He goes rigid. “What happened?”
Farrow leaves the door and joins Maximoff. He clasps his hand.
Moffy lets out a breath, but his shoulders never loosen. His attention is on me, waiting.
“It’s not so terrible,” I tell him. “Really, it’s not.”
He blinks. “Is it about your brothers?”
“No.”
“My brother?” He points to his chest.
I pause. “Not quite.”
He stiffens. “My sisters?”
“Sister,” I correct.
“Luna?”
I nod.
Farrow runs his thumb over his lip piercing. “You said this happened again, so that means you walked in on Luna having sex?”
Maximoff cringes. “Christ.”
“Yes.” I hug my clipboard. “It was as unlucky and unfortunate as walking in on you two.”
“But you didn’t tell me when it happened,” Maximoff realizes. “Why?”
“Luna asked me not to, and I promised her.”
Farrow processes fast and tells Moffy, “Your sister thought you’d be pissed.”
“Oui.”
Maximoff fixates on the wall in deep contemplation. “I already know she’s having sex, and I’d never shame her for that. I just want her to be safe, so I really don’t get why she thinks I’d overreact.” His eyes hit mine with pure brotherly protectiveness. “Did the guy hurt her? Is she okay?” He’s already storming towards the door.
I’m suddenly very thankful we’re locked in this room.
Farrow sprints in front and blocks him, a hand to his chest. “Wolf scout, let’s hear Jane out before we go on a fictional manhunt.”
He glares. “If someone hurt my little sister, it’s not going to be a fucking fictional manhunt. I’m going to kill him with a switchblade laced in arsenic.”
I try not to smile. My best friend has murderous hyperboles that my mom would applaud in a heartbeat.
“You don’t even know why you’d be committing murder,” Farrow says matter-of-factly. “Or who you’re supposed to be killing.”
“She’s fine. Really, really fine,” I emphasize. “She enjoyed the moment greatly. It was completely consensual.”
Maximoff tries to relax, his hand sliding back in Farrow’s hand. “Who was it? What’d they do?” His tone is sharp, so it sounds like he’s asking for a culprit and a motive.
I take one breath.
And I say just it. “I walked in on Paul Donnelly giving Luna great head—the great was her assessment, though from my vantage it did look very pleasing…” I trail off, so sweltering hot that I can barely think straight.
Farrow’s jaw has dropped. Shock slowly washes over his face, and he swings his head to me. “Donnelly?”
“Yes.”
Maximoff lets go of his hand, just to set his palms on his head. Like he’s winded and attempting to catch his breath. He spins to Farrow. “You told me not to worry about him.”
“It was consensual,” I remind them. “Luna asked Donnelly to go down on her.”
They’re both staring at me like I’m speaking an entirely different language.
“It was for science,” I add, unhelpfully. “She enjoyed it.” Yes, stick to this point.
Maximoff’s glower intensifies.
I give him a disapproving look. “Not that it matters. At all apparently.”
He groans, frustrated. “That matters. That’s not why I’m glaring.” He rakes his hands through his thick dark-brown hair, then lowers his arms to his side. “Are you sure it was Donnelly?”
“Positive.”
“You’re sure it was consensual?”
“Yes. No doubt.”
Farrow leans casually on the antique dresser. “Shit, how much did you see?”
“Far too much.”
“When?” Maximoff asks.
I explain the entire ordeal. Every little detail of how I went to find a condom and instead walked in on Luna and Donnelly, and somehow this explanation is the easiest and breeziest compared to everything else tonight.
By the end, Thatcher has returned and begun unscrewing the hinges. I’ve expected Maximoff to be upset, so I’m not surprised when he charges for the door.
Farrow catches his arm. “Where are you going?”
“To have a tea party with a bodyguard, who apparently decided to play Bill Nye the fucking Science Guy with my sister.”
I whisper to the door. “Thatcher?”
“Yeah?”
“Work slowly.”
“Copy that.” He understands that it’s better if Maximoff does not confront Donnelly right now.
