Lovers Like Us (Like Us #2)(92)

“Kinney!” I yell.

She opens a drawer and grabs a carving knife.

“You can’t cut a door down—stop.” She’s going to hurt herself trying to unlock his room. Kinney races back upstairs.

Farrow looks at Akara. “She has a knife.”

“Kinney, look at me,” I growl. The camera is on the floor. She chips at the wood.

I hear footsteps and a faraway voice. “Kinney, I’m coming! Back away!” That’s Banks Moretti.

“Kinney,” I force.

She angles the phone to her face. “Moffy, I can’t just…” she cries, the knife still in hand.

“Please,” I say with everything in my fucking soul, “go to your room. Wait there.”

More footsteps.

Kinney sobs and drops to her knees in a heap.

I want to be in Philly. Where I can pick my sister up and carry her far, far away from this. “Shh, it’s okay,” I say, chained and shackled here. Watching her pain and heartbreak through a phone screen.

Goddammit.

My eyes burn.

I’m numb. Ignoring a weight that descends on my body.

Kinney flips the camera, not wanting me to see her cry. But now I see the hall, his bedroom door and flaked wood.

Heels clap, and Aunt Rose rounds the corner fast. Urgent.

Banks Moretti runs past, and behind Rose comes Uncle Ryke and Aunt Daisy, her blonde hair blowing as she runs towards my sister.

Rose notices Kinney too and squats. “Kinney, give me.” She tears the knife out of Kinney’s fingers, strokes her head, and stands at the ready.

Daisy does what my mom would want to do. She wraps her arms around Kinney and hugs her tight. Kinney bawls in our aunt’s shoulder.

“We’re here, we’re here,” Daisy whispers in the sweetest voice.

Banks and Ryke kick the door twice, and they disappear inside the room with Rose. Agonizing seconds pass. More security floods the hall, then about four of my younger cousins rush in behind. Bodyguards restrain them from reaching Xander’s room.

Kinney must drop her phone. Screen is black, and voices jumble, too hard to piece apart the chatter.

I turn my head to check Luna. Christ, she was supposed to be on a plane back to Philly today. But she missed her flight five hours ago. Thanks to the crowd outside.

Luna is on the hotel bed, burying her head beneath her Moody Blues shirt, but Jane holds my sister against her chest comfortingly.

I look at Farrow. Instinctive. His hand is off my shoulder while he clutches his phone.

His eyes bore into my eyes. I inhale, but my defenses shut down any emotion that fights to surface. Numb.

I’m numb, and he knows not to touch me or hug me. Because I’ll flinch. I don’t want to be cut open and bare. Not here, not with an audience.

He nods, and I don’t just see an I love you written in his softening gaze. I feel it growing like a light inside of me.

“What was that?” Akara is on the phone, the only line of communication now. “Okay…” He eyes all of us. “Xander’s okay.”

I’m caging breath. Air still strained.

“He…” Akara stares off as he listens to the other person. “He was in his bathtub with headphones on…okay, thanks. Hey, yeah, okay…” He lowers his cell and tells us, “He didn’t hurt himself. He’s on the phone with his mom and dad right now. Lo wants Alpha to remove the hinges on his door.”

Now everyone collectively breathes together.

He’s okay.

My brother is okay.

“Thank God,” Oscar mutters.

Donnelly plops on the bed. Quinn blows out the biggest breath and crouches in a squat.

Charlie returns to his spot on the floor.

My brother is okay.

I crack my stiff neck. My eyes are dry and sear like I took a branding iron to each one.

And as I look around the hotel room, I start thinking about Omega. How these six people just shared in a private, raw moment that the world won’t ever see. Or feel. Or know.



After an hour of family calls, phones are pocketed. Heavy silence descends. We’re all scattered around the hotel room. I cross my arms, standing rigid beside Farrow who leans his shoulder blades on the window. Relaxed, at ease. Cool.

His demeanor is like a fucking drug. Almost entering my bloodstream and helping me breathe.

Akara faces everyone again. Tension builds towards the conversation that my phone abruptly spliced. I’ve been thinking about Omega’s fate.

Imagine replacing them with six other guys—it seems inconceivable, wrong. Like shuttling a family to the moon without a spacesuit.

The next bodyguards in line for hire may not care as much. May not love our families as much. May not want to be here for reasons greater than money and fame. And I don’t just feel lucky that these six guys exist in our lives. Here today.

I feel like they’re necessary. Integral pieces of our world that not many others can really fill.

So I break the quiet. “We’re not firing any of you,” I tell them. “If you want to fucking quit, you’ll have to quit voluntarily.”

Quinn raises a hand. “I’m not quitting.”

“It’s not up to you, little bro.” Oscar nods to Akara and then Thatcher. “The Tri-Force makes the call.”

Dear World, want to gift me that mind-reading superpower? Stat. Sincerely, a tense human.