Misfits Like Us (Like Us #11)(84)

“I dunno.” He rereads the text again. “I shouldn’t…”

“You could,” I mention, knowing he’s thinking about Beckett’s painting. “Just ask, at least.”

His lip tics up. “Who’s the bad influence here? You or me?”

“Me.” I push a thumb to my chest. “I think that role has always been mine. You should fly away now, Planet Partner. It only gets worse from here.”

His lips keep rising. “I’ll take my chances.”

“Even if the odds are bad?”

“Oh, I know it’s bad.” He steps away from me, nearing the other door. The one that’ll lead to his bedroom. He’s leaving. After Donnelly turns the knob, towel still low on his waist, he faces me again. And as his back is pushing open the door, he says, “I’m not boarding any spacecraft without you. It is known.”

It fills my lungs.

He’s gone, the door slowly closing behind him.

And the worrisome thing, he’s taken most of my heart with him. I don’t know how to get it back.





DONNELLY’S DAILY PLANNER





Tuesday, Oct 16th





Today’s Focus: See where Beckett’s head is at. Hope for the best. Remember Luna is only a friend who’s a girl. Girls can be friends. You got one.



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To Do:

Fill up the Black Widow with gas.

Visit Hell’s Kitchen (again, hope for the best)

Buy Xander chicken & dumpling soup from Lucky’s Diner.

Deliver soup to the sick elf. (Colds can go blow me.)





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Notes: Can’t believe “fans” still believe Thatcher cheated on Jane. What a stupid hill to die on. The Royal Leaks shouldn’t be living in infamy. They should be buried and gone. One good thing, no signs of sleepwalking since I moved into the penthouse knock on wood Think it’s helping to be next to her. One meh thing, Boss told me and Oscar to stop calling my old apartment the Rookie Room bc Quinn isn’t a rookie. But it’s easier than saying “the apartment below the penthouse”…should I be brainstorming new names? Would Quinn really be that PO’d? ALSO, Millie Kay has been hanging around the penthouse more (or maybe I just noticed since I’m livin’ there?). She seems to really click with the girls: Luna, Sulli, Jane. BTW, Sulli is looking more preggers too. Wonder when the happy triad will confirm the baby rumors. Last thing, Luna’s new Fictitious stories are dope af. Favs are still the Thebulan saga. Waiting for the next part to Human Him, Cosmic Her like a crazed animal.



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Meals: Wawa coffee & breakfast Sizzli on bagel. Lucky’s burger to-go. Maybe nighttime cereal for dinner (or see what penthouse crew are doing).



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Water: fill up your water bottle, you thirsty bitch (love u, tho)



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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.