Misfits Like Us (Like Us #11)(128)

“It’s done,” he confirms.

And I watch my Fictitious profile refresh into an error that reads, Page Not Found.

I hand the phone back to Moffy, and then I look up at Donnelly. “I deleted it.” I tell him first because I think he’ll be the most upset that the stories are offline. He reads them there. Maybe they were even a comfort to him.

Donnelly just nods, like he understands what I had to do.

I stare back at Page Not Found.

My stomach is sunken. I did the right thing, but I still wish I could’ve been ready. The loss is still sitting heavy.

And then Donnelly stands from the table. He comes behind my chair. His fingers shift my long hair off my cheeks. He tucks a few strands behind my ears, and his warm touch tingles my skin as he gently fits an AirPod in my left ear, then my right.

Music is already playing.

“Dreams” by The Cranberries.

With Ripley on my lap, I glance at the lyrics inked on my forearm and sentimental tears build. Donnelly returns to his chair further away, and I look around the table where everyone is seated again.

They’re all here for me. Every single person has stopped what they were doing to be here.

My universe might be cursed, but the night sky is lit with bright, burning things who refuse to let the darkness set over me.





36





PAUL DONNELLY





I park in the Hales’ driveway at something or other p.m. (JK, I know it’s 8 p.m.) Late for a Hale family dinner I’d think.

But Luna said they were eating at 8:30 tonight.

Farrow confirmed.

Shutting the door to one of Kitsuwon Securities’ SUVs, I leave my radio in the car, a plastic grocery store bag in my hand. Warm, inviting light glows in the windows of the Hale House, nighttime already overhead.

“Driveway,” I greet while staring out at the house. “You’ve let Loren Hale walk all over you for decades, so you must know how my chances are looking.” I pause. “No comment? Alright.” I sputter out a tense breath.

I’m not on-duty.

And I haven’t really been invited to this Hale family dinner.

It’s not a weekly tradition like the Cobalts’ legendary Wednesday Night Dinner, which is happening down the street tonight. Part of me wishes I could spy in on that blockbuster mystery, but then again, most of me just wants to be here.

Not exactly right here. Standing on the slope of the driveway and greeting the cement. I’d rather be inside the Hale House and greeting the staircase or something.

Since it’s the night after Luna’s username leaked and the deletion of her fics, all the Hales decided to gather for family dinner in the gated neighborhood.

I don’t know what family dinner is like.

Never been invited to one.

If Farrow and his old man had them, I would’ve tagged along in a heartbeat, but they spent more breakfasts than dinners at the same table.

So I’m wondering what it’s all about—dinners and family—but I’m not picturing anything. I’m just trekking towards the house. Up the front stoop. And I knock on the door.

Loren Hale answers, his sharp-edged eyes pierced on me in confusion. “Did Xander call you?”

I shake my head. “I’m off-duty.”

He glances at my waist. No radio, no gun.

“Been wanting to ask you something. You have a minute?”

“For you,” Lo forces a smile. “Less than a minute.”

I tip my head. “I can work with that.”

Surprisingly, he pushes the front door open wider, motioning me inside the Hale House, and I step into the foyer not as a bodyguard. But as something else.

Lo knows it. His whole demeanor tenses, allowing me inside, but I walk further. Until he plants a hand on my chest. Making me stop at the end of the foyer.

I hear Star Wars playing on the TV. Rogue One, I’d bet, but I can’t see into the living room. The smell of meatloaf permeates throughout the house, and the aroma almost makes my stomach growl.

“What’s that?” He nods to the plastic bag I’m carrying.

I pull out two boxes of Peanut Butter Kandy Kakes. “Tastykakes. For dessert.”

“We’re more of a Little Debbie family. Zebra cakes. Cosmic brownies.”

My Philly heart is crying. “Xander loves these.”

He cringes. “Since when?”

I dump the boxes back in the bag. “Maybe you’re right.” I’m not trying to prove that I’m influencing his son even more. “Maybe he’s just pretending to like them because he knows I do.” I’m unsure, and when a loud explosion from the television cuts into our talk, we wait for the volume to lower.

Just staring at one another.

Lo seems to drop his defenses the longer he’s looking at me.

I’m not coming at him. He’s dressed in just a black crewneck shirt and jeans, barefooted, and the second the volume returns to a normal octave, he speaks. “You wanted to ask me something?”

“Yeah.” I keep my voice hushed so no one in the living room can hear. “I know that you know that I have feelings for Luna.”

He goes rigid.

It spikes my pulse, but I didn’t come here to invite myself to dinner. This is why I’m here in the first place.