Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
“What the hell is that?” Tom asks, standing, but I think we’re all realizing that neither Beckett nor Charlie move a muscle.
They know.
My heart hammers again, and I breathe unsteadily. “Is it…is it about me?” Why else did they come into the library? They have no pastries! They’re not even eating with us. They came in here…for what? Clearly not to grieve with friends, when Charlie doesn’t even consider Eliot and Tom worthy of friendship.
And as Beckett’s calm eyes rest on me, and Charlie’s more prickly ones meet mine, I suddenly feel as though they found me…to protect me.
“It only took…” Charlie glances at his watch. “Five minutes longer than I thought.”
“What did?” I’m barely breathing.
“The night of our grandfather’s death, your mom walked in on you and Donnelly. And the news just spread to the whole family.”
Blood rushes out of my face. “H-how?” I stammer.
“Yeah, how?” Eliot snaps. “No one heard us talking about it.”
“You mean outside that door?” Charlie motions to the library door. “The one we so casually walked through without all three of you noticing?” He cocks his head like we are very, very dumb.
I’m feeling particularly dunce-cap worthy.
Tom mumbles a curse in his hands.
Eliot narrows his blue eyes on the door, his hand tightening around the poker handle. “Who heard?”
Beckett more calmly says, “Our baby sister.”
Tom groans.
Eliot loosens his grip on the weapon. “Hasn’t she learned that loose lips sink the Cobalt ships?”
“She’s sixteen,” Beckett says.
“That’s old enough,” Charlie snaps, then tells me, “Audrey told Winona, Vada, and Kinney, and then they told me.”
“They wanted to see his reaction,” Beckett says to me, “but we knew it’d reach everyone in a matter of minutes.”
Everyone. Chatter has muffled a little, so maybe it’s all blown over. Maybe I still have a pulse. “Okayokay,” I slur together. I’m sweating, and my mouth is dry.
“Luna?” Tom asks, concerned.
“Donnelly,” I say, swallowing a lump. “He needs to know. He’s at the penthouse getting ready. He should know, and…” I look up at Beckett, and I can’t say I’ve ever been close to Beckett. I can’t say in the past three years I ever grew closer. But the twenty-three-year-old Beckett Joyce Cobalt before me is likely the man that Donnelly knew and befriended—because his eyes are full of caring. “You should text him,” I tell Beckett. “Let him know what happened.”
His brows pinch. “Are you sure?”
This isn’t just a new start for me. It can be a new start for Beckett. It’s never too late to rebuild the relationships we hold close to our hearts, and I truly believe this one has never left Beckett’s.
I nod. “Positive.”
And then a knock sounds at the door, followed by the jiggle of the handle. Charlie must’ve locked it.
“Is Luna in there?!” my dad calls out. “I need to talk to her!”
Oh God.
Maybe I’m the one who should be buried.
13
LUNA HALE
MOFFY
Dad is trying to find you. Hes on his way up there. Everyone found out about the mom thing. Let me know if you need backup. Im here for you
I missed my older brother’s text, but I just now check it, then I rest my phone on the windowsill. The library is freezing over here, but once all the Cobalt boys disappeared, I deserted the fireplace and pretended to be interested in a leather-bound book left on the sill. I flip through The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer while my dad has said zero words.
He’s stared out the window more than he’s stared at me, and this moment feels catalytic. Like if I step foot in the wrong direction, the timeline of my life will implode again and what I have with Donnelly will try to unravel at the seams.
I take measured breaths and try to piece together the Middle English text on each page. I saw Xander reading The Canterbury Tales when he was twelve, not for school or anything, more so out of curiosity. The media loves to portray the Hales as being intellectually inferior, and that criticism can seep into us, even when our parents tell us differently. Xander is smarter than he gives himself credit for. Maybe I am too…
I lift my gaze off the book.
Dad catches my eyes, and my pulse skips.
“Can you sit down please?” he asks me first. His strict tone is gone, replaced with something foreign and soft.
I nod, then take a seat on the rungs of a ladder posted against the shelves. I keep the book on my lap, and my dad scrapes a stiff-looking wooden chair over to me.
He sits. He thinks. He looks up. “I want to give you the chance to speak first. Tell me…whatever you need to tell me.”
“You heard what happened…didn’t you?”
“I heard from your aunts and your mom and people I didn’t want to hear from, but I’d like to hear your side of the story.”