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My legs won’t stop jostling. “Your adult sister has probably been hooking up with someone in the driver’s seat.”
Oscar short-circuits. “First off, no. Secondly, I’m sorry I asked.”
“Me too,” I mutter. “You sure Jo’s okay with us taking her car?” We needed a non-security vehicle and nothing related to the famous ones. Something more inconspicuous. Oscar called his husband and his sister, but Joana was closer to the crime scene than Jack. Literally only a minute away. Been the only good fortune I’ve had all night.
“She’s not just okay with it, she’s motherfucking thrilled,” Oscar says to me. “The more favors I ask of Jo, the more she can cash in IOUs.”
“Think she just likes when you treat her less like a kid,” I tell him, scraping a hand against the back of my tensed neck.
He frowns. “She’s twelve years younger than me. I can’t change that.”
Yeah.
Silence thickens.
We haven’t been talking about the attack on Lily. Drowning in the dark parts of a night isn’t something any of us like doing. It’s a reason I’ve always loved hanging around Farrow and Oscar, and I’m guessing it’s why they like my company too.
But right now, they’re taking me towards a certain darkness.
It’s in the landscape. Looming over us. At some point, they’re gonna have to leave me. Together, it’s easier to stay calm in the light.
The light side.
I think of Luna. My eyes burn again, and Farrow pops a bubblegum bubble and fiddles with the stereo. “You pick, Donnelly.”
“You choose the music.” My choked voice sounds unnatural to my ears.
Farrow casts a glance back at me. He’s wearing Maximoff’s blue Superman baseball hat, a birthday gift from SFO to his husband. It conceals his ash brown hair, and the brim shadows his gaze. Can’t tell his level of concern, but he just faces forward and connects his phone to the car’s sound system.
Back at Yale, we’d all bar hop and end most nights in Farrow’s apartment playing music videos, drinking whatever cheap liquor he had in his pantry, and laughing about Oscar’s pop-genre obsession. Good times. Those still exist. I haven’t lost ‘em yet.
What do they matter if I’ve lost her?
I blow out a strained breath.
Farrow picks a song.
The second the beat starts playing, I recognize “Tried and True” by Ween. My legs go still. Slowly, I lean back against the seat, and the soothing music washes over me.
God, this song reminds me of Luna. But maybe it made Farrow think of me.
I stare out the window, the rain letting up. Brick row houses fly past us as we enter South Philly. I’m gonna find her. I’m convinced I will. Because I won’t stop until I do.
The power of this certainty holds me upright, ready for whatever needs to happen. Confidence is a weapon I’ve had to wield most of my life, but usually that went hand-in-hand with self-preservation. Now, not so much.
What I’m doing is self-destructive.
Damning.
Pretty sure I’m either gonna walk away with her, or I’m not walking away at all.
“Where is he?” I ask after the song switches to Third Eye Blind. I’m without my radio. Don’t even have a gun on me. So I can’t locate anyone I care about.
Oscar glances back at me. “Where’s who?”
“Xander?” Farrow asks, lowering the music.
That’s not who I was wondering about, but now he rushes to the front of my mind. “Him too,” I say. “All the Hales.”
That family is being pulverized tonight, and though I had nothing to do with this, any harm done to them feels like my fault at this point. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to take down my family before they got in arm’s length of anyone I love.
“Last I heard,” Oscar says, “Xander and Kinney should be headed to the hospital.”
“Their aunts are taking them,” Farrow confirms, since he has the direct line into the Hales. Being a Hale himself by marriage and whatnot. “And Kinney is blowing up my fucking phone.” He’s texting with one hand. “She’s asking for ‘vivid’ details. Like fuck I’m giving them to her.”
“Do they know what’s going on?” I ask.
“No,” Oscar says tensely. “There’s been orders on comms not to say anything about Luna or Lily to the teenagers. Parents want to do it themselves.”
“They need to hurry,” Farrow says, more quietly. “If police are involved, this is hitting the internet tonight.” He rests his forearm on the middle console. “Maximoff is on his way to the hospital.”
My initial question still hasn’t been answered. I ask outright this time. “Where’s your son?” Ripley.
He’s the baby. He’s biologically a Donnelly, and I want to make sure he’s nowhere near South Philly tonight.
“He’s with Maximoff—” Ringing cuts off Farrow, the phone call coming through the car’s speakers.
“Speaking of the Husband,” Oscar says, then asks Farrow, “Have you talked to him yet?”
