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)
Beckett settles on the vacant chair where Eliot had been sitting, and Charlie slides a footstool closer, taking a seat at the hearth.
My heart is pounding so hard, I can practically hear the nervous beat in my ears.
Beckett stares at me, and right as he opens his mouth, I blurt out, “I can’t remember it. Jane walking in on me and Donnelly, I mean. I don’t remember it happening, but it did.”
Skin pleats between his brows, but his yellow-green eyes aren’t narrowed or flaming with defensiveness like I’ve seen when I bring up Donnelly. “Did he tell you when it happened?” he asks.
“I think sometime in the fall. He said Thatcher had been fake-dating Jane because of a Cinderella ad?” I scrunch my face, hoping for this memory to plop magically inside my brain.
Nope, still gone.
Beckett hunches forward, and it’s a weird sight, considering he has ballet-dancer posture. His hands fly to his face.
Eliot and Tom exchange a quick look, but I’m left out of that one. I glance at Charlie, but he’s focused on his twin brother.
“I’m such an asshole,” Beckett says, smearing his hands down his face. He rests his palms on his thighs, then shakes his head at me, apologies in his eyes. “I assumed—I shouldn’t have assumed—that you didn’t have history with Donnelly.”
I’m startled. “It’s not like I can remember it.”
“Exactly,” Beckett says. “It’s not like you could defend yourself against the shit I said to you.” Guilt impales his face, and his hand returns to his forehead. “I’m so sorry, Luna.”
Charlie shuts a book loudly and eyes Beckett. “It’s not like Donnelly told you he was eating out our cousin. And yet, how much did you tell him about your sex life?”
Eliot gasps. “Does he know more than me?”
“And me?” Tom adds.
Beckett blinks a few times, not denying. “He was my friend. And I didn’t share my life with him expecting anything in return.”
Charlie states, “I’d think sharing is a defining aspect of a friendship.”
“Sharing.” Eliot holds the poker over his broad shoulders like a barbell. “Like how often you share your life with us, Charlie? We live with you, and we don’t even know where you go half the time.”
“We’re not friends. We’re brothers.”
“Cold.”
Tom swigs the last of his coffee. “We should pull out a dictionary. It’ll help you learn the meaning of true friendship.”
Is two-way sharing a defining aspect of friendship?
Charlie ignores Tom’s quip like it’s beneath him to respond. And then he turns to Beckett. “You cautioned Moffy against dating Farrow because you thought there was a power imbalance of knowledge—Farrow knew everything about the famous Maximoff Hale, and Moffy couldn’t know that much about him. But when it comes to your own life, you don’t care that someone held all your cards and gave you nothing?”
“We were just friends, and it’s in the past, Charlie,” Beckett says calmly. “What I did…was worse.”
Silence spreads between the Cobalt brothers, and I remain entirely, utterly, confused. “What’d you do?” I ask.
Beckett struggles for the words, before he admits, “I chose drugs over him.”
The bottom of my stomach falls. That…would’ve definitely hurt Donnelly. Even knowing Donnelly for only a short amount of time, I can see how deeply he loves his friends. To not receive the love back would be crushing for most, but for the source to be drugs is devastating. Because he has addicts as parents. How many times have they chosen drugs over him? To have that happen again…
Charlie looks shocked that Beckett spoke this out loud.
“Donnelly might not have told me about you,” Beckett says to me, “but I doubt it’s because you meant nothing to him. I think it’s likely because you meant the most, and I know…the deeper things were always harder for him to share. It was like if he did, they were more at risk of being taken, and I can’t fault him for keeping what he loved close. I’m really in no place to fault him for anything.” He glances to Charlie. “And you shouldn’t either.”
Charlie nods a few times.
Tom winces as he places his empty mug on a cocktail stand. He massages his wrist.
I frown. “What’s wrong with your wrist?”
Tom immediately stops the bone-massage. “Nothing.”
All four brothers seem shady, and I look to Charlie, who tells me, “A fight with Ben.”
Their brother Ben? “Ben hurt you?”
“No,” Tom retorts. “It was an accident, and it was actually Eliot.” By Eliot’s grim expression, I know that’s true. Tom glares at Charlie. “Like that is going to help get Ben to move to New York.”
“He’s better off in Philly. Stop trying to recruit him.”
“He’s our baby brother,” Eliot retorts. “Does that mean nothing to you?”
Charlie can’t respond. Noises escalate from downstairs. Chatter explodes, and a few shrieks. Eliot straightens off the fireplace, dropping the poker to his side. Hairs rise on my arms, and Tom’s face scrunches in confusion.