Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
“Coffee’s up,” McLean called from the kitchen in his deep voice.
I threw the covers back and crawled out of bed. My body felt like it had been through the wringer, but I couldn’t stop to nurse my broken heart. I still had loads of work to get done today before our supplies would be ready to pack into trucks to head to Brew Fest on Tuesday.
This was one of those times I was grateful McLean was the strong, silent type. We stood in companionable silence while we sipped coffee and stared off into space. Metric tons of unspoken words hung in the air, but I didn’t feel pressure to deal with them. McLean, more than anyone, respected someone’s need to stay inside themselves.
That was a good thing because I wasn’t sure exactly how I felt.
I loved JT Wellbridge. That was a given.
He was a lying liar. That was true, too.
And I was hurt, angry, embarrassed, and not at all ready to have a mature discussion about boundaries and forgiveness, let alone about what our future might look like.
“What can I do to help?” Mac finally said. It was unclear whether he was offering to patch up my ailing heart or suggesting something more practical, like loading heavy boxes into the truck.
“Keep the Retreat running. That’s help enough.” Now that Huck and Willow were off to parts unknown, we needed someone here to keep things moving smoothly in their absence.
“Not a problem.” He eyed me over his mug as he took another sip. “Hey, uh… have you heard from PJ lately?”
“No. The asshole keeps blowing me off.” I frowned, feeling a pulse of unease. “Why?”
McLean bit the inside of his cheek, like he was deciding whether to speak. Probably deciding whether I could handle it, knowing how overloaded I was. “It’s probably nothing, but… last night was the new moon.”
“Okay?”
Mac fidgeted in his seat. “You remember Willow used to say that new moons were a time for wishes and dreams? I mean. I mean, I don’t actually believe it,” he said softly, his eyes shining in a way that said he really did. “But a long time ago—like, years—PJ and I started doing this thing where we’d, you know, make our wishes for the month. Even after he moved away, he’d always, always call me on the new moon.”
“And last night, he didn’t.”
McLean nodded somberly, and my heart sank. Our entire family was protective of McLean, despite him being older than the twins. PJ wouldn’t have let him down unless something was really wrong.
I pulled out my phone and pulled up my messages. The text chain between PJ and me over the previous few weeks was full of garbage brush-offs.
Me: How’s the studio class going? Did you finish the piece?
Daydreamer: Yeah, great!
Me: Is the roommate situation working out okay?
Daydreamer: Absolutely!
Me: Hey! I’ve tried calling you several times this week. Where are you?
Daydreamer: Right here. Super busy. Everything’s fine!
Me: Tried calling again. Willow and Huck couldn’t get a hold of you either. They said to tell you bye and good luck with the semester.
Daydreamer: Cool. Thanks!
Me: Bro, wtf? Answer your phone.
Me: PJ, where are you? I feel like something’s wrong and you’re not telling us.
Daydreamer: Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine! Just busy.
Me: Too busy for a three-minute phone call? CALL ME DAMMIT.
Me: PJ?
Me: Bro.
Me: I’m working tonight, so if I don’t hear my cell, call the Tavern landline and make someone find me. Promise me you’ll call.
I rubbed my forehead and sighed tiredly, shifting the mental burdens on my shoulders to accommodate one more. “The last I heard from him was six days ago.”
McLean grimaced. “I dunno, Flynn. Maybe we should check on him. Just to be sure. We could ask Alden to go.”
“Of course we need to check on him. I probably should have done it a long time ago,” I admitted. Would have if I hadn’t been so preoccupied with so many other damn things. “PJ won’t talk to Alden, though. He’ll give some bullshit excuse, and Alden will come back here saying PJ is fine… after stopping to squeeze in a Grindr hookup.”
McLean shrugged, acknowledging this. Alden was loyal and he was fierce, but he wasn’t warm or fuzzy. “Maybe we could send…” His voice trailed off, and I nodded in confirmation.
It had to be me.
McLean was too anxious to go, Castor too sweetly naive, Pop too busy with the store, and Georgia too damn far away.
McLean stated the obvious. “You can’t. You leave for Brew Fest Tuesday. The day after tomorrow.”
“I know.” I took one last sip of coffee before placing my mug in his sink and brushing my hands together. “But if I leave here in an hour and the Sunday traffic isn’t awful—and assuming my truck cooperates—I’ll be in Boston by this afternoon. I can find PJ, make sure he’s okay, and be home by tonight. Easy peasy.” As long as I didn’t sleep tonight, I would still have enough time to get my last-minute preparations finished by the end of the day tomorrow so I could load up the truck.