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)
She cautiously accepts. “You’re sure?”
“I don’t need it.” Xander rolls up the sleeves of his button-down, his tie still loose and tangling with his necklace. “I have like ten more. So…if you want to sell it on eBay or cut it up and build a shrine to post on Reddit, have at it.”
Rushing, Spencer slips her arms in the holes. “If I’m building any shrine, it’s to my number one college, no offense.”
“Yeah, zero taken,” he smiles, and she slips a small one back.
Then the bell rings and his face plummets. Halls are going to crowd. Spencer sprints out the door like she’s already late. I’m antsy to check on Luna and this Rochester shit. It shoots back to the front of my brain so fast, my head starts to pound.
“Ready?” I ask Xander.
“Yeah.” He intakes a tight breath, and I lead him to the double doors.
He pauses at them. Literally solidifies to stone.
I’m not thinking about Luna in this moment.
Not worrying about the Rochesters, Epsilon, my dad, or my family.
My whole attention is on one guy.
Because this is my job.
Because he needs me.
Because as soon as he steps out of those doors, ten people rush up to him shouting about the European History exam, the theme for prom, and the girl who drove her car in the parking lot fire hydrant, and that TikTok Audrey posted on Beckett’s account, and how could Superheroes & Scones discontinue the fan favorite white chocolate smash muffin. It’s a cacophony of voices. Of people clamoring for his attention.
It’s all I can do to walk ahead of him and clear a path to his next class. He’s at the point where he doesn’t even give a shit that people see him gripping the back of my shirt like a little kid fearing getting separated from their parent at a carnival.
He’s just holding on.
And I can’t get fucking distracted if I’m the person he’s holding on to.
30
PAUL DONNELLY
The fucking Rochesters.
How did one of those demons become her professor? While Xander is safe and sound in class and I’m relegated to the hallway, I try to find more answers.
Luna didn’t show me her schedule, and I didn’t ask. I should’ve asked, but I figured her bodyguards would handle it. Frog and Quinn aced Bodyguard 101, and it’s making no sense. There’s no way they’re in the dark on this.
So why wouldn’t they clue Luna in? Why wouldn’t they tell her that this professor might have an ugly vendetta against her family?
Twisting a knob on my radio, I switch the channel to Omega’s frequency for a minute. Quietly, in my mic, I ask, “Donnelly to Frog, why didn’t you tell Luna about the Rochesters if you knew one of those fuckers was her professor?”
Static crackles the line.
One breath later, I hear Frog. “We were advised not to.”
“By who?”
“Her therapist. She thinks it’s too much information all at once since the Rochesters are connected to a deeper past.”
My nose flares, redirecting a simmering anger at Luna’s therapist. Don’t hate her. Don’t hate her. She’s helping Luna. This isn’t the first time I’ve imagined the doc smoldering on hot coals. I have an urge to reach out to Luna’s neuro-doctors. Get a second opinion, but maybe her therapist already conferred with them too.
I don’t argue with Frog about her decision. She’s just following orders.
I rest the back of my head against the blue lockers. As Luna’s boyfriend, as the person who loves her down to the last molecule of her being, I want to give her the tools that’ll protect all of her. How can she defend herself if she doesn’t even know why someone is coming at her?
Frog and Quinn can physically shield her, but the cruelty of humans is an invisible cut they won’t be able to stop. That’s up to Luna.
“Wonder Bread, you still there?” Frog asks.
I lift my mic to my lips. “Yeah. Still alive and kicking.”
“Her professor is an ass, and Luna is perceptive. She knows she’s being picked on and probably for a bigger reason.”
“Did she ask you about it?” I whisper.
“No. But I bet she’ll ask you.” Frog pauses. “You might not care about my opinion—but I think it’s better to lead with the full story on this one.”
Yeah. I think so too. I speak into my mic. “I do care, Froggy.” I smile. “Donnelly out.”
31
PAUL DONNELLY
Purple nebulas drift over Luna’s face. Over my arms. Along the ceiling of her bedroom. Constellations and the Milky Way glow out of a galaxy projector, illuminating everything in lavender and fuchsia.
Sitting on the bed, we face one another. Close enough that we could be in a bathtub. Our knees are bent, legs split on either side of each other, and her fingers trace the ink on my shoulder blade. But she’s looking into my eyes more than she’s gazing at my tattoos.