Unlucky Like Us (Like Us, #12)

by Krista Ritchie

Wow. Alright. I want to smoke, but I can’t in a hospital. “Could this night get anymore fucked up?” Farrow stares right at me in a way that decimates my insides. It can.

Lo grinds his teeth, his gaze lethal on me. “I don’t know if I want to hug you or strangle you.” I can barely breathe. “I’ve got that effect on people.” I nod to him. “I’m not really into strangling though. I vote hug.” “I vote you better get out of my face.”

“Wait here. I’ll be back to talk about Luna.” Lo turns to me. “Take a good look, Paul. Maybe you’ll understand what it means to wait.” Oof, right to the nuts. Not exactly the jugular, but it definitely hurt something.

“Something wrong?” She flicks my vein. “No. You should be used to this.” I know what she’s insinuating. Needles. Syringes. Shooting up. “I don’t get my blood drawn on the regular,” I say lightly, eyeing the B2 door. Luna. Racing after her is the only thing that makes sense to me. “I meant the needle,” she states, wielding a needle. I’m taken aback by how forward she is. “Not used to those either, Nurse Becky—fuck,” I curse as she stabs me outside the vein. “Sorry, and it’s Macy.” Apologies aren’t on her face. “You sure it’s not Ratched?”

Coast is clear, and in four steps, I reach the door labeled B2. I knock first, then hear, “Come in.” Her soft voice almost sends me straight to the moon. It does send me right to her.

I’d categorize him as out-of-this-world sexy, and maybe it’s not just because of the tattoos scattering his carved arms and ridged abs. It’s not even his height or his handsome face. It’s how he’s coming towards me like a bright comet soaring through a darkened galaxy…headed for a favored planet. Headed for me…

Pushing aside the frustrations and guilt, I lift myself a smidge higher on the bed, my arms shaking a little. “You need help?” He’s at my side, touching the bedframe buttons. A weird sensation tingles my skin at his closeness. A good weird. I love weird. I do know that.

“Who gave you that kyber crystal?” Because it looks an awfully lot like mine. The bed is propped better, but now that I’m motionless and sitting up, I realize how much he’s frozen. “You gave it to me,” he murmurs. “You don’t remember?” I could lie again, but the instinct to trust him with the truth is a powerful force inside me. “I’m trying to remember.”

“Now I know why Farrow told me to wait.” “You know Farrow?” Right as I say it, I gasp. “I know who you are!” Relief rocks him. “Thank God.” “Donnelly,” I say with total confidence. “You’re Beckett’s bodyguard.” He goes still again. No, no, I know I’m right!

My brows bunch together in aggravation. “You’re my cousin Beckett’s 24/7 bodyguard. And you’re a tattooist! You tattooed him…” I trail off, a pit in my sore ribs. I have tattoos. Oh… Ohhhh. Does that mean…? Did he tattoo me? “Are we friends?” I whisper. He looks to the door again. “I should go wait with everyone—” “Nonono,” I slur together in haste. “Please, stay. Please.”

“I’m sure if we brought Farrow in here, he’d say something about getting your memories back. It might not take that long.” Mild. Moderate. Severe. “Yeah, I think he already told me something like that.” I calm down, but I blush a little at how he’s looking me over, as though he wants to scoop me up and carry me off to a place that’ll never harm me. Has anyone ever looked at me like that? Someone who’s not related to me? In the past few years, maybe they did. Maybe he’s not the only one. I wouldn’t know, would I?

The more my face heats, the more I realize this is real attraction roasting me. For another beat as his eyes sweep me, I study him like he’s a new specimen on my homeworld. Protective. He’s protective of me.

Passing him the watch, our fingers brush in slo-mo, and hairs rise on my arms, an electric feeling zipping through me again. How many times have I discovered this sensation? Was it only with him?

I shouldn’t ask him. I could ask anyone else, but if Original Luna hoped to be with Donnelly, then maybe confiding in him is what she would do, most of all. And isn’t she still me?

