And my wall weakens and cracks.
“I don’t believe it.” She whispers, like a prayer or a wish. “I don’t believe it.”
“Shhh . . .” Nicholas holds her face, wipes her tears with his thumb and swears, “Then I won’t believe it either.”
They stare into each other’s eyes for a moment, then Olivia takes a deep sniffling breath and tries to pull herself together. She rubs at her damp cheeks with one hand and cradles her stomach with the other. “My dad . . . I have to call him. I don’t want him to hear about it on the news . . .”
Henry rises, but keeps hold of Lady Sarah’s hand where she’s seated near the fireplace. “Granny has already spoken to your father. The jet’s on its way to New York. To bring him here.”
The reality of what that means presses down on me—that the Queen herself doesn’t believe this will eventually end with a phone call from Ellie, explaining a silly misunderstanding or mishap.
She thinks it will end some other way. A way that requires Eric Hammond be here with his one remaining daughter, because she’ll need him. They’ll need each other.
And the tide inches higher.
I stand up, quick and stiff, a good tin soldier.
“I have to go.”
I have to get out of here.
“I’ll head to the hospital, see if Tommy’s awake yet. I’ll report in if he says anything.”
As soon as Prince Nicholas gives me the nod, I’m out the door. Almost running.
But in the hall, a voice stops me.
“Logan.”
It’s Lady Sarah. Slowly, I turn to face her, and her big brown eyes swim with compassion.
“I just . . . I just want you to know, whatever happens, this isn’t your fault. I know it can feel like it,” she shakes her head, “but it isn’t.”
She’s a kind lass. Gentle. It radiates from her and wraps around anyone nearby like a comforting blanket. It’s why Henry is so protective of her—why he guards her so carefully.
But at this moment, that comfort could shatter me.
So, without a word, I nod, my face tight, hard—probably angry. Then I bow quickly and leave as fast as I can.
It’s in the sterile, cold hospital, outside Tommy’s room, that I realize I look like day-old dog shit. My cheek and hands are scraped bloody from the firefighters pressing me to the gravel. I’m covered in black soot and smell like a fire pit from hell. Strangers pass, raking their gazes over me with varying expressions of shock, concern and wariness.
And I don’t fucking care. I feel nothing.
Somewhere a television’s on—a news update on the fire, but I block it out.
My eyes meet the kelly-green orbs of Janey Sullivan, Tommy’s fiery redheaded older sister, through the window into his hospital room. Without hesitating, Janey comes out and hugs me with long, strong arms.
“Hey, Lo.”
I lift my chin at the view of Tommy, closed-eyed and unnaturally still in the hospital bed.
“How’s he doin’?”
Janey cocks her head. “My brother’s always been hard-headed—this time it came in handy. The doctor says he’ll be fine . . .”
Beside Tommy’s bed Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan chat away, having a whole conversation with their son without him saying a word.
“. . . as long as my mum and da don’t talk him to death.”
I snort, but just can’t muster a smile. Then Janey’s face sobers and her voice goes softer. “They’re sayin’ Duchess Olivia’s sister is missin’.”
Heat rises in my throat, sealing it up.
I nod.
“Tommy said you two were close?”
A thousand memories rush me at once and I shut my eyes to focus on pushing them back.
“Oh, Logan. I’m so sorry.”
I shake my head, rub my stinging eyes. “They’re still looking. Nothing’s official.”
Janey puts her hand on my shoulder, squeezing. “If you need anything, we’re here. You’re family too. Most times we like you even better than Tommy.”
That gets a tug from my lips—not quite a grin, but a bit better than a frown. It’s like Tommy said—Janey’s badass.
I point towards the door to his room. “Can I see him?”
“Yeah, sure. Come on—I’ll drag my parents downstairs to get something to eat so you can sit with him a bit. It’ll give his ears a rest.”
After the Sullivans leave the room, I sit in the chair next to Tommy, taking note of his terrible coloring—he’s almost as white as the sheets. There’s a bandage on the back of his head, covering a couple dozen staples and stitches they said he needed to close the gash.
I look at him hard, willing my best friend to open his eyes.