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All five of us together. Sleeping on a tour bus with our six bodyguards. A total of eleven people on one bus. Driving across America.
“I’m always in hot water.” Farrow eats a spoonful. “It’s where I do my best work.” The sexiest smile inches up his mouth.
You know Beckett Joyce Cobalt as a principal dancer of an elite ballet company in New York City. His tattoos and extracurricular activities cause a stir for tabloids. But they also fill seats for shows. You call him the bad boy of ballet and he doesn’t bother proving you wrong.
If he weren’t Charlie’s fraternal twin, maybe we’d find common ground. But if there really are sides in my family, Beckett will never be on mine. Fair Warning: if you fuck with Beckett, I won’t hesitate to team up with Charlie and rip you limb-from-limb.
Heavy silence falls, and Thatcher pockets his phone before looking to Jane, then me. “I don’t know if it’ll mean anything to you two,” he tells us, “but I understand what you’re going through. Years ago, when I was in high school, Banks and I got the gamut of twin questions. Most were harmless but others…” He trails off, and we can easily fill in the blanks. Banks Moretti is his identical twin, and also the 24/7 bodyguard to Xander. Beckett nods strongly, also a twin. Also understanding.
“Mom was crying,” Beckett tells his sister, “and you know, Mom. She says she only sheds tears for the ones she loves. She really felt like shit for not believing you.” “Good,” Jane snaps. Beckett continues, “She also told Dad they needed to cut out their hearts for the betrayal and gift each to you in a glass jar.” Jane tries not to smile. “Encore mieux.” Even better.
“The thing about addiction is that it changes you,” he tells me. “You don’t care about the people you love. All compassion and kindness dissolve in the face of your own wants and needs.”
“You’re worried about us, and we’re the people that hurt you. Jesus Christ, it’s strange.” “You’re my parents—” “And we fucked up.” He winces and then flashes his iconic half-smile. “Where’s the condemnation and the tantrum and the I hate you so much, Mom and Dad, huh?”
“I guess I’d just rather love you than hate you. Sorry,” I say with edge that matches his.
Jane ties her hair into a messy pony. “My little brothers keep calling this the Damage Control Tour, but to me, it’s something entirely different. It’s the Preserve Jane and Moffy’s Friendship Tour, and I miss you…terribly.”
He kisses me hard and then nips my lip, fuck yes— “Separate!” We do, and Farrow fits his earpiece in with the shake of his head. “If he does this the entire trip, I’m going to strangle him.”
“Don’t ask him,” I tell Maximoff. “Donnelly tattooed Cobalts Never Die on his knee. He’d create imaginary curses for any family but that one.” Beckett grins into his swig of beer. “That’s true.”
Beckett sips his beer and watches me wipe my hands on a towel. Blue and yellow braided “friendship” bracelets are tied loose on his wrists. Identical to the ones on Sulli’s ankles.
There are nine men to two women. Please respect their space.
“For every 200 facts Farrow knows about you, you only know 2 facts about him. So what do you really even know about Farrow? I’m not trying to be a dick. Just be careful. You’re not the kind of person who lets anyone in, and he’s slipped past all your guards, hasn’t he?”
“What’s your deal with Thatcher anyway?” I ask and swig from a bottle of Ziff. “The fucker tased me.”
“Why did Thatcher single you out?” “Before I was hired to your mom’s detail, Thatcher’s twin brother was supposed to fill the position. But Lily found out that I finished security training, and she requested me.”
“No, it’s the biggest meet-and-greet tour of the past decade.” Sana rocks on the balls of her feet. “Maximoff Hale, Sullivan Meadows, Jane, Charlie and Beckett Cobalt will all be in the same room together. We haven’t seen that…ever.”
Dear World, did he just bring me a “break up” breakfast? Is that even a thing? Worst regards, a broken-hearted human.
“Bodyguard powers on point,” Donnelly says and switches his beanie for a demon-horn headband.
But I’m of the mindset that if you dish it, you better be able to take it, and I dish a fucking ton.
“What the fuck was that?” I whisper. Farrow glares at Jane. “You can’t like him.” “She doesn’t like him,” I say to Farrow. “She would’ve told me.” Jane is still staring at the spot where he left. Blue eyes enlarging like a god granted immortality to her cats. “He must’ve seen my Instagram story. I said that I had cramps and forgot to bring a heating pad on the bus.” She glances at the hot water bottle that’ll help her cramps. “She likes him,” Farrow says in pissed disbelief. “Jane.”
He could probably star in movies if he wanted to. But Farrow hates him, and Thatcher is dropping off my favorites list.
I never even dreamed about falling in love until I fell in love with him.