“Uh-uh, that doesn’t make sense. I’m a virgin. And they said the test came back…” My voice tapers off at the way he’s staring at me. He’s offering the answers in his eyeballs. I want to scoop them out. Eat them up. Metaphorically. He’d probably think I was a total freak if I mentioned that out loud.

“I thought…I thought the worst.” “It didn’t happen,” he reassures and pats the blanket lump that is me. “That’s your forehead?” “My nose,” I sniff, and my lips rise a little just thinking about him patting me. His presence feels needed, necessary, as if he’s the sole light among space and time. I calm myself in two breaths, peeling the blanket off my splotchy face, I ask, “Can you…can you come closer?”

Distraught, he clamps a hand on his head. “Look, I’d already be on that bed, holding you—” “Then why aren’t you?” His face nearly cracks. “You don’t remember me.” “I want to.” I hate that I can’t see what I’ve already lived through. “I know,” he says. “I know.” He’s looking around the room. Don’t leave.

“Yeah, and there’s a No Fun Nurse out there who thinks I’m a piece of garbage that’s going to stink up your room. Joke’s on her because I smell great.” I sniff his bare chest, a bit tentative knowing it’s a strange thing to do. Yet, I want to sniff Donnelly all over like a bloodhound. He watches with a rising smile. “Smell away, space babe.” My heart pitter-patters. He calls me space babe? “My nose is powerful,” I warn. “Good. I’ll triple-down. I smell amazing.” I smile. “Gutsy.” “Been taking risks all my life. Think I can handle this one.”

He raises his arm off my shoulders, opening himself up to me and letting me go free. I inhale around his collar, up towards his neck. It’s difficult to pry my gaze off his while I smell him. His eyes…they remind me of blue spinel gems. How many times have I drowned in those blue pools?

He nods. “I get it.” “You do?” “Sure,” he breathes. “You and I are the same. We keep our issues to ourselves because letting other people see ‘em makes them bigger than they have to be. Gives power to them. Makes them feel more unbeatable than they are. It’s easier to just keep that stuff here.” He touches his hand to his heart.

“No. Please.” I death-grip his hand. He’s not peeling me off him. If he were a murderer, he’d have handcuffs. He’d be in jail. And when I look at him, I know—I know he’s good. Why would I give my kyber crystal to someone bad? He is light. He is harmony. He is love. The Force is within him. I saw it. I knew it. I’ve just forgotten it somehow.

“I’m a really shitty intergalactic detective. I thought I had a baby.” I speak so softly; I doubt he hears. “I would’ve never guessed he was Moffy’s. He would’ve been last on my list.” “You’re not a shitty intergalactic detective,” he tells me, which jars me in surprise. “I’d hire you.” “For all your interstellar troubles?” “I’ve got plenty of those.” “Same. A lot can go wrong in space,”

“Everything can really be solved by discovering a perfectly mined mineral on an otherworldly planet. Then you’ve created super space medicine. Super space condoms. Super space lube.” “You sharing your super space products?” “Maybe.” I shrug. “For a fee.” He sucks in a breath. “Girl, take…” He doesn’t finish, his voice dropping off. “What?” I look over at him. He skims my features. “Take my money,” he mutters, sounding sad.

His face is fracturing. Pain lances his blue eyes as if he’s realizing that he’s lost something too. Lost me. He’s stopped pretending that I remember him. I blink back tears, but I swallow the lump. “I could use a partner in this detective case,” I say. “The Case of Luna’s Missing Memories.” He smiles, even if it’s a sorrowful one. “Sign me up.”

“He’s not leaving!” Luna shouts in distress. “I want him to stay, Farrow. Please! Get her out!” Farrow is as jarred by the uncharacteristic yelling from Luna as I am. This is a girl who speaks so quiet at times, I strain my ear hairs to catch the noises.

