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)
“You realize something,” Jane says in deeper thought, her eyes filling again. She gives Moffy an overwhelmed look. “If this was our first Christmas, this was also the last Christmas they spent in that house together. My parents moved out the next year.”
The fact lands more heavily in the attic.
Most of us are living in the penthouse together. I’m seeing my nieces and nephew grow up like Aunt Daisy and Uncle Ryke saw theirs. Sure we typically spend holidays at the lake house now, but this can’t be the last winter where we’re living together, is it? It comforts me knowing we haven’t reached the split-apart point yet. And I can’t foresee when it’ll happen. Years from now?
I’m not sure I’m ready to end this, considering I don’t even remember the years I roomed with them in the townhouse.
Right as the video footage goes fuzzy, the staircase creaks as its yanked down, and in climbs Ben Cobalt at six-foot-five. His cheeks are rosy like he’d been bracing the cold outside, and he keeps running a hand through his windswept brown hair.
He’s not wearing a jacket though. Just a white Penn Hockey tee with the Ivy League’s logo.
“Hey?” Ben says, but he’s carried an awkward tension into the attic. His blue eyes flit to the grainy TV, which Eliot shuts off.
“Howdy ho,” I give him the Vulcan salute.
Ben tries to force a smile, still uncomfortable, and his gaze veers to Charlie, then Xander. Yep, he’s not too happy to share this musty attic with them.
“Eliot found a home video,” Jane says quickly, trying to include her youngest brother into the fold.
Moffy does the same by going to him, “You need a jacket?” He’s about to unzip his own Patagonia to give to Ben.
Charlie blinks into an eye roll. “Why don’t you give him your pants too?”
“Why don’t you give him your coat?” Moffy slings back.
“Because he’s almost nineteen. He can clothe himself for inclement weather.”
Ben lets out a dry, irritated noise.
Eliot freezes, worry crossing his face. “I’ll give you my coat, brother.” He starts shedding his black peacoat.
“I’m fine,” Ben says, shifting his weight. “Thanks.” He says to both Eliot and Moffy and avoids Charlie altogether.
It causes Charlie to push off from the wardrobe and move even farther away from Ben.
Beckett holds out his hands to calm the escalating tension. “We are all here for each other.”
“Yes, we are,” Jane says, eyeing each of her brothers.
Xander and I share a look, and I suppose for all the heartbreak among the Hales this year, the one thing it’s done is bring me and him closer. There isn’t a giant fracture in any relationship as big as the ones cratering the Cobalt brothers.
“What’s this about anyway?” Ben asks us.
Sulli sneezes into the pocket square. “Fuuuck.”
“I haven’t been told yet,” Eliot says, setting the video camera back in a box. “I’m as in the dark as you are.”
“It’s about our grandfather’s will,” Moffy explains.
Beckett hasn’t moved off the couch, but I watch his eyes shift over every surface of the attic while Moffy begins rehashing Fizzle’s need for a successor. Beckett even glances at me as I make one epic moondust angel.
Then he cranes his neck to catch Charlie’s gaze, and he speaks in such hurried French—but I wouldn’t say he’s panicked. Panic reminds me of a knitted sweater unspooling into a snarled messy heap, and Beckett Cobalt is so put-together. There are no holes, no unwoven strands—the yarn is so tight, I wonder how there’s room to breathe.
I sit up.
Beckett is motioning mainly to Sulli.
Huh.
Charlie replies in slower French, and whatever he says causes Jane to perk up. Moffy stops speaking in English about Fizzle. He listens to the French with toughened, concerned eyes.
Eliot’s brows pull together—not because he doesn’t understand what they’re saying. He’s as fluent in French as all the Cobalts and my older brother. So his confusion has to come from what they’re discussing.
Ben asks something in French, and Charlie says something snarky. I’m guessing since Ben grimaces and shakes his head in annoyance.
As the six converse in French, the tempo becomes heightened, like water simmering into a boil.
“What the hell…?” Sulli says, then glances at me with a can you believe this? look—like we’ve commiserated tons over being left out of French convos. I’m too late to reciprocate though, and her grief crashes against her face. She looks down at her lap.
I’m sorry. It hurts.
I try to focus on other things, like the body language of the French speakers. Beckett is now very alarmed, his body tenser but controlled, and he’s touching Sulli’s arm. “You need to go, Sul.”
“What? Why?” Her eyes widen, especially as Jane is on her feet, gathering Mr. Lion and the shoes she kicked off.
“You’re pregnant,” Beckett says. “The attic hasn’t been cleaned in years. We don’t know what we’re breathing in.”