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)
He nods strongly. “Yeah.”
I just fucking kiss him. He deepens the embrace, his hand rising from my ass to the back of my head.
When our lips break, he finally tells me, “Seventeen. That’s when I had sex for the first time.”
It makes sense. I’m about to speak, but his phone rings by the diving board. A call. Maximoff immediately swims over to the other side, and I pull myself out of the water.
He’s already sitting on the edge, phone in hand, when I reach him. “It’s Luna.” Concern hardens his face.
It’s one a.m. on a school night, late for Luna to call.
He clicks the speakerphone button. “Hey, what’s going on?”
She sniffles, and as soon as Maximoff has a mere hint of Luna crying, he stands up with the “we need to leave” face.
I grab our towels, dry clothes, my holstered gun, radio—all set. Water drips off us, creating puddles at our feet. But he won’t want to waste time changing.
By the time Luna speaks, we’re in the elevator descending to the parking deck.
“I just got my last test scores back before finals.” Her voice cracks. “Moffy, I failed three of my classes.” She starts crying. “Eliot and Tom did the calculations, and I’d…I’d have to make a hundred-and-ninety-three on my finals to even pass.”
Shit. I hook my radio to my damp swim shorts and fit the earpiece in my ear.
Maximoff grips the cell hard in his hand and pushes the elevator P3 button repeatedly. “What the hell happened, Luna? I thought you were doing better.”
“Hi, Luna,” I greet and catch his hand so he’ll stop punching the fucking button. And I keep his hand in mine for a long beat.
“Farrow, did you hear—”
“Yeah. Hang in there.”
“I’m trying.” Her voice shakes. “But it’s my fault. I missed too many quizzes. I skipped the classes where I’d have to see Jeffra.”
“What’d she do?” Maximoff almost growls.
“She made a rumor in August that I’m so weird, I eat shit for fun. I didn’t care. She could’ve called me anything, and I wouldn’t have cared.” Luna takes a short pause. “But someone put real shit in a paper bag in my locker, and I just couldn’t even look at her, it made me sick.”
My jaw muscle tics.
Maximoff’s eyes flash murderously. If he speaks, he may say something like, I’m going to kill someone.
I squeeze his hand. “It’s not your fault,” I tell her.
“I let her make me feel worse,” Luna says. “It’s my fault.”
“No,” Maximoff growls. “It’s not.”
“Where was your bodyguard?” I ask. Epsilon didn’t share this information with the whole team. Or else I would’ve known.
“He never saw. I just acted like it was my lunch and then threw it away. I didn’t want him to worry Mom and Dad.” Her words quiver. “Now I wish I had. Because then maybe I would’ve had the courage to face her in class. And I know I can repeat the school year or do homeschool like Xander, but I just wanted the cap-and-gown graduation for them. I saw how they looked at you, Moffy, when you graduated, and I wanted to give that to Mom and Dad. I wanted them to be proud of me. And I fucked it up.”
Maximoff glares at the phone. “Luna, listen to me. I love you. I’m coming over. We’ll figure out how to tell Mom and Dad then.”
The elevator dings. We’ve reached P3.
27
MAXIMOFF HALE
We return to my townhouse at almost 4 a.m.—Farrow and I stayed with my sister for about three hours. He would’ve waited at the security’s house one street over, but he’s closest to Luna. I was glad she wanted him there.
Luna ended up feeling comfortable enough to tell our mom and dad. Tears were shed. Hugs were given. In the end, they made a plan to speak to the principal. She may not have to repeat the whole year if they learn about the shit-in-a-bag.
I thought I was pissed, but my dad almost woke up Jeffra’s parents at three a.m.—not by phone. That family lives in our gated neighborhood.
My mom spider-monkeyed his back to stop him, and he turned to complete affectionate mush in her presence.
I check my watch when I shut my bedroom door.
4:23 a.m. “I’m sorry,” I tell Farrow. I turn off my harsh lamp, and the strung bulbs on the rafters cast shadows and a soft, orange glow in my small bedroom.
Farrow unlaces his boots and tugs them off. “That’s the fifth time you’ve needlessly apologized tonight.”
I pull my crew-neck over my head and toss the shirt in my wicker hamper. “Every damn time we’re alone or in a conversation—actually, when we’re doing anything at all, something in my life swoops in and cuts it off. Your pockets are overflowing with rain checks.” I watch him walk to my sole window, gray curtains drawn shut. “I’m shit at this, Farrow. You should reconsider this whole thing.”