Page 4 of Royal Havoc

“Fine,” I finally answer hesitantly. “But, I have a request of my own. I’ll get some take-out while you talk to the sperm-sack. And then, you can fill me in on this worthless history lesson you keep preaching about,” I tell him over my shoulder, motioning for him to follow me to her office.

I draw the sour smoke into my lungs, holding it until I choke, forcing me to cough it out. “Thanks, Mom,” I grunt softly, watching the gloomy clouds roll in.

I found her stash while I was going through her things earlier. Let’s be clear. I’m not like the stoners smashed at parties, deflecting their entire existence. If anything, I take life in general too seriously. My anxiety craves the numbness weed brings, allowing my chatty brain a moment of calmness.

We sleep to rejuvenate our exhausted bodies. Too bad it’s a luxury the panic doesn’t give me often. The fear and anxiety always linger just below my skin, twisting with my muscles, making it hard for me to relax.

The door opens, pulling me from my chaotic thoughts as I watch Nolan slump tiredly in one of the overstuffed patio chairs.

“He agreed,” he sighs heavily, running a hand through his dark hair. “But, he wants to talk when you arrive.”

Letting my head fall back against the cushion, going back to watching the gloomy sky. “Of course he does,” I grumble, the news flattening my buzz.

“Onyx —” he starts, but I raise a hand to stop him.

“It doesn’t matter. Tell me about this hokey history before I get angry again and tune you out,” I urge impatiently, ready to be done with all the bullshit, so I can move on and forget about the nightmare my life’s about to become.

He kicks his feet up on the table in front of him and crosses his ankles. “All I know are partial bits that your mom shared with me over the years,” he reminisces, staring at the clouds, digging through what I assume are old memories.

My head rolls to the side. “Why did you stay with her? Knowing you were her dirty secret?” I sneer, hating the way she’s degraded him all these years.

Mom and the sperm donor were high school sweethearts who married as soon as they graduated. She claimed they were happy until they weren’t.

Guess I should’ve thanked her for being born since the douchebag didn’t want kids.

They were married for nine years before my smiling face was introduced to the world. By my first birthday, shit turned sour. She split and moved us to Scarlet City when I turned two.

I should’ve asked why she needed three hours, worth of space from him. Or if she liked the city more than living in the small town.

“Your Gramps discarded her for not having a boy to carry on the Sterling name.”

“What?” I hiss obnoxiously, completely sidetracked by his comment. “Like she could control that.”

Finding my eyes. “Guess that was part of the Unity. It was the best way for the richest families to agree to keep the bloodlines going. To be superior or something,” he huffs, shaking his head.

Scowling at him as he stands. “Eww? Were they a cult?” I question in disgust, following him into the house.

He grabs one of the Chinese take-out containers and leans on the counter. “It was a different time. Things weren’t frowned on like they are now.” He shrugs, digging into the fried rice.

“Yuck, whatever. But, that doesn’t answer why you stayed,” I remind him, raising myself to sit on the counter across from him.

I wait patiently for him to swallow. “Your Gramps was embarrassed of her. So rather than keep her around, helether leave. That was his gift. He wouldn’t have to be reminded of his disappointment. And, she wouldn’t be forced to see the face of a ghost.”

“Wait! Now you’re telling me there were ghosts?” I question seriously, needing his answer like I need air to live.

For most of my life, I’ve feltsomething… A presence? Eyes watching me? A shadow always lurking in the distance, watching and waiting. Mom said it was my imagination and had cameras installed around the property. She told me they were there so I could face my fears. To prove to myself it was all in my head.

He straightens, turning to grab the container of lo mien noodles. “Not aghost. Your da…” he pauses, releasing a sigh. “Hendrix cheated. She didn’t want to see the guy that quit loving her,” he says.

His answer leaves a hint of sadness resonating inside me, wishing for once I wasn’t alone with my crazy.

“Not an answer,” I press, deflecting the hurt and loneliness I’m tired of feeling.

Turning back around, he levels me with dark eyes that resemble my name. “I stayed becausesheasked me to. Opal couldn’t divorce Hendrix. That was part of the gift negotiated by Rowland. Opal and Hendrix were forced together because of their names. For the bloodlines.”

“But, his name is Whithe,” I question.

“Rowland would have forced him to take Sterling as his last name if they’d had a boy,” he answers between bites.

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