Nobody Like Us (Like Us #13)

by Krista Ritchie

“All of this has happened before. All of this will happen again.” — Battlestar Galactica

I’m not big on death. It feels like the conclusion of something—and I’d just rather keep on running, keep on going, than celebrate any kind of ending.

On the grassy hill of a cemetery a little outside Philly, it hits me like a burst of cold December wind. My first funeral is for a Calloway. Not my mom. Not my dad. A fucking Calloway.

Feels like we were the ones who died. Like half the people here are lowering us into the ground. At least I’m with her. In life, in death…at least I’m with Luna Hale.

Luna leans into my shoulder, her warmth radiating against me, and my left arm is already around this girl. I look down at her. Residual glitter is still stuck in her light brown hair, the strands sparkling, and her round cheeks are rosy from the biting winter air. Her black puffer jacket is too short to warm the length of her body, but I tuck her close to me. She’s mine.

It’s worse when I spot Luna’s parents. Her mom practically turns her face into her husband’s chest just to avoid me. Like I’m truly disease-ridden and toxic waste.

My blood courses hatefully, and I despise this feeling. I want to release it, but after all that’s happened, I can’t figure out how. I’m afraid to live inside hatred, maybe more than I am to live inside the past.

I glance back down at Luna—she’s worth everything. She’s my everything. But I’m still partially in her world. One foot in, one foot out. Like with a big enough gust of wind, I could be blown away from her.

We both know they’re not envious of the hell we’ve been going through. No one in their right mind would be. They’re also not envious of what happened to us three days ago—the same day we learned a Calloway died. Also known as the day another member of Luna’s family walked in on me giving her head. History repeats itself in strange ways, and I don’t know what it says about me that this happened yet again. What didn’t repeat: Keeping it under wraps.

Life giveth and life taketh. I’ve got experience with death of relatives, but not necessarily death of loved ones. I can’t say how everyone will react, but I know it’ll matter to a lot of people in the families.

Loren Hale graces the living room, winter coat gone from when he checked up on the progress of the Christmas lights outside. He’s wearing a long-sleeved black tee, arrowhead necklace, and jeans.

he still has that arrowhead necklace 😭

Should I go back outside? Feels like I’m in an old spaghetti Western with Luna’s dad, and his sharp gaze is a warning that he’ll pull a pistol if I so much as breathe wrong.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say. “I know he must’ve meant something to you.” Lo’s face contorts, perplexed. “What the hell are you talking about?” What am I talking about? His confusion mounts. Fuck… Me. Shouldn’t he know? I’m more frozen. “You don’t know?” “Know what, Paul?” He shifts his weight.

is it Greg??? is that even the sisters’ dad’s name???

“Are you fucking with me?” I ask him. Say yes. I almost make the sign of the cross. I feel Catholic in my heart sometimes, even if the church didn’t want me.

“Daniel—a longtime board member of Hale Co.—wants me to say that my daughter didn’t write any of her leaked stories.” He emphasizes daughter as if I don’t know he has one. Pretty certain she’s the girl I’m in love with.

I nod a couple times. “‘Cause you sell strollers and diapers, not smut. Which doesn’t make much sense since sex is what produces babies…” I trail off. He’s glaring, and I’m trying my best not to crack a shadow of a smile. “I’m not in the mood, Paul.” “I could get you in it.” “Or I could get you out of it.”

“Maybe this Daniel guy should read Luna’s fics. He might like ‘em.” Lo wheezes out a brittle laugh. “Yeah, the only thing Daniel Perth likes is when I say yes.” “Her fics are pro-baby,” I defend. “The warrior princess on Demos has like five of them.” I cock my head in thought. “He may not like that they have horns though.”

I’m about to make a quick exit, but as soon as I chuck the dog leashes in a wicker basket, Lo says, “You better not go.” I’ve wanted him to tell me that. More than he’ll ever know. You better not go.

“You said sorry for your loss. You said he meant something to me. You know what I’m thinking? If it’s that goddamn bad, then my phone would be blowing up. Ryke would be calling me. He would’ve already told me himself.” “I have no clue why your brother hasn’t called you yet,” I say. “Maybe he’s taking a bubble bath.” Lo shoots me a look like I’m not helping. I thought it was a funny image.

“Greg Calloway,” I tell him. “Your father-in-law.” Patriarch of the Calloway sisters. Creator of Fizzle: the behemoth soda company that rivals Coca-Cola and Pepsi. Husband to the Crow. Grandfather to Luna.

knew it

Lo looks murderous. “I swear to God, Paul, if you don’t tell me, you are going to rise up my shit list—and I’ve just bumped you down.” “So you do like me⁠—” “Paul.”

