Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 136025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
So I can’t have a public breakdown. I can’t cry bitterly and angrily.
I can’t scream.
Just move on.
I swallow my feelings.
“Moffy.”
I turn as Dr. Edward Keene sidles next to me, a lime mojito in hand. He’s in his early fifties, ash-brown hair tied in a small pony, strong jaw and nose. I always thought he resembled Viggo Mortensen, circa Lord of the Rings.
I’m not surprised my family’s concierge doctor is at the summer bash. The Hales, Meadows, and Cobalts invited peers, employees, security team, their friends-of-friends—pretty much anyone we’d shaken hands with and said hello to.
I’m more surprised that he’s nearing me. And lingering. Dr. Keene sips his mojito and eyes my raw knuckles, abs and chest.
I release my tight grip off the railing. “Hey.”
“If you were hurt fighting, I should take a look,” he says, curt and to the point. “I won’t tell your parents.”
Doctor-patient confidentiality. Plus, I’m a legal adult. All of that, I understand. Still, I don’t want help. Not like that.
I glance at a row of baby blue lounge chairs along the yacht deck. About twenty feet away. Adults, teenagers, and kids congregate around them and eat tiny plates of meats and cheeses.
The infamous Loren Hale sits on the edge of a lounge chair. Hand on the back of his neck. Jaw sharpened like ice. Sometimes he tries not to be a helicopter dad, but his amber gaze flits to me. Overly concerned.
Uncle Ryke and Uncle Connor take a seat on either side of him.
I’m not going to be the one who burdens my dad or my mom. Add in the media and three more kids under fourteen, they have enough shit to deal with.
I stand straighter. Taller. Shoulders squared.
I face Dr. Keene. “I’m okay. I think I cracked a rib or two, but I don’t want pain meds. I can just take Advil.”
Dr. Keene nods, not pushing further. “Are you excited for Harvard?” He sips his mojito again.
I think about tonight. I think about Jason and how much trust I gave and lost. I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to trust anyone on campus. Except for my cousin. That has to be enough.
I nod to myself.
“Really excited,” I say honestly. “Charlie and I are rooming together, so it’ll be cool.” I wish Janie chose Harvard too, but she dreamed of attending the same alma mater as her mom. Princeton.
Dr. Keene rests an elbow on the railing. “Have you both picked a major yet?”
“Philosophy for me, and Charlie decided on History of Art and Architecture—” A multi-colored beach ball sails high towards us.
“Moffy! Get it!” Eliot Cobalt calls out, running but not fast enough.
I extend my body halfway off the railing, and I catch the inflatable ball for my fifteen-year-old cousin.
When my bare feet hit the deck, Dr. Keene gives me a brisk smile. “Take care.” He leaves towards the bow of the yacht.
Eliot slows to a stop, and I hand him the ball.
He’s about to run back to his brother Tom, but he pauses. And he turns, pats my shoulder, and tells me, “Thanks for this and for earlier—”
“Earlier?” Charlie magically appears.
I jolt. “Jesus Christ.”
He’s right next to me. I grab the railing, one small step from a heart attack. Don’t go into cardiac arrest on this boat. I’m so not fucking prepared for mouth-to-mouth from Dr. Keene.
Charlie laughs and relaxes on the railing. He lowers his Ray Bans over his eyes. Dressed in black slacks, a halfway unbuttoned white shirt—he looks like he’s ready to slouch in the back of a college lecture hall.
In reality, he’s almost seventeen and a full-blown genius who lives life unlike anyone I’ve ever known.
Maybe because I have no clue what he does half the fucking time. Some moments, he’s just gone. And then he sneaks up on me.
Literally.
His laugh dies as Eliot explains, “Earlier, Ben was crying on the swim deck.”
“Ben?” Charlie frowns at the mention of their ten-year-old brother.
“Yeah,” Eliot starts backing away from us as someone calls his name. “Don’t worry, brother. Moffy fixed it!” He scampers off.
“You were in the right place at the right time?” Charlie asks, his voice abnormally tight.
I rake a hand through my thick hair. “No, Eliot found me in the galley and asked for help. What happened, it wasn’t that serious,” I add so he won’t be worried. “Some asshole threw Ben’s shirt in the water. I just jumped in and fished it out. He should be fine. I talked to him for a bit.”
“How heroic,” Charlie snaps…almost scornfully.
I flinch. “What?”
His yellow-green eyes pierce me.
“I just did what your brother asked me to do.” I lick my lips. I get that I haven’t always been on good terms with Charlie. There were moments, when I was eleven, maybe twelve, and we clashed.
He disappeared a lot, went off on his own, and I didn’t understand him.