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Don’t think she recognized it.
The birthday gift, I put a lot of thought into, but I didn’t need to buy it. After me beating around the bush and her therapist digging in, I finally fessed up about sketching a matching tattoo. She said,Absolutely not. That’s too far.Lo was also in the shoe closet with us, and he wasn’t too elated either, to put it mildly.
I don’t want to treat Luna like she’s an alt-version. She’s already insecure about it, and giving us matching tattoos is something I would’ve done with her before the amnesia. But they made me rethink the whole thing, and in the end, I can’t even say what’s right anymore.
I jostle and zip up. Not loitering outside on her birthday, I go back in, hand sanitize, and avoid the stares from Triple Shield bodyguards. Comms areoffin my ear—that’s how much I don’t wanna hear them tonight.
The flashing neon lights are adding gasoline to a fire in my blood, and I try to breathe it out. When I reach the lane, Luna is collecting a bright orange ball out of the rack. Her turn to bowl. Xander is near a nacho table speaking to his dad. Safe, but I keep tabs on my little elf’s whereabouts.
On the chairs at the eighth lane, Maximoff, Farrow, and Baby Ripley watch Luna, and I join them. “She still killing it?” I joke since she’s been losing pretty badly.
“With a score of two,” Farrow says, popping bubblegum.
“Two!” Ripley holds up two fingers.
“Uh-oh, we got a mathematician on our hands,” I say.
“Uh-oh?” Ripley frowns up at Farrow, since he’s on his lap.
I laugh, and Farrow shakes his head at me with a rising grin.
Maximoff smiles over at his husband and son. “You counted correctly, Rip.”
Farrow tells his kid, “Your Uncle Donnelly is just teasing you.”
“It’s what I do,” I say, holding on to one of the chairs. Not sitting down. I’m still amped, and I need better distractions. “Jane and Thatcher couldn’t make it?”
Maximoff and Farrow exchange a cagey look, and I straighten off the chair. “Is it Maeve?” I ask. “Somethin’ happen?”
“No,” Maximoff says fast and cracks a knuckle. “It’s not that.”
Farrow sets Ripley on his own chair, then stands up to tell me more privately, “You’ll probably hear about it tomorrow, but he failed his psych eval.”
I’m off-balance. “What?”
He raises his brows. “Thatcher failed the test. He’s suspended until they clear him, and Jane wanted to be with him tonight.”
My head is spinning. “Thatcher?” He’s the epitome of a Mack truck. A military war tank. He bulldozes. Nothing runs him over.
“Man, he gotshotthis summer,” Farrow whispers. “Not to mention, he went through surgery, almost died, and missed the birth of his daughter.”
I rub my forehead. This isn’t the distraction I was searching for. ‘Cause now I’m just thinking if Thatcher fucking Moretti failed a psych eval, what are the chances that I’m gonna pass?
I’m fine.
I will pass.
I have to.
There is a key difference between me and Thatcher. He’s ethical. Moral. I’m not always those things. Not if being immoral helps me stay alive.
Farrow studies me in a sweep. “You worried?”
“No,” I say with the shake of my head. “You?”
“No,” he says honestly, inspecting me.
“Your son is making fart faces at you,” I tell him, but Farrow is still staring right into me. I gesture to my best friend. “You’re missing out, man. It’s cute as fuck.”
