Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 132933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Meals: Wawa coffee & breakfast Sizzli on bagel. Lucky’s burger to-go. Maybe nighttime cereal for dinner (or see what penthouse crew are doing).
Water: fill up your water bottle, you thirsty bitch (love u, tho)
Question of the Day: Would Luna kiss me back? Would Loren Hale really kill me? Is Thatcher a big cat?
22
PAUL DONNELLY
Years ago, living in New York was this bittersweet cocktail. Loved being the bodyguard to Beckett Cobalt. He became a friend to me.
He was a friend to me.
I loved this city only because I loved that guy. And he was there. I shoulda known it wouldn’t last. That my heart lives in Philly, and one day, I’d be called back.
“Why are you here?” Frog asks curiously from outside the Cobalt apartment, her radio attached to her fanny pack. She’s in the hallway on-duty. Which means Luna is inside.
Luna left the penthouse before I did this morning, and I didn’t see her to ask about her plans for the day. Guess she’s hanging out with Tom and Eliot.
“Just gotta talk to someone, Froggy.” I run a hand through my hair, about to knock.
Frog eyes me pointedly. “You know, if you want to stalk Luna, you should definitely ask me first since I’m her Number One Protector.”
“Understood,” I say. “But I didn’t know Luna would be here.”
“You aren’t here for Luna?” When she realizes I’m serious, she lets out a peeved noise. “Who are you seeing then? Because they’re not better than her.”
Not arguing with that. “Beckett,” I tell her as I knock, cementing what I’m about to do. My pulse is skidding, knowing this is wrong. I didn’t think I’d ever consider asking him for a shoelace, let alone a whole fucking oil painting.
But I’m starting to feel trapped by my family…and I just need time to breathe. I do this one thing for them, and then I’ll figure out a long-term solution.
The door swings open.
It’s not Beckett. His twin brother gives me a slow once-over like he’s calculating how I belong in this equation.
Charlie tilts his head, hand still on the doorframe. Shirtless, he’s only in plaid blue pajama pants. His golden-brown hair is disheveled, and there’ve been so many days where I’ve seen him tug at those strands while I’ve protected his twin.
While I’ve been around.
Used to think Charlie loved me by extension of Beckett’s love. Even after Beckett and I stopped talking, Charlie has been okay towards me. Not bitter. Not angry. So it made me think Beckett harbored no bad feelings towards me, in the end.
It also made me believe that Beckett never wanted me back. Because Charlie would’ve tried to intervene to make that shit happen.
And he never did.
“Finally come to make amends with my brother?” Charlie asks like he knew I’d be here at some point.
New Question of the Day: Can Charlie Cobalt see the future?
“Gotta talk to Beckett, yeah.”
Charlie opens the door wider for me, and he’s leading me inside the bachelor pad. Even though Beckett is on a leather barstool, eating cereal at the counter, my gaze drifts past him. Beyond him.
I see Luna.
She’s on the living room couch. A binder on her lap. Tom and Eliot don’t seem to be around, but she gives me a secret thumbs-up, probably realizing why I’d be here. To go through with asking Beckett for help.
My lips almost lift in a smile. Her silent support means a lot. Seeing as how I haven’t told Farrow anything, I’m glad to have her.
Charlie leans against the stove, arms threaded loosely over his chest, and I go over to Beckett who slowly dunks his spoon in cereal. Surprise arches his brows when I nod to him.
“Can we talk?” I wonder.
Tension is thick. Discomfort isn’t a feeling I’m used to among my Cobalts. I don’t like it.
Beckett simply nods and slides gracefully off the stool, just wearing gray drawstring pants. Leaving the cereal bowl on the bar counter, he’s guiding me towards his bedroom.
I follow and shut the door behind us.
I’ve been in here before. Blue comforter is ironed of wrinkles. I’ve seen him take an actual iron and run the hot metal across his bed. I’ve seen him steam his curtains and obsess over the creases.
I’ve seen him line up pencils on his desk and refold his T-shirts.
I’ve helped him refold shirts before. When he couldn’t even stand looking at them.
We became friends before all that. He trusted me when some drunk shithead in New York was following him. Pestering him to get in his car for a good time.
To get the guy off his ass, I pretended to be with him. I slung my arm around his shoulders. “He’s taken, man. Stop harassing my boyfriend.” The threatening glare I cast got the guy to raise his hands. Got him to shuffle backwards and leave Beckett alone.