Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 116268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
There’s no evidence of Farrow and I hooking up. We have no texts to leak. No email thread. No photos from the past. No video footage. Us being so damn careful—I never thought that’d work against us.
Compare that load of nothing to the countless photographs and evidence of Jane and me together. All the times we’ve hugged. Where we’ve kissed each other’s cheeks. My arms wrapped around her shoulders. Her head on my chest.
We’re close.
We’ve always been close, but now every photograph can be twisted. Add in the hours of We Are Calloway footage where we both talk about how much we love each other. Platonic love—but that can be distorted too.
Even the Hallow Friends Eve is now packaged as evidence. Media posted the photo of me cradling Jane in my arms. I’m practically naked. She’s in her pajamas. They say it’s too close for cousins.
For the first time in my life, I feel isolated. Alone. Like Jane and I have boarded a lifeboat and been pushed out into a swelling ocean.
“Maximoff,” Ryke forces. “Who bit you?”
I prepared myself to deal with tabloids, the world. Not my family. And while you may think the world would be a worse battle—it’s not.
This is worse. This is gut-wrenching.
“Not Jane,” I say strongly.
“The bite marks can’t be from a one-night stand though,” my dad says.
I frown, wondering how they would’ve drawn that conclusion.
Ryke tells me, “You haven’t been going to clubs for four fucking months. I called Price, asking for the NDAs, and he doesn’t have any.”
“Which means that you haven’t had any one-night stands,” Connor continues, “or any random hookups. Do you follow the logic, Moffy?”
I remember the lie Farrow told the security team. “You think I’m seeing one girl.”
“Price told me,” Ryke says. Price. I shake my head repeatedly. “He said you’ve been sleeping with the same girl, and you refused to get an NDA because she’s not someone your parents would fucking approve of.”
They all look to Jane.
Dammit.
“It’s not me,” Jane says stiffly.
My dad gestures to my chest. “Who else would we not approve of? I can’t think of one goddamn name other than your cousin.”
Farrow Redford Keene.
I stare off, haunted. Morality is a demanding beast that asks me, pleads with me, begs me to do the right thing. What’s right anymore? I’m searching for the sword that I need to fall on. I just don’t want to hurt Jane or Farrow in the process.
I can’t hurt him.
I can’t.
Just let it slice through me.
“Maybe it’s not a love affair,” Ryke says. “Are you drinking? Are you having any fucking problems?”
“No,” I say firmly.
“Are you?” Ryke turns on Jane.
“No,” she says adamantly.
“We just want to help,” my mom chimes in, wet tears streaking her cheeks. “If you both would be honest, we can all work this out.” They think we’re lying.
And I am lying.
The truth is standing just outside the door. And I remember what Farrow once said. “You just need to know that I’m going to get banged up and you can’t run and save me, wolf scout. You have to let it happen.” I’m not supposed to protect him. As much as it’s killing me. As much as it’s driving knots in my damn stomach.
We’re supposed to stand side-by-side. And we need to take this hit together.
Go get the truth.
I turn my head.
“Do you sleep in the same bed together?” my dad asks, voice stilted.
I go rigid. The room grows hot.
My head swerves back to him. I’m not burying myself beneath another lie. “Sometimes,” I say. “It’s always platonic.”
My mom sits on the very edge of the trunk. “But you sleep in the same bed,” she says as though she needs extra confirmation. Like she didn’t hear right.
“Yeah.”
My mom touches her chest with two hands. “Your dad and I—we used to sleep in the same bed when we were just friends.”
Oh shit.
I lick my dry lips. “You were attracted to each other. I’m not attracted to Jane.”
“Likewise,” Jane says, shifting in her chair. “I’m not attracted to Moffy.”
“We were also liars,” my dad tells me.
Right now, I am a liar, too. They spot it like blood in the water. They’re sharks. I’m prey. And I’m being ripped open.
My dad keeps eye contact with me, looking broken and pained. “We love you,” he tells me. “We’d love you no matter what. But we can’t help you unless you’re honest with us.”
“I don’t need help,” I tell him. “I’m fine.”
He nods. “I’ve said that one before.” His words practically ice. He gives me his classic, bitter smile. “Congratulations, Maximoff, you got what you wanted. You’re more like me.” His disappointment is a tsunami crashing through my chest.
I stare at my dad. Right in the eyes, and I say the words that I’ve never wanted to utter in my damn life. It takes every ounce of power inside of me to admit this to myself and to him and to the room—and even to you.