Cracked Kingdom (The Royals #5)(5)

Beside my brother, Ella sighs in frustration. “Where would you have put Seb?”

“Anywhere but here.” I can’t believe these two don’t sense the bad vibes in this place. Nothing has ever gone right for us in this hospital. Our mom died here. Seb won’t wake up from his coma, and my girlfriend’s head nearly split open.

The two give me a dubious look and then turn to each other to engage in a silent conversation. They’ve been dating for over a year now, and their cycles have synced up or some shit. Of course, I don’t need to be sleeping with either of them to figure out that they’re talking about me. Ella’s telegraphing that she’s worried I’m going to lose it and Reed’s reassuring her that I’m not going to do anything to embarrass the family. When she’s not looking, he casts me a dark stare that repeats his earlier admonishment to keep my head screwed on.

I leave the grief room, the heavy automatic doors sliding shut behind me. I wander down one of the two wide, white marble halls of the hospital wing built with my dad’s blood money. It’s quiet here, unlike the emergency room on the first floor where kids are crying, adults are coughing, and bodies are in constant motion.

Here, rubber soles move silently across the tile as pristine uniformed staff dart in and out of rooms to check on their wealthy patients. There might be a new hospital wing lying in one of those beds, so they take extra special care here. There are nicer mattresses, expensive sheets, designer hospital gowns. There are no interns or residents allowed up here unless accompanied by a full-fledged doctor. Of course, you pay for the privilege of being in one of these VIP suites. Hart’s in one only because I threatened to raise holy hell if she was punted to the general admission population. Dad doesn’t like it. He thinks it’s tantamount to an admission of wrongdoing, but I threatened to go to the press and say it was all my fault. Dad told me he’d pay for a week. I’ll fight him if she needs to stay longer, but I’m going to deal with one crisis at a time.

I locate my brother, Sawyer, slumped in front of a trash can.

“Dude, you okay? You want something to eat? Drink?”

He raises a set of hollow eyes in my direction. “I threw my cup away.”

Does that mean he’s thirsty? This boy is the walking dead. If Seb doesn’t wake up soon, Sawyer will be the next Royal in a hospital bed, not me.

“What was it?” I ask, peering into the can. I spot some fast food wrappers, the brown paper cartons from the VIP deli cart, and a couple of energy drinks. “A Gatorade?” I guess. “I’ll get you a new one.”

“I’m not thirsty,” Sawyer mumbles.

“It’s not a problem. Tell me what you want.” If he even knows. He sounds delirious.

“Nothing.” He struggles to his feet.

I hustle back to his side and put my hand on his shoulder. “Hey, tell me what you want.”

Sawyer slaps my hand away. “Don’t touch me,” he spits out in a sudden burst of anger. “Seb wouldn’t be in that room if it weren’t for you.”

I want to protest, but he isn’t wrong. “Yeah, I got you,” I say with my throat tight.

Sawyer’s face grows pinched. He clenches his jaw to prevent his lips from trembling, but this is my baby brother. I know when he’s seconds away from breaking down, so I haul him in for a hug, holding him even as he struggles.

“I’m sorry.”

He grips my T-shirt shirt like it’s a lifeline. “Seb’s going to be okay, right?”

“Damn straight he is.” I thump my brother on the back. “He’s going to wake up and make fun of us for crying.”

Sawyer can’t reply. His emotions are filling his throat. He clings to me for a solid minute before pushing me away. “I’m going to sit with him for a while,” he says, his face turned to the wall.

Seb likes to rescue baby animals and overuses the heart-eyes emoji, whereas Sawyer’s the macho twin. The one who doesn’t talk as much. The one who doesn’t like showing emotion. But without his twin, Sawyer’s alone and scared.

I squeeze his shoulder and let him go. The twins need to be together. If anyone can pull Seb out of his coma, it’ll be Sawyer.

I make my way down to the end of the second hall where Hartley’s room is. One of the near-silent nursing staff greets me at the door. “I’m sorry,” she says. “No visitors.”

She points to the digital display to the right of the door that has a private sign flashing.

“I’m family, Susan.” I read her nametag. I haven’t run into Nurse Susan before.

“I didn’t realize that Ms. Wright had brothers.” The nurse gives me a look that says she knows who I am and what kind of bullshit I’m trying to sell.

It’s not in my nature to give up. I smile winningly. “Cousin. I just flew in.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Royal. No visitors.”

Busted. “Look, Hartley’s my girlfriend. I need to see her. What kind of asshole is she going to think I am if I’m not checking up on her? She’s going to be hurt and we don’t need to add any grief onto her plate, am I right?” I can see the nurse softening. “She’s going to want to see me.”

“Ms. Wright needs her rest.”

“I won’t stay long,” I promise. When she doesn’t give in immediately, I bring out the big guns. “My dad wants an update. Callum Royal? You can check the intake forms. His name is on there.”