I want to tell her there’s no hole too deep that I can’t climb out of. That I’d do whatever it took to help her out too. That despite all the bad luck we’ve encountered and every misstep I’ve ever made, I know we’ll still come out on top. Hope is the main thing keeping my head above water. I’m more terrified of ever losing it.

“I’ll get that,” I reach for the second backpack to help, looking forward to an exit. Hopefully with Luna. “You. Stay,” Lo says. He’s speaking to me. It’s not a hallucination or mirage.

“Why?” I glance around, trying to find the joke. Not even the couch has answers. Rug isn’t funny either. “Because this is what happens when you’re the messenger.” He gives me a half-smile. “And I don’t believe in that old motto about them.” Don’t shoot the messenger. Alright, yeah. He’s prepared to shoot me down, right out of the sky. Been there before. Experienced that.

Something tells me he’s just keeping me on my toes. Not letting me get too comfortable in case he still needs to throw me outside like yesterday’s trash. Mission accomplished. I fee...

She has no memory of her dad seriously hating me. Like wishing the bubonic plague upon my firstborn sort of hate. Joke’s on him though because I’ve never wanted kids.

“I’m mainly upset no one believed I could hear about Greg Calloway’s death while I was alone.” As if I can’t read between the lines, Lo informs me, “They thought I’d go grab a bottle of Macallan that doesn’t even exist in this dry house.” Looks like I’m stuck here. “I can vouch that it didn’t happen,” I say lightly. “Been here the whole time.” Strangely. Lo waves to me like I’m greater evidence of his sobriety. He speaks to his son. “And just so you know—and what I’ll be telling your uncles—this isn’t close to anything that could knock me over. The fact that you all thought Greg ‘I’m a shit grandparent’ Calloway would put me on my ass is insulting.”

PREACH LO

“As far as I’m concerned,” Lo continues, “he’s been dead to me for years. So has your grandmother. Any tears I shed will be ones of absolute joy.” My lips begin to rise.

“Jesus, Dad,” Maximoff grimaces. “What?” “I can’t celebrate Grandfather Calloway’s death. He meant a lot to the Cobalts. Janie loved him, and Sulli always talks about the chocolates he’d sneak her as a kid.” Lo stares at him for a long moment. “God, you’re such a Hufflepuff.” Maximoff groans. “You have your mom’s heart.” “Dad.” “That’s a good thing. Keep it. You don’t want mine. It’s ugly.” “It’s not,” Maximoff refutes. “That’s exactly what she’d say.” He smiles at him.

“You think my dad will kick Donnelly out?” I ask Farrow while digging through the freezer-burnt popsicle box. I try to find the best one for Ripley. “He better not,” Farrow says, slipping a protective look at the door. It’s reassuring knowing that Farrow will throw himself in front of Donnelly if need be. I imagine Donnelly standing opposite my dad and maybe even my brother. It’s a sad picture, and my heart pangs. If he leaves, I’ll leave with him. I try not to overthink the instinct.

Farrow adds, “It’s not like I was an over-sharer.” His face tenses while chewing on a piece of gum. “I could’ve told you or anyone else how much I love that shameless motherfucker—that he’s been my family. But I never even came close to that.” “You just did,” I say quietly.

“I wonder if I was scared that you wouldn’t like me with him.” His brows lift with a barbell piercing. “I wouldn’t have been unhappy about it.” I start to smile. “Really?” “You make sense together,” Farrow says. “You’ve likely always made sense since you first met him, but I didn’t really see it until later.”

“You’ve seen him with other girls, right? Did they make sense with him too?” Farrow arches his brows again. “No.” No is a good answer but not a completely satisfying one. I want a million words of explanation. “Why not?” “Because most of the girls I saw him with—they just wanted to get laid. You’ve seen him.” He jerks his head to the door. “He looks like a fun night. Not like someone you take home to Mom and Dad.” It’s hard for me to see only the surface of Donnelly.

My first glimpse of him at the hospital—he was more than just the sexy scattered tattoos, the intriguing piercings, the sculpted muscle and lush chestnut hair. He was loving in the way he approached me. In the way he held me. He was daring. In the way he fought to stay at my side. And his magnetic, luminous smile always seemed to touch his blue eyes. I could write a thesis on the Attractiveness of Paul Donnelly, but it suddenly hits me.

“I want fast. Like super-sonic speed fast. And maybe I’m just like all the other girls he’s hooked up with—because I, too, would love to get laid by Donnelly.”

