Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 149982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 750(@200wpm)___ 600(@250wpm)___ 500(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 750(@200wpm)___ 600(@250wpm)___ 500(@300wpm)
But this, this is like a fantasy made for royalty, and I know for me and a lot of security, it’s cool to be a part of it all. Especially guarding the Cobalt Empire, the epitome of lavish extravagance. But we’re here first and last because we care about the lives of the families.
I take a seat on the shut toilet lid, a comfortable amount of room here. “Hey.” I press the phone to my ear. “What’s going on? You alright?” We haven’t spoken since his vague text this morning. Sun has set, and we’re scheduled to land in Paris tomorrow.
I’m more on edge knowing I left the country before getting answers from Donnelly. But I trust if something is really wrong and time sensitive, Farrow would’ve checked in with me.
For a lot of reasons, I have a love-hate feeling towards Donnelly not being Beckett’s bodyguard anymore. I wish he still were, but I’m also glad he’s not for his sake.
Blast to the past, Donnelly used to live with me in New York, while on Beckett’s detail, and if anyone asked, I’d probably say he’s the worst roommate and to give me someone else—just to fuck with him. But he’s not that bad. We saw each other every week. Almost every day.
I miss that.
It’s lonely being the only Omega bodyguard in Hell’s Kitchen.
“Yeah, yeah,” Donnelly replies. “I’m almost back in PA.” His South Philly lilt comes out strong. “Just made a mandatory pitstop at Wawa. Where you at?”
“Plane bathroom. Sitting on the rose gold shitter.”
He laughs lowly. “Charlie whisk you off to Neverland again?”
“Second star to the right.”
“Let me guess, let me guess. Dubai.”
“Way off, bro,” I say. “Paris.” We can play off each other to annoyance, just ask Farrow, and before we get carried away, I add, “I’m serious though. Why were you at the lake house this morning?”
“Yeah, about that…” Donnelly’s tone sobers. “I need to tell you before everyone else hears.”
My body goes cold. “Tell me what?”
“You know my Uncle Scottie?”
“Yeah…” I’m caging breath.
“I’ve been visiting him in prison, and I finally got him to let Farrow and Maximoff adopt Ripley. So I brought the papers to the lake house.”
“What?” I’m choked.
Emotion tunnels through me. Warring together. I clasp a hand over my eyes that well. Happiness for my best friend. Farrow and Maximoff are adopting their son. Deep weighted concern for my other best friend. What the hell did Donnelly do?
“Paul…” I scrape my hand from my eyes to my mouth, and my chest collapses. I don’t want to diminish the magnitude of what he did for Farrow, who’s practically the reason Donnelly is living and breathing—though Farrow will never say this to anyone.
I hear him sniff, choked too. “Don’t call me that, man. The name’s Donnelly.” His voice is trying to lighten.
“It’s amazing…what you gave him.” Motherfuck, I’m crying. I wipe my face. “But, bro, what’d you do?” My chin nearly shakes.
He comes from a meth-addicted family. All of them are in prison, except for his father who was recently released.
All I can think is that he convinced Scottie to terminate his parental rights by agreeing to something. So what exactly did Donnelly agree to?
“It’s alright,” he says. “Like I told Farrow, I’m good. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Now I’m worried,” I tell him. “He didn’t ask you to push drugs?”
“It’s not anything with drugs. I’m good. It’s all good. Nuthin’ I can’t handle.”
I rub my wet eyes and swallow the rock in my throat. “Can we do anything to help you? I get you keeping shit from Redford while he’s on his honeymoon, but I’m on a motherfucking plane. I can’t kick your ass if I’m in a different country. Bro, this is the perfect time to come clean.”
He laughs softly, but the noise fades.
Leaving heavy silence.
I close my eyes slowly, my grip on the cell intensifying. He’s not going to say anything. “Donnelly—”
“It was worth it.”
Is that the measure of our actions? Whether they’re worth something for the people we care about?
A text pings my phone the same time he says, “I’ve gotta go, Oscar. I’m on-duty soon, and I need to check in with Thatcher.”
“Call me tomorrow?”
“Sure thing. Hey, have a crepe for me. Miss those fuckers.” Only Donnelly would call a crepe a fucker.
We say our short goodbyes, and I check my text messages.
Cancelled the Craigslist meet-up. Still looking around for places. Know anyone in NYC? – Baby Sis
I mutter to myself, “What is it with these teenagers and Craigslist.” Between her and Tom, Christ. I formulate a text. I already called my sister and talked her out of the Craigslist roommate.
And I learned she doesn’t want to live at home anymore because she’s A.) nineteen, and B.) employed as a pro-boxer, and C.) sick of our strict dad who pushes her too much as her trainer and father.