gideon I find in my room. He’s sprawled on my bed, tapping on his phone. When I enter, he greets me with cloudy eyes.

“Didn’t think you were coming home this weekend,” I say carefully. I texted him on Tuesday to let him know Ella was gone, but every time he tried calling me this week, I pressed the ignore button. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with Gid’s guilt trips.

“You would’ve liked that, huh?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Avoiding his gaze, I strip out of my T-shirt and replace it with a wife beater.

“Bullshit. You’ve been avoiding this conversation since Ella skipped town.” Gideon pushes off the bed and advances on me. “Can’t avoid it anymore, little brother.”

“Look, it’s not a big deal, okay? Ella and I are,”—Were?—“together. So what?”

“If it’s not a big deal, then why’d you hide it from me? Why’d I have to find out from East? And what the hell were you thinking, hooking up with her? We don’t need to drag anyone else into our mess—”

“Your mess,” I interrupt, then regret it instantly, because he flinches as if I hit him.

“Right,” he mutters. “
My
mess. I guess it was stupid of me to think that my brother might have my back.”

“I do have your back. You know I do. But Ella has nothing to do with this.” Helplessness jams in my throat. “Our relationship is—”

He cuts me off with a harsh laugh. “Your relationship? Well, lucky you. Must be nice. I used to have one of those.”

I bite back an angry retort. I get that he’s miserable, but I’m not the one who put him in the position he’s in. He did that all by himself.

“You know what I have now? Absolutely nothing.” Gideon looks ready to rip his own hair out as he paces my room.

“I’m sorry.” Completely inadequate, but it’s all I can say.

“You should be. You need to stay away from Ella. She’s a good girl and you’re messing her up.”

The truth of his words burns hotter than his judgmental stare. Guilt is thick in my throat. “Maybe,” I say hoarsely, “but I can’t let her go.”

“Can’t? You mean you won’t.” Gideon’s face turns red. “Forget Ella.”

Impossible.

“You’re a selfish asshole,” my brother hisses when he sees the refusal in my eyes.

“Gid—”

“I had an Ella once, too. I had a girl I saw a future with and I broke her heart. Now she’s so mad at the world she can’t see straight. Is that what you want for Ella? You wanna be our dad? Drive someone to kill herself because she’s so fucking miserable?”

“Ahem.”

We both spin around to find Easton in the doorway. His wary blue eyes shift from me to Gid. “Won’t even ask if I’m interrupting,” he says. “’Cause I see that I am. Won’t apologize either.”

Gideon’s jaw tenses. “Give us a minute, East. This doesn’t concern you.”

Our younger brother’s cheeks flush. He stalks forward and closes the door. “No way. You two aren’t shutting me out. Not anymore.” East jams his finger in the center of Gideon’s chest. “I’m sick to death of your secrets and your whispered conversations. Let me guess, Gid. You knew that Reed was doing Brooke.”

Gid shrugs.

East’s bitter gaze flies to me. “What, I wasn’t important enough to be in the loop?”

I clench my teeth in frustration. “There’s no loop. It was a stupid mistake, okay? And since when do you need to know about every chick I hook up with? You trying to live vicariously through my dick or something?”

That gets me a fist to the solar plexus.

I stumble backward, slamming my shoulder against the edge of the dresser. But I don’t strike back. East is practically foaming at the mouth. I’ve never seen him this pissed off before. The last time he threw a punch at me, we were kids. Arguing over a video game, I think.

“Maybe I should give Brooke a call,” East fumes. “Right? Because obviously banging Dad’s girlfriend is some kind of sick requirement for getting a VIP pass to the inner circle. If I drop trou for her, you’ll have no choice but to let me into the loop, right?”

Gideon responds with stony silence.

I don’t speak, either. There’s no point, not when East is in a mood.

Running both hands through his hair, he lets out a growl of frustration. “You know what? Screw you both. Keep your secrets and take ’em to hell with you. Just don’t come crawling to me when you need someone to put out the fire.”

He storms out of my bedroom and slams the door so hard it rattles the doorframe. The silence he leaves in his wake is deafening. Gideon looks exhausted. Me, I’m wired. I need a fight. I need to let out the aggression before I hurt someone in this house.

I
drag
myself out of bed the next morning, my entire body protesting the simple act of moving. I wasn’t exactly in top form at the fight last night. Yeah, I had blinding rage on my side, but not enough endurance. I took some hits that make me wince in the light of day.

The bruise on the left side of my ribs is already purple and green. I dig around for a loose fitting T-shirt to hide the injury and pull on a pair of track pants.

Downstairs in the kitchen, I find Brooke perched on my father’s lap. It’s only nine-thirty and Dad’s got his ever-present tumbler of Scotch next to his hand. If I was screwing Brooke, I’d be drinking twenty-four/seven too, I guess, but damn, why doesn’t he see her for what she is?

