Blue Howard (boyxboy)

A poor man's kingdom

This is my second story. It's a spin-off to Love on the Radio, but it can be read as a separate novel. 

If you like this, then please leave a comment and vote. The best thing for a writer is feedback. 

I will warn you that this will be a boyxboy story, and I have never written one. So any constructive criticism helps. Also, I'm bad at descriptions, that's why I think you'd better read first, and then decide whether it's worth something.

This whole story is dedicated to my best friend, and I hope I don't fail her. 

Happy reading! :)

Chapter 1 – A poor man’s kingdom

The change of the atmosphere was supposed to bring me some peace. Instead I’m standing in the bus station with a sports bag, the weight digging into my shoulder. In my hand I’m clutching a crumpled paper with an address. This is going to lead me to my father, a man who I haven’t seen for years, for more than half of my life.

Mom spoke to him on the phone, explaining that I was off to college. He agreed with me being here, but now standing in the bus station, and I am not sure he would make any effort. He could have at least picked me up with his moronic expensive sports car.

I walk around the bus station, to the side where I can see the highway from. All the cars are storming along it, but none of them seem to notice me. I drop my bag and sit on it, biting my lip nervously. I’m so concentrated on hating my father that I don’t even notice the roaring of the engine; more importantly, I don’t notice that the car stops right in front of me.

“Sorry to interrupt the pity party, but uh,” he yells over the engine and clears his throat, “I believe you’re my new step-brother.” I look up at him. He half-waves with his hand and winks at me, chewing a gum. I’m confused. He blows a bubble and it pops. His hand is resting on the window sill, his fingers drumming against the red surface of the car.

I don’t know what to say or what to do. Nobody mentioned anything about a step-brother.

“If you’re wondering where father is,” he says, throwing his head back, staring ahead, “then for your information, he never shows up. Now, as sorry as I am for interrupting, god forbid, you take offense, I do have places to be.” He turns to face me again and pats on the wheel.

I stand up and throw the bag over my shoulder. He’s smirking at me, watching my every move. I walk around the nose of the car, my heart racing under the pressure he’s put me under. I open the passenger door and realize how uncomfortably small the car is.

“Throw the luggage in the back if you can,” he instructs me, nodding his head towards the back seats. I bow my head and rest one knee on the seat, and then throw the bag on the black-and-red leather seats.  “And settle down for a ride.” I bring my body completely inside the car and sit, attaching the safety belt to its place.

I look at him sideways. The brown locks are almost falling to his eyes; the bone structure of his face is strong. He licks his lips and switches gears, the car starts moving. I glance at the speedometer, the arrow moving up, and up.

He turns up the radio, switching gears once more as we have arrived on the highway. The bass raises my pulse and my heart starts thumping against my chest. And I panic; I forgot to ask his name, I might as well have entered some stranger’s car. I try to calm my nerves because who would want a boy recovering from his emo state in his brand new (and totally idiotic) sports car?

He's drumming his fingers against the wheel, mouthing the words, his head moving in rhythm with the beat. He makes sudden turns, without showing the turn signal. We’re heading towards the city centre. Suddenly it’s blasting Linkin Park.