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)
It’s not fair for Moffy to always have to be there for everyone. And it makes me so happy to know that he has Farrow, who will always be there for him.
“I’ll be okay,” I whisper. “Believe in me.”
Moffy slowly nods, and he finally says, “I don’t want it.” It’s not that he can’t take it, because he can. Maximoff Hale can do anything.
It is known.
I begin to smile.
The brother of the present continues to be even better than the brother of the past, and I wish he knew this as strongly as I do.
Moffy exhales, then turns on Charlie. “You’re going to fight for CEO.”
“Go ahead, say it like a statement and not a question,” Charlie says in a bored tone.
“We’re not begging you,” Jane chimes in. “But if Ben and Eliot choose to go through this selection process, it’d be nice if one of us was there.”
“They’re adults. They don’t need a babysitter.”
“Please,” Beckett says to him.
“One of us isn’t past begging,” Charlie says into a sigh, sounding like he’s already folded his hand. “Call them up. Let’s see if they even want in on this rat race.” He swings his head to me. “What about you?”
I press my hand in the moondust. I can almost hear their thoughts. She’s been through enough already. She can’t even remember three years ago. She’s being dragged in the media. How is she fit to run a company? I don’t know if I am.
But I’m going to try.
“I can take it,” I say. “I don’t have much going on career-wise.”
“And just like that, my name is in the ring,” Charlie says dryly, then he looks right at Maximoff. “You’re welcome.”
“Thank you,” he says deeply.
And I realize I’ve been anxious about their relationship for nothing. Moffy isn’t jealous or hurt that Charlie is looking out for me—he wants him to.
We’re waiting for Ben. He’s the only no-show, and everyone wants to explain this just one more time. But the clock is ticking, and it’s so chilly that we’ve all put our jackets back on. Not all are as warm as others.
Jane has on a pink pastel faux-fur cardigan. Sulli, a turquoise parka. Moffy, a dark-green Patagonia all-seasons zip-up. Beckett, a black leather jacket. Charlie, a camel-colored peacoat. Eliot, a more expensive black peacoat. Xander, a hoodie. Me, a black puffer.
We’re an eclectic bunch. No one was willing to touch the musty blankets that Eliot found behind a faded Happy Birthday, Xander! sign.
“Thatcher says there’s going to be a deep freeze tonight,” Jane says, typing rapidly on her phone. “Temperatures are dropping to the negatives.”
Xander stuffs his hands in his black hoodie. He’s popped a squat on a wooden stool next to me. “Ben’s not coming up here.”
“He’ll come,” Beckett says, his neck craned while watching Eliot rummage through the junk behind the couch.
Xander shakes his head fiercer. “You should’ve never tasked me to do the tree lights with him.” He’s speaking to Jane.
She frowns. “You do it every year with Ben.”
“Yeah, because everyone treats it like our annual therapy session together,” Xander says. “Clearly it’s not working since it’s never brought us closer, and I wish you’d all stop trying. We’re two different people who have zero in common.”
“Sounds familiar,” Charlie deadpans. It’s clear he’s talking about himself and Ben.
My phone pings.
Donnelly
You good? Heard you’re communing with attic dust bunnies.
I should’ve texted him way earlier. Guilt knots, realizing I left him out while Moffy, Jane, and Sulli have been keeping their husbands in the loop. Granted, I’m not married to Donnelly. We’re new. This is new.
I message fast.
All good. Sorry I didn’t text sooner. I’ll give you the deets when I can.
I smile thinking about him downstairs in the lake house, spending the holidays with me, and I send a second text.
Moon bunnies are good company but nothing like yours, space explorer.
I lie back on the floor and hoist my phone. Flipping the camera on myself, I stick out my tongue—the neon-green ball of my piercing in view, and I shut an eye, snap the photo, upload it in our message thread, and type:
Me and the moon bunnies will see you soon 😜 🐰 🌕
I send that one too.
“What are you looking for?” Xander asks Eliot, who’s rifling through more cardboard boxes.
“Something interesting. Something contraband. Maybe decades’ old weed.”
I ask, “Which one of our parents do you think stashed weed up here?”
“You can’t tell me Uncle Garrison wasn’t a pot head,” Eliot says, hoisting a white tee that says carpe that fucking diem. He tosses it over his shoulder, then continues his search.
I glance at the phone, trying not to eagerly await Donnelly’s response, but my heart pitter-patters and pitches and lowers.
“Look what we have here,” Eliot decrees, his grin spreading. Everyone turns to see him holding costume headbands in each hand.
Red devil horns and a white angel halo.