Page 19 of Fallen Crown

The door to the suite of rooms opens, and my mother rushes in. Her brown hair is loose around her shoulders, and she’s carrying a pharmacy bag. She could have easily gotten a staff member to pick those things up. What’s happening to Dad isn’t easy for any of us.

“I have to go.” I push myself up from the chair and head for the door my mother just came in. “Training.” The bike ride up Mount Juniper doesn’t start for another hour, but I’ll happily arrive early to avoid hearing Alex tell my mother the news. No doubt she’s as conflicted as me and Alex.

“Brice,” Alex says.

“Just let me know the details when they’re sorted,” I say, as though those details won’t wreck me, and then I close the door to my parents’ rooms.

It’s raining, because of course it is. My mood is foul, so the weather might as well match it. The windshield wipers on the SUV are removing water at the highest setting, and we’re sitting in the parking lot waiting for everyone else to arrive. We’re early, but my bike, which is attached to the rear hatch, will be soaked. Not that it’ll matter. In minutes, my whole body will be soaked in the downpour.

“This doesn’t seem safe to me,” Jag says. “Slick, slippery road. It’s still daylight, but it’ll likely be dusk on your way back down.”

I’m not convinced we’ll make it to the top during daylight. Apparently, he has more confidence in my biking and physical fitness than I do. If there’s one thing I’ve learned this week, it’s that I am not nearly as athletic as I believed. There is not a single muscle on my body that doesn’t ache on some level.

“Wren says we have to train in every condition to prepare for the race. Have you watched the show? It’s not going to pause for some rain.” Though I’m not eager to get out of the car and face this weather tonight. My head isn’t in the right space.

A Mercedes-Benz parks beside my Rolls Royce Cullinan, and annoyance flares in me. She’d have to be the first one to arrive after me, not Wren or Paxton or Riker, who I could pretend to be jovial and good natured with. The one who grates on me in ways I find annoying and enjoyable in equal measures.

Riling her up and listening to her either bite back or storm off is a pleasure, but her dismissive attitude of me grates on my nerves. Last night, she practically tossed Grace into my arms before she fled the benefit. Read that all wrong. The way she’d been swaying with my niece as though the two of them were locked in their own little world had spread an unexpected warmth through my chest. Tucker as a mother. The mere suggestion ended up horrifying her.

Could have been what caused the rift between her and her husband. He wants kids, and Maren would rather not. Makes sense to me. Though I have no desire to get married or ever settle down, spending so much time with Grace has made me wonder whether Alex could really be angry if I had a kid with some woman out of wedlock. I mean, he almost did it. He’s not that much of a hypocrite.

Another grandchild would please Mom and Dad—and my brain stalls on my father’s name. He’ll never meet any children I manage to have.

There’s a knock on the car window, and I realize everyone is on their bikes, getting soaked in the rain, waiting for me. Here early and still late. Won’t live that down.

From the seat beside me, I grab my helmet. When Jag makes to get out with me, I hold up my hand. I can get my bike off the rack myself. There’s no need for him to get soaked. He’s going to follow us in the SUV.

Within thirty seconds of getting out of the vehicle, my light-gray shirt is almost black, and it’s plastered to my chest. The water is running off my helmet and down my face in rivers that make it hard to see, but I follow the group toward the hill, my muscles primed for protest with the first downward stroke of my legs on my mountain bike.

Tucker is in the lead, Riker and Paxton are two across behind her, and Wren is on my left, paired up with me. She must really think she needs to babysit me. A bike up Mount Juniper, even in this shitty weather, isn’t insurmountable.

When she tries to make small talk over the torrent of rain, I can barely hear her, and I’m not in the mood to chat anyway. Normally, I’ll talk to anyone about anything, but I can’t cope with the superficial filler tonight, and I won’t mine my grief for someone who is practically a stranger.

Jag creeps along behind us with his hazards on to keep anyone from running into us in the downpour. Water kicks up with the tires, soaking whatever parts of me the rain doesn’t naturally trickle into. It occurs to me that this might be the most miserable I have ever been in my life.

Wren appears to tire of my nonanswers, and she pulls ahead of me, happier to bike alone than to have my hostile company. Can’t blame her. I can hardly stand myself tonight, and that’s rare. I’m a fucking good time, normally.

The group is getting quite far ahead of me, and I’m regretting my asshole attitude because it’s becoming harder and harder to pedal. My leg muscles groan with each stroke.

“Your Highness,” Jag calls from the open window over the pounding rain. “You’ve got a flat tire.”

A flat tire? Fan-fucking-tastic. Might explain why it’s been getting progressively harder to get up the hill, other than the fact we’re ascending a freaking mountain. I climb off the bike, and I hold the seat, staring at the deflated tire. I don’t have a spare.

Jag has thrown the SUV into park, and he’s standing beside me now. “You know how to change it?” he asks.

“Not a clue. You?”

“A car, sure. But a mountain bike? Not a chance.”

I release a deep sigh, and I hoist the bike onto my shoulder, carrying it back to the rack. Instead of standing out here in the rain, we might as well drive to the top of the mountain, wait for the rest of the team at the rest center to see if anyone can fix my tire before we go back down. If not, I guess my training is a bit easier tonight. Won’t hear me complain, though I’d been hoping this ride would serve as a positive distraction. Instead, it’s just soured my demeanor even more.

Once I’ve secured the bike, I get into the SUV beside Jag, and we sail up the mountain, past the rest of the team, and we park outside the rest center, facing the crest of the hill.

It’s not long before Tucker appears with a scowl so deeply ingrained in her face that I fear it might be permanent. If it wasn’t for the spark that jumped between us the other day at the climbing gym, I’d believe she really hates me. Doesn’t matter what she thinks or feels, I’m not willing to play the game today.

Before she gets to us, I’m out of the car and walking toward her. Despite her obviously shitty attitude, I’m prepared to explain my flat tire and lack of preparedness. Even if I’d had a spare tire, I’ve got no idea how to use it.

“Took the easy way, huh?” Tucker yells over the pounding rain as I approach.