“The door is jammed,” Farrow tells him. “You’re not going anywhere, so just relax, relax.” He cups his jaw.
His eyes are reddened. “I’m totally relaxed.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “More relaxed than you.”
“Keep trying because you’re not even close yet.”
“Yeah?” He holds onto Farrow’s waist. “I feel pretty goddamn Zen.”
I smile, but my lips fall as Maximoff hangs his head and pinches his raw eyes.
“Donnelly was doing what Luna asked,” I remind him.
He winces, looking up again. “Are we really going to justify this?” He turns to me. “She was eighteen.”
Farrow tosses his head from side to side. “Technically, she was about to be nineteen in a couple weeks.”
Maximoff glares. “Donnelly could’ve said no. You told me I could trust him with her.”
“And you still can—”
“He went down on her!” Maximoff yells and looks between us. “Am I living in the Twilight Zone? Why are you two okay with this?” Hurt pulses in his eyes, and he puts his hands on top of his head again, distressed.
I step forward. “Because Luna is an adult and she asked him.”
Maximoff is stone, staring painfully at the ceiling.
Farrow stands off the dresser and nears him. “Donnelly is good people. I know he has some rough edges, but he’d never hurt Luna. I’d swear on my life to that.”
“Would you swear on mine?” Maximoff asks.
He runs his tongue over his molars. “No. But not because I don’t trust Donnelly.” He loves Moffy terribly so, and he’s the type of person who’d never put his love in harm’s way, even at the sake of making a point.
Maximoff crouches, forearms on his knees. His adrenaline must be pumping. He looks up at me. “He’s eight years older than her, Janie.”
“I know,” I say softly. “But Aunt Daisy and Uncle Ryke have a seven-year age difference. It’s not so different.”
His gaze darkens at the floor. “Do you know how much shit they got for that? The media eviscerated them. My little sister gets piled on every damn day, and I keep thinking about how more people are going to shit on her. She just left high school bullies behind.” He slowly rises to try to be at height with Farrow. He rotates to him. “I know I sound like a fucking hypocrite. This is exactly why my dad didn’t want me to date you. He wanted easy for me, and dating a bodyguard was light-years from that.”
My eyes soften. “Relationships were never going to be easy,” I remind him. “For any of us.”
Maximoff ponders this.
“Also to note,” I say aloud. “Media has been speculating that she’s with Quinn.” They’ve paired all of SFO with their clients. “So it’s not as though they’ll shit on her for dating a bodyguard.”
“Quinn is around her age,” Maximoff rebuts. “Donnelly isn’t.”
Farrow says, “Luna is strong as hell.”
Maximoff almost eases. “Yeah. I know she is. But I’m not the brother I want to be if I don’t give the third-degree to every guy that wants in her pants.”
“Every guy?” Farrow whistles. “Man, you have some catching up to do.”
“Pretty sure only one guy wants in her pants and he’s downstairs.”
“You’re definitely off.”
“No.”
He raises his
brows. “Pretty sure thousands of guys want in Luna Hale’s pants.”
He blinks slowly into a glare. “Thank you for that visual.”
His lips rise. “Happy to provide.”
Maximoff growls away an emerging smile and looks to the locked door. “Is that open yet? Donnelly is due for a third-degree.”
“Soon,” I tell him.
“He can handle whatever you give him,” Farrow says. “I’m more concerned about what happens when your dad finds out.”
Maximoff shakes his head. “That can’t happen.”
Oh thank God.
I expel a huge breath and tap the door. “You can work faster.”
“Already there,” Thatcher confirms.
Maximoff cracks his knuckles. “You said this was a one-time thing, right? Because Luna told me she’s the one who ran out of birth control.”
“A one-time thing, yes.” I nod. “At least, that’s what they said.”
Farrow makes a face like he’s slightly disbelieving. I don’t buy it either, but that’s only because Thatcher divulged to me what he witnessed on the dance floor at the pub. Lots of pelvic grinding.
