Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
“It did at first,” I remind her. “And eventually you had something to focus on.”
She’s back home now. No goals to train for. It’s easier to remember the gun incident.
“In that case,” Sulli says, “I choose to focus on you and your hot-as-fuck drumming skills.”
I playfully avoid her eyes and look to Banks. “Watch this one. She’s going to be soaked during the show.”
Sulli gapes. “Kits!”
I place my hand on my chest. “That’s what you told me, Sul.”
Her cheeks heat. “Fuck, I did…didn’t I?” Her eyes dart to the left. To her aunt. Black high heels, black dress, and black sunglasses, Rose walks hand-in-hand with Connor Cobalt. He’s dressed for a Fortune 500 business meeting, not an emo-punk concert, but they carry themselves with importance, like everyone else are the ones who don’t belong.
And they’re here to watch their son.
They come over to say good luck to me, and we chat for a few minutes. Sulli avoids their eyes since she’s avoiding their daughter. And before they can question her, Luna calls Sulli to the side balcony that overlooks the stage. Farrow and Maximoff are with Luna, and Banks is about to follow our girlfriend.
I grab his arm, then radio Thatcher. “Akara to Thatcher, swap onto Sulli for a second.”
He’s here as a floater. Jane had bad morning sickness. She planned to come cheer on her brother, sick and all, but she threw up in the elevator. And that was enough to sit out this year’s Summer Fest.
She’s back at the penthouse, watching the show from a livestream.
“Copy,” Thatcher responds.
Banks frowns, and I say goodbye to Rose and Connor as they go stand with Ryke and Daisy.
“What’s going on?” Banks asks, checking over his shoulder. Ensuring his brother is climbing the balcony to Sulli.
Yep.
She’s okay.
Is he? “Can you please rely on Thatcher tonight?” I ask him. “I understand the need to protect her during high-stress situations like this, but this is also sensory overload.” Crew is testing drums now. Banging. Chatter is morphed into a strange, muffled noise that grows loud, then soft. Music plays off in the distance from another stage, and soon, The Carraways will overpower his ability to hear anything.
He grimaces. “Is that an order?”
“Partially, yeah.”
“What’s the other part?”
“Me caring about my metamour. I love you, Banks, but you don’t always take care of your health.”
Banks sighs out a rough breath, knowing I’m right. “Alright.”
“How’s your head?”
“Screwed on.”
We laugh, and he begins to smile. He listens to the crowd chant the band name again. His gaze is faraway, and I don’t have to ask. He’s telling me, “Skylar always wanted to go to one of these. Dad wouldn’t let him, but I swear he snuck out once.” He drops his gaze, something gnawing at Banks.
And I reach up a bit and hold his shoulder for a second. Remembering a while ago, how Banks mentioned Skylar telling him something before he died. Whatever Skylar said, Banks has been cradling the weight of his words for years. Dragging him down.
He looks at me.
He sees that I’m here, and I feel him grappling with the words. I nod to him, “You can tell me, Banks. What he said.”
Banks swallows hard, then lets out quietly, “He said, Banksy, I hate it here. I’d rather go jump off a bridge than listen to Dad one more day. That was a day before he died.”
“You were twelve,” I remind him just as softly. “You couldn’t have known what would happen, and maybe he was just exaggerating, Banks.”
“Or he could’ve been serious. He was asking me for help—”
“Banks—”
“I could’ve done more, Akara, and I didn’t. I didn’t save him, and I’ve never blamed myself the way that Thatcher blames himself. The way my parents do. I always just blamed Sky. For leaving me with this fucking mess of feelings.” He glares up at the top of the stage, then down at the ground. “For making me feel like I had a chance to help him, and I didn’t.”
“What could you’ve done?” I say to him like I’m reaching for the alternate path, the alternate history that can’t exist.
He shakes his head repeatedly, breathing heavily. “Something.”
“Listen to me”—I grip his other shoulder, bringing him closer—“it’s okay.”
Banks nearly breaks down.
I hug him.
He hugs me, and I repeat, “It’s okay. Skylar wouldn’t want you to carry his pain, man. It’s okay.”
Banks breathes and breathes.
We hug for a moment longer, and his body feels lighter. And lighter.
For every nightmare I’ve ever had where Sulli and Banks are suffering, the second we’re together—we’ve been unconfined. Unencumbered. Unfettered. Freed. I think the three of us were always meant to find each other. So we could finally be weightless.
54
SULLIVAN MEADOWS
Fear confuses me.
How the essence of fear flickers in and out like a flame. How in one second, I can be all smiles. All jokes and good times and pleasant fucking thoughts. In the next, my skin feels too thin. My heart too frail. My body all sticks and fragile bones.