Fallen Heir

by Erin Watt

Yeah. This school. It’s a screwed-up place where the students run the show and the teachers sit back and watch, completely powerless. Rich kids are assholes.

  I text Hartley on my way outside. U missed afternoon classes. U get called in2 work?

  To my surprise, she texts back immediately. Ya. Do me a favor?

  I smile at the screen.

  Of course I’ll have sex with u

  There’s a brief delay.

  Forget it

  Crap. Sry! Told u, comes naturally. What do u need, Har-Har?

  Brit lit notes, if you have any

  Yup, took lots. I don’t even flinch when I type out that lie, but I remember the lecture and will have a complete set ready for her when she’s done. When u off work? I can come by ur place when ur done and drop em off

  Would you mind dropping them here? That way I can do homework on my breaks

  A little map pops up—she sent me her location. HUNGRY SPOON DINER, on E14th Street.

  Ya no prob, I type, and feel immensely proud of myself for being such a good, helpful friend. I can b there in 1hr-ish. Gotta drop Pash home first

  Thanks, E

  Sweet. She called me “E.” Progress!

  I tuck my phone in my pocket and cross the parking lot toward my pickup, where Pash is already waiting. I’ve been playing chauffeur because his car’s been in the shop for two weeks now—he totaled it racing on the twisty, scary-as-fuck road that follows the coastline. Lucky he didn’t go over the cliff, but I’m not one to judge. Pash has one vice: illegal street racing. I’ve got like a million of them.

  “Yo,” he calls.

  “Yo.” I unlock the truck doors and we slide into our respective seats. I toss my phone in the cup holder and start the engine.

  During the fifteen-minute drive, my cell dings at least ten times, prompting Pash to finally scoop it up.

  “Dude. Felicity Worthington texted you like five billion times.” He chuckles at something on the screen. “She wants you to wear a tie to dinner tonight. You’re taking her to dinner?”

  He says that in the way one would ask if his pal was going to sit down with a python.

  “Hell. No.” I grit my teeth and focus on the road ahead. “Can you text back for me?”

  “Sure. Whatcha want me to say?”

  “Say, we’re NOT going out. Capital letters for not.”

  Pash snickers loudly. “Harsh, bro.”

  “Nice doesn’t cut it with this chick.” I flick the turn signal and steer the car left toward Pash’s tree-lined street.

  “Why does she think you’re going out?” he asks, typing absently into my phone.

  “Because she asked me, and I said yes when I was loaded.”

  He laughs again. “You’re screwed.”

  “Thanks for the support.”

  “I’m just telling you the truth. There. Sent.” The phone beeps in his hand before he can put it down. “She texted back, a deal’s a deal.”

  I groan in frustration. “Don’t answer.”

  “So. How you going to get yourself out of this jam?”

  Looking over, I see him fighting back more laughter. “No idea,” I admit. Felicity’s a force of nature. And, I’m starting to think, a bit psycho. “I’ll figure something out.”

  I reach the end of his long driveway and stop the car in front of the Bhara mansion. “See you at practice tomorrow.” I don’t offer to pick him up, since I’m never on time. But his dad drops him off before work, so it’s fine.

  We knock fists and then Pash gets out of the car. “Later, East.”

  “Later.”

  I pull a quick turn and drive out the way I came, only instead of turning toward the road home, I take the one that leads to the city. I pull into an empty lot and park, and then I take out my pen, my phone, and a notebook and get to work. A year ago, I started recording class lectures on my phone. It helps at test time, if I can convince myself it’s a class worth studying for. Admittedly, I only do the bare minimum. Cs are a passing grade, as I’ve told my dad a million times.

  But I take extra care with these notes. Because to Hartley, a C is probably a failed grade. Once I finish, I tuck everything away and go find my girl.

  Hungry Spoon Diner is in a strip mall next to a Goodwill and a grocery store. The neon sign declares it’s open.

