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“Huh.”
“I love dogs and dogs love me.” I leave out the fact that Kinney’s puppy would like to murder me in my sleep. Orion licks my hand, slobbering on me, but I’m more aware of Maximoff’s domineering presence.
Her older brother might not approve of me being in her room, considering she doesn’t remember shit about me. Causing friction between brothers and sisters is never something I wanna do, and she needs Maximoff right now.
“I can go,” I say as I stand.
“No,” Luna panics. “You don’t have anywhere to be today, right? We’re hanging out.”
Maximoff uncrosses his arms, gesturing to me. “You should stay. This is your home too, Donnelly.”
That strikes me, right to the core.
Maximoff could so easily tell Luna to trust him more than me, and she would believe him. He’s been her closest sibling. Maybe I shouldn’t even be shocked that he’d put faith in me to take care of his sister. He’s only wanted Luna to be safe and happy, and he must see that both lie with me.
And safety is not something I could guarantee for her, not with my family attached to me, but now that most are in jail—I have a better shot.
I nod to him. The Hales are something else. The Bad Luck Crew. Never thought I’d grow to love them as much as I do.
“Alright,” I say. I’m staying.
“I didn’t flunk out of high school,” Luna says, still mulling over her past that I dole out in spurts. On her bed, we’ve been smoking and drinking Four Loko and trying to watch Beneath a Strong Sentiment. Thought I pitched her current (forgotten) favorite sci-fi show well, if I do say so.
Except we’re two minutes through episode one and the freeze-frame of Callie, Luna’s ride-or-die character, fills the TV screen. And Luna has no clue how she would’ve burned at the stake for this girl.
Goal: Get Luna invested in Bass before the convention in San Francisco.
It shouldn’t be this hard, but I can’t blame her for being more interested in pieces of her missing history. It’s the more engaging story.
Propped against the headboard, I blow smoke towards the air filter on her nightstand. With barely any sleep, cigarettes are the only thing keeping me awake.
I ask, “Graduating surprises you that much?”
“Yeah.” In the darkness of her room, I still catch confusion in her eyes from the blue light of the TV. “I thought there was a chance I would’ve quit. Jeffra was being…awful. She’s—”
“I know who she is,” I tell her.
Luna nods. “I guess in three years, I did more and less than I thought I would. I graduated high school, which is awesome. I’m taking college classes, but I’m not fully enrolled for some reason.” Her brows bunch. “Fear, maybe. It’s easier not going all-in. Less chances to disappoint myself and others, and I didn’t think I’d be so disappointed in myself right now just knowing I took the easy out.”
“You were really tired,” I mention. “You had to pick yourself up too many times.”
So softly, she asks, “She went through a lot, didn’t she?”
“Yeah.” My throat tries to close. Maybe hers does too because she sips the alcoholic drink. Don’t think she’s supposed to have too much alcohol right now with her injuries and pain meds, so I’ve been downing bigger gulps when she passes the can to me.
Just when I’m about to press play, her phone buzzes. Reminds me that I need a new phone. Stat.
Luna checks her cell. “I have an appointment with the neuropsychologist tomorrow morning.” She types out a text. “Will you come with me?”
“I would, but I gotta check with security.” It also might be better if she goes on her own. Her infatuated attachment to me could be a bad thing, and I wouldn’t know.
She’s on her phone for a hot second longer.
“Watcha looking at?” I ask, concerned.
“I just don’t understand.” She growls in frustration, practically fisting her phone. She types feverishly again. “It’s not working.”
“What’s not?”
“My Fictitious password.” She slams back against the headboard in a huff.
I ease an arm over her shoulders, and she expels a calmer breath. Putting the cigarette between my lips, I nod to her phone. “There’s a reason for that.”
“You know the password?”
I take a drag, blowing smoke away from Luna. “You deleted your account.” Having to retell a heartbreaking history isn’t so easy for me, but I’m doing it for her. In as many necessary words, I recount how her fics leaked recently. Spread on the internet. The blowback from media and people online, all of it.
I’m bracing myself for a round two of Luna breaking down. I’m prepared to hold her, comfort her, anything to make this better—except, she’s not sobbing.
She’s not frozen in shock either.
“The manuscripts in your closet?” she starts to ask.
“You gave them to me to hold on to.”
