Page 72 of Fallen Crown

“She doesn’t know you,” Tucker says when I tug on her earlobe with my teeth before kissing a line down her throat.

I bring my lips back to hers, and I kiss her deeply, pouring every ounce of my certainty into her well of uncertainty. Of all the people I know, I’m not sure anyone but my family has seen the sides of me Tucker has. Maybe she even understands me more because I’ve never had to hide any part of me from her—never wanted to. In so many ways, she’s been privy to me at my worst, and we’re still here.

When I break the kiss, I place my forehead against hers, and we’re both breathing heavy. “Tucker,” I say.

“I don’t want to talk,” she says. “None of it matters.”

She doesn’t give me a chance to respond before she kisses me again, and when her hand sneaks under my T-shirt to slide against my skin, all coherent thought vanishes. But in the back of my mind, unease lives. All of it matters where she’s concerned.

In fact, I’m starting to worry she matters too fucking much. Maren Tucker has tattooed herself across my skin, and I’ve got no desire to scrub her out or erase her. I’m not sure what’s going to happen when this race is over, but I’m sure I don’t want what’s between us to stop.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Maren

It’s an hour before dawn on day eight out of ten, and I’m exhausted. We’ve just waved goodbye to Gary and Jag. All of us aren’t far off zombies, sleeping as little as possible and moving through obstacles with as much speed as we can, safely. Between the cameras and brisk pace, Brice and I have been only able to snatch moments here or there—mostly behind the bathrooms when we reach a checkpoint. Every interaction is rushed, and sometimes I’m so paranoid about being caught that I can’t quite get swept away.

Ever since my confrontation with Emery, a little voice in the back of my head has been cautioning me against enjoying Brice too much. He’s been very upfront about how casual we are, and I don’t need more from him than his honesty. A level head where he’s concerned is a must because whatever is happening between us is temporary.

Our team has managed to climb into third position in the ranks, and first is within our sight. If we manage to top the leaderboard, we’ll have an extra two hundred thousand to put toward the Alzheimer’s Society. We never discussed winning when Paxton was part of the team. Wren, Riker, and Paxton were content to finish, raise some money on the island through a donation push, and ensure the youngest prince didn’t get injured. None of us thought we had a chance at winning.

Once we started the course, and Brice proved himself not just capable of succeeding but determined to keep up with any tempo we set, our perspective shifted.

We’re so close now that we’ve all got the hunger. We’re calculating hours of sleep and negotiating where we can sensibly cut time. The biggest issue is the rain, which has been much higher than seasonal norms, and is both a blessing and a curse. Since we’ve trained so many times in poor conditions in Bellerive, it’s not slowing us down or depressing us the way I imagine it is for some less experienced teams and fair-weather racers. The mud, though, is making any biking sections almost impossible. It cakes the spokes, wheels, and tires to the point where we eventually have to carry the bike or drag it along the road.

Hours after we’ve left the checkpoint, we’re standing at the edge of a cliff, staring down the ravine at a river we need to navigate along for the next six kilometers, and I’m so tired of being wet that I want to collapse in a puddle and cry. Everything I own smells musty, and despite Jag and Gary’s efforts at the base camps, nothing gets one hundred percent dry before I need to put it back on. Of all the weather conditions I’ve raced in, extended rain is the worst. Snow or heat have their own challenges, but I much prefer them over this constant chilly dampness.

As though he can sense the change in me, Brice slides his hand along my shoulders and rests his fingers at the base of my neck. It’s a gesture I didn’t even realize I needed, and when I glance in his direction, his lips tilt into an almost smile.

“What did one raindrop say to another?” he asks.

On instinct, I rise on my toes and kiss his cheek. He draws me tight against his side and places a kiss on top of my head.

“Two’s company. Three’s a cloud,” I say.

“I’ve already made that joke?” He grins.

“Two days ago, also when it was raining. You running out of material?”

“Going to have to hang out with some dads and get some new jokes.”

“Or just get better jokes,” I suggest. The casual mention of fatherhood causes a brief tightening across my chest.

“Who could have predicted I’d need ten days of rain jokes?” He chuckles and gives me another squeeze before releasing me.

“Right,” Riker says from beside us after surveying the ravine below. “Down we go.”

According to the directions we received, this river is supposed to be shallow enough for us to wade in some places rather than swim. The water is freezing—so cold I worry about hypothermia if any of us stop moving—and we haven’t been able to touch the bottom at all.

Riker says we’ll reach the checkpoint in another kilometer, and there, we should be able to touch in order to collect the talisman we need. Night is beginning to fall, and I’m concerned we’ll be stuck in this ravine in the dark. We’ve got headlamps, but unknown water at night is a safety concern.

At the checkpoint, we gather on the wrong side of the river by accident. Rather than crossing the river, we find a spot to sit and eat something before carrying on. We have another two kilometers before we’re out of here, and it’s the tail end of dusk. While I’d rather not stop, I understand that our bodies need some fuel, especially with the cold temperatures in the water.

Since I finish first, I stand up and rub my hands along my arms, trying to warm up. “I’ll get the talisman.”

“Not alone,” Brice says, dusting off his hands and stepping down to the edge of the river beside me.

“It actually is shallow here,” I say. “I’ll be fine to cross, grab it, and cross back. There’s enough light.”