Writing On The Wall (The King Brothers Duology #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

IVY

“Come on, Ross. Pick up, pick up, pick up!”

I lean on the bare kitchen counter with one hand, hating the echo of my voice within the empty room. I fix my eyes on the moving boxes scattered across the living room as I wait for Ross to answer my call.

A guttural growl escapes after I hang up. I can’t believe my brother left me in this position.

The doorbell rings, making my shoulders drop, but I refuse to let defeat drape its heavy cloak over me. Everything will be okay.

I roll my shoulders back, forcing my chin up as I swing the door open with a tight smile. “Hey, Carl,” I greet the man at my doorstep, and he removes his hat as he takes a tentative step inside.

“We still…” He motions sheepishly to the boxes with his hat in hand.

“Yup.”

“Right.” He takes a step into the hall to signal someone with a nod. A string bean of a man joins us, tightening one of those back support belts around his waist.

“Mornin’, Miss Ivy. We’ll take good care of your things till you’re ready for ‘em. Don’t you worry.”

“Appreciate it.” I smile back, dragging a hand over the box with my The Lord Of The Rings DVD’s inside. Why am I still hanging on to these? Everything is digital now. “I’ve gotta get to work. Thank you, Carl. You can leave the door key on the counter on your way out. And remember, don’t say anything to Gran.”

I’m taking a huge risk by getting the man who works as a security guard at Gran’s retirement village to put all my things in storage. But he owes me a favor, and I’m officially desperate enough to cash it in. Still, I’ll have to be careful. The last thing I need is Gran catching wind of my current situation.

“You gonna be okay getting the small things to your friend’s house?”

“Oh, uh…yup. I’ll manage. This is a huge help, Carl. Thank you again.” I shoot him another smile as I offer a quick side hug.

My left heel bounces as I drive to the school where I teach second grade. I fear the sudden change in my life will be glaringly obvious to my coworkers, and my stomach knots from the combination of hunger and anxiety as I park in the teachers’ lot. I skipped breakfast and spent the morning stuffing things into my car, so I guess it’s the mystery basket in the teachers’ lounge for me today.

When I step into the lounge with an exhale, I find my work husband Toby in his usual spot by the table near the window.

“Hey Bee,” I greet him with a wave. He lifts his head, a warm smile on his classically handsome face and his trademark bow tie on display. His thick hair holds a slight curl, and I imagine most women would love running their hands through it. He’s mastered the preppy hipster vibe, having owned the style long before it was cool. All this, and he’s innocently unaware of his nerd-appeal.

I fish out the least suspicious bag of oatmeal then pull out a large mug and empty the contents inside.

“You have a good weekend?” Toby asks, pushing off the counter to open the fridge and retrieve the milk before handing it to me.

“Oh, um, yeah. It was okay” I nod, filling up the kettle. “How was dinner with your parents?”

“More of the usual.” He shrugs. “My mother comparing me to my brother. Dad trying to ignite a sudden love for football.” His self-deprecating chuckle makes me grimace. Toby is one of the smartest, most caring people I know. Unfortunately, his passion for inspiring young minds goes unnoticed by his family because they’ve never been able to accept that he’s not the next Patrick Mahomes.

”I’m sorry, Bee.”

“You’re committed to that nickname?” He winces.

“It’s that or Toblerone. But you’ll have to fill out an application for a status change. We take these things very seriously. Rollin’ with my bro Toblerone .”

“I think I’ll stick with Bee, then,” he deadpans.

With my wedge heels on, I’m only a few inches shorter than Toby. Most people tower over my five-foot-half-inch stature (yes, I’m fighting for that half-inch), but Toby is on the shorter side, too, and I appreciate that he doesn’t tease me about my height. Maybe it’s because he’s had to contend with his own share of short jokes over the years.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask, tossing a pinch of salt into the mug.

”I don’t think so. ”

“What you need is a fake girlfriend to appease them.” I point toward him with my spoon.

“You offering yourself as tribute?” He arches a brow with a smile.

The idea simmers in my mind as I add hot water and stir. It wouldn’t cost me anything to go along with the ruse, and if it helps Toby, I’m happy to oblige. Besides, there’s no risk of feelings getting in the way, since Toby and I see each other as siblings. No fake dating turning into love here—no tropes in my world. The blind dates I went on last year were all dull enough to put me off dating for the foreseeable future. My life is already a mess, and adding romance to the mix would only make things worse.

He silently shakes his head while he sips his coffee. I know he’s only half-serious about taking me up on my offer, but I’d never pass up an opportunity to help a good friend.

“I’d do it, you know.”

“Pretend to be my girlfriend?”

“If it helps you, yeah.” I shrug, adding honey and milk to my oatmeal then lifting the mug. I blow into it while Toby washes his coffee cup in the sink. He finishes, leaning against the counter while he rubs his chin. “That might actually work.”

I’m about to interject more of my bright ideas when the door swings open.

