12. 12

12

Kalle

E die bangs on the office door and tells me Bo and Spencer are here. She's gone before I open the door, and that's when I know I really messed up.

The bar is quieter as some of the after-lunch crowd has gone home for afternoon naps before they return for the evening shift.

Bo sits with Spencer at the bar, with empty seats around them. Both men are a common sight in here, but there's still a space around Bo that most people won't enter unless they're personally invited. Spencer is fine, as he's technically not family, but really is, but the rest of us have the same space.

Lyra explained it to me once—that we could pretend to be regular people, but we'd never really get there because of that space. We intimidate or scare; I'm not sure why it's there. And I usually can ignore it because I've got Edie, and she never makes me feel like that.

I really messed up.

I give Bo and Spencer a grunt as a hello, and busy myself with pouring us pints, the head thick and foamy.

In unison, we pick up the glasses.

I make it two-thirds before I run out of air .

Bo finishes the entire twenty ounces, then pushes it back to me for a refill.

"That good?" I ask him, giving him another one.

"He had a lunch with the Minister of Wildlife," Spencer says, setting down his glass at the halfway mark. "It turned into a meet-and-greet with a tour company going whale watching."

"It was a lot of people," Bo mutters. "Not used to that."

"Time to go back to your house in the woods, little brother?" I ask sympathetically. That's why taking Odin out of the succession has been so rough. I know my brother; Bo is a good man. A smart man, smarter than the rest of us. But he's also a man who likes his own company. His privacy. He'd have a tough time with people constantly demanding his time and energy like they were trying to peel off pieces of him.

I know Bo would hate to be king, even more than I would, and that's saying a lot.

"I like my house in the woods. I want to talk to you." Bo leans over the bar to where I keep the bag of potato chips and pulls one up. I take it from him and pour some into a bowl because if I leave him the bag, the whole thing'll be gone in a second.

"I figured, since you didn't call in the cavalry." We have brothers' text chat, along with Spencer, that is used to call a gathering when one of us needs something.

Because he grew up at the castle, and his father has been such a constant in life at the castle, we all treat Spencer like another brother. Each of us has a different relationship with him, though. He hangs out with Odin socially, because they are the same age, but also worked with him on castle stuff. He plays with Gunnar, doing Gunnar stuff. I go to him for business issues. But it's Bo who uses him as a confidant, more than we do. If there's something on Bo's mind, he talks to Spencer first.

Sometimes I wonder if we could somehow convince Spencer to take over. That would solve everything.

"No, Gunny doesn't need to hear this." Bo taps the counter, clearly uneasy because if I'm not one to discuss my feelings, Bo is even worse. He glances at Spencer, who gives him a nod.

I frown. "What's going on?"

"I know you went to see Dad earlier."

No clue how he knows that, but the Battle Harbour grapevine is frightening at times.

"I get you're trying to figure things out," Bo continues. "Odin stepping down didn't make it easy on you. I think we all thought he'd eventually take over after Dad." He gives me a rueful smile. "I know if it's a no for you, nobody wants me to take over."

"You'd be okay," I tell him automatically because, what am I supposed to say? Tell Bo that I worry about his mental health if he has to be king?

Bo shakes his head. "You don't think so, and that's okay. I don't have the big game temperament that the rest of you do. If I was firstborn, I would have already given up. But you…" He meets my gaze, and it's like looking in the mirror. Bo and I look the most alike, with our darker blond hair and beards, but it's our eyes that show us as brothers. "This is what you were born for. Not just because you were the first," he stammers. "But because you'll be good at being king."

"I'm not dad," I tell him quietly.

"Nobody is. But you could be great."

"You have to believe it, though," Spencer adds quietly .

I shrug. They make it sound so simple. Believe in Yourself , which should be a title for one of those old Chicken Soup for the Soul books Mom used to read.

"I believe in you," Bo continues. "And so do most of Laandia, more people than you can imagine. I doubt this will make it easier, but I'm saying it out loud—if you don't do this, I'm not going to either."

