Lovers Like Us (Like Us #2)(87)

Maximoff rubs his jaw, not happy about this. “Please be fucking careful. Trash any used condoms.” He rattles off a few more general rules to keep his cousin safe.

I couldn’t care less, and Beckett notices.

He gives me a look.

Not the iconic you’re full of bullshit face, but a brand new one that he reserves for me. I’d think I was special, but it’s a you-aren’t-good-enough-for-my-cousin face.

I consider myself extremely patient, but I’m nearing a line where I’d like to just snap go fuck yourself.

“You don’t agree with Moffy?” Beckett asks.

“Right.” I hook my radio on my belt. “I don’t care what you do with your condoms.” He’s not my client, and those girls aren’t a threat to anyone.

His brows knit together in that bullshit face. “He’s your boyfriend.”

“And I don’t always have to agree with my boyfriend.” I’m giving Beckett a pass because he’s never been in a relationship, but he’s trying to measure how much I value Maximoff off the wrong shit.

“If you two don’t agree, then maybe you’re not compatible,” Beckett says like he’s charting a pros and cons list for his cousin. With no pros and all cons.

I fit my earpiece in, done with this guy. I can take blunt honesty to my face—and Maximoff likes it, but I’m reaching a limit with his cousin.

Maximoff sends Beckett a warning glare. “Stay out of it.”

“I’m just looking out for you,” Beckett says calmly, kindly, even sincerely, and he switches his hands on his pillow.

I raise the volume on my radio. “Where’s Donnelly?”

Beckett points to a bunk about chest-high. He’s in a bunk? That doesn’t make sense. Donnelly would’ve heard me and Maximoff walk in.

Something’s not right.

I drift further into the narrowed hall, and I hear Maximoff ask Beckett if he needs anything. If he’s okay. What he always asks family.

“Beckett!” the girls call. “Come back!”

Beckett smiles warmly. “With that. As my little brother would say, ‘I bid you farewell’.” He waves in salute with his unoccupied hand, and then turns around, his bare ass in view. He disappears into the second lounge.

Maximoff almost smiles, shoulders loosening, and he passes me, texting the girls back. “Food?”

“Omelet.” I sling the bunk curtain.

Donnelly lies down with headphones on, just staring upward in a daze. He doesn’t turn, but he can see me in his peripheral.

I frown and shake his arm. “Donnelly.”

He pulls one pad off his ear and mumbles something, his South Philly lilt too thick. He only gets quiet like this when he hears from his family.

“Is it your mom?” I ask.

Donnelly tugs at his chestnut hair with a hot breath, then nods. He sits up but slumps. “She got caught with 8 grams. Been out of prison for one week.”

My frown darkens. “Man, I’m sorry.” I don’t ask what drug. I know it’s meth.

“I thought it’d be different this time.” Donnelly scrolls through his music. “Fuck me, right.” He hands me his cell. “Pick out somethin’.” He lies back down and puts a T-shirt over his face, headphones on.

I shuffle through some artists and then play “Do You Realize?” by The Flaming Lips. I tuck the phone under his pillow, and close the curtain.

I rejoin Maximoff in the first lounge. He’s about to pocket his cell. “Is Donnelly okay?”

“Not really.” I catch his wrist. “Text Jane to order him a waffle.”

He types out a message. “If he needs to go home, I’ll pay for the flight—”

“He won’t want to.” I keep a hand on Maximoff’s waist. “Whenever this shit happens, he stays away from home. It’s played out before.” I pause. “Mom problems.”

Maximoff nods. He’s aware of Donnelly’s family.

“Not that I really know what those are,” I add since I’m the only one on the bus without a mom.

Maximoff fits his cell in his back pocket. “You never had problems with your stepmom?”

“No. She’s nice, but we’re not close.”

He knows the timeline. He attended the wedding. I was a senior in high school when my father dated Rachel, then a freshman in college when they married.

Maximoff holds the back of my neck, and we draw together, legs knocking—“Ahhhh!” a girl moans again.

I roll my eyes, and then a five-note jingle bell chime plays in my pocket.

“That’s fucking creepy,” Maximoff says, referring to the noise, not what’s attached to the jingle bell notification. Because he couldn’t be less afraid of the stalker if he tried.

I dig for my phone. “Don’t worry,” I say casually. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Maximoff glares. “I feel zero worry. Nothing.” He cringes at the app. “Jesus, don’t look at it. Forget it tonight. It’s New Year’s Eve.”

“It’s New Year’s Day,” I correct, opening the @maximoffdeadhale account, “and this is my job.” My voice sinks with my stomach.

What the…fuck.

The stalker posted a close-up of the tour bus. This exact bus, and beneath the windows, the words DIE MOFFY DIE drip in blood-red paint