Back to Luna, I set my ass on the edge of the bed again. “I know you don’t know anything about me,” I tell her, watching her gulp more air. Talking seems to help, so I continue, “But I’ve traveled to your planet and back again countless times.” She inhales slowly, exhales slowly.

Luna is only fixated on me. I dunno why. She could hang on to the familiarity of Farrow, who she knew growing up, but she’s more absorbed with the mystery of who I am. I’m not complaining about it. “I promise I’m not leaving you if I can help it,” I tell her more strongly this time. “And I know how promises are made on your planet.” She catches her staggered breath. “How…how are they made on yours?” “Promises on my planet?” “Uh-huh.”

Our hands are still clasped, but I hook our pinkies. Leaning closer to her, I say, “Kiss your thumb the same time as me. Yeah?” Her lips twitch into a tiny smile, and together, with locked pinkies, we kiss our own thumbs. When I let go, she whispers, “That’s a very earthly promise.” I start to grin. “That’s ‘cause I’m from Earth, space babe.”

“You want a shirt?” “Nah.” I try to breathe in something lighter. “I like the chill on my nipples. Keeps them perked.” He rolls his eyes into a slight smile. “She’s watching you.” She is studying me from afar like I’m the most interesting patient and she’s the most inquisitive doctor. When I catch her, her cheeks go rosy. It’s cute. Gotta say that I’m glad I still have some positive effect on her. If she completely feared me, I don’t know what I’d even do. Go sob on a deserted island for a solid millennium. Befriend a volleyball.

That’s not too accurate, really. In my heart of hearts, I know I’d use every ounce of self-given, self-accumulated resilience to show her I’m not someone to fear. I wouldn’t give up.

Farrow’s brows rise. “She’s really watching you.” Yeah, she’s not being shy about it. “Don’t know why,” I whisper to Farrow. “She doesn’t know me.” “She knows you me...

“She fell in love with you for you,” Farrow says with the tilt of his head. “You don’t believe she could fall for you again?” It might seem far-fetched, but I have to believe it’s possible. Perseverance is what I’m good at. That never-giving-up attitude has saved my ass more than once, and I won’t give up on us now.

Moffy looks to me with the same toughened green eyes, as if he’s ready to football-tackle the monster who stole my memories. Right now, I like to think of my oldest brother as my memory guide into my missing years, and it’s probably good he’s a protective one.

My parents—their souls were intertwined. In my life, their love had always been one-of-a-kind. Stuff of legend and fanfiction, and the fact that it was my reality, that I got to be raised by two soul mates, was a treasure I wouldn’t trade for anything. Not even dirt from Mars or the guarantee I’d write the best sci-fi novel in the world. It was that precious to me.

Honestly, every time I say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing, I worry Moffy is gonna think I’ve been body-snatched and a Variant Luna has entered his universe. Or maybe that’s my fear talking. Because I’m fucking terrified that everyone will look at me and think I’m not me. And they’ll mourn the Original Luna that was put to rest when she hit her head. They’ll wish for her. Long for her. Instead they get this subpar, mediocre copy.

“Why can’t I remember anything about him?” I turn to face my brother. He tries to exhale a breath. “No one really knows.” “You have theories?” Does Maximoff Hale still have a philosopher’s heart? He’s had to have thought about this! I perk up, but he’s making a cringey face. “Please, Moffy.” Scraping a hand along his tight neck, he says, “I think your brain is probably protecting you from…trauma, or it’s safeguarding memories with him that you don’t want corrupted. Maybe both.”

Moffy grips the doorframe, about to leave. “I am the same enough,” he reiterates, and I realize he’s afraid I’ll think he’s too different to trust or love this time around. It’s a rational fear. Because I’m thinking, can I trust him? He’s right—he only knows what he’s seen. Maybe I need to enlist Detective Donnelly to help me. I throw up a Vulcan salute, not wanting him to worry much. “Thanks, memory guide,” I tell him.

