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

me, you know. Like, yeah, I want to see you, but it’s for your sake too.”

“I know.” The little bit of typing I’ve been hearing, scattered in the background, halts. “I, uh...I did invite Kimberly to the winter house, though.”

The chair slips out of my hands, landing on the rubber tiles lining the storage space. “For real?”

“Yes, for real,” he laughs. “That’s where I am now. I felt so bad when I woke up and realized I’d made her work through the holiday, I decided to give us both Friday off. When I mentioned the house, she said she’d love to join me, and...here we are.”

“Shit, look at you!”

“Ah, don’t get too excited. We’re in separate rooms.”

“But you stayed there all weekend, just the two of you,” I point out. “That means something.”

“Slow down, Theo. I don’t even know how she feels about me.”

“She likes you. She’s made that very obvious.” I dust my hands off on my pants and close the storage area door, then start back up to the deck. Winterizing and covering the pool is also on my list, but I’m so tired after packing up the furniture, I decide a few more days won’t hurt. “The real question is, how do you feel about her?”

Dad laughs again, then gets quiet, just breathing in the receiver. “I like her,” he admits. “But I feel...gun-shy, I guess you’d call it.”

“It’s been a decade,” I remind him. Truthfully, though, I get it. Anyone who got screwed over by his ex as thoroughly as my dad did is bound to have long-lasting trust issues.

“Kimberly is nothing like her,” I go on. I look through the glass wall to the television, where my video game is paused. Starting up the system was automatic, but something kept bugging me while I was playing. I realized I didn’t actually want to game today; I had a whole list of winter chores to finish, and then a date with Ruby tonight. And a lot of hours in between for something productive.

Instead of going inside, I head for the poolhouse.

Dad keeps typing. I don’t like that he brought the office with him, but better that than being in the office all weekend.

I sit at the piano and play “American Pie,” keeping it low. It’s been a while since one of our phone calls went like this, with both of us lapsing into comfortable silence and doing our own thing, but still technically having a conversation. When we actually lived together, that’s how our quality time usually went. For all his real estate smiles and charm, my father has the same social stunting that I do. We’re both loners who hate being lonely.

“Haven’t heard you play in a while,” he says, when I move on to some freestyle stuff.

“Haven’t played in a while.” I clear my throat, already embarrassed when I add, “But I met this girl, and...she got me playing again. Actually, it feels like my whole life is different. Or that it could be.”

Dad whistles to himself. “You’ve got it bad.”

“Maybe.” Definitely. “And maybe Kimberly will do the same for you.”

“Maybe,” he echoes quietly, sounding far less sure. “So. This girl—you met her out there in the Hamptons?”

We chat for a few more minutes; I tell him some surface details about Ruby, while he tells me his plans to return to Manhattan for a couple weeks during Christmas, and how he hopes I’ll join him. I try to sound as excited as he does, but I still don’t believe it’ll pan out.

When we hang up, though, I feel...hopeful. If my life can change this much in a month, so can his.

I pry the Bluetooth out of my ear and hook it on my shirt, then go back to playing. This was one thing I wasn’t ready to share with Dad yet: how I’ve been thinking about a career in music, especially playing for schools, more and more lately. Mentioning it to Ruby engraved the idea in my head, and I haven’t been able to shake it since. I haven’t wanted to.

It’s more than the job itself. I’ve been picturing this entirely different life altogether—what it would be like to have a place of my own, even if it’s complete shit compared to Dad’s houses. Waking up with a real plan every morning, instead of dragging through the days, distracting myself from my own damn boredom and unhappiness.

Finally feeling like I’ve got a purpose, instead of wandering through the next two decades of my life.

During a pause in my playing, I hear the Bluetooth ding; someone’s sent me a message through Instagram. I don’t recognize the username...but the profile picture is of Ruby.

I click Accept.

tackc9: A little advice? Watch out for Ruby Jacobs.

tackc9: She’s not what you think.

What the fuck?

I click on the profile. It’s got no followers, no following, and no pictures. Just that cropped, blurry profile picture.

the0_d: Who is this?

tackc9: You’ll find out soon.

My gut twists. Not out of fear, but fury.

The only part freaking me out is how in the hell they found my profile. It’s set to private, with a meme for my photo and no posts. I only made it so I could watch Wes and Van’s videos from time to time.

But the rest? All it does is make my blood boil. I know exactly who this is.

the0_d: Already have. And I’d be very careful about making threats if I were you, Callum.

I screenshot the thread. He blocks me.

After closing the app, I pull up the screenshot and debate sending it to Ruby, but decide not to bug her at work.

Besides, I can handle him. For his sake, I hope he doesn’t