Damaged Like Us (Like Us #1)(46)

“How can I not worry about it?” I point at him with my chicken taco. “Luna, Xander, and Kinney live there and someone is taking pictures of the house.”

“I’m sorry, did you lose your name badge?” Sarcasm thick, he pretends to scan my red crewneck for the nonexistent badge. “Because…I don’t think it says Dad on your shirt.” He pats my shoulder lightly. “Pretty sure that’s my job, bud.”

“It says Big Brother on my forehead.” I must’ve jabbed my taco towards him.

He glares. “Eat it. Don’t abuse it.”

Connor wears a billion-dollar grin. “Ryke’s favorite motto.”

They’re talking about pussy.

Ryke unwraps a taco. “It’s a good one but not my fucking favorite, Cobalt.”

“Do tell, what’s your ‘fucking’ favorite.”

Ryke bites into a taco, sauce dripping down his unshaven jaw. He licks his thumb and says with a mouthful, “Don’t be a fucking dick.”

My dad flashes a half-smile. “A motto we’ve all broken.”

His brother tosses a piece of lettuce at him.

I study their interactions more than I ever do. I sense Connor scrutinizing me. Almost knowingly. He’s five million steps ahead of everyone. Always.

I stop obsessing and go to eat my taco. Pausing. I notice a leak of hot sauce.

“I have yours,” I say to my dad.

He checks the insides of his taco. Just cheese, chicken, and lettuce, and he swaps with me.

“You can’t tell me not to worry,” I say to him, back to the original topic. “I need information. Don’t keep me in the dark.”

He inhales a sharp breath, his jawline cutting like glass.

“I’m not a kid.”

“You’ve been saying that since you were four. So pardon me if I just want you to be a kid.” He bites into his taco and gathers his thoughts while he eats. He speaks after he sips a Fizz Life. “The security team is meeting about it this week. It’s being handled. I’ll let you know if anything changes. I can’t give you more than that, Moffy.”

Farrow can. He’ll know what’s happening.

Even if I didn’t have Farrow as a resource, I’d nod to my dad all the same. I may push and prod a lot, but I get that he can’t tell me every little damn thing. I kept the Luna tongue piercing from him.

And he didn’t care. You know what he told me? “I’m glad your sister has you to turn to. That’s what siblings are for.”

Then he grounded her for two weeks. No comics, movies, or computers. And he took all of her cosplay costumes out of her closet.

So in the office, I nod a couple times to my dad, but another question crashes against me.

“Is she okay?” I ask firmly. “Mom. Is she alright?” One of my greatest fears is hearing and seeing bad shit from a tabloid first. I don’t want to find out information from a second source.

I don’t want to be whiplashed. And I can’t live my life fed facts from the media. It’s too warped. So that’s why I push and push for answers.

“She’s been at a great place for years, bud. She can stick her hand down my pants and be fine. She’s fine.” He smiles a faraway smile. Like he’s recalling the moment.

I nod again. “I just hate that they’re using her addiction as click-bait.”

“It’s fucked up,” Ryke agrees.

We agree. How many times have we agreed on issues? Do we always agree? And why the fuck am I psychoanalyzing us?

The media. Maximoff Hale is just like Ryke Meadows!

I’ve been infected by the media. Tabloid parasites. No one notices my internal war except maybe Connor.

Ryke balls up a couple napkins and searches for another taco in the paper bag.

My dad shrugs like the foul play is just common. I recognize that we’ve all encountered this shit, but whenever the media touches my mom or dad’s addictions, they cross a line. Incinerating all sense of morality and ethics.

“What’s fucked up is this taco,” my dad says. “Where are the extra hot sauce packets?” It’s already dripping in orange hot sauce, but my dad would put Tabasco on everything if he could.

“You’ve probably burned half your taste buds in your mortal life,” I tell him.

“Then you’re doing well by not mimicking me.”

I flip his words over and over in my head. It’s not because I wouldn’t want to be like you, I want to say. But my dad fucking knows this.

It’s the world I’m concerned about.

It’s you.

I stare off for a second, and Ryke throws a handful of hot sauce packets at my dad. They hit him square in the face.

My dad drills a glare between his older brother’s eyes, only a year apart. Ryke is near laughter.

“I’ve decided you’re no longer my brother,” he says to Ryke.

“Who the fuck am I then?” Ryke balls up another dirty napkin.

“Just Some Guy. JSG for short.”

Connor grins wider. “I’ve been wanting to rename him for some time. Though I’d have gone with something else.”

Ryke groans. “We don’t want to fucking know.”

“I do,” I chime in.

“Of course you do,” Ryke says, tossing his wadded napkins into the paper bag. “You’re always on his fucking side.”