“Any word from the PI?” I ask my father.

He gives a curt shake of his head. “Nothing yet.”

“I’m just sick to my stomach about all this,” Brooke moans. “That poor girl, all alone out there.” She touches my dad’s cheek. “Darling, you really need to have a talk with Easton about his gambling. Imagine how scary that bookie must have been to spook Ella like that.”

Brooke meets my eyes over Dad’s head and winks at me.

This is a fucking nightmare. I busy myself with breakfast. Sandra was up early and there’s a pile of French toast in the oven waiting to be devoured, along with a stack of bacon. I pile my plate up and lean against the counter, unwilling to take a seat at the table while the she-devil and my dad are making nice.

Dad notices and slides Brooke onto the chair beside him. “Come and sit down, Reed. We’re not animals.”

I glare at him. “Using Mom’s old sayings against me? That’s low,” I mutter, then regret it when his mouth tightens with hurt. Brooke doesn’t look much happier, but that’s because she likes to pretend Maria Royal never existed.

“Any French toast left?” Sebastian’s voice at the door interrupts whatever Brooke is about to say.

“Yeah, I’ll make you a plate,” I offer. “Is Sawyer coming down?”

“Not yet. He’s on the phone.”

A smirk dances around the edges of Seb’s mouth. Sawyer’s probably sexting Lauren, the twins’ girlfriend.

Daniel’s taunts suddenly flit through my mind. “You being careful?” I ask in a low murmur as I hand Seb his plate.

He scowls. “What the hell do you care?”

“Word’s getting around school, is all. I don’t want anyone running to Dad with rumors that would get you sent to boarding school.”

“Because you’re so good at keeping your nose clean?” Seb mocks.

I notice Brooke watching our hushed exchange with deep interest, so I turn my back and lower my voice. “Look, I care about you guys and I don’t want to see anything happen, but your little twin switches aren’t fooling anyone.”

“Mind your own fucking business. At least we can hang on to the girl we have instead of running her off.” The shock must show on my face, because Seb chuckles. “Yeah, we know it’s your fault and not East’s. We’re not
that
dumb. And we know about her, too.” He discreetly jerks his head toward Brooke. “So keep your stupid opinions to yourself. You’re just as sick as we are.”

Seb grabs his plate and stomps out of the kitchen.

“What was that all about?” Dad asks from the table.

“Boys will be boys,” Brooke chirps. The smile on her face is genuine. She enjoys seeing us fight. She
wants
us to fight.

I shovel down some French toast, even though my stomach feels full of lead. I don’t know if this family is ever going to recover from Mom’s death. The vision of her sprawled across her bed, face slack, her eyes cold and unseeing, is always at the back of my mind. With Ella, all the noise in my head quieted.

Now everything is falling apart.

* * *

T
he house is quiet
. I don’t see Seb again, or Sawyer, for that matter. I don’t want to think about where Gid might be right now. And East is avoiding me—he hasn’t answered any of my texts or returned my calls.

I have a feeling he might not talk to me again until Ella shows up.

Around nine, Wade messages me about a party at Deacon Mills’ house. I have no desire to get drunk or be around drunks, so I decline the invite. But I do send a follow-up message.

Lemme know if E shows up. Can’t track him down.

Around eleven, Wade messages back.
Ur bro’s here. He’s wasted
.

Shit.

I shove my feet into a pair of kicks and throw on a long-sleeve shirt. The coastal air is getting chilly now that fall’s set in. I wonder how Ella’s doing. Is she warm enough? Is she sleeping well? Does she have food? Is she safe?

When I get to Mills’ house, it’s packed. The entire senior class looks like it’s getting lit inside. After fifteen minutes of searching for East, I give up and shoot another text to Wade, who’s also nowhere to be found.

Where is he?

Game room.

I bypass the living room, heading for the huge den that doubles as a billiards room. Wade is at the pool table, chatting with one of our teammates. He catches my eye when he sees me and nods to the left.

I follow his gaze. My brother is sprawled on the couch with a blonde in his lap. Her pale hair falls over her face like a curtain, so I can’t tell who it is, but I can see that her lips are glued to East’s. His hand is slowly tunneling underneath her skirt. She giggles, and I instantly freeze. I know that giggle.

She lifts her head and…yep, it’s Abby.

“East,” I boom from the doorway.

He looks over, blue eyes glazed, cheeks flushed. He’s drunk out of his mind. Awesome.

“Look, Abs, it’s my big bro,” he slurs.

“C’mon, time to go,” I order, reaching for him.

Abby stares at me with wide, guilty eyes, but I’m more concerned about East. Some demon is riding him hard if he’s decided to hook up with my ex.

“What’s the hurry? Abs and I are just getting started. Right, baby?”

Her cheeks turn pinker. “Reed,” she starts.