C.J. Crowley—Aster Elementary’s principal—struts in, her hair meticulously styled and her classic stiletto heels and fifties pencil dress on point. She’s tall with a brow that raises at the perfect arch for making kids spill their secrets. She’s fiercely protective of her clan, and I’m desperately trying to solidify my place in it. I feel like I’m almost there.

“Staff meeting in five,” she informs in her authoritative voice while laying a tray of muffins down.

“Can we chat about it this afternoon?” Toby whispers.

“You got it, Bee.” I wink. “Hey, C.J. Can I carry those for you?” I slide the tray into my arms while she hurriedly brews a cup of coffee.

“Oh, thank you, Darlin’. You can bring them next door. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Yes ma’am.”

We take our usual seats, and I’m probably the only one who wouldn’t stand out if the students filed in and sat down. Heels do nothing for one’s height when sitting.

C.J. click-clacks into the room as the rest of the staff greet one other and settle into the remaining chairs.

“Happy Monday, team! I’ll get straight to it. Just a few things to take note of. I know it’s only February, but spring is upon us and you know how the spring winds make these kids crazy, so be warned. Have your ‘ poop just hit the fan ’ strategies and contingencies in place.”

C.J. preps us every year like we’re gearing down for some kind of alien invasion. She’s convinced the spring winds change the frequency in the air, making all the kids more wild than usual. I’m not a conspiracy theorist, but I have noticed a correlation and it helps to have a plan in place when the students decide to impersonate everything besides humans for the day.

“And lastly, you’ll notice a few gentlemen at the playground after school this week,” C.J. says.

“We renting out the swings, now?” Toby chimes in, eliciting a chuckle from the staff.

“As much as I’d like to see that show, Toby, they’ll be here to install the shade covering over the play structure. I have no other announcements, so that concludes this morning’s proceedings.”

We shuffle out and disperse to different classrooms, but Toby nudges my arm before we part. “I’ll catch you before you leave this afternoon? ”

“Sure thing, Bae.”

His chin scrunches while his lips puff out. “I can’t decide if that’s better or worse than Bee.”

“You’ve leveled up. It’s better.”

He pivots after an eye roll.

When I reach my office, I check my phone one more time before stuffing it in my desk drawer. Still no word from Ross. But I can’t keep covering for him like this. For so long, I’ve hoped that showering him with unconditional love and understanding would encourage him to join me on the right path—the path of hard work and an honest income, that is. But I’m not so sure my approach has been working.

I inhale and release a slow breath, and it feels like trying to breathe with an X-ray vest draped over my chest. All I can do is take things one day at a time.

The first thing I do each morning is ensure the projector is working. I’m in big trouble if that device fails. Then I prepare anything that I could possibly need to write on the whiteboard by typing it on my computer instead. For information that needs to stay up all week, I enlist students with neat handwriting to help transcribe it onto the board. Sometimes we turn it into a game called “Catch Miss Marsh’s Spelling Mistake,” which the students enjoy. This not only instills a sense of responsibility in the kids, but also saves me a lot of stress.

Ten minutes later, my students are lining up in the hall, and the craziness is about to begin. I give my hair bow a tug, tightening it before pasting on a giant smile. By the time I greet the first student with a fist bump, I’m already feeling my anxiety melt away. Most people would find this situation stress inducing, but being with kids who are open to learning and free to make mistakes is my happy place. There’s no pressure here. We’re equals, learning together.

Second graders and senior citizens are my favorite age group to be around. Things tend to even out in some ways on both ends of that age range. These thoughts bring with them an uninvited reminder of a dream to follow that passion and pursue furthering my education. These thoughts of studying more periodically flicker in my peripheral, blinking like a tiny flashing light I keep trying to ignore.

But it’s Monday, so I have a morning routine to get through. And certainly no time for dwelling on silly, unrealistic dreams.

Just before snack time, I turn on my teacher-voice, capturing the class’s attention. “Okay friends! Listen up! It’s Katie’s birthday today.” I smile, opening my arms for Katie to come stand beside me. “We’ll sing, then she’ll help hand out cupcakes. Jace, honey, pencil out of your ear please, thank you.”

Boys are a different species. That’s all I’m saying.

The class is abuzz with excitement as they huddle closer, and Katie sidles up next to me.

“Miss Marsh,” she tugs on my arm, whispering in my ear. “What are you supposed to do while people sing happy birthday to you?”

This kid’s throwing out the big guns. My nostrils flare as I stifle a laugh, not wanting her to feel embarrassed for asking one of life’s greatest questions. I bend a little, putting an arm around her and she snuggles closer.

“Well, I’m still trying to figure that one out myself. But I think if you just smile politely and think about cake, you’ll get through it.”

She nods, accepting my plan. Kids are the best.

We make it through the out-of-tune happy birthday serenade, and before I know it, it’s 3 PM, and my classroom is empty. I’m going over tomorrow’s lesson plans when a text comes through over my phone.

Ross:

I’m sorry, Vee, can’t talk. I’ll swing by your place tonight.

Well, I guess he’ll figure things out when he arrives at my empty apartment.