Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
He practically glides into my room. Black cotton pants are tied low on his waist, and arm tattoos peek out of his Carraways band tee.
“You look bad,” Beckett instantly tells me.
“I feel great,” I say sarcastically. “How are you doing with the auction?” I learned from Jane that another of our grandmother’s socialite friends won Beckett, and even Charlie, who was bid on without being present.
Beckett drops the air mattresses. “I deal with Grandmother Calloway’s crotchety friends at the ballet almost every week. I can fake nice for a night.”
“I can’t,” Charlie admits.
Beckett passes his twin brother the fallen crutch, and Charlie hoists himself off my bed with both crutches. The mattress undulates without his weight, and a shrill pang stabs my shoulder and ribs. I shut my eyes tightly and clench my teeth. Breathing hard through my nose.
“He looks extraordinarily awful.”
“The fucking worst.”
Those aren’t the Cobalt brothers. I open one eye to see pajama-clad Jane and Sulli. Standing at the foot of my bed, they cradle pastel beanbags, pillows, and fuzzy blankets. Charlie and Beckett flank the girls. All four staring at me. Sympathetically. Charlie, more so pityingly.
I’ve had every teenager, every kid in the family, make me promise that I wouldn’t die on them. These four are the ones that see me less like Captain America and more like an imperfect human.
I need them in my world.
I can admit that.
“I’m alive,” I say with a sharp breath.
“Sadly,” Charlie quips.
“Charlie,” they all chastise.
A pretentiously coy grin plays at his lips. “Only joking.”
Jane hones in on my bruises. “No wonder Farrow was so quiet,” she mutters, setting down the sleepover loot. I figure they all plan to crash in the attic. When we were kids, we’d pop out sleeping bags and air mattresses and spend the night at each other’s houses.
My brows knit. “Farrow was quiet?”
“He spoke to me.” Beckett plugs in an air mattress.
“Only because you were being a fucking ass,” Sulli tells her best friend, and then she pats my foot consolingly, a turquoise blanket slipping from the heap she holds.
“What’d you say to Farrow?” I ask Beckett, my shoulders constrict and that hurts like a thousand pitchforks poking my bone. I wipe my perspiring forehead with the heel of my palm.
“I thanked him for helping Ben, Winona, Charlie, and you in the crash, and then I said if he has anymore exes that you should know about, you deserve full transparency.”
I groan. “Beck.” I’m not surprised everyone knows about Rowin Hart. He was introducing himself to our families at the hospital.
“You do need transparency, Moffy. Farrow knows everything about you—”
“I know every goddamn thing about Farrow that I need to know.” I understand that Beckett is protective because I’m the first to be in a relationship—the first to combat these strange dynamics since we’re strangely famous—but he can’t keep shitting on my boyfriend. Farrow has been through enough. “I don’t want the names of his other exes, Beckett. If I asked, he’d tell me. Give Farrow a fucking break.”
Charlie leans against my dresser. “He said he thanked your boyfriend.”
“Great,” I say, “and what did Farrow say in return?”
Beckett bends down to plug in the air mattress. “He told me to get the fuck out of his relationship.”
“His boyfriend almost fucking died,” Sulli tells Beckett, helping him spread the air mattress out. “You’re lucky he didn’t deck you in the face.”
Beckett fiddles with my old outlet. “I’m willing to take a punch for Moffy. And for you and the rest of our family.”
Sulli slugs his arm hard, but playful.
He pushes her back, smiling.
I watch Jane tie her hair in a low pony, and she brings a tin of chocolate turtles to me. “You must be starving. You haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
“I’m not.” I cringe, no appetite from anesthesia and now pain. Nausea roils deep, and I try to ignore the queasiness. Having my family here helps.
She carefully crawls on the bed beside me, dressed in baby blue coffee-print grannie jammies. I lean into my best friend and whisper about Xander, not able to keep this in. Not from her. She doesn’t ask for more details, just nods and listens.
“Uh, cumbuckets.” Sulli just banged her elbow on the dresser, trying to inflate the air mattresses. I need to text Farrow to let him know that Omega can join us up here. If they want. It’s been a long, exhausting day. And we’ve gone through some shit together.
My phone is lost in my sheets.
Fuck.
“What are you looking for?” Jane asks, wanting to help, but a black cat hops on the dresser behind Charlie. If there’s anything that can steal Jane Cobalt’s attention from family—it’s her cats.
Purring, Lady Macbeth collapses and rolls on her back. “She’s slow and old,” Charlie says to Jane. “I’d give her two more years maximum.”
Jane looks murderous.