Page 10 of Fallen Crown

Wren chuckles. “She is competitive. Wouldn’t want any of us to believe you’re better than her.”

If I have a say, that’s exactly what they’ll believe by the time we’re done with the race. Another wave hits the side of the SUP and tips me into the ocean. When I pop my head back up and wipe the water off my face, from up ahead, I hear Maren call back, “Balance, Your Highness.”

Screw balance. I hoist myself onto the board again. I might not be a winner today, but if I tilt my life enough in the direction of training, it won’t take me long.

Posey dumps more Epsom salt into the bubble bath, and I breathe a sigh of relief at the hot, almost scalding water surrounding me. My entire body aches. Maren Tucker knows how to wreck a man. The run killed my legs, and the paddle murdered my arms and shoulders. There are muscles I didn’t even realize worked on my body that are screaming, and I’m not a complete fitness novice. I jog around the estate, play tennis with Nick, lift some weights with Alex.

“Call Brent,” I say to her when she perches on the bathroom counter near the sink.

“He’s training.” She sets her phone beside her on the granite.

“This bath shit isn’t going to cut it.” Though I do feel better than when I attempted to ease myself in. Posey agreed to help me preserve my reputation as tough enough to do this race, so I’ve protected her nonexistent modesty with swim shorts. While Posey might roll her eyes at my manhood, Brent wouldn’t be so keen on me flashing it at the woman he’s head over heels in love with. And safeguarding my bromance with Brent is just as important as easing my sore muscles.

“He’s not some magical guru. He’ll probably tell you to use a heat and ice combo and go see a masseuse.” Posey examines her nails.

“The team is rock climbing this evening. I’ll bet I can barely climb out of this tub unassisted let alone scale a fake mountain. Call Brent. Brent will help me.”

“Unless Brent is going to fly here and loan you his body, Brent can’t help you. You and your exhausted muscles are on your own. I can’t believe you tried to keep up with Maren on a run. In high school, she was one of the fastest runners on the island. She took part in international track meets.”

“She fucked me over yesterday, and not the fun kind. She rode me hard and put me away wet.”

“Accurate,” Posey says with a sly grin. She glances at her phone. “He texted me back with the name of a cream for muscles. I’ll see if I can get it from the pharmacy after work.”

“After work is too late. Give the name to Jag. He’ll get it for me.”

Posey picks up her phone, and her fingers fly over the keyboard before she sets it back down again. “Do you want to hear what else Brent said?”

“I already texted him all my revenge plans,” I say.

“This message makes more sense with that context,” Posey says. She holds up her phone to read. “‘Don’t do anything that’ll compromise the team’s respect for you or her, or it’ll put a damper on the adventure race. Any revenge should happen outside training hours.’”

“He’s such a team player.” I let out a long-suffering sigh. “Those plans were good.”

“He was the team captain for Northern University’s swim team.”

“All right, tell me what else you know about Maren Tucker. I read she was in some sort of accident during her last adventure race.”

“Broke her ankle and sustained some other injuries, I gather. That’s why she’s not racing this time,” Posey says. “That’s common knowledge.”

“How does her husband put up with her?” I lean my head back against the tub.

“He doesn’t,” Posey says. “I heard he left the island after they had a fight. She was still recovering from her injuries. A scandal.”

I stare at the wall across from me. Hadn’t heard that. No matter how much I disliked someone, I wouldn’t be able to leave them to fend for themselves while they were recovering from injuries that put them in the hospital. There’s being an asshole, and then there’s that.

An island-fleeing fight has to be extra juicy, and it just might be my ticket to exacting some revenge in private or public. Whether Maren settles down or continues to try to punish me for some unknown slight will determine if I use whatever information I dig up. Some ammunition would be nice to hold, even if I never use it.

“Can you find out for me?” I ask. “More about her accident, more about her deadbeat husband?”

“I could, but do you really think it’s right to use her personal tragedy to appease your wounded ego? She was injured. Her husband left her. Rubbing salt in those wounds just makes you an asshole.”

Based on what I know now, I’d put money on her husband being, quite literally, the worst man in history. What kind of person leaves their partner when they need them the most?

Not a single piece of me cares if Maren Tucker believes I’m terrible. Unlike her husband, I don’t owe her any loyalty. Using her personal tragedy against her will only reinforce what she already believes. It’s not as though I’ll be stooping lower. She set the bar, and I have no trouble sinking to it.

“I may not use the information,” I say. “But I want it.”

Chapter Six