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Go to the gated neighborhood early.
The rest is unknown.
Notes: I slept next to Luna all night in our space pod (aka her bed, her room), and it took a lot out of me not to move things further. I’ve never slept in a bed with a girl and not fucked her. Never been in a position where it wasn’t a late-night hookup. Think about *that* for a second. But I controlled myself ‘cause I got morals and shit. But I could def live inside that space pod with her. Also!! She has cute nipples. Saw ‘em pushing through her tank top. That’s all.
Meals: Nothing. Can’t waste time, bitch.
Water: Step aside H20. I’m only thirsty for one girl.
Question of the Day: Why does Luna always smell like magnolias and honeysuckle? Is it because she was born from a flower?
28
PAUL DONNELLY
Sunrise, I park against the curb in the Philly gated neighborhood, and I toss the keys in the pit of my palm.
“What are you gonna do, Paul?” I mutter to myself, staring down the long stretch of suburban road. No cars stir, everything perfectly preserved. Still.
Quiet.
I drove here knowing I need help. Shit, I drove to the hospital last night knowing I needed to do this today.
If I go to SFO and my friends and rehash what I know about my cousin, my family, and their involvement in the attack, they’ll want to involve the parents. They’ll have to, and people like Akara and Farrow and Oscar will stick their necks out for me. Saying, it’s not Donnelly’s fault.
Saying, don’t worry about Donnelly.
I’ve let them handle too much for me already, and if I’m gonna come clean, it needs to be to one of the parents.
I just haven’t figured out who.
So I parked further up the street, and now I’m walking down the quiet road as light blues and the beginning of oranges bathes the early morning sky.
I stop near a mailbox and peer to the right. The Hale House looks like the one in Home Alone, fit for cozy holidays and a swarm of family. Lily and Kinney decorated the fir tree in the front yard with cobwebs and orange bats for Halloween. I saw them one morning before school.
My boots smush the dewy grass as I step onto the yard. Picking up a fallen bat, I hook the metal decoration back onto a tree limb, and I begin to walk backwards.
Back to the street.
Backing away.
I’ve been more intent on going to Papa Cobalt for help. Because I’ve worked for the Cobalts for longer. Because Connor Cobalt likely won’t judge me as harshly. Because he sees the world through a more unbiased lens.
Because, at the end of the day, I know my chances are better over there.
I glance at the road. The Cobalt Estate is further down the street, and I look back at the Hale House, my hand resting on my head as I think about where I want to go.
Cobalts or the Hales.
The Good Luck Crew or the Bad Luck Crew.
The Winners or the Survivors.
Something is rooting me here. I want to say it’s Luna, but maybe it’s more than her. I understand bad luck better than I do good.
I’ve survived more than I’ve won.
For decades I’ve been admiring the family that wasn’t even close to resembling mine. I’ve been wishing I were among lions, when I should’ve been fully embracing the fact that I belong among another kind of strength.
I was born a scrappy underdog, and I think, after so many years, I’ve finally found my pack.
So without falter, I step back onto the dewy grass. I walk through their yard and up their stone porch steps.
I’m taking my chances with Loren Hale.
29
PAUL DONNELLY
I have a house key and access to the security code, but I think maybe I should text or knock first since I’m earlier than usual.
Before I decide which, the door swings open.
Lo is wearing running pants, a red Halway Comics athletic tee, and a paternal glare directly set on me.
Shoulda saw this coming, considering the last time I saw Lo was after I fell through a ceiling and landed on a bed with his daughter. Sounds outlandish. But so does the reality where I’d become a bodyguard to the most famous families in the world.
And here I am.
Here I am.
“You’re early,” Lo says coldly.
“Yeah.” I wish the tightness in my chest would loosen. “I wanted to talk.”
He checks over his shoulder. “Salem, back. Sit.” I hear a low growl, and he blocks the Newfie from escaping by stepping onto the front porch and shutting the door behind him. “My daughter’s dog hates you.”
I crinkle my brows at the shut door. “She’s just warming up to me.” I try to focus on his amber eyes but the intensity barreling off them is painful to stare down. I think he knows it too. “I’m surprised you didn’t let her charge at me.”