Donnelly, I don’t know if you use this sort of thing, but I figured you might like writing down your daily thoughts in pen. Sometimes it feels good to seep out all the gooey stuff in your brain and put it somewhere else. So this is for your gooey brain matter. Merry Christmas, Luna Not my diary. It’s his. My stomach twists with this information. I gave Donnelly a Christmas present, which definitely means I trust him. He’s good. A good guy. Knew it!

This is…not a tattoo sketch. Or maybe it is, but the style has changed from thick black lines to a thinner pen. He’s drawn a girl. Inside her eyes are twinkling stars, and I’m lost in the expressiveness of those lively orbs, as though she’s seen universes of light. And her hair—oh wow, her hair floats around her soft face, the tendrils whirling into flying saucers and comets and crescent moons and hearts. I’ve never seen anything this stunning or this beautiful, and I wonder if she might be…could this girl be me?

“You going through my stuff?” He doesn’t sound upset at all. He should be. Then again, he’s a little difficult to read at first glance. Maybe inside he’s soul-crushed thinking about how Variant Luna is a shitty version of his perfect Original Luna. Jealousy is growing like thorny vines in my body, and how can I be jealous of myself? This is so, so screwy.

“I messed up your drawing.” I cop to the mistake because it’s the right thing to do, and I hold up the sketchbook, opened to the smudged girl. Donnelly comes forward, his stride so unencumbered, and his nearness skips my pulse. He takes the sketchbook and looks. Disappointment isn’t on his face, but he hasn’t pulled away from the drawing either. “With my tears,” I murmur. “I ruined her.” “Nah,” he breathes, studying the page. “You made her better.” He flashes the sketch to me. She seems worse off. “Her eyelashes are blobs now.” “‘Cause she’d been crying,” he says like it makes perfect sense, and he does make perfect sense to me.

He spins the sketch back to himself. “Sad tears?” “Overwhelmed,” I tell him softly. “I thought the drawing was very beautiful.” I hesitate to ask, so I say, “Whoever the girl is, you made her look out-of-this-worl...

Brightness explodes in my body, an inward radiance that I haven’t ever felt before, not to this degree. He’s making me feel overpowered. A...

eyes the doodled cover. “You gifted this to me a while back.” “She gifted it to you.” His face pinches in pain. “You are her.” Am I? “I don’t even know who I become in the three years I missed.”

“Was your Luna a cynic too?” “Cynical, yeah. Pessimistic, sometimes. But you wanted so fucking badly to believe. Mostly in aliens.” I smile a little. “And yourself,” he adds, “and in us.” He tips his head, catching my gaze. “You were still adamant that the world was shit and people sucked.”

“You don’t think the world is shit?” “The world can be shit.” He sits with me, his arms hanging on his knees. “But living in it can also be amazing. Like ate the best ham hoagie of your life amazing, danced your heart out at 3 a.m. amazing, kissed an alien and shot to the moon amazing.”

“You’ve communed with the extraterrestrial?” “Just one.” He’s looking at me. “And she’s the prettiest alien I’ve ever seen.” “Wannabe alien,” I correct...

“I think you’ve crashed on my planet this time.” He crashed on my planet the first time then. I picture Donnelly orbiting my universe and landing at my feet. It excites me as much as this inversed reality where I’ve fallen at his. “Uh-huh,” I say, breathless. “Welcome to Earth, space babe.” “It’s peculiar here,” I sing-song. “But I already li...

“You scared?” he asks. Yep. “I want to remember, and I don’t know how your Luna fared, but I’m not always that successful at things I put my brain power to. I just seem to always fail in the end.” I shrug. “I could be considered Luna the Failure.” “Failures are those who don’t even try. You always try—” “And face-plant.” “And pick yourself back up. Sounds more like Luna the Fighter to me.”

“Am I getting hotter?” I squeeze the fluff of the pillow. “Girl, you’re roasting.” While he comes closer, I dig inside the pillowcase. “Careful of me,” I warn. “I could burn you. I am hotter than hot.” “No lie,” he smirks. “I’d burn up from you.”