Page 174 of The Prince of Broken Crowns

Me, too.

“Obviously,” I whisper. “You’re like the first guy who’s ever done that.”

He goes still, something I feel underneath the palm of my hand that’s resting on his side. “I’m the first person who’s turned you on?”

I could stop this. It’s spiraling fast. But I can’t bring myself to. The more time I spend with him, the harder it is to set boundaries.

“And push me over the edge,” I whisper into his ear.

I like the breath that fumbles from his lips a little too much.

He turns his head, dips his mouth to mine, and kisses me softly, and then he gently bites my lip. The whimper that leaves my mouth has his nostrils flaring. If the bus hadn’t jolted to a stop at that precise moment, I’m unsure how heavy our next kissing session would’ve been. A drop of relief trickles through me that we were interrupted, but honestly, I feel more annoyed and flustered than anything else.

“This is our stop,” I tell River as I push to my feet, ignoring the wobbliness of my legs.

He stands and steps into the main aisle, offering me his hand. I lace my fingers through his and trail after him as he guides us to the front of the bus. He offers the driver a polite smile. I’m noticing he does that a lot, and I wonder if it’s a trait he’s learned—politeness. It’s a foreign concept to me. I’m not saying that northside is full of a bunch of rude assholes, but living in poverty where the crime rate is high brings out survival instincts that require being not so polite all the time.

Once we step out onto the curb, River scans the dingy buildings that line the trash-littered streets. “Which way is your house?” he asks.

I tug on his arm. “This way.”

He holds onto my hand as I pull him toward the curb where a man is standing with a bag slung over his shoulder. He looks worn down from life, his shoulders curved in, his skin stained with dirt, and his clothes torn. But a lot of people around here mirror him.

“I’ve never been here during the day,” River mutters after we’ve crossed the street. “The darkness masks a lot of the sadness, doesn’t it?”

“You sound like a poet,” I remark as I steer us past a few stores then veer down an alleyway. “But yeah, the darkness does hide a lot. Although, it allows monsters to come out, too.”

We reach the end of the alleyway then and step out onto the parking lot in front of my mother’s apartment complex. I start to step forward, but River clasps onto my hand and draws me back toward him.

I glance at him confusedly. “What’s up?”

He shifts his weight. “I’m a little nervous about what Drew said to me. What if there’s other people after you, and they’re waiting around, looking for you?”

“I already told you there’s always someone looking for me, thanks to my father being a traitor, but it won’t be the same as a bounty being put on me.” I hope, anyway.

Skepticism remains in River’s expression, but he doesn’t protest as I start forward again. He remains close, on high alert, looking at the parking lot, at the vehicles in it, and at the few people loitering around. Then he fixes his attention on the apartment as we near it.

Instead of walking in, I summon a breath and knock. When no one answers, I try again before pushing the door open. I’m aware right away that something isn’t right by the bareness of the room.

“What the heck?” I step over the threshold and flip the light switch, but the light doesn’t come on. That’s nothing new—my mom constantly forgets to pay the power bill. But what is new is nothing is here except for the sofa and coffee table, and they were already here when we moved in.

When it dawns on me what’s happening, reality crashes over me like a goddamn roaring wave.

“What’s wrong?” River asks as I wiggle my hand from his grasp and jog across the living room.

I don’t respond, throwing my bedroom door open. To my relief, most of my stuff is still there. But then, when I push the door to my mother’s bedroom open, the wave nearly knocks me down.

I stare at her empty bedroom with my mouth hanging open.

“She moved out.”

“What?” He moves up behind me, his warmth and intoxicating scent bringing me a little comfort, but not much. “Jesus … Did she never mention this to you?”

I shake my head. “Nope, but I’m not surprised. She probably either couldn’t pay rent or she pissed the wrong person off and had to go into hiding.”

I enter the bedroom and peer around for some sort of clue as to what could’ve possibly happened. A few items are left behind—a couple of boxes, a blanket, and a lamp. I head to the boxes and open one up. Inside are a few photos and papers.

I pluck a photo out and can’t help smiling a bit. It’s of me as a baby, and my aunt is holding me. She looks happy as she smiles down at me, sitting in a chair outside, beneath the sunlight in a nicely landscaped yard I don’t recognize. I wonder who took the photo. Maybe my mother?

---