“Plane porn.” I wave the spec sheets for the new small-engine luxury plane Atlantic Aviation is finally producing after ten years of design and testing. I wish I could get into the pilot’s seat of this baby. It’s the most powerful personal jet with the longest fuel range of any small plane out there. It’s going to revolutionize international travel for a certain segment of the population—the people who can’t afford the quarter of a million it costs to rent a private jet internationally yet who don’t want to fly commercial. The waiting list is already about five years long at this point. This is the deal that Dad’s in the process of closing now.

“Borrrrrrring.” Sawyer wrinkles his nose in disgust. It’s the one interest Seb shared with me that he didn’t share with his twin.

Doesn’t share, I quickly remind myself. He’s not dead, damn it. He still loves planes. Present fucking tense.

“The hospital gear looks good on you.” I feel like I’m seeing future Sawyer here. A doctor in the Royal family? I could see it.

“You should get him some real porn.”

“I dunno. What if he gets a chub while I’m telling him about how Sarah and Sasha are getting it on? The guy can’t whack his own meat and I’m not going to do it for him.”

Sawyer broods for a minute before saying, “What else are you going to read to him?”

I give my younger brother a shove. “What are you? The hall monitor?”

“He’s my brother,” Sawyer says, crossing his arms obstinately. The pose makes him look about ten years old, pouting lower lip and furrowed brows.

“Mine, too,” I remind him.

“He’s my twin.”

“And you don’t ever let us forget it. Go and eat or I’ll sit on you until you cry for mercy.”

“You can’t do that anymore.”

“Wanna bet?” I arch an eyebrow. I spend more time lifting and fighting than any of my brothers these days. “You’ve been wasting away in here for more than a week. I could hold you down with one hand tied behind my back.”

Sawyer must be feeling vulnerable because he doesn’t argue. Instead, he gives me the finger and then walks out.

I take my seat again. “You need to wake up and save us all from Sawyer. He’s turning into an old man. Okay, where were we? Oh yeah. I’m going through the options. So this baby seats twenty peeps and has a full shower and lav setup. Where we’re really making the dough is in the finishes. Also, I heard Dad talking about a military stealth plane that they’re putting into testing. Goes Mach 6. Obviously not as fast as the North American X-15, but at least it doesn’t have to be carried like a baby plane and dropped like a bomb before it can actually fly.” I flip over the page.

I don’t even get an eyelid flicker.

“You’re as bad as Hartley. I’ve texted her a dozen times and she’s leaving me on read. You’re getting the latest news about the coolest toy dad has ever made and you’re pretty much ignoring me. Can you at least squeeze my finger?” I grab Seb’s hand. Can she at least read my damned texts?

I drop my head into my free hand as a wave of helplessness washes over me. I could really use a drink. Really, really. This is all going to turn out okay, I tell myself. I suck in a deep breath, sit up, and start reading again.

Chapter 13

Hartley

My second day back at school isn’t much better than the first.

“Felicity says you can’t remember a thing,” one girl says to me as I’m washing my hands in the bathroom before lunch.

“Come on, Bridgette. You know it’s an act,” another girl retorts. She puckers her lips and dabs on a red gloss. “I’d want to pretend nothing happened, too, if I nearly killed Sebastian Royal.”

“Did you hear that Lauren didn’t visit once?”

“I heard they broke up. I stopped by the hospital after school yesterday and Sawyer looked so down.” Another girl, this one with dark hair and perfect skin, joins us at the sink. “I hope the Royals show up at the party because I know exactly how to cheer him up.”

“With your tongue?” laughs the lipstick girl.

“You know it.”

The two exchange high-fives.

I feel crowded between the four girls—all so pretty in their modified uniforms. Their skirts are shorter than mine. Two of them have black shirts that are hanging open with graphic tees underneath, while the dark-haired girl wears a white one, untucked and unbuttoned to reveal a stunning lace tank beneath.

I look at my own plain white shirt and long plaid skirt and wonder how I can feel so dowdy when I’m wearing practically the same thing.

“Don’t bother coming, Wright. No one wants you there,” says the one who wants Sawyer.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” I mumble.

“Why? You think you’re above it all because Easton Royal fucked you?” She places her hands on her hips. “Please. You’re nothing but a cheap slut. Your daddy bought your way into school and now you’re trying to sleep your way into our group, but that’s not how it works with us. We want nothing to do with you.”

For all I know, Bridgette is right—that I used Easton to be part of the “in” crowd here at Astor. That act seems consistent with a girl who cheats, blackmails, and is banished from her home for three years, so while I want to argue, I don’t know if I have the right to do so. One thing I’m certain of is that post-accident Hartley does not want to hang around with toxic people.