I wipe away a non-existent smudge on the bar top. As soon as I saw them here, I knew this was where Bo would eventually end up at. I don't blame him. I can't, because I think about the same thing. "Then, Gunnar…" I trail off, not needing to finish.

" I think he'd be great. I really do." Spencer meets my gaze, looking earnest and serious. "He's grown up. He's not the little bugger racing all over the world anymore. And this happened before Stella, so who knows what magic she's going to work on him? She really steadies him."

I've noticed that too .

But Bo isn't finished. "I guess what I want to say is that it'll be cool, no matter what you want," he says slowly. "I trust you."

"Sometimes I wish Dad never gave us the choice. The option." I rub the back of my neck, staring idly at the pockets of customers. I've spent so much time here, making it into a place I could be proud of. If I grew up without having an option, I wouldn't have started the bar. I wouldn't have played hockey or ball, or anything but stayed home and learned everything I needed to know. I might have been better off.

"That's not Dad's way. He made this his choice and you get to as well. And just so you know, I think you needed to do all those things because they made you the man you are."

I chuckle to break the seriousness of the discussion. "Now you're going deep."

Bo nods with a bemused smile. "Done, now."

I finish my beer, attention caught by the T.V showing the old Jays game. Bottom of the sixth. I've watched repeats of it enough that I know exactly how it ends. It's still fun to see.

Edie was right about me missing baseball most of all.

I pull my mind off of her for another moment. "When I was talking to Dad, he told me some stuff about Dante," I start carefully. "Do you ever wonder what it would be like if Dad had let Dante take the throne back then?"

"Laandia would be a very different place," Spencer says.

"Yeah. Dante… can't really see him as a king." And that's probably the nicest thing I can say about my uncle.

"Don't think it matters because we wouldn't be here," Bo says, always the pragmatic one.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess."

We finish our beers. There hasn't been much time in the last few years where I can hang out with my brothers and Spencer without big conversations. Questions to be asked. Decisions that need to be made.

Sometimes I wish we could go back and be kids running wild around the castle. It was a good childhood. There might not have been a lot of outside friends that I was close to, but we had each other, and Spencer. And I had Edie.

I really hope I didn't mess it up with her. Because that would—

I don't even want to think about what that would be like.

I watch as she comes from the kitchen with a tray of nachos, the smell of cheese making my stomach rumble. For a moment, I think she's bringing them to us, but she veers off to the back corner where a group of kids are parked.

"What's up?" Bo asks, watching me watch Edie.

I scrub a hand along the back of my neck, thinking of this morning when I woke up alone. "I don't know," I admit. "But I'll let you know when I do."

After Bo and Spencer take off, I hide out in the office for a bit, tidying the papers on the desk because I know Edie will disappear back in here to do it, as soon as I come out.

When I finally emerge, I keep my head down as Edie stews, storming her way around the bar prep, snapping at Dillon when he asks about Wordle.

I give her time and space because fixing things with women has never been my strong suit. But when she keeps answering me with one-word answers, I can't take it anymore.

I come up beside her when she's cutting up limes at the bar and brush her shoulder with mine. "Don't be mad at me," I say in a quiet voice.

She turns, still with fire in her eyes. "And who should I be mad at, then?"

"Don't be mad at all. Dad said stuff and I didn't know what to think and you're here , you've always been here—"

"You want to marry me because I'm here ? You know you're only making it worse. "

Dillon lifts his head from his tablet where he's playing online Scrabble. "What's this now?"

I shake my head at him. Later , I mouth but he keeps his attention on us. "I know. I know I'm making it bad, but the kids can't handle it when Mom and Dad fight." I smile winningly at Edie, putting every ounce of charm that Lyra says I have into it, and nod to the other side of the bar where Tyler and Bethie are staring at us with trepidation.

"I'm allowed to be mad at you," Edie insists. I don't know if it's the concern of Bethie and Tyler, the undivided attention of Dillon, or maybe even my smile that takes away most of the fire in her eyes.

"You are allowed, but you won't be." Another grin. "I'm irresistible."

"You're really not."

