Unlucky Like Us (Like Us, #12)

by Krista Ritchie

“Okay, yeah,” I nod. “I’m all ears, even the ones that haven’t fully grown in yet.” He starts to grin. “You’ve got ears on the back of your head?” “The tops of my feet. Better to hear you with from down below.” “Lemme talk to your foot. Gimme.” He motions to me, and I high-kick my bare foot at him. Donnelly clasps my ankle, and my smile is effervescent inside me, keeping me warm. “Hale?” He talks to my toes. “You hear me?” “Loud and crackly,” I say,

He brushes another hand through his hair. “I don’t wanna tell you who to bring, but if you bring a date—” “I wouldn’t,” I cut in fast. He exhales.

Ripley’s cheeks redden, timid all of a sudden. “My truck.” He grows more reserved at times and definitely when more people are around. It’s not just Donnelly. “Your truck? You can drive?” Ripley nods. Donnelly whistles. “Look at you. You’re already way cooler than your papa. You tell him Uncle Donnelly said so, yeah?” Ripley nods a ton, acting very serious. He’s good around babies. A fact I’ve known for a while after he made Ripley break into a giggling fit. At dinner one night, he did a magic trick with a disappearing grape. When Donnelly popped it out of his nose, Ripley doubled over giggling in his highchair.

“I dunno,” Donnelly tells Charlie, “babies might come out celestial. Could be a house of three little angels.” “Yep,” I nod. “This is heaven.” “Your heaven is my hell,” Charlie notes,

“Move to New York.” At first I think he’s telling Donnelly. “Me?” I point to my heart. Donnelly shifts uneasily. “No, the wall behind you,” Charlie deadpans. “Yes, you, Luna. It’s honestly shocking you’re still here.” Is it?

“Have you been on campus since your fics leaked?” He knows the answer. “No.” “Drop out.” “Or you could stay,” Donnelly interjects. “Just putting it out there.”

turn to Donnelly. “What do you think?” “I think…” He’s watching Charlie, who’s starting to watch us. Uh-oh. I forgot how perceptive Charlie can be. Donnelly continues, “You’d be happiest wherever there’s a Wawa ‘cause it’s the best place on Earth.” Charlie pockets his phone. “Sounds more like you.” I say, “Maybe I’m happiest wherever Donnelly is.”

“Daddy!” Ripley bounds for my older brother on unbalanced little legs. My nephew hoists his arms up at his dad. Moffy lifts his son high against his chest, perching him up so he’s eye-level. “I missed you, little guy.” “Me tooph, Daddy,” Ripley tries to enunciate slowly. “You hungry?” “Nope.” He shakes his head, still bashful at the full room. “I-I ate stwabewwies.” He nestles into the crook of Moffy’s neck.

Donnelly continues, “He’s planning on working out at home with Thatcher and Banks, so I’m being shifted to Jane’s detail, and Thatch said she’s in wedding planner mode. She’s supposedly checking out a venue for a bride.” Why does he seem nervous? He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I just wanted to know if you’d like to come with me.” I blink. “To hang out on Jane’s detail?” “That’s not strange at all,” Charlie says with pinched brows. Donnelly ignores him. “I dunno what you’re up to today, but if you’re free, I could use the company.”

“I’m free all day.” Excitement bubbles. “Let me just get my wallet and stuff—” “Are you asking her out on a date?” Charlie asks him accusingly. “Nah, just a casual friend thing.” He’s still very cool about it.

Charlie inspects him, then Moffy, then me. Back to Moffy. “You really think it’s wise for your sister to go out with him?” That stings. Maximoff adjusts Ripley in his arms. “It’s fine, Charlie. Just let them be.”

Just now, Farrow walks into the strained living room with raised brows. “What the fuck did I miss?” He stops beside his husband and son and flashes a puzzled expression to Donnelly. “I asked Luna to come out with me,” Donnelly confesses. “It’s not a date, and no one’s gonna think it is when I’m on-duty. She’s been safe with me, always.” That’s the truth.

“I’ll be fine,” I assure everyone. “It’s more like an outing with Jane.” “Just be careful,” Moffy says. Charlie flings his suit jacket back over his shoulder. “And I’ll tell you what your brother is too afraid to say, Don’t fuck Donnelly.” “Whoa,” Farrow head-snaps to Charlie and glares.

Charlie doesn’t stop. “He’s contaminated. Disease-ridden—” “Charlie,” Farrow warns. Before Donnelly shifts his gaze away, I catch his anger and his hurt. He loves the Cobalts. “—you fuck him, you die,” Charlie tells me. “You understand that; I know you do.” Because Charlie has read most of my smut, including the ones with my favorite trope. “Now isn’t the time to fall for him.”

“You want to make a point like that again,” Farrow says heatedly to Charlie, “don’t be surprised when you meet an ending you won’t like.” Charlie opens his stance. “Go ahead. Hit me.” Farrow speaks into his comms mic instead. “Oliveira, come collect your baggage.” Now that hurt Charlie. His cheek muscle twitches. Then he gets in Farrow’s face. My eyes grow. “Hey, hey!” Moffy sets Ripley on the floor.

Omg

But Donnelly is faster than Maximoff to intervene. He’s pulling Farrow several feet back, who’s physically ten-times more built than Charlie’s tall, lean stature. “What in the ever-loving…” Oscar is here, racing in from the bathroom. It’s organized chaos. Less unruly than what Eliot incites. Possibly because Farrow, Donnelly, and Oscar are bodyguards, three men with a whole lotta restraint.

My Cobalt brethren called me contaminated—like I’m toxic waste. But that’s not even what’s got me hot. I finally speak. “I know you might not be mindful of babies and whatnot,” I tell Charlie. “But you gotta be when you’re around them, and you should never provoke Farrow or anyone in front of their kids like that.” Charlie has on dark shades. Can’t see his eyes. “He wasn’t going to hit me.” “You wanted him to,” Oscar points out. “No, if I really wanted to be punched, I would’ve gone for Moffy, but I didn’t.”

“You stepped into Farrow’s face,” I tell him. “Don’t think you were asking him for a kiss on the cheek, unless you were.” Charlie is unamused. “Just sayin’,” I add.

She adjusts her backpack. “Considering he doesn’t go after me at all and just tried to warn me against you, he probably thinks of me as a sheep.” Luna baaahs like a lamb. I smile over and baaah right back. “I called you hot if you didn’t get that.” She grins, cheeks flushed. “Understood it, since I called you a hot lambchop. Guess we’re still speaking the same language