Rock Hard Prince Charming: A Royal Bad Boy Romance

by Rye Hart

  The rain continues to fall, buying us more time.

  I must have had the longest and most soothing rest of my life, because I didn’t wake up until the next day.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: HUGH MADDOX

  The rain has cleared up this morning. Shit. This means she might leave soon. I hope that doesn’t make me sound too much like Norman Bates, but this woman is a treasure. I allowed her to oversleep. She deserved it. I’m not sure what happened last night, to either of us, but it’s the kind of memory that could sustain me for the rest of my life.

  Dammit. I don’t want the memory.

  I want her.

  Night after night.

  Until she begs me to stop.

  But damaged goods is more than she deserves.

  In an attempt to push the thought of Sam leaving out of my mind, I begin to cook breakfast.

  Fair’s fair, as we agreed last night.

  Jesus.

  Even the thought of it gets me hard. I have to tuck my suddenly interested dick into the band of my sweat suit so it doesn’t bump the hot frying pan that is currently full of sizzling eggs.

  “What’s cooking?” she says, appearing at the bottom of the stairs. She’s glowing and I my heart beat begins to quicken at the sight of her.

  “Eggs and bacon,” I say. “Coffee. Brought them up from downstairs. Thought we might try a normal meal away from the chamber of horrors.”

  She bites the back of my shoulder and puts her arms around my waist. “What’s this?” she says, feeling my poorly concealed erection.

  “The usual.”

  She giggles.

  God, that sexy giggle again. It would haunt me for the rest of my life.

  We sit and eat.

  “So the rain is cleared up,” she says. I can’t read her tone. She could be disappointed, bored out of her skull, or sleepy. “Does this mean you can take me through a fabulous walk in the woods and tell me all about what my boss calls the ‘animal sanctuary thing?’”

  “What do you mean? I haven’t heard of anything like that.”

  “Oh. She said she heard that someone was cutting down forest to make an animal sanctuary, but that would mean displacing all the animals that were already here. Nothing like that?”

  “Nope. Sounds like someone’s pulling her leg. Or she was pulling your leg to get you out here. I’ve got a better idea, though. Why don’t you let me take you into town, buy a couple of things, and then we’ll take that walk in the woods?”

  “Won’t the townspeople be terrified to see a big badass like you stomping out of the forest?”

  “I doubt that very much. They see me about every four days, weather permitting.”

  We drive to town after breakfast. Sam hadn’t seen it yet but I had a bronco parked out back. There’s a small road between the trees that you can’t see the beginning of unless you know how to spot it.

  She holds my hand the whole way down.

  On Main Street in Wahay, I nod and wave at people because they do the same to me. No one cares who I am here. They don’t know my past. Or if they did, they wouldn’t make a big deal of it. Simple. Lonely - I have to admit now that I’ve met Sam - but it has been simple.

  I mainly need to buy supplies to reinforce any damage the storm might have done. I leave Sam in the car while I go into a hardware store and come back out with a new pack of shingles, some sealant that would keep rain out of the cracks, and a new whetstone. I also buy her her own hatchet, since she liked the throw I did at Jarom so much. I figure I can teach her how.

  But she’s staring at her phone, muttering to herself.

  “Everything okay?” I say, sliding into the driver’s seat.

  “I forgot I had a phone,” she says. “Believe it or not, it’s absolutely full of messages from people wanting status updates about my story. Oh shit.”

  “What?”

  She holds the phone up so I can take a look. “This is from my friend Lacey.” The message says, I SEE YOU, YOU LITTLE SLUT! “It just came in,” says Sam.

  Before I can say a word, someone appears at Sam’s window and starts pounding on the glass. Sam looks at me and mouths I’m sorry to me before rolling down the window.

  “Hey you!” says a woman who can only be Lacey. “Why don’t you both take me to some fancy restaurant? I’m fucking starving.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN : SAM WASHINGTON

  For about five minutes I’m excited to see Lacey. So much has happened and she’s the only one I want to talk to about it all. Then the novelty wears off and I realize how good she looks. I remember how she is with men. I start to dread the moment when she asks to come back and see the cabin, which will surely lead to her seducing Hugh and leaving me in the lurch.

