Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Xander is rifling through his backpack. He’s not in his normal graphic tees and hoodies. He threw on the blood-red suit he wore to Homecoming. Dressing to impress. Complimented the get-up as soon as I saw him, and he asked, “You don’t think it’s too much?”
“Nah. You look sharp as hell. Like a contender.”
He smiled at that.
In the passenger seat, he’s digging out a ballpoint pen. “I get my dad wants to prioritize me over my friend, but I don’t see how Easton living with me will make me more stressed?”
“It sounds like it’s more about Easton not being allowed to live with you and how that news would affect you.”
“It’d suck,” Xander concludes. “But he can’t be afraid of me meeting a low. I told him that.”
“Communication,” I grin. “Looks like we were both nailing it.” One hand off the wheel I give him a rock on gesture, then pick up my energy drink and take a swig.
Xander smiles back. “The talk with my mom went well then?”
“She’s not shipping your sister with anyone else, so I’d say so.” I set the can back in the cupholder without taking my eyes off the road.
“Yeah, I never thought she would. My mom’s smart, wise one. She knows real love when she sees it.” He pulls out a binder. “I just wish my dad would stop asking if I need you at my door during the nights again.”
Lo must be sensing Xander’s heightened stress if he’s been pestering him about nighttime security. It’s hard to forget about Xander taking my straight razor at the Fanaticon Convention. It was only two months ago, so I have a healthy amount of concern too.
“It’s alright if you need it,” I say.
“I don’t.” Xander shoves his bookbag between his feet. “You don’t have anything to worry about either.”
I frown. “What would I be worried about?”
“My sister—I’m sure you’d rather spend your night with her doing…” He cringes at me.
“Don’t think about it,” I start to smile.
“Too late.”
I laugh.
He almost smiles, but instead, sighs out, “Look, you don’t need to be stuck watching me sleep. I’m stressed out but I’m fine.”
I rotate the wheel with one hand. “One of my favorite past times is protecting you from your sleep demons.”
He snorts, but he’s smiling now.
“I also don’t have a brother like the Morettis,” I remind him. “There’s only one of me. So I’d only do nights half the time like before. If you’re worried who the other bodyguard would be—”
“It’s not that,” Xander cuts in. “I really don’t want anyone at night.”
“Then what do you want?”
“New anti-anxiety meds. I’m almost positive the ones I’m on stopped working three months ago. But the idea of having to go through a bunch of different prescriptions and all the side effects just to find another one that works makes me want to kill myself.”
“Let’s not do that,” I say easily. And I’m wondering where this newfound casual talk of suicide is coming from.
Xander mutters, “Sorry.”
“You can be snarky,” I tell him. “Been thinking you were supposed to be a Gemini.” I take another sip of energy drink. “You have two sides. You’re snarky, then you’re soft and sweet.”
Xander stares out the windshield, and slowly, his lips upturn. “I think that’s just a Sour Patch Kid.”
“People do act like they’ve got a sugar-rush around you.”
He laughs, the sound so bright in its rarity. It instantly makes me grin. Even though paparazzi are riding our ass and we’re headed towards one of his big stressors, the air is light and his eyes shine with happiness. He plays AC/DC on shuffle. Soon, we’re singing to “Thunderstruck” together and pounding the wheel and dashboard respectively. He’s rolling down the windows, letting the breeze enter the car. Unworried in this second.
This moment.
The power of eighties rock, I’d say, but I also know it might be the power of me.
44
LUNA HALE
Uncle Stokes apparently loves Panera Bread. This is something I never knew until today, when he shut down the entire Panera café in Center City just for the Mock Q&A Panel—five other Fizzle board members in attendance. It’s such a strange fun fact about him that it makes me question how well I actually know my uncle.
Xander clutches a binder under his arm like it’s a football, and I shuffle through a stack of index cards. We’re seated at a booth together, a strong fresh-baked bread scent in the air. None of the other Cobalts have arrived yet, and in ten minutes they’ll be verging on late.
My eighteen-year-old brother hawk-eyes the front doors. Worry creases his brows. “You don’t think they’ll just throw this competition?”
I shake my head. “We all agreed not to. None of them would go back on that promise.” I peek over at the double doors too. “They’re probably just stuck in traffic.” I’d ask Donnelly since he has a direct communication line to the Cobalt bodyguards, but he’s still securing the café with Frog and Quinn. Apparently, there’s a backdoor that doesn’t lock properly.