“To be on the safe side,” Farrow says. “I’m going to let Donnelly know Luna’s not on birth control—or we should tell Luna to tell him. In case they are still having sex.”
Maximoff’s face turns to fire again. “I’m going to ki—lightly murder him. No arsenic.”
“Still murder, wolf scout.”
“New plan,” I say. “For the sake of your sister, let’s not confront either of them about this while we’re all stuck in a house. Blasting her sex life to sixteen people would be a terrible embarrassment that might scar her for life.” I’ve already endured enough mortifying moments to last everyone a lifetime.
Farrow grabs a black V-neck off the ground. “Smart.” While he dresses, he zeroes in on Maximoff. As do I. We wait for him.
He’s in deep thought again.
“Moffy,” I say. “Let’s not make this worse for her.”
He instantly nods. “Alright. We’ll wait.” We only want the best for our siblings, and he has to be hard on them to help them. I have to be hard on Beckett too, but being a hardass isn’t in my arsenal like it’s in his.
I feel like I’m failing Beckett every single day.
And I’m worried Plan Z might be implemented while we’re here.
Our heads turn as Thatcher removes the entire door, and I walk into his arms. He constantly checks the hall to make sure Tony or O’Malley don’t appear and witness our embrace.
Behind us, Maximoff and Farrow are chest-to-chest in a long hug. I can’t really tell who is holding who.
“You’re burning up.” Thatcher has my cheeks in his hands.
“Embarrassment is a very hot and mighty thing,” I say softly. “Is midnight here yet?”
He checks his watch. “An hour till.” His eyes flit to my best friend. “You should tell him what you told me. He’ll be happy for you.”
“I will.” I smile, emotion building because this man wants me to share my life with my best friend too. No jealousy. No hurt. Just understanding.
I love him.
Fear pinches at the feeling, just slightly, but I slip my hand in his back pocket. Not wanting him to go.
I’d like to spend midnight in his arms, but we can’t if Tony is in view. “Will the others notice if we stay up here for a little while longer?”
“No.”
So we do. And we hide from the harsher realities that will come all too soon.
35
JANE COBALT
13 Days Snowed-In
“If we do this, there is no return,” I tell Charlie.
I want to ensure this is the right choice and he’s not just zipping down to the last resort plan because he’s been cooped up in Mackintosh House.
And the last resort is also known as Plan Z.
Charlie has fingers to his lips, gazing out the window. The tower room is the highest point in the house with panoramic views of the highlands. Snow drifts softly from the sky, the storm letting up today. Hopefully tomorrow. Hopefully it will all just melt and we can finally leave.
But until then, we have graver issues.
Thatcher stands stoically against green wallpaper. An old black-and-white sketch of the Holyrood Palace is framed in gold and hangs near his broad shoulder. We share a serious look off my brother’s silence.
Charlie is usually confident about whichever road he drives down. Even if that street is riddled with regrets and hatred, he will meet all at full speed.
A moment passes.
Just one more, and his yellow-green eyes land on me. Assuredness etched in his irises. “We’re doing this.” He seizes his cane that leans up against the windowsill. “Beckett still hasn’t made up with Sulli, and he’s made no promises not to use coke.” He lets out a dry laugh. “What’s even the point of bringing him here if he’s going to keep using drugs the second he returns to ballet?”
No point.
Not really.
We just delayed the inevitable.
It’s why Plan Z always existed from the start, but it’s one Thatcher, Charlie, and I didn’t want to have to execute.
Maximoff can’t even be here because if he’s in the room, we all worry that Beckett will try to incite Charlie and Maximoff’s feud to redirect the attention off himself.
I try reverting to a different option. “Mom and Dad know. Akara told them about Beckett, and they’ve most likely had suspicions long before. We could wait and see their point of attack. I’m sure they’ve been planning one.”
