Nobody Like Us (Like Us #13)

by Krista Ritchie

I nod a few times. “I’m proud of you.” I feel it in my chest. Pride for my friend. He tries to smile. “I don’t think I deserve it.”

“I do like him, Donnelly, but I hate what he said in the elevator. I don’t think he really even knows you.” “Why do you say that?”

“Because if he did, he’d never question how you’d treat Luna. Or your motives behind getting with her.” He lets out a laugh in thought. “I can name over a dozen situations where girls, too drunk to consent, tried getting in your pants. You gave them water. You tried calling them a cab. Sometimes they were so relentless, you were struggling to even stay at the bar without being groped, and you just took it.”

“Still,” he says, “I doubt there’s a more perfect match, for either of you. It makes so much sense in hindsight, Charlie was shocked we didn’t see it sooner.”

And I’m now on stable ground with my favorite one. When we stand up to start gathering weight plates, I hug him. Glad to have him back. I know he feels the same.

“I’d enjoy throwing you on a bed more.” It falters her stride. “Or I’d push you against the wall—I think you’d like the wall,” Beckett says, his voice so sensual and smooth, if I were blindfolded I’d believe he was fucking her out in the open. Jo has lost her bearings. Their eyes are locked.

My guy has a way with the ladies. Seen it time and time again. But this one is supposed to be off-limits. Oscar’s sister and all. Still, I’d ship it. Mostly since I’ve been sensing how much he likes her.

“How’s that mattress on your back? Still heavy?” Beckett gives me a brief look like, see, she’s a borderline brat. Then says to her, “Why? You want to test it out.” “That lumpy overused thing?” I try not to laugh. A smile pulls at his lips. “If that’s what you have to tell yourself.”

“What’s wrong with Tricky Dicky?” Jo snaps, “Why does there have to be anything wrong with him?” “With a name like Tricky Dicky?” “You’re literally called the bad boy of ballet. I wouldn’t touch you with a fifty-foot pole.” Oof.

My guy Beckett is the worst Eagles fan. He’s seated on the window nook and chatting with his brothers. He lets out a half-hearted cheer when a major play goes down.

It’s been easier to bond with Ryke during the first quarter of this game than it has every single interaction with Lo. Don’t know why that is.

As we’ve fallen deeper into this relationship, we’re just doing what’s natural and we’re naturally more physical with each other.

“I admit, I like the shrimp smoking on a cigarette a little more.” That one is right next to my Eagles tat. I laughed. “Girl, you already have my heart. Stop trying to steal it again.”

My mom’s last name—complicated.

Lo’s glower softens on them. “We didn’t know you were dating the goddamn Hulk.” “Me neither.” Luna sniffs, rubbing at her eyes. Her voice sounds a little brighter. “I’ll still love him when he turns green.”

Ryke’s hardened gaze bounces between me and Lo. Then he gives him a look I can’t decipher. “Jesus, I’m not going to murder him,” Lo says. “He’s fine.” He nods towards the house. “Go back to the game. Wave a foam middle finger. Flirt with your wife.” “I’m not worried about you murdering him,” Ryke retorts.

Before he leaves, he draws the TV out and powers-on the game with a remote. Then he sheds his jacket, handing it to me. The brothers share a glare-off. I’m wondering if I should take the jacket or not. Is that like siding with the Meadows? I only wanna be on Team Hale. I shake my head at Ryke. “Nah, I like the cold. Keeps my brain all frosty and my dick limp.” Lo waves the spatula at me like I’ve made my point. Ryke shoves the jacket in my chest. “Just fucking have it.” As he leaves, I feel bad I didn’t thank him. Could’ve really kissed his toes for putting on the game out here. I don’t think Lo would’ve confessed to having an outdoor TV.

“My brother thinks you’re too big of a stressor for me,” Lo admits. “What do you think?”

Lo grimaces at himself. “I never want you to see me and group me in with your dad—I never want to do anything to you that’d warrant that. But maybe I already have.”

“You’re a good dad to Luna, to Xander, to all your kids. One of the greats.” I touch my temple and point to him. “I’m mentally alright. You didn’t fuck me up. I’m not a child you raised. I’m the adult who’s dating your daughter.”

“My brother is pushy, but he’s been the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Time and time again. Most days, I don’t feel like I deserve him, but that’s my own shit I have to work through.”

“No, I really don’t,” he says with a deep sincerity. “I’m trying to understand if I’m cataclysmically weaker than you or you’re just better at hiding it. Because how—how do you go through what we did and just shrug it off?”

Then he says, “I care about you.”

“It bothers you that fucking much,” he says sharply. “To have someone care about you?”