  I also have a ton of messages from Trinity wanting to know why Jarom is so “despondent.” Apparently he returned to New York and set up a massive pity party that is the cause of much speculation at the humble headquarters of The Inner Eye. I don’t respond. I can’t believe how good it has felt to not have my phone, and to totally forget that it exists. Hugh told me that he liked the simplicity of life out here. I can see how a certain kind of person could get used to it.

  Maybe I’m that type of person.

  Lacey builds a wall of words as she eats breakfast, not even noticing that we don’t order anything. She gapes at Hugh and compliments him on his beard, his arms, his shoulders, his thighs, his boots, his Bronco, and his fine eye for journalistic talent. “You have no idea how badly Sam here has needed someone like you,” she says. “She has been a total wreck.”

  “I have not!”

  “Tell me more, Lacey,” says Sam.

  “Oh, hey,” says Lacey, ignoring him. “Sam, how’s the thing going? You know, the uh…” She raises her eyebrows and rolls her eyes back in her head.

  “Now this I’ve got to know more about,” says Hugh.

  “Don’t you dare,” I say. Something about my tone sinks in, because Lacey lets it go.

  “So when do I get to see the famous hermit cabin?” she says. “Hugh, I’m assuming you’re the fighter that she came out here looking for. What does that make you, Sam? Like, a treasure hunter?”

  “It makes me bored with this conversation. Hugh, let’s get out of here. We’ve got to work on the story.”

  Lacey wipes her mouth daintily with a napkin. “I can’t wait. I’ll ride with you two.”

  “That’s fine,” says Hugh, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. Is he into her? Is everything we’ve done just a fling for him? I mean, I knew--we both knew--that it wouldn’t last forever, I think, but is he discarding me in front of me?

  Soon we’re headed back to the cabin with Lacey chattering a mile a minute. She thinks there are too many trees. She’s worried about mosquitos. Does Hugh have any sunscreen? How does he make sure he never gets lost? How often does he take women back to his “lair?” What’s the tallest tree in the world? She has also recently heard on a podcast that trees can talk to each other and she seems legitimately anxious that they might all be gossiping about her.

  Hugh takes this all in stride. He doesn’t say much, but he responds when she talks to him, gives me nudges with his elbow when she really gets going, and it all seems fine. Normal enough. But I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.

  When we get to the cabin she screams her head off and races around, saying it’s the most perfect place she has ever seen.

  By the time Hugh locks the door behind us she has already found the wine and poured three glasses. “Don’t worry,” she says, “I’ll be entertaining enough to pay you back for the wine.”

  I bet you’d like that I think, feeling petty and jealous, though nothing has really happened yet.

  I take Lacey up to my room--I’m already thinking of it as my room--when she says she has to pee. As soon as we’re up there she closes the door and locks it. “So what’s going on?” she hisses. “Are you two fucking? Oh my God, he’s so hot, and I think he looks really familiar? Who
do you think he reminds me of? I can’t figure it out. He’s so hot! You’re so lucky!”

  I’m obviously not responding the way she thinks I should, because she suddenly sits back, crosses her arms, and says, “Do I smell bad or something? Why are you making that face? You are totally weirding me out, are you mad I came?”

  “No, it’s just...we’ve been doing so well that I--”

  “And now what? It’s all ruined because I’m here? I just wanted a little break. I mean, it’s not like I expected you to get me a trophy for flying out to surprise you, but I thought you might enjoy it. I didn’t know I was getting between you and the love of your life!”

  “He’s not the love of my life.”

  “Why can’t you just be happy? You said you wanted a guy. You needed a new boyfriend after Owen. At least you got to come out here and bang this hottie. Are you saying it might turn into more?”

  I’m not sure where the anger comes from, but I want to say whatever I can to shut her up right now.