Charlie rolls his eyes, frustrated. “We know what they’ll do, Jane. They’ll find a way to take ballet from him. Just like we’ve done during this trip. Only it’ll be permanent, and he’ll be a fucking shell after it happens.”
My blood chills.
Beckett needs ballet.
It’s his soul.
His passion.
“Mom and Dad taught us to be self-reliant, did they not?” Charlie questions. “We’re working together and solving this now. We’ve dragged our feet for too many weeks.”
Thatcher adjusts his earpiece. “What happens if this doesn’t work?” His voice is deep and serious.
“It’s going to work,” Charlie says, confidence emblazoning him. He wraps himself in it like a cloak. I wonder if the sentiment conceals something else underneath or if his core is just as certain.
I trust him with everything I have. And so I take a deeper breath and say, “Go get him.”
Charlie braces some of his weight on his cane and passes me for the door. He pauses just to whisper, “Que l’audace soit mon amie.” And then he leaves.
His words ring my head. It’s one of our family’s favorite Shakespeare quotes, and in French, it’s become one of our many mottos.
Boldness be my friend.
I meet Thatcher’s gaze. “Do you think we’re making the wrong choice?”
“No.” Zero hesitation in his voice. “Any choice you both agree on, together, is going to be the right one.” His jaw hardens and he blinks. “But I can’t lie to you—it’s gonna be hard for me to just stand here and watch you do this. It’s going against every fucking instinct I have.”
I know.
“Do you want to leave?” Even offering him that option nearly steals my breath. I want him here. I need him here.
That need nearly pummels me, but I welcome the strong feeling in this second. I could shout from the rooftops of the world.
I need him!
I need him!
I need Thatcher Moretti, the love of my life, my boyfriend and safety and comfort and armor!
“I’m not leaving.” He’s as confident as my brother, and I’m quite certain that I’m the one floundering.
I’m the one flopping around in this room. In less than sixty-seconds, I’m going to need to pack on every piece of battle gear I have.
Charlie isn’t the one directing this plan.
/> I am.
“You’re not leaving me,” I repeat, letting this lift my chin and pull back my shoulders.
“I’m staying here,” Thatcher adds. “Even if it fucking kills me. I’m not moving a muscle.”
Emotions tunnel through me. I’ve never had fealty from someone who isn’t family, and this isn’t the fealty of a bodyguard. Because if he were, he’d stop me. He’d walk out of the room.
He’s here as someone else.
My confidante in life. My right-hand. My wingman.
My hope and future.
I blink back the feeling, the surge, the swell that causes my breath to stagger.
“What do you need to tell me?” Beckett questions, just having stepped inside the tower room. Floral tattoos spindle down his arm, only in a black muscle tee. Beads of sweat are built on his forehead, and damp pieces of his dark hair hang over a rolled bandana.
Like he just finished a workout.
He must not be cold because he glides across the room and leans against the windowsill. The chilliest area.
Charlie closes the door and flips the lock, but Beckett doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He just crosses his arms, calm but not content.
He looks anxious these extra days here and without contact back home. “What is it?”
“Do you plan to use drugs when we return home?” I ask.
Beckett lets out an aggravated breath and looks from me, to Charlie, then to Thatcher, realizing that this is about cocaine. “I’ve been in Scotland for almost three weeks—have you seen withdrawal symptoms from me even once?”
Stay strong. I don’t cower. I take three steps, closing the gap between us. “No, but that doesn’t change the facts. You’re using coke every day you have a performance. That’s six times a week.” My eyes widen. “That’s not healthy. You could have a heart attack, a stroke, and you’re destroying your nasal lining from snorting it.”
“I don’t need a Web M.D. side effect rundown, sis. And if you want to give me one, you better tell him too.” He nods towards his twin brother.
Charlie rolls his eyes. “Please.” The please is a bitter one.
“No.” Beckett stands up to his full height, two inches shorter than Charlie. “You act like I’m the addict because I’m doing coke. But you’re taking God-knows-what from God-knows-who. I mean, peyote? Really?”
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