Lost King by Piper Lennox (best self help books to read .TXT) 📕

sunroom. “Anyone else would write me off as being insane.”

“The night is young.”

“I’m telling you, man, it’s not just jealousy or paranoia. This Callum guy…he’s not a normal ex. She told me he’s still trying to get with her, he shows up at her place uninvited, he’s left bruises on her—”

“Whoa.” Wes’s stare locks on me through the grid of his chair, even while he’s slowly spinning away. “For real?”

I nod, feeling less crazy when I see he’s just as pissed about that as I am. “She says he didn’t mean to, but I don’t buy it. And guys who do that once, you know damn well they’ll do it again.”

Wes picks out a tune. It pings across the glass panels.

“In that case,” he says, “yeah, you’ve got the right to be feeling some kind of way about it. If they’re done, why’s she still in touch with him? Especially when he treated her like that?”

I relax. It doesn’t last long. “But I can’t even say anything to her about it.”

“Why not?”

“Are you kidding? We’re brand-new. We’ve been ‘dating’ for under a month, a couple for...” I check my watch. “…fourteen hours, max—”

“Look, I’m just saying: your whole ‘ultra chill, everything’s cool, man’ attitude isn’t going to swoop in and save you now. Welcome to real emotions. Usually a result of real shit finally happening in your life.” He strums louder. I halfway expect some riveting musical number on how dull my life pre-Ruby had become.

Close: he keeps playing as he adds, “You can’t isolate yourself forever.”

“I don’t....”

Wes laughs, throwing his head back for dramatic effect. “Oh, my God, don’t even try to finish that.”

I give him the finger and spin myself the other way.

“And I’m not talking about the burnout thing,” he continues. “Everyone gets like that, where being around other people gets old and you need a break. Though I will say your threshold is, like, the lowest I’ve ever seen. I’m surprised you’ve made it this far in the weekend.”

Reluctantly, I nod. If it weren’t for Ruby being here, I’d have gone antisocial sometime during the parade this morning.

“What I’m talking about,” he says, “is how you haven’t trusted anyone since....” He lets out a breath, almost whistling. “The hell if I can remember. High school, I know that much.”

“I have friends,” I mutter.

“Not close ones. Not ones you actually trust.” He pauses for a long time, either letting this verbal wake-up slap sink in, or just distracted by his guitar.

“You know how you always gave Van and me crap for being so angry? Getting in fights all the time?”

“You guys still give me hell for not doing that.”

“Because it’s fake.” He punctuates this with a slap on the guitar. “Yeah, you stay all calm and cool and fucking collected, but only because you keep your social circle two inches wide.”

“Excuse me for avoiding drama and fake ass friends.”

“That’s fine. By all means, cut out the toxic shit. But there’s a balance. To have zero drama, absolutely no problems, no conflict…you can’t keep anyone close. Humans come with baggage, dude.”

With one last jazzy rift, he adds pointedly, “Including shit-for-brains ex-boyfriends. So nut up and go talk to her.”

I sigh and stare at the ceiling. The sky’s growing dark; we’ve managed to catch the few minutes of sunset before nightfall. A pale orange streak stabs right through the middle, which reminds me of the sweet potatoes, which gets me pissed off and conflicted all over again.

Yeah, we’re new. There’s a lot of things we still don’t know, and that’s okay.

But Wes isn’t off-base, either. Some things just can’t stay hidden.

My phone pings. The sound shoves all my organs around at once.

Callum: Don’t be stupid about this babe. Let me help.

Talk about irony. I couldn’t feel more stupid. I’ve handled everything about this situation as poorly as possible, so far.

But letting Callum “help” would take the cake.

Ruby: I’ve got it.

I think about adding more—another reminder to stop fucking calling me “babe,” for instance—but decide short and sweet is the way to go. Callum needs to be told, point-blank, that his services aren’t needed.

I just wish I didn’t have to do it a hundred times for it to get through his skull.

More than once during our texting today, I’ve considered telling him the revenge thing is off, or blocking him altogether with no response. It’d certainly salvage what’s left of my mini-vacation, not having to deal with his crap anymore.

But I know, the second I get back to the Hamptons, I’d be facing a worse mess than when I left. He’d also bug Frankie nonstop about it, and I’m not doing that to her.

Better to play along for now, keeping things at a simmer, until I’m ready to face it in-person.

Callum: Where are you?

Ruby: Work.

Callum: Funny, because I drove by the office. Shane said you’re off.

Ruby: Private client. Gotta stop texting. Bye.

I let my phone tumble into my bag at the foot of the bed. I think about shutting it down completely, just to get a break, but I don’t want to miss any calls from Aunt Thalia or Mom in case something happens.

Lately, it feels like my whole life’s turned into that: waiting for something bad, from any and all directions.

“There you are.” Theo smiles when he steps into the room and sees me, but it’s tense.

“Here I am.” I shrug, letting my hands slap my sides.

“Can we talk?”

I sit on the bed and nod, ready to slog through. The only thing more exhausting than waiting for bad things is trying to dodge them 24-7. Might as well get one thing over with.

“Let me guess.” My