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)
“I’ve got it.” My mom whips to me. “Your Uncle Garrison. He’ll easily be able to go to a jeweler’s without media attention. I’ll make him swear not to tell a soul. He won’t. He loves you too much.”
Yeah.
Yeah. That could work. You know very little about Garrison Abbey and his wife Willow Hale. They’ve managed to dodge the media here and there for the last two decades. No one stands outside their Philly loft unless paparazzi catch a more famous family member entering the building.
They don’t have bodyguards or daily magazine spreads about them. A few times a year, they pop up in an article. Sometimes more if they’re hanging with us, but no one will follow him. No one will care that he’s at a jewelry store.
This could work. I’m hanging onto that hope.
27
MAXIMOFF HALE
“He’s late. Membership revoked,” Kinney declares. She ties her bowling shoes at our circular booth, dyed black hair cascading over her bony shoulders.
Both Oscar and Farrow asked me why Kinney is so intensely fixated on the Rainbow Brigade club. They’re all used to Blasé Kinney. Not Drill Sergeant Kinney who’d put a wooden stake through your heart if you fucked with her plans.
I think my sister wants to feel more included with the older crew. Especially those of us who can go to gay bars and events. She’s been left out a lot. During a Pride Festival, I went to an 18+ club and she was kind of bummed.
As her older brother, I want this first-ever Rainbow Brigade meet-up to go smoothly. That meant renting out the entire venue for the night.
The upscale boutique bowling alley has ten lanes, gourmet snacks that can be ordered at the bar, and burgundy leather booths that are more hipster than family-style. Rainbow streamers cascade from the ceiling for Pride Month, and love is love coasters sit underneath our drinks.
I knew Kinney would be less-than-thrilled that Farrow got held up at work. But he’s only fifteen minutes late—and she’s already going for the jugular.
“You can’t kick him out for being late,” I say seriously. “He’s at the hospital.” It’s not like Farrow is intentionally skipping this. He wishes he could be here right now, and if she wants to give someone a hard time, I’d much rather she take out her frustration on me than him.
“Fine. Probation period,” Kinney says, yanking at her shoelace with extra force.
Oscar Oliveira stacks artisanal cheese on a cracker and eats it in one bite. He licks honey off his thumb and says, “Redford will love that.”
I notice the popped buttons on Oscar’s navy button-down reveal a script tattoo along his collarbone. Inked on his golden-brown skin are two Latin phrases: astra inclinant, sed non obligant and non ducor, duco.
I can admit that I’m not well-versed in Latin without reference help. Like the internet. I just won’t admit that to Farrow.
“Did Donnelly ink those?” I ask Oscar and motion to his collar.
“No no no,” Oscar shakes his head. “Guy has talent, but he’s not putting a needle to my flesh.” Before I ask what the tattoos mean, he motions to the top line. “The stars incline us, they do not bind us.” Bottom line, he tells me, “The motto of São Paulo: I am not led, I lead.” He picks up his buzzing phone, frowns at a message and flashes me the screen.
Ask Maximoff for updates. I’m texting him. I don’t have time to text both of you. – Farrow
My boyfriend has been allergic to group chats. Pretty much ever since he’s seen how many incessantly ping my phone. But that text makes me think about Farrow and his relationship with Oscar and even Donnelly. Those two guys knew Farrow when he was with some of his exes.
Like Rowin.
I’m not about to torture myself and fish for giant details about his past relationships. But I am curious about some things only Oscar can share. “Is Farrow always like that with boyfriends?”
Oscar leans back against the leather booth. Grinning and also crossing his arms, curly pieces of his brown hair sweep his forehead. “You mean does Redford always choose the boyfriend over the friend?”
I nod, confident in this question. “Yeah.”
“Depends on the boyfriend,” he says, “but Hale, you’ve been chosen first 100% of the time, which is record-breaking.”
I should be happy about that, but a nagging thought pricks me. “I’ve put some family before him at times.”
Oscar angles forward and grabs a peppercorn cracker from a tray. “And he has to love that about you, or else he would’ve only chosen you 45% of the time.”
I nod to him before I bend down and tie my bowling shoe. “You like him better single? Then he’d pick his friends 100% of the time.”
“No, that’s not how he operates when he’s single. He’ll go all lone wolf on us, and sometimes, he’ll be harder to get ahold of. Personally, I like him in a relationship—just not with that poor bastard.”