  I grab my notebook and head inside. The place has a few rows of fifties-style tables: the ones with the chrome sides and the shiny colorful tops. In the center is a big U-shaped counter. There aren’t many bodies, but that’s unsurprising, seeing as how it’s barely five o’clock on a weekday. I scan the room for Hartley, but I see only one waitress, wearing the same black and white uniform Hartley had on the night I brought her dinner.

  Frowning, I look at the mostly empty booths, and that’s when I spot her. Well, I spot the back of her head. She’s sitting in the farthest booth, facing away from me. And she’s not alone.

  “You can seat yourself,” the other waitress chirps after greeting me.

  “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

  “I’ll be right over with a menu.”

  I nod and walk toward the back booths. I don’t sit at the one right next to Hartley’s, but two booths away. Far enough that her companion can’t really see me, but close enough to hear what Hartley’s saying.

  And what she says sucks the breath from my lungs.

  In a voice trembling with desperation, Hartley pleads, “I want to come home.”

  Chapter 15

  “You know that’s not up to me.”

  I clamp my lips together to stop from interrupting. The woman is Hartley’s sister, I think. I recognize her from the article, but I can’t remember her name. She looks so much like Hartley, except her black hair is cut in a short bob with bangs while Hartley’s hangs like a silk curtain down the middle of her back.

  “No, but you’re the oldest,” Hartley says shakily. “You’re their favorite, Parker. Dad actually listens to you.”

  “Not anymore,” Parker answers. Her voice sounds tight. “Now he walks around like he’s King Lear, waiting for all his daughters to betray him. God, I shouldn’t even be here, Hart. I’m risking a lot.”

  “Is that so?” I can’t see Hartley’s face, but from the way her tone grows cold, I imagine her expression is equally chilly. “What exactly are you risking, Parker? You don’t even live there anymore. You have a husband and two kids and—”

  “—and a trust fund that pays for my children’s private school tuition and for the house my family lives in. If Dad finds out I saw you—”

  Hartley makes a noise of distress in the back of her throat. “No one’s going to find out.”

  “You don’t know that. He’s got spies everywhere.”

  I frown to myself. Hartley’s dad is just an assistant district attorney, but Hartley’s sister is making it seem like he’s the head of a mafia family or some shit. Man. What happened between Hartley and her dad? It’s sounding more and more like she got kicked out of her house, but why?

  “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Water?”

  The waitress interrupts my eavesdropping. “Uh, sure,” I mumble, trying to keep my voice as low as possible. “Water’s fine. Thanks.”

  “Have you had a chance to look at the menu?” she asks.

  “I miss you guys so much,” Hartley is saying, sounding heartbroken.

  Frustration builds as I try to focus on both conversations at once. “Not yet. I need more time.”

  “All righty. I’ll be back with your water and to take your order.”

  She flounces off and I’m able to catch the tail end of Parker’s sentence.

  “—could change your circumstance any time. Just apologize to him and say you overreacted, beg his forgiveness.”

  “I did not overreact,” Hartley snaps. “What he does is wrong and it’s going to come out some day. These sorts of things always do. All this covering it up will end up being worse for the rest of us.”

  “You think our family is the onl
y one with dirt?” Parker hisses. “Everyone’s money is dirty. You should’ve kept your mouth shut.”

  “Then what about this?”

  I have no idea what “this” is, because I can’t see Hartley, but Parker’s gray eyes fill with sorrow. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

  “Are you kidding me? You saw what—” Hartley stops. Her head falls forward, and she draws a deep breath. “You know what? I don’t care that I’m kicked out of the house or that I don’t have money. I don’t care about any of that. I care about our mom and sister. I want us to be together.”

  “Then you need to forgive and move on,” Parker begs. “Dragging this out, making a spectacle of it, is only hurting the family. Do the right thing.”

  “I’m trying to!” Hartley cries, then quickly lowers her voice. “Why do you think I came back? I’m trying to make it all right, but you’re not supposed to be seen with me. Mom won’t talk to me. I haven’t spoken to—” Her voice cracks and she breaks off.

  My insides turn over. She’s really upset.

  Parker gets to her feet. “I’m sorry, Hart. I have to go.”

