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

try anything, because I’ve got a lot more reasons to fight than he realizes. Every time I remember those bruises he left on Ruby, I get a new wave of rage and a better idea of how to get him back.

I go inside. There’s no way I can play piano when I feel like this.

Ruby…Jacobs?

The name slams around in my head like a mace. It gives me the same feeling as when you realize you’ve been publicly mispronouncing a word your entire life. I hear “Ruby” and automatically pair it with “Paulsen.” This, I reason, is why it’s bugging me.

But the longer I pace my kitchen, trying to shake off the sour taste that convo left in my mouth, the more I accept why it’s really getting to me.

For years, “Jacobs” was half of a name I couldn’t get out of my head. Half of a phrase I couldn’t stop searching.

The Bluetooth sounds again. I start.

Ruby: Got off work early. Still on for dinner?

I stare at her contact photo until it stops looking right: no longer a face, but just pixels.

Theo: Yeah. I’ll pick you up at your place.

It feels shitty to admit this, but I’m kind of testing her. She told me Friday night she’d officially ended her friendship and all contact with Callum. That would explain his message: he’s throwing a fit.

But some small piece of me wonders. I know it’s dangerous to indulge Durham paranoia, yet here I am, asking anyway.

Even if she says no, she’ll meet me here—what does that prove?

I disconnect my earpiece and go upstairs to change. When my phone pings, my blood pressure spikes before I’ve even read her reply. I talk myself down before checking it.

Ruby: Okay. See you soon.

About twenty heart emojis follow.

I melt back across my bed, loving and despising how relieved I feel.

“Are you okay? You’ve been...quiet.”

Theo refills both our wine glasses to the top, breaking his own rule: full glasses can’t breathe.

I couldn’t find my license, so he ordered it when I was in the bathroom to avoid getting carded. It’s way too dry for my tastes, but I take it anyway and drink it down to where the line should be.

It takes him a minute to register that I’ve even spoken. “Sorry, what?”

That’s another thing: he’s been zoning out all through our meal. And not only am I doing all the talking, but I’m doing most of the eating, too. I’m halfway through my risotto, while his chicken is basically untouched.

I can’t tell if he’s mad, bothered by something, or just feeling antisocial today. Even the last option concerns me, because he says he never feels like that when it’s just us. Sure, sometimes we’re quiet, spending time together while in our own heads...but it’s never like this.

Now, as his eyes focus on my face, I repeat myself.

“Oh. Just…distracted.” He scratches his beard, which he’s letting grow out, and stares down at his plate like he’s looking through every layer of the earth. “Callum messaged me earlier. I think.”

About a hundred questions spin in my brain, but only one makes it to my mouth. “Think?”

“Yeah, I mean...I don’t know for sure it’s him, it’s just—” Cutting himself off, he shakes his head. “You know what, forget it.”

“No, tell me.” I can’t stand the thought of him closing off, right when I’ve just gotten the hang of honesty with him.

Theo hesitates, then stands halfway to dig his phone from his pocket. While he swipes through, he explains, “I told myself to just let it go. Not let it get to me. But something he said, it just keeps….”

Don’t shake, I command my hands. Pissed as he undoubtedly is, Callum wouldn’t reveal my plan to anyone, let alone Theo.

Would he?

“Well, here, I’ll let you read it. I took a screenshot before he blocked me.” Theo slides me the phone. I leave it on the table in front of me while I read.

When I look up, he’s leaned back in his chair, spinning his butter knife against the table.

“So.” He takes a breath. “What do you think?”

I think I’m going to have a fucking heart attack, if I don’t calm down soon.

“It’s...probably him.”

“And?”

Here comes the dry throat again. I drain half my glass before digging back into my food, as my old habit—letting hunger drown anything unpleasant—roars back in perfect form.

“And,” I manage, swallowing too soon, so that every piece of rice feels like stuck vitamins in my throat, “yes. That’s my legal last name.” I wipe my mouth too hard with my napkin, instantly chapping my lips. “It was my dad’s. Mom and I finally stopped using it when I was a senior, but we never got around to actually changing it. Callum and all our friends out here…that’s what they know me as.”

Slowly, he nods. I wonder if he can feel my leg bouncing a thousand times per minute under the table.

“I knew a Jacobs,” he says, “a long time ago.” He blinks, brow furrowing at himself. “Well, I didn’t know her, but—”

“There are lots of Jacobses out there.” I grab my wine again. Whether I want to stifle the panic or loosen my tongue, I’m not sure.

“Yeah,” he sighs, as though he expected this answer. I’m not prepared for the flash that glints in his eyes when he looks back up. “But the thing is, you’re the only one who’s suddenly looking really…really familiar.”

My heart pounds even worse when he looks away again.

I want that green spotlight on me, no matter how much it hurts. I want him to force the truth to the surface, once and for all.

The waiter stops by to ask how everything is. Without consulting