  “I’m just here to do a story and that’s that! You think some lumberjack can turn my head just because some fucking coin collector cheated on me? I’m finishing the story and I’m out of here. Case closed!”

  My voice has gotten so much louder than I meant it too. That’s when I notice the shadow under the door. Two shadows, cast by Hugh’s feet. Now they’re moving away slowly.

  He obviously heard everything I just said. Fuck.

  CHAPTER TWENTY : HUGH MADDOX

  Lacey is a fucking trip. Gorgeous, probably fun for a night or two, but a fucking trip and a headcase. I would be bored with her within a week. Sam was so much more my speed. And I thought I was hers.

  Then I decided to take coffee up to surprise them and I find myself eavesdropping on a conversation that I never should have heard.

  But this is my fucking house. I have told Sam things about myself that I barely even admit to myself. And she tells her friend that I’m basically nothing to her? That I’m just some story?

  My first inclination is to knock the door down, kick them both out, and tell Sam that if she ever prints one word about me or my whereabouts that I will sue her ass for slander.

  I feel more let down than I do angry, though. I can’t believe my ears. Maybe I’m being overly sensitive. Maybe she’s having a bad day or Lacey is bringing out the worst in her. I don’t know. But I do know that I wasn’t going to stick around for the rest of the conversation. I went out back and started hitting the bag.

  Eventually, maybe five rounds in, Sam stepped out onto the deck.

  “Are you okay?” she says.

  Wham. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

  “I know you were outside the door.”

  “Why shouldn’t I be outside my door?”

  “You know that’s not what I mean.”

  Wham.

  “Sam, I don’t know what you mean. I’m not sure you know what you mean. But I know what I heard and I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I’m really fucking disappointed in you. You were great but I have opened up in a way that I never thought I could. I’m grateful to you for it. But if you think I’m just some story? If you’ve just been baiting me, letting me use you to butter me up for a story? Then you can fuck right off and forget you ever knew me.”

  Wham.

  I can’t hit the bag hard enough. Can’t outstrike the pain. She puts her hand on my shoulder. “Lacey’s gone,” she says. “I sent her away. Will you take that walk with me?”

  I give the bag one last knee to what would be an opponent’s midsection and I step back undoing my wrist wraps as fast as I can. “Okay. But after that I want you to go. I thought there was more to you. But what do I know? I’ve certainly been wrong before.” I walk away and turn back around. “Oh, and I get to choose where we’re walking to.”

  I stalk off, knowing I sound petulant, not really caring. Such as it is, I have made a new life for myself out here. I get dressed, put on a sweatshirt and pants. As I move through the house it’s obvious that Lacey really is gone. Maybe I’m being too hard on Sam, but I couldn’t control my anger.

  I realize that one of my problems with what I heard is that I’m fine being nothing—I took myself out to the middle of nowhere and vanished. I made myself nothing, invisible, a ghost, and I did it on purpose. And I know what it’s like to be told I’m everything. Those heady days at the top of the fight game were fucking exhilarating and I wore it well while it lasted.

  What I’m not used to being is something, somewhere in the middle. I’m not going to tolerate just being there for someone else’s fucking convenience.

  “Let’s go,” I say, coming back out onto the porch. “I want to show you something before you go.” I walk fast, not really caring if she can keep up.

  She doesn’t say anything. Maybe she’s feeling something like I am.

  Something like mourning.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE : SAM WASHINGTON

  God, I’m such an asshole. I’m not letting Hugh off the hook; frankly I think he’s being a huge baby. But I know how it must have sounded and he obviously wasn’t prepared for it.

  I don’t want to let myself off the hook either but I was just blabbing. Sometimes the only way to get Lacey to be quiet is just to talk faster and louder than she is. That’s not always a guarantee that what comes out of my mouth is going to be the height of wit and insight.

  But what I know for sure is that Hugh means much more to me than what I let off to Lacey. Less than 72 hours in and I’m hooked. I can’t imagine going back to New York without him. But will he even want anything to do with me now?

