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“Who was he going to call?!” I yell at the TV like my favorite show ended on the worst possible cliffhanger.
“Ghostbusters,” Tom and Eliot say in unison, then share a grin.
Charlie narrows his eyes at them like they’re the furthest thing from cute.
“Rewind it,” I tell them. “Can you rewind back like fifteen seconds? Maybe we can figure it out.”
“He threatened to call legal,” Charlie deadpans. “It’s obvious.”
“Don’t rain on our parade, Charlie.” Eliot stands off the couch. “We’re having fun playing guess what Donnelly said.”
“Guess what Donnelly said when?” Beckett emerges with bedhead hair and sleepless circles under his eyes. Black pajama pants hang low on his waist, and he runs a hand through his thick, tousled hair. His gaze stops short on the television, and his face twists when he sees his interview frozen on-screen. “What’s the point of this?”
“What’s the point of living?” Eliot refutes. “To be entertained, brother.”
Beckett turns to him. “Find someone else to entertain you.”
“But you’re so bad at it,” Eliot says, picking popcorn kernels off the floor. “I have to relish in this one moment—”
“Showing Luna my interview doesn’t do anything,” Beckett interjects hotly. “She wasn’t friends with him back then.”
Him.
He’s referring to Donnelly.
And if anyone knows anything about Donnelly, it’s Beckett. I’d never really been close to Beckett, but did that ever change?
“How do you know I wasn’t friends with him back then?” I ask Beckett.
“Because he wasmyfriend,” Beckett says plainly but territorially. As if there wasn’t enough room for Donnelly to be friends with himandme at the same time.
Beckett looks away like he can’t meet my eyes.
Hurt lances my throat. Unearthed tension from an unknown origin winds around the room, and then Beckett leaves for the kitchen. Which isn’t out of eyeshot from the living room, so I have a superb view of Beckett’s back as he opens the fridge.
Charlie looks between Tom and Eliot, then shakes his head. He walks to the front door, duffel over his shoulder, without another word.
Every new piece of information feels destructive, and I’m starting to wonder if it’s safer to not go digging at all. Then again, I’m done playing it safe.
I help Eliot clean the floor, and then I say, “Let’s restart theWe Are Callowaymarathon.”
DONNELLY’S DAILY PLANNER
SATURDAY, DEC 15TH
Today’s Focus:Bass fun. Protecting the Elf comes first tho. Also, protect her. (Are you her Number Three Protector?) Make sure no nerdy types hit on my space babe with their magic swords and whatnot. It’s Fanaticon Convention Day, bitch.
To Do:
Ice-cold shower in the hotel room. Freezing my balls off these days. (Still trying to wait before we do the deed)
Registration. Stay alert. Lots of ppl at these things.
Panels? Vendor halls? Whatever the Hales wanna do.
Look out for Quinnie & Frog if they need a hand.
Late-night convention parties? Up to X & his sister.
