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)
“Just texted. It’s all I’ve had time for. He knows I’m not with his mom.” He motions to Oscar to answer it, and Oscar presses the accept call button on the wheel, connecting the car speakers to the eldest son of all the famous ones.
Resilient, steadfast, headstrong—that’s how the world sees Maximoff Hale. Right now, I just see him as Luna’s protective older brother. She’s missing, and maybe he’ll think I’m to blame.
“Hey, Thatcher and Akara aren’t telling me a goddamn thing. My dad isn’t picking up his phone. My uncles are being cagey, so what the fuck is going on, Farrow?”
“Does he always come in this hot?” Oscar asks Farrow, and I imagine Farrow is either rolling his eyes or glaring at him.
“Oscar and Donnelly can hear you,” Farrow warns his husband. “I’m in the car with them.”
“I’ve been told to go to the hospital to see my mom—I’m not about to come in fucking cool,” Maximoff retorts.
“Good,” Oscar says, more seriously. “Neither would we.”
“Farrow—”
“I can’t tell you what happened, wolf scout,” he says, his voice abnormally constricted. “Not while you’re driving.”
Long dead silence tries to eat away at me.
“I can drive,” Maximoff finally replies. “I’ll be fine. You know I can handle it. Just tell me what the fuck is going on. Please.”
“I know you can drive. I know you won’t wreck.”
“Then why are you doing this to me?” His hurt is crushing.
“Man, don’t say it like that,” Farrow breathes, tortured too.
“You always let me in on everything. If you’re worried about our son, he’s okay. He’s asleep in his car seat.”
“It’s not about Ripley.” Farrow lowers the brim of his baseball cap. “Promise me something and I’ll tell you.”
“Anything.”
“Don’t follow me.”
“What?” Maximoff says. “Where are the three of you going? Why aren’t you with my mom?”
“Promise me, wolf scout.”
“…it’s my sister?”
“Promise me.”
Another long pause, only with this one, I can see Maximoff wrestling with the tough choices in front of him. He’s felt a responsibility to protect his sister, but he’s gonna need to hand that off to someone else.
To me.
I want to tell him to trust me.
I want to tell him that I’ll die a hundred times over trying to save her.
I want to tell him that there is no stop in me. There never really has been. I’ll do more for her than he ever could. He’s got a husband. He’s got a son. He’s got another baby on the way.
She’s all I have.
She’s all I want.
But I don’t interrupt their conversation. Not as Maximoff says, “I promise. I’ll go straight to the hospital, Farrow. Just tell me.”
“Luna is missing,” Farrow starts, then disconnects his phone from the car speakers. He puts his cell to his ear. “We’re on our way to find her.”
Oscar parallel parks outside an old run-down biker bar. Black paint is peeled off the brick siding, but I still make out the name. The Rhino.
Time to see my dad.
22
PAUL DONNELLY
The Rhino is an old relic of 80s hedonism. Think some famous hair metal bands used to frequent this spot in its heyday. Dollar bills are stapled to the ceiling rafters, and regulars graffitied the walls with pen and Sharpie.
I see him.
He’s behind the bar, absentmindedly wiping a beer glass and glancing at the only TV screen. Hockey is airing. I walk past a couple brawny guys playing pool, the only other people here. Billiard balls clink together in the quiet, but I hear my heartbeat hammering.
He sees me and stops wiping. “Paul.” His lips rise, then fall. “What’s wrong?”
“I texted. You didn’t answer.” I rest my elbows on the bar, stiff as can be. “I need to talk to you fast. It’s important.”
He’s digging in his pocket, unearthing his phone. “Shit, I had it on silent.” He frowns at the phone screen, then calls out to the other men. “You boys need a refill, help yourself. I’ve gotta take care of something for a sec.”
They nod. “Thanks, Sean.”
“This way,” he tells me.
I follow my dad into the one-stall, one-urinal bathroom. Smells like piss, and the mirror is fully covered with band stickers.
“Don’t bullshit me,” I start off, my chest rising and falling. “Who took her? Where is she?”
“Whoa, whoa.” He raises his hands. “You need to rewind, son. I don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on here.” Concern flares in his blue eyes. “Who took who?”
“You really know nothing?” I can’t believe that. “You’re not on the periphery.”
“Periphery? When did you start using words like…periphery?” He acts like it’s gross. Being book smart and all, and I don’t have time to play dumb with him. Or point out how he still hardly knows me.
I shift my weight. “You’ve gotta be in touch with someone who’s involved.”
“Involved with what?” He looks me up and down. “I can’t help you unless you’re honest with me.”