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 envy him in a way. To have that particular skillset could come in handy. But while we were in the epicenter of the garden maze, I could see it affected him somehow.
So in the car following the ambulance, I asked him if he was okay.
“Yeah,” he breathed, “but that’s only because I don’t have to live in the other reality.”
“Which one?” I asked.
“The one where her baby didn’t make it. The one where Jane didn’t. And it was my fault.” He swallowed hard, then shrugged tensely, one hand on the steering wheel.
Frog was in the passenger seat and said, “No one would’ve blamed you.”
The world might’ve. As cruel and sad as that may be, people online would’ve tried to burn him at the stake.
I almost told him, that is an awful reality. I’m happy you’re in mine. But maybe he needed to hear Frog’s encouragements. So I stayed quiet.
I’d almost forgotten she’d been in the car with us. For those brief seconds, I thought it was just me and him. Which feels like such a rarity outside the penthouse.
Donnelly changed topics, asking Frog if she liked Bon Jovi. I sunk back into my seat and let them talk the rest of the ride.
I caught him checking on me through the rearview mirror, but I busied myself coloring the galaxy tattoo on my thigh with neon highlighters.
When Jane went into labor, I wish I could’ve done more in the moment. Been there in greater ways. For him. For Jane.
I guess finding cell service and flagging down the paramedics was something, but as I replay the whole event, I see myself on the periphery. Like they’re inside a flurrying snow globe and I’m stuck on the outside trying to get in.
Maybe I’m just being harder on myself since Donnelly is doing all the legwork for us to be together. He’s reconnecting with his dad for me. What’s my contribution? I’m here. In my bedroom. Relegated to waiting…and writing. Mostly to you, unearthly reader.
I haven’t returned to Human Him, Cosmic Her in the past week. Not since my fics leaked. It feels too raw, so the Thebulan saga is on hold.
“I’m not useless,” I tell Orion while he sleeps at the foot of the bed. My Newfie barely perks up, but I add, “I am useful.” I try to let the words settle better in my stomach and not fall flat.
Right as I set aside my phone, the screen lights up with the name: TOM.
An extra spoonful of guilt pummels me. I haven’t told Tom or Eliot about Donnelly, and now that my siblings know the truth and with Charlie onto us, it feels so wrong to shelter this from my best friends. Maybe I can solve this portion of my guilt.
I click into the call quickly.
“Hey, I need your help,” he whispers, sounding rushed. “Eliot’s going off the deep end.”
The deep end could be a myriad of things, but I don’t need details.
“I’m on my way.” Like he lit up the sky with a bat signal, I jump off the bed in a dash and grab my hoodie from a chair. I pretend it’s my superhero disguise, and maybe I can pretend to be worthy of grand, earthly heroics.
Maybe I can fool myself for an afternoon. Or maybe…maybe I am in leagues with the likes of the Avengers, with the Seasons, and the Nerd Stars too.
Is that possible?
Are people heroes for themselves first? And then they can be heroes for others? I’m not sure I’ve completed the first task—just partially check-marked it. But that’s me, isn’t it? Half-finish things, never fully commit.
I’m not 100% enrolled in college. I’ve only completed eight courses in two years. I still haven’t declared a major.
My fics are offline in limbo and only printed out in my closet.
I can’t even manage to fully commit to being Donnelly’s girlfriend.
That’s not your fault.
I give myself a tiny pep talk, but the self-criticism is very strong today. I’m happy for a good distraction.
“I’ll drop you a pin,” Tom says before muffled voices steal his attention. “Shit. See you soon, Luna.” He hangs up on me.
Racing out of my bedroom, I’m too fast and slam right into a Moretti brother. I don’t see which, but when I hear, “Oof, Luna?” I recognize Thatcher’s gruff tone.
Shouldn’t he be at the hospital?
I take a quick step back, rubbing my forehead that made impact with his hard chest. “Sorrysorry,” I say hurriedly, noticing Jane’s pastel pink travel bag slung on his shoulder. He must be here to collect more of her things while she’s recuperating in the hospital room. “I’m just heading out,” I add and start walking backwards and flash the Vulcan salute.
Thatcher narrows his eyes skeptically. “You late for something?”
“Kind of,” I say, cagey.
I’m unsure of the trouble Eliot is in, and I don’t want to disclose too much information, especially to the Omega lead.