“Fuck you, Akara,” Oscar curses. “I bet fifty that Quinn would get the Hale sarcasm first.” I screw my cap on my water bottle. “I did it to Farrow first.” Donnelly opens a new pack of cigarettes. “We eliminated Farrow from the bet since you always rib him.”
“You can hate me for two days, Maximoff, but I’ll love you for a thousand more.”
They ask if they can shake my hand, and you know what, the strangest thing happens. My gut reaction is no. I almost never say no to a fan. I think about how Farrow Keene lingers a foot next to me. How if I shake their hands and they throw a drink, a punch or pull a knife, my bodyguard will block their path.
I know him as my passionate eighteen-year-old cousin who thrives in chaos. Who, 9 times out of 10, will light a napkin on fire if I’m at dinner with him. Who loves stories but struggles with reading.
Can’t make sense of street signs or restaurant menus. Can barely pick apart a single sentence. Who used to ask Jane, his brothers, and me to read books out loud. Hardbacks pile high in his bedroom, and for fun, he writes plays using a voice-app. He’s dyslexic, and a fucking brilliant, soulful actor who can make an audience cry with a few words. Fair Warning: even with all the mayhem he brings, I love this guy, and I’ll drive a sword straight in your gut if you fuck with him.
We applaud, and Sulli already marks 10 in the runway and question categories. And they said I’d be fucking biased. Akara takes over driving so Oscar can go change.
“I kept thinking my brother would end up with someone boring, annoying, or high-maintenance. Someone I’d hate. Kinney, Xander, and I talked about it all the time, but Moffy actually fell for someone cool.”
I glance at Farrow. He smiles and gives me a slow-burning once-over. “Never thought I’d be jealous of the imaginary version of myself, but I’m getting there.”
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. It looks real. My gut says someone just painted this bus. Outside. Right now.
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.
“The curse of having a photographic memory, I can’t get rid of her face or her wail.”
Jane lifts her mic to her pink lips. “Farrow is a lovely person.” Maximoff raises his mic. “But he’s taken.” Gasps flood the room, and my smile is killing me. Oscar whispers in my ear, “Boyfriend’s territorial.” I’m enjoying this.
“Please tell Kinney’s girl squad to stop putting crap in my room.” He zooms in on a BMX bike and rock climbing gear. “Vada thinks I’ll go dirt biking with her. I won’t. Winona thinks I’ll actually climb a goddamn mountain. She’s crazy.”
You know nothing about the Stokes family. Poppy Calloway, the oldest sister, and her husband Sam Stokes managed to steer clear of the media. Their only daughter is an actress, filming a movie in Canada right now, and I keep in touch through text. But we’re all in different stages of our lives.
“Did you talk to your mom today?” Aunt Rose has been calling Janie every single day since the tour began, and every single day, Janie has ignored the call and replied with a text: not yet.
“God, could you even imagine? What would I say? Hello Mr. Moretti, I’m in need of some oral assistance. Would you be so kind to spread my knees?” Someone clears their throat behind us. “Maximoff.” That’s not Farrow.
This is exactly why I’m fortunate to never be on a Cobalt family getaway. She just turned thirteen in January, and she speaks like she’s fifty. And this is just one Cobalt. When all seven are together, it’s an instant migraine. Stick me with the weirdo Hales any day. Fuck, I actually miss Luna right now.
but I’m cradling a human in my hands. And I’m just twenty-two.
“Tell me something that isn’t new,” I say. “I love you,” he says deeply. “And when you hurt, I hurt.”
Because despite all the bad blood, I trust Charlie with H.M.C. Philanthropies and the wealth. It’s why he’s on the board. If an apocalypse happens, Charlie Keating Cobalt is the last safety net. The one person who’d shut down any dissention.
The corner of his mouth rises. “I never plan on hitting you either, but it still happens. You have a punchable face.”
“You know, I used to believe that we were just meant to be opposites. That for all the compassion you had, I lacked. For all the responsibility Maximoff Hale acquired, I was left with none. And in everyone’s eyes, you were the hero, and I’d become the villain.” A tear rolls slowly down his cheek, dripping off his jaw.
“To be strong enough to be near you and not hate everything about you and me.”
“I wouldn’t have even bet ten bucks on Quinn being the most famous bodyguard.” But it happened. Girls are obsessed with him.
I fucking love breakfast more than cake. And this gesture crashes into my body. Hard. Shit, I’m really, really in love.
“Luna.” Donnelly picks a cigarette out of a pack. “Thought about consulting with her dad first since he went ape-shit on me about the others, but then I thought, nah. He won’t ever see this one.”
