Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
My muscles unbind, and with a few more inhales, my hand loosens on his knee. I’m not spinning like the edible made me feel.
Probably since pain is my current state. Slowly, my joints ease like oil drips into every rusted crevice, and the torment begins to dull. Pushed to the background.
“One more time,” Farrow says to me, his husky voice too damn sexy. My brain starts tuning into the Farrow 69.1 radio station, volume on blast.
For once, thank you, brain.
Farrow is careful not to burn himself, like he’s done this a billion times, and he lowers his head again.
Now I gain enough energy to move my hand off his knee. I clasp the back of his head, gripping his bleach-white hair between fingers.
When I inhale the smoke, I see his lips curve upward.
He plucks the blunt out of his mouth, leaning back against the headboard, and he eyes me deeply. “Did you like that?” he asks.
I breathe better. “Not more than you,” I say, gritting down as I use one hand to sit up. The cool ice packs fall off my chest and thud onto the bed.
My first move is to go to grab them…with the wrong hand—goddammit. Pain infiltrates, and I try to remind my subconscious that my right hand is firmly bound in a sling for a fucking reason.
In a good distraction, Farrow breaks his legs open a bit wider, and I slide back until my spine meets his chest. His arm curves around my bare waist. At nearly the same height, our broad shoulders frame, almost parallel.
Before I ask for the blunt, he’s already passing me it. Knowing that I’d want to try on my own. I take a normal drag myself, and my throat burns. But I force myself not to cough.
I pass it back.
Farrow takes another drag too, and then he reaches out and hands the blunt to Donnelly.
I’m now unconscionably, totally, colossally aware of the eleven-person audience. Most of them pretend to be interested in Cape Cod chips or the mound of pillows on sleeping bags. But their eyes dart over to us and land on me.
I thought they’d look surprised. That I’d smoke anything. But like Farrow, they all seem relieved. Happy that I’m not suffering.
Blue eyes shimmering, Janie tips her beer towards me in cheers. If I didn’t have Farrow, she’d be next to me. Not wrapped up in a blue blanket beneath the window.
But I’m more assured than ever that Janie wouldn’t be able to fill Farrow’s spot in my life. Just like he can’t replace hers.
I need them both.
I want them both.
When Jane finally reached the hospital before my surgery, she broke down. My voice kept cracking, and she couldn’t stop rambling about the mathematical probability of life and death. And how she should’ve been in the car with me.
Tears leaked out of her eyes, and then we agreed that we’d survive this. We can survive anything with a bit of luck and a whole lot of love.
In the quiet but crowded attic, I tell my best friend, “Je suis vivant, ma moitié.” I’m alive, my other half.
She smiles into a sip of beer. “Je ne voudrais pas de toi d’une autre manière.” I wouldn’t want you any other way.
Farrow’s heartbeat thuds in a calm rhythm against my back, and we both see Luna perk up from her sprawled face-planted position.
“Does this mean you’ll get high with me, Moffy?” Luna asks, head propped in her hand.
Ever since the FanCon with the pot cookie debacle, I’m still forever processing the fact that my little sister has smoked weed before. My brows cinch, thinking about a situation where I’d want to be high while she’s high. I’m fine with her smoking if she’s careful, but I want to be coherent in that instance.
“Not a chance, sis,” I say truthfully.
“Not even right now?” Luna taps her nose since I’m out of reach and she can’t tap mine. A gesture we did as kids that kind of means hey brother, hey sister. Then she swings her gangly arm to Donnelly for the blunt.
“Nah.” He finishes the blunt himself. “Four Lokos and weed don’t mix.” He blows smoke off to the side.
“Dammit,” Luna mutters and says to me, “Next time.”
I smile. Feeling how much she wants to stay close to me, and I know letting her move in was the right decision. Now I just have to figure out if letting her do this auction is a decision I’ll regret forever.
Lights off by 2 a.m., everyone has crashed and fallen asleep in my attic bedroom. It’s pretty much what happens when you endure a massive doomsday and stay up late talking.
I can’t sleep.
I was conked out for so long after my surgery. Now my mind is wide-awake and playing mental catch-up: talk to my brother (later). A porn star bought you (Jesus Christ). Protect your brother, protect your sisters, protect everyone (always).