“Farrow,” I plead. “—he’s eight years older than you. You can’t remember having sex. I’m not telling him to do shit if he thinks it’s too soon. The one thing Donnelly is careful with is you.”

“Idon’twanthimtobecareful,” I slur together. “Not with this. I want him to destroy me. In the sexiest, hottest way.” I say it to my lap but loud enough that Farrow hears. I lift my head. Farrow chews slower on his gum. “Whatever your kinks are—you need to tell him, not me.”

“Did I ever offer to donate my eggs?” Farrow is taken aback. “I didn’t?” My pulse races. “No—” “Why didn’t I?” I ask him fast, breathing harder. “I would’ve wanted to.” He combs his fingers through his ash-brown hair. “Shit.” He glances at the door, like maybe he’s hoping Maximoff will come assist him with this conversation. I frown. “You would’ve said no,” I realize—maybe that’s why I never tried. I knew his answer. “You would’ve picked Jane⁠—” “No,” he cuts in, his eyes glassing but he fights away the rise of emotion. “If you offered, it would’ve been harder not to pick you.”

Donnelly saunters in, no one else, and he shuts the door gently behind him. Just seeing him makes my whole being inflate with oxygen, with life. He makes my blood-cells sing.

“You hungry?” Donnelly asks, opening the fridge. At first I think he’s asking Farrow, but they both look to me for the answer. “I could eat,” I say, fighting a smile. Is this what a boyfriend would do? Butter and jelly my toast? Pop my Pop-Tart?

Donnelly examines the fridge’s contents, then glances at Farrow. “Think Lo will mind if I crack some eggs?” “He’ll definitely say something.” “And I’ll definitely say something cuter back.” Donnelly grins, and Farrow rolls his eyes, to which Donnelly just laughs.

“I want him here,” I tell my sister. “Well, I don’t,” Kinney glares at him. “Not until you go back to your messed up family and make sure, with absolute certainty, that they will never, ever, ever hurt my sister again.” Raw pain flares in her eyes, and I can almost see how distraught she must’ve been that night I was kidnapped.

“Kinney, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” “I know exactly what happened,” she retorts. “He’s done enough.” That’s not Farrow. It’s my dad. He’s standing in the doorway, Moffy beside him, and he tells Kinney, “Put down the pitchforks.” “Dad.” “He’s done enough,” Dad says so severely that Kinney blinks back a surge of sudden tears, then races out of the kitchen, pushing past our oldest brother.

“Raiding my pantry?” he asks Donnelly with a disapproving cock of his head. Uh-oh. “Go ahead. Help yourself to the eggs, the stale Froot Loops, the curdled milk. Don’t forget the good stuff. Rat poison, top shelf.” He flashes a half-smile. Rat poison? My mouth falls open. Donnelly grins. “Appreciate you sharing your favorite food with me, Papa Hale.” “Luna’s dad,” he corrects, then shakes his head at me, like I’ve chosen to fall in love with the most grating specimen on planet Earth. On the contrary, Donnelly is the most mesmerizing earthling I’ve met thus far. I doubt anyone could trump him.

“I’m making your daughter food,” Donnelly tells him. “That alright?” Dad wears another dry smile. “Only if you fear my every waking move while you do it.”

“Dad,” I say with widened eyes. “What? He’s in my house. I’m your father.” He unspools a bag of bagels and slips one in a toaster. “No guy you’re dating should feel at ease while they’re here. They need to know with one wrong move, I will have them sobbing in their ugly little pickup trucks with their testicles rolling halfway down the street and into the sewer where they belong.” Donnelly glances back from the si...

“My house rules. No sex under my roof. Do not break it,” Lo warns with a cold glare. He shoves a bed pillow in my chest. He can’t be any blunter. “Dry house,” I say. “Got it.” He’s unamused. Not tickling his funny bone tonight, also got it. “You want your dick wet?” he asks. “Don’t even think about my daughter. Think about the freezing pool I’m going to drown you in. It’s right outside.” He points to the window that faces the backyard and then flashes a half-smile. “Night, Paul.” He pats my shoulder, leaving me alone in the guest room.

“Fuck.” I dig the heels of my palms in my eyes. “Someone just died, Paul.” I cringe just hearing my own name from my own mouth, not even knowing why I’m using it. Other than the more Lo says it, the more I’m reassociating the name to myself. Feels fucking weird.

Yeah, I’d rather be descending into the gorgeous unearthly depths of Luna Hale. No contest.

My eyes ping around the many black-framed X-Men movie posters—a shrine to Lily and Lo’s adoration of Cyclops, and maybe Rogue…and that shape-shifting chick who I would’ve said with absolute certainty was a blue alligator until I watched the films.