Cracked Kingdom (The Royals #5)(18)

I’m about to ask how she knows, when I see him—Kyle Hudson—standing near the front door looking around my house with curious eyes, as if he’s never once stepped foot inside. He’s wearing skinny jeans that are too tight on his stocky frame and a dark blue letter jacket with a patch over the left breast that matches the patches on my blazers upstairs.

“I, ah, stopped by to see how you were doing,” he says, not quite meeting my eyes.

“I’m fine.” This is the first time he’s checked in on me in a week.

He rubs his foot against the tile.

Mom pinches me in the side. “What Hartley means is that she’s so happy that you stopped by. Hartley is shocked that she has such a caring boyfriend. Have a seat.” She gestures toward the living room sofa. “Can I get you anything?”

Kyle shakes his head. “I thought I’d take Hart-lay over to the French Twist. Some Astor kids are meeting up there.”

I grind my teeth together. I hate how he says my name.

“Of course,” chirps my mother. “Let me get some money.”

Only she doesn’t move right away, waiting for him to stop her. Instead, he raises his eyebrows in anticipation.

“Actually, I’m tired.” I pull out of Mom’s grip. “I’m not up for going out.”

“We aren’t clubbing, Hart-lay. It’s a bakery.”

Yeah, he’s real caring.

“She’ll go. Why don’t you change,” Mom suggests and then hurries off to get the money.

I look down at my dark-washed jeans and navy hoodie with the white stripes on the sleeves. “What’s wrong with what I have on?”

“Everything,” Kyle answers.

I lift my chin. “I’m not changing.”

“Fine. Your funeral. Don’t cry to me when you get made fun of.”

“Made fun of? Are we in middle school? Why would anyone care what I wear?” I shake my head in annoyance. “Also, I can drive myself,” I add, because I don’t want to get into whatever death trap he’s motoring around.

“You can’t. We don’t have your license,” Mom says, returning with her wallet. “It got lost with your purse,” she reminds me.

That complication hadn’t occurred to me. “But, Mom—”

“Don’t but, Mom me. Here’s twenty dollars.” She shoves a bill in my face. “That should be enough.”

Kyle makes a face.

“Yeah, that’s enough,” I declare and pocket the twenty.

“Great. You two have a nice time tonight.” She practically shoves me out the door.

As soon as it shuts behind me, I turn to Kyle. “I don’t believe we ever dated. You treat me like trash and I have zero warm feelings toward you. If we didn’t break up before, let’s do it now.”

“You’re an amnesiac. What do you know? Let’s go.” He jerks a thumb toward an SUV parked crookedly in our driveway. “Felicity’s waiting.”

“I don’t want to go. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

He stares at me and then at the sky and then at me again. Annoyance is written on his face—in the straight line of his mouth, the deep lines in his forehead, and the dark expression in his eyes.

“I’m trying to do you a favor here. You don’t remember shit, right?”

I nod because there’s no point in denying it.

“Tomorrow you’re going back to school, right?”

I feel like I’m on the bad end of one of my dad’s cross examinations, but I nod again.

“Then do you want some answers tonight or do you want to bumble around like a fool tomorrow and for the rest of your days at Astor?”

I glance over my shoulder to see my mother waving at me from the front door, and then return my gaze to Kyle. The carrot he’s dangling in front of me is too sweet to pass up. I don’t know what’s waiting for me at the bakery, but he’s right. Meeting people tonight in a casual setting is better than going to school tomorrow blind.

“I want answers tonight,” I finally mutter.

“Then let’s go.”

He walks off toward his SUV without waiting for me. I scurry to catch up, grabbing hold of the door handle and hauling myself into the passenger seat.

“We’re still breaking up,” I tell him as I buckle in.

“Whatever.” He jams his finger against the engine’s start button. Country music blares out of the speakers.

I reach over and turn it down. He sends me a look of death, but I keep my hand on the knob. I’m going to win this battle.

“How long did we date?” I ask.

“What?”

“How long did we date?” I repeat. If tonight’s going to be about answers, they might as well start now.

“I dunno.”

Felicity had suggested it was from the moment I got to school. I’m guessing that school started at the end of August and it’s nearing Thanksgiving so the longest we could have dated is three months or so.

“I’m not asking for our anniversary date, just a general timeframe.”

He hunches uncomfortably over the steering wheel. “Weeks, I guess.”

“Weeks?”

“Yeah, weeks.”