  Hartley’s hand shoots out and grabs her sister’s wrist. “Will you at least talk to Mom for me?”

  “I already have, countless times. She doesn’t listen to me,” Parker says in frustration.

  “Then, please, you have to talk to Dad.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” Hartley sounds mad now. “Miles makes a good living. Do you really need the other money?”

  Parker shakes her wrist free. “I thought you loved your niece and nephew. Do you know how expensive they are? It costs two grand a month to keep Macy’s pony stabled and it’s five grand for Dawson’s violin lessons. I can’t sacrifice their future for you, Hartley. Don’t ask that of me. Don’t be selfish. If you don’t care about your niece and nephew, then at least think about our baby sister. She wouldn’t survive in a boarding school. She’s too fragile.”

  Hartley makes a choked sound that rips at my gut, but Parker is unaffected by it. She walks out of the diner without a backward look.

  I want to go to Hartley and put my arm around her, but I’m guessing that would be as welcome as pouring hot lava over her head. Plus, she’ll totally bust my balls for eavesdropping. So I slouch in the booth and duck my head as low as possible. I hear her rise behind me.

  “Jess, is it cool if I take another five minutes? I need some air.”

  “No prob, hon. It’s dead in here. Take your time.”

  Footsteps sound, heading not for the door but the rear of the diner. I guess there’s another exit back there.

  “Here you are.” My waitress returns with a glass of water. “Are you ready to order?”

  “Actually, I’ve got to go.” I hold up my phone and the notebook, as if the two items provide the answer to whatever mysterious problem is making me leave.

  She just shrugs, probably because she gets paid whether she serves me or not. It’s not like she’s working on apple pie commission. “Suit yourself, hon.”

  I toss a twenty on the table and slide out of the booth. ”Keep the change,” I call over my shoulder.

  Outside, I wait about twenty seconds, then walk around the side of the building toward what I’m assuming is a back alley.

  That’s where I find Hartley, sitting on a milk crate, dark head bent, shoulders shaking.

  She’s crying.

  Fuck. What should I do?

  Running away before she sees me doesn’t sit right, but I’m not good at the whole comforting people thing. Besides, Hartley won’t let me comfort her. I annoy her too much.

  Actually…that’s the answer. I may not be able to put my arm around her and stroke her hair and promise her that everything’s going to be okay—how the hell do I know how it’s gonna be?—but there’s one surefire way to make those tears disappear.

  With a grin, I saunter forward, making sure my footsteps are extra loud so she hears me coming. “Have no fear, Easton’s here!”

  Her head whips in my direction.

  I catch only a brief glimpse of her shiny eyes before her hands swiftly rise to wipe the tears. Then she juts her chin and sends back a tart reply. “No fear? That’s the scariest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  I reach her and hold up my notebook. “Hey, now. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you British literature notes,” I warn, all the while pretending I didn’t see the tears.

  She’s pretty much recovered, though. Her eyes are rimmed red, but they’re dry now.

  “Thanks.” Sincerity rings in her voice as she accepts the notebook from me.

  I drag another milk crate over and flop down on it. “So, you still have time left in your break? Because I’ve got the craziest shit to tell you.”

  She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear “Yeah, we have time. There’s nobody in the diner.”

  “Is that why you look so down?” I say lightly. “Because you’re missing out on all those sweet tips?”

  “I’m not down.”

  We both know she’s lying, but I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to push her to tell me about that scene with her sister—I want her to confide in me because she wants to.

  I pretend to mull it over. “Oh, shit. I know what it is. You were thinking about how you like me, and how it breaks your heart that you blew your shot with me.”

  A hoot of laughter flies out of her mouth. “I blew my shot with you? Um, I’m pretty sure it’s the other way around.”

  “Babe, I didn’t blow anything.” I wink at her. “You’re into me. All I got to do is snap my fingers and we’ll be making out on your couch tonight.”

  “Ha. I’d rather make out with that light over there.” She points to the streetlamp at the opening of the alley.

  “Gross. Do you know how many dirty hands have touched that pole?”