Taking that as an opportunity, I step behind her and wrap my arms around her slim waist. Edie is tall but I have the Erickson height, so my chin rests on the top of her head. "That was…" I stumble for a moment over what word to use before giving up. I've never been a wordsmith. "I don't know what that was, but I know I made you unhappy and for that I'm very sorry."

Edie rests a hand on my arm. "I don't know what it was either."

"You're my best friend," I say into the top of her head.

"Oh, I know."

"You might be my only friend."

"Oh, I know that, too." She squeezes my forearm, her thumb rubbing circles on the inside of my arm, and I wonder if I should be alarmed at how much her touch soothes me. At how comfortable it feels to have my arms around her, pressing into her back.

She fits. Edie fits with me .

"I know I shouldn't be mad," Edie begins hesitantly, "but that felt callous. Kind of selfish. Like… like I don't matter to you."

"You matter," I insist. "A lot. A whole lot of a lot."

I keep my arms around her because it feels good. Being this close to Edie always feels good, but this seems different. I like the way she leans back against me, her head against my chest. How her thumb keeps stroking my arm.

How she smells like strawberries and coconut because I know what kind of shampoo she uses.

I really like how her breathing matches mine, deep and easy. Content.

Being around Edie is easy—

It's more than that. I'm aware of the softness of her stomach where my hand rests against it. It would be simple to brush my lips against the top of her head, to tuck her hair behind her ear, the tiny diamond studs I gave her for her thirtieth birthday gleaming in the overhead light of the bar. To trail my mouth down to her cheek, sliding across to her—

"Maj, what time do you want me back for tonight?" Dillon asks me.

Edie stiffens and pushes my hands away. I step back, feeling unsteady, like I've had too much to drink.

What just happened there?

"Sorry, did I interrupt a little moment there?' Dillon asks with a strange look in his eyes.

"No," Edie says at the same time I open my mouth as if to say, "Yeah, I think you did."

But I don't say it .

"What's going on?" she asks Dillon. "I thought you have tonight off?"

"Duty calls when his Highness goes out." Dillon, who has handled everything from a tourist who fainted at the sight of me, and another that I needed a restraining for, looks irritated. Annoyed.

Mad at me.

Edie turns to me and my stomach sinks because— "Oh, sh…" I begin.

"What are you doing tonight?" she demands.

"I gotta go out for a bit…" I swallow, wishing I could rewind my conversation of last night. "I told Fenella…"

Edie stiffens again and the fire in her eyes returns, only this time it's worse because she looks like I've slapped her. "You just asked me to marry you and now you're going on a date with Fenella Carrington?" Edie throws out each word like a dart.

"I didn't think."

"You haven't been doing that much lately, have you?" And she stalks away; lucky for me because she looks like she's about to throw me across the bar. Or something across the bar at me.

"What did I miss?" Dillon asks.

I sigh. "Too much to get into."

"But you're still going out with the Carrington girl tonight?"

I check my watch. I told Fenella I'd meet her at seven, in only a couple of hours. "It's too late to cancel now," I tell Dillon. "Edie's already ticked at me so there's no point making two women mad at me."

"What did you do to make the woman mad?"

"What makes you think I did something? "

"Did I, or did I not hear something about getting married? You and her?" Dillon points to where Edie takes an order from a table on the other side of the bar, smile miraculously back on her face.

She's so pretty when she smiles. She's pretty all the time, but when she smiles, it's like she's opened a window to see what she's really like.

"No." I shake my head. "It was an idea and I shouldn't have opened my mouth."

Both of us watch Edie walk to the kitchen, black jeans hugging her curves, the strings of her apron crossed and twisted at her back.

"It's not a bad idea," Dillon offers.

I turn away from the sight of Edie as she heads into the kitchen. "I know, right?"

"It's a big step, considering both of you insist you're just friends." He waves his hands as he says it, which cracks into the miserable feeling in my stomach. "But what are you going to do about him ?" And he points to the phone sitting on the bar.

Edie's phone.

And I glance at the screen to see a notification of a text from Mathias pop up. Are you working tonight?

And that's when I realize I'm going to lose her. And I don't have the faintest idea what to do about it.