Lovers Like Us (Like Us #2)(100)

“Why is that?” I ask, my voice tight.

“You’re not attending Mom and Dad’s vow renewal,” he says with a shrug, like it doesn’t really matter, but he looks sad. “Just like you missed my birthday.”

My muscles bind. I try to sit up a bit more.

I should’ve fucking known he’d surface this. Our parents just announced a second wedding in April to renew their vows. The media published the story like American royalty just declared the biggest ceremony of the year.

It made so many headlines that paparazzi raced back to Philly. Like ants returning to their mud hill. And about five hours ago, we lost the last van that’d been trailing our tour bus.

My mom and dad—they did that for Security Force Omega. Knowing a wedding announcement would reroute the media’s attention. And seeing the look on the bodyguards’ faces when the roads cleared…it made me immeasurably proud to call them my parents.

Maybe in Xander’s eyes, if I really loved Mom and Dad, I’d be at their vow renewal. But it’s not that easy.

The FanCon ends the same day as the wedding. It ensures that paparazzi will stay in Philly during the rest of the tour and not bombard us. Our parents chose that wedding date, knowing I wouldn’t be able to attend.

“I made a commitment to this tour,” I tell my brother. “If I could be there, I would. You know I miss you a fucking ton.”

He squeezes the soda can, the aluminum crushing a bit. “Yeah, me too, and I get it. I guess.” He sighs heavily, his hair hanging in his face as he slumps. “Hey, so I’ve been meaning to ask you…” He glances to his right, checking for any eavesdroppers where his door used to be.

“Yeah?”

He chugs his soda and wipes his mouth on his arm. “I know Mom was addicted to masturbating or whatever. That means we could be addicted to that kind of stuff, too. So what’s like too much?”

“Too much jerking off?” I ask.

“Yeah. Is there…like a number or something?” He tucks his hair behind his ear again. I see myself at fifteen, questioning every damn thing.

“Are you having sex?” I ask, realizing we haven’t talked about this stuff in a while.

“With my hand,” he replies.

“That doesn’t count.”

“Then no.” He tosses his crushed can somewhere. It sounds like it lands on hardwood. “If you don’t give me a number, I’ll just ask Luna, and she gives shitty advice, so I know you don’t want that. Take pity on me.” He belches.

I smile, about to tell him there’s not a number, but the bus comes to a rocky, abrupt halt. A mechanical screech pitches the air.

Great.

Xander reads my face. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” I say quickly. “Something with the bus. Can I call you back?”

“Bro, just give me a number first. It’s killing me.”

“One million,” I say.

He flips me off, and I reaffirm I’ll call him back and then I hang up. I swing my legs off the bunk and jump down. Entering the crowded lounge.

From the driver’s seat, Thatcher cranes his neck over his shoulder. “Everyone okay?”

“What’s going on?” I ask.

The next words are ones I didn’t ever want to hear.

“The bus broke down.”



Prognosis: no one knows what the fuck happened.

The bus just kind of died, and now we’re waiting for a mechanic to drive out into the middle of absolutely nowhere.

All of my cousins and Donnelly, Oscar, and Jack sit on the pavement across from a wheat field. A plume of gray smoke sputters from the rear of the bus. I’ve helped my uncle fix up an old Jeep several times. So I understand cars, but this is a bus. There isn’t even a hood.

Farrow laces his boot, and I check my phone for reception again.

No signal.

I remember how Quinn and Luna flew back to Philly after crowds cleared in L.A., and right about now, I’m fucking glad she’s missing this.

After talking in private, the co-Omega leads return to our spot, and Thatcher tells us, “You all should get back on the bus.”

I give him a look. “You want my family and SFO to get on the thing that’s smoking and may catch on fire? That’s a hard no.”

Akara fits his baseball cap on. “It’s late. No one is coming until morning.”

Fog rolls in from the distance. No street lamps. Only the bus headlights illuminate our eerie setting. Pitch black. Endless empty wheat fields. It’s already the start to a bad horror movie.

But I feel safer keeping everyone out here than on an exploding bus.

Thatcher reads my resolute expression, then nods. “Okay. We’ll stay outside.”

Frogs croak and crickets chirp in the unnerving silence.

While on the ground, Beckett stretches out his legs and nods to me. “Virgins die first, right?” He doesn’t watch horror movies, but he knows I do with Kinney.

I’m about to answer, but Donnelly muses, “Protect the virgins at all costs.”

“Virgins raise their hands,” Oscar says.

Only Sulli raises her hand and scrunches her nose. “What? Really? I’m the only fucking one?”

Jane squeezes her in a side-hug. “We love you most. But not because you’re a virgin. That’s just a coincidence.”