“I was there, Paul,” he reminds me. “I. Was. There.” I see his breath. “You don’t have to tell me what you felt or what you went through. I was there.” “I wish you weren’t,” I whisper, my voice low. “Why?”

“I’m just not used to this,” I say.

“I know I haven’t been easy⁠—” “No, it’s not you,” I say. “I’m not used to this from…from…” His gaze sinks into mine, and a realization slackens his shoulders. “From a parent?”

I end up choking out, “I’ve never needed it. Maybe at one point, when I was a kid, but…that time is long gone, you know?” “No, I don’t know,” he shakes his head. “Because at twenty-nine, I still hoped my dad cared about me. I needed that from him up until the day he died.”

Except that he’d like to meet me⁠—” “That’s not happening,” I cut in. “You’re not meeting him.” He glares. “Let’s table it.” “Nah, let’s burn it.”

“I had a dad who said some stuff that I’d never want reflected on me. Not in a million years. If you think I’ll judge you for who your father is, you’re wrong.” “You’re still gonna be worried about your daughter being associated with me⁠—” “I’m not worried about that anymore, Paul. Look at where we are.”

“I don’t have friends to bury.” “How’d you know I want to be cremated?” Lo smiles at that. “You think we’re friends?” “Getting there.” My grin softens, remembering my goal. Be best friends with Loren Hale. It’s so close, I can taste it. That juicy scent of a burning hot dog.

“No,” I tell him. “I don’t need to think about it. She is my future.” It’s so clear. It’s so bright. “It’s all I know.”

“If you ever change your mind and need to talk about that night, I’m here.”

“You asked me…if you’re weaker than me or if I’m just better at hiding it.” I glance over at him. “I’m just better at running from it, I think.” “Running from it, huh?” Lo says in thought. “That sounds exhausting.”

“I’ve never hated parts of myself until now. But how the hell do you stop being angry at how much pain the girl you love was put through?”

“She’s okay,” Lo breathes.

“She’s not in pain. She’s okay,” Lo nods to me a few times. “Luna survived with you that night. It might not feel like it because of her memories, but she got out. You got her out, Donnelly.” His eyes redden as emotion barrels into him too. “She’s not in pain. She’s the happiest I’ve seen her in a long time.”

Lo leans closer and puts a hand on my shoulder like I’ve seen fathers do to sons in movies. “It’s okay.”

“It’s okay,” he breathes. “It really is.”

“She doesn’t expect more from you.” His brows furrow. “Why are you expecting so damn much from yourself?”

Her dad squeezes my shoulder. “You’re doing your best. It’s enough.”

He’s asking about the cover-up tattoo on my other calf. I inked over the names of all the clients I’ve had. Xander’s included. “I finished it the other day,” I tell him. It’d been a geometric mess. Didn’t have time until recently to fix it. I managed to reconfigure the lines into an otherworldly planet. Bluish and purple, how I imagine Thebula looks from the stars.

“Don’t remind me,” Lo says sharply. “Because it does make me want to commit murder.”

“If you need—” Lo’s voice is cut short as we both shoot to our feet. No…no fucking way. Our defense (never said a bad word about ‘em) just grabbed the ball after a fumble. Ten seconds left on the clock. He runs. He runs farther. And farther. He makes it to the endzone. A pick 6. A pick fucking 6! Lo cheers, and we’re somehow hugging. I’m screaming so hard my lungs hurt. I can’t believe it. The Eagles win the Super Bowl.

“I think you’re meant to be.”

“They have witnessed and predicted many romances, and they know love. I see yours, Luna. And my beautiful, radiant daughter once told me, ‘There are people in the universe who make you feel at home.’ And Donnelly made you feel like your galaxy is the happiest, most exhilarating place to be. That is love.”

“What’s up?” “Your dick,” I tell him, unable to stop myself. He laughs. “Facts.”

Luna’s Volvo, a security SUV, and Mazda are parked near the two pumps. Leaned up against the cars are Akara and Banks…then Quinn, Gabe, and Frog. And Oscar. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest. He’s against the door of the Mazda. He must’ve taken his husband’s car. And I realize, they aren’t here for Luna. They came here for me. I love my family. It crashes against me, and I look down at the pavement, trying not to fucking cry. When I get it together, I look up and I nod to them in thanks, unable to speak. They don’t need to say anything to me. Words don’t feel as good as what they just did. Being present. Being there. I inhale a strong breath. “You called the cavalry?” O’Malley asks me. “Nah. They just came.”

I laugh, and I tell everyone, “I’m alright.” This time, I really believe it. Akara nods to me, and he’s one of the last to pile into the cars. As though ensuring I really am good.

“I’m happy for Luna,” Lily professes. “I’m happy my daughter found someone so completely and utterly compatible for her. Even before her amnesia, the way she talked about you was…magical.”