I ignore her. “Get up,” I snap at my brother. “We’re leaving.”

“Not going anywhere.”

“Yeah, you are.”

He doesn’t move. “Just ’cause you’re not getting any doesn’t mean my dick should go unused, right, Abs?”

Abby makes some small noise. Could be agreement. Could be denial. Hell if I care. I just want to get Easton home before he does something he’s going to regret.

“Your dick gets plenty of play.”

“Maybe I want more.” East grins. “And whatta you care? We both know I can do ’er better.”

Abby’s face is bright red now. “Easton,” she says tightly.

“What? You know I’m right.” His mocking gaze shifts toward her. “You’re wasting your time pining over him, babe. Did he ever tell you he loved you? No, right? That’s ’cause he didn’t.”

Abby makes a gasped, wounded sound. “Screw you, Easton. Screw both of you.” Then she rushes out of the den without a backward look.

Easton watches her go, then turns to me and starts to laugh. Cold and humorless. “Made another one run, huh, brother? Ella, Abby…”

“You’re the one who ran her off.” I shake my head at him. “Leave Abby alone. She’s not one of your toys, East.”

“What, she’s too good for a screw-up like me?”

Yes. “That’s not what I’m saying,” I lie.

“Bull-
shit
. You don’t want me to taint your pure, sweet Abby. Don’t want me to mess her up.” East moves forward, swaying on his feet. The wave of alcohol on his breath nearly knocks me over. “Goddamn hypocrite. You’re the bad apple. You’re the one who ruins chicks.” He comes even closer, until our faces are inches apart, and then he dips his mouth toward my ear and hisses, “You ruined Ella.”

I flinch.

Everyone’s eyes are on us. The Royals are in shambles, ladies and gentlemen. The twins have stopped talking to me. Seb must’ve said something to Sawyer and now they both look at me as if I’m a leper. East’s trying to screw his pain away. Gid’s angry at the world. And me? I’m just drowning.

“All right. I’m done here.” I sidestep him, struggling to keep myself under control. “You do what you want, buddy.”

“Damn right I will,” he slurs.

I catch Wade’s eye and jerk my head toward the door. He wastes no time meeting me there. “Make sure East gets home all right,” I mutter. “He can’t drive.”

Wade nods. “I’m on it. Go home. It’ll all be better in the morning.”

If Ella shows up, yes. If not? We’re screwed.

Feeling defeated, I drive home and try not to think about how my life has gone to hell. Ella’s gone. East’s a mess. Brooke’s back. I don’t know what to do with the anger. I can’t fight again. My ribs are too sore. But my hands are fine, so I duck downstairs to the weight room and take out my aggression on the punching bag.

I pretend the bag is me. I pummel it until my hands are bloody and there are red marks on my feet and up and down my legs.

It doesn’t do a damn bit of good.

Afterward, I wash off my sweat and blood in the shower, throw on a pair of sweats and climb upstairs. In the kitchen, I dig out an energy drink and am startled to realize the time. It’s past one a.m. I was down in the basement for almost an hour and a half.

Exhausted, I haul my tired ass up the stairs. Maybe I can finally fucking sleep tonight. The hallway is dark and every door is closed, including East’s. I wonder if he’s back from the party.

As I approach my door, I hear noises. Low grunts, gasps.

What the hell?

Brooke better not be in there.

I throw open the door and the first thing I see is my brother’s bare ass. He’s on my bed. So is Abby, who’s moaning softly as East pumps into her. Her hands clutch his shoulders, legs wrapped around his hips. Her hair is fanned out across my pillow.

“Seriously?” I growl.

Easton stops moving, but keeps one hand curled over my ex’s breast. He glances over his shoulder and offers a savage smile.

“Oh, man, this is your room?” he says mockingly. “Must’ve gotten it mixed up with mine. Sorry, brother.”

I slam the door and stumble back into the hall.

* * *

I
sleep
in Ella’s room. Or more accurately, I lie on Ella’s bed and brood all night. In the morning, I run into East in the kitchen.

“Abby tasted good last night.” He smirks and takes a bite of an apple.

Idly I wonder how he’d feel if I took that apple and shoved the whole thing down his throat. He’d probably laugh and say he wanted another one just to show me. Show me what, though? That he hates my guts?

“Didn’t realize we were sharing like the twins.” I grab the pitcher of water with more force than I intend and the filtered water spills over my hand.

East forces a laugh out. “Why not? Maybe if I was the one boning Ella, she wouldn’t have left.”

Blood washes over my eyes. “You touch her and I’ll—”

“She’s not even here for me to touch, you asshole.” He hurls the half-bitten apple and it explodes against the side of the cabinet just inches from my head. “I wish that was a fucking brick and it smashed your head in.”

Yeah, we’re doing really well here in the Royal household.

I avoid East for the rest of the day.