  “Probably as many as have touched yours.” She grins broadly, proud of that comeback.

  “Nice.” Snickering, I hold my hand up for a high five.

  After a long beat, she leans over and slaps her palm against mine.

  Her eyes are no longer glistening and her shoulders are almost totally relaxed. I sneak a peek at her profile. The soft angle of her cheekbone, the pout of her bottom lip, her ear. It’s a really cute ear.

  “So what’s this crazy story you have to tell me?” she asks.

  I let out an exaggerated groan. “Oh Lord, you don’t even want to know. It’s brutal.”

  She looks amused. “Uh oh. What’d you do?”

  “Who says I did anything?” I protest.

  “Um, I do.” She raises one eyebrow in challenge. “So what’d you do?”

  A huge sigh shudders out. “I got blackout drunk and told Felicity I’d be her fake boyfriend.”

  Silence crashes over us.

  And then Hartley hoots with laughter. “What? Why?”

  “Why did I agree, or why does she want a fake boyfriend?”

  “Why any of that!”

  “Well, she wants a Royal on her arm so she can climb the social ladder and show me off at parties.”

  “Of course,” Hartley says, nodding as if that makes perfect sense. “And you agreed because…?”

  “Did you not hear the ‘blackout drunk’ part? I do stupid things when I’m wasted, Har-Har.”

  She crouches over, still busting a gut. “Oh God, Easton. You’re priceless.”

  “I coulda told you that.”

  “So what are you going to do?” she asks between giggles, and I’m gratified to see that all traces of sorrow are gone from her pretty face. “You’re not actually playing the part of her boyfriend, are you?”

  “Hell no. I already told her it ain’t happening.” I chew on my lip. “She’s not letting me back out, though. Said a deal’s a deal.”

  Hartley snorts.

  I wave a hand. “Whatevs. I’ll figure out a way to ditch her. I mean, you can’t force someone to date you, right?”

  “You’d think
not,” Hartley says cheerfully. “But Felicity Worthington seems…tenacious.”

  “I think the word you’re looking for is crazy.”

  “Nah. Not crazy. Just a rich bitch who knows what she wants.”

  And what she wants is me. Christ. “I’m scared, Har-Har. Hold me.”

  That gets me another snort.

  We both go quiet for a moment. It’s strangely comfortable—normally I hate silences. They make me itchy and anxious and I fill them by babbling incessantly. But right now, I simply sit there next to Hartley and admire her profile again.

  I’m dying to ask her about her sister, but I can’t. Just because I’m really fucking curious about that conversation in the diner doesn’t mean I need to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. I have more willpower than—

  “I saw you with your sister,” I blurt out.

  So much for willpower.

  Hartley’s body language goes right back to stiff and unwelcoming. “What?”

  “I came in when you guys were in the booth,” I confess. “I sat nearby and listened.”

  “You…listened?” Very slowly, outrage creeps into those two words. Then she explodes. “What the hell, Easton!”

  “I’m sorry. It’s not like I did it on purpose,” I say defensively. “I just didn’t want to interrupt you.”

  Hartley’s jaw tightens. “You should’ve let me know you were there.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say again.

  This time, the silence that falls is swimming with awkwardness.

  “So your folks kicked you out?”

  She swivels her head toward me, glaring hard enough to make me shiver.

  “At least, that’s the impression I got from what I heard. So what happened? Did they catch you snorting coke or something? Try to send you to rehab?” Holy fuck, why am I still talking? She obviously doesn’t want to speak to me about this. But my brain to mouth filter isn’t working. It rarely ever does.

  “None of the above,” she mutters.

  “Okay. So…what then?”

  “My dad and I had a disagreement,” is her cryptic response.

  I want to know more. I need to. But Hartley’s too prickly. I can’t ask her anything else without completely spooking her.

  Actually, she sort of reminds me of Ella. When Ella first came to town, getting details out of her was damn near impossible. Eventually she dropped her defenses, once she realized we didn’t want anything from her. Or rather, that I didn’t.