Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 174544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
“I’m the same.” He touches his chest. “I still love my face plastered to Celebrity Crush. I’m a headline whore, and I tear up far too easily. I’m practically a waterfall.” His brand of sarcasm is 100% the Moffy I know, and I try to smile. “Ask Farrow, I’ve drowned him a billion times.” Quickly, he adds, “Metaphorically.”
I try to ease. “Still speed on freeways?”
“All the damn time.” He’s rigid though.
“Besties with Charlie?”
“Hell would freeze over first.” He licks his lips, looking away. Is he actually close to Charlie again?
It’s okay if you’ve changed. I can’t say it. Because I’m more frightened that he has. “You are close to Charlie?” I actually ask.
He tries to shrug. “A bit. Yeah. We’re not trying to kill each other.” He motions to me. “You’re in contact with him a lot more too.”
“I am?” I’ve always liked Charlie from a distance, but I haven’t made large strides to close the gap. Charlie is someone who can create multiple Grand Canyons of his choosing, and it’s a calculated risk to exert the effort to even reach him.
“He’s been editing your fics.”
Makes a little sense.
Moffy grips the doorframe, about to leave. “I am the same enough,” he reiterates, and I realize he’s afraid I’ll think he’s too different to trust or love this time around.
It’s a rational fear.
Because I’m thinking, can I trust him? He’s right—he only knows what he’s seen. Maybe I need to enlist Detective Donnelly to help me.
I throw up a Vulcan salute, not wanting him to worry much. “Thanks, memory guide,” I tell him.
Moffy tries to smile back, but he knows I’m placating him. I know he’s trying to convince me he’s worthy of trust.
It’s all screwed up. Warped.
After he leaves with the puppies, I crouch back to the fishbowl. “Polaris?” I ask. Nope, no response. Well, that sucks. Miracles don’t happen. But if a miracle were to fall into my lap, I can think of a thousand better ones than my fish magically responding to its name. Like getting my memories back.
I walk over to another door in my room and enter…a bathroom. Two sinks, a glass shower stall—everything is tidy. No toiletries spread on the counters. No water stains on the faucet. I’m guessing sharing a bathroom made me neater than usual…I don’t know.
Letting out a frustrated breath, I eye another door. “Donnelly’s room,” I think out loud.
To snoop or not to snoop, that is the question. Biting my thumbnail, I wonder if something in that room will jog a memory. If my brain is protecting memories that surround Donnelly, then wouldn’t he be the key to unlocking them? Or…if I was close to Donnelly, then those memories could be the strongest to burst through.
More educated guesses.
Not that I’m good with education. I’m failing out of high school…or no…I’m not in high school anymore. Did I even graduate?
I let out a long groan. There’s just too much that’s missing.
It pushes me forward. I grab the knob and turn.
30
LUNA HALE
This is oh so wrong. I’m likely booking passage to hell. Yet, I can’t stop scoping out Donnelly’s room—which I’ve come to realize is a guest room. How else do you explain the frilly grannie shams and floral comforter? It screams Jane Cobalt. Plus, The Commencement of the Empire painting is hung on the wall. Jane’s painting. Donnelly must’ve not cared about redecorating.
Maybe he didn’t think he’d be here for long. That freaks me out—because wouldn’t Original Luna want him to stay?
I tug open a dresser drawer. Empty.
Second drawer. A couple shorts. Bathing suit trunks. Boxer-briefs. So few items that they all fit together.
Crouching, I slide out the third drawer. Among socks is a ripped open box of condoms. I wonder if we ever used these or not. Maybe he used them on another girl. I crinkle my brows, not sure how to feel about that idea. He never said we were exclusive. I could’ve been sleeping around.
He could’ve too.
Shoving the condoms aside, I find an old cigar box: a place where people usually store mementos. I only hesitate for half-a-second before I flip the lid.
Passport.
I unfurl a sheet of paper. His birth certificate. The answers are handwritten and not super legible.
Full Name of Child: Paul Donnelly
County of Birth: Philadelphia
Born on: August 13th (Moffy was right)
Weight: 6 pounds 1 ounce
Father’s Full Name: Sean Kerry Donnelly
Mother’s Maiden Name: Bridget…
I squint hard, unable to really decipher his mom’s maiden name. I refold the birth certificate. He hasn’t kept any old IDs. The only things left in the cigar box are…wedding programs.
Jane Cobalt & Thatcher Moretti
They were married last year. Jane…and a bodyguard. Jane…and Thatcher—who just so happens to be my little brother’s 24/7 bodyguard. Quiet, a bit broody, an identical twin, that’s what I remember. It’s not like I know him too well. He barely talks at all. Jane could talk for hours. Evidence that opposites do attract.