  Hugh is walking so fast. I can barely keep up. Then it seems like he doesn’t want me to keep up, so I slow down on purpose and try to enjoy the scenery. Now that the rain is gone, I can see more clearly. The whispering aspens hiss and shift. Light reflects off of the remaining small puddles on and in the rocks and leaves. The air is clean and I’m struck by how quiet everything is except for the crunch of our feet and our breathing.

  “Hugh,” I say. “I need to rest.”

  He stops ahead, and then turns around. “We’re almost there,” he says. There’s a note in his voice that almost sounds like pleading, but Hugh is not a man who pleads.

  “Just give me a second.”

  He nods and takes a step towards me. I can see him softening, I think. I hope so. If this is about to end, whatever it was, I’m desperate for us to part as friends. Or at least, not as enemies.

  “Come on,” he says. “I think this will be interesting for you. And maybe for your story.” He says this last bit over his shoulder and I feel a rush of hope. Maybe we’re going to be able to handle this all like grownups after all.

  We step through the trees and emerge into a clearing of waist-high grass. In the distance is a snow-capped mountain peak. There are two deer near the opposite tree line. And in the middle of the clearing is a pile of stones that rise to the height of Hugh’s chest.

  Hugh walks to the stones and drops to one knee. He turns and motions me closer.

  “Andrew always wanted to be cremated,” he says. “After the funeral, I took his ashes and brought him out here. This is his burial mound. I’m not spiritual or religious or whatever you want to call it. But I think he would have gotten a kick out of this. It has helped me in some ways, having him this close. But I also wonder if it’s been unhealthy for me.”

  He lets out a deep slow breath. I put a hand on the top of his thigh and press gently. “Didn’t he have family?” I say.

  Hugh smiles sadly. “I didn’t tell you anything about my dad. Or mom. She died when I was young. I don’t even remember her. But my dad was an army guy. I lived all over the world while I was a teenager. Andrew was my half-brother. I’m not sure why dad never wanted him to know, but he always told Andrew that he had adopted him. Honestly, the old man told so many lies that maybe he was telling the truth. I don’t know for a fact that Andrew wasn’t adopted. Point being, we were raised together like brothers. We were b
rothers. And I got my brother killed. Then I let the cops let me go because I was a big shot.”

  He puts his hand out and touches the stones. “I miss you buddy,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”

  His voice is strong and steady but the grief in it is obvious and heavy.

  “Hugh, you have to stop blaming yourself,” I say.

  “I can’t. Even if I should. And I’m not sure about that.”

  “Hugh, look at me.” I reach over and turn his face to me. “What would help? There has to be something. What are you afraid of?”

  Astonishingly, he laughs. Then he wags a finger at me. “You know what, Sam? That’s the right question. What I’m afraid of. I’ll tell you, and then I’m going to let you decide what to do with my answer. I’m not angry anymore. I know that what you said was just talk. I was being a brat and I’m sorry. But now I’m going to give you one more chance to back out. Do you really want to hear this?”

  What does he mean by “back out?” What if I say no?

  “Tell me,” I say.

  “Okay,” he says. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. This might change everything you think you know about me.”

  I wait.

  “Sam,” he says, “I’ve never known what it feels like to be defenseless. When you fight, you always know that it only ends in one of two ways. You win or the other guy wins. It can look like a lot of different things, but that’s always the outcome. You both accept it and you prepare accordingly, knowing full well that it might not be your night.”

  “Okay.” I’m not sure what he’s getting at, but I like him in this mode. This balance of philosophical and brutish and brooding.

  “Even in a fight you lose, you’ve always got a chance. Lucky punch. He makes a mistake. Whatever, but you keep fighting because you know you might get a chance to capitalize on something. That’s why you build up your technique, stamina, and strength. So you can defend yourself. I like that feeling. Always being prepared. It’s what a lot of men are missing. They don’t know what they’re capable of because they don’t prepare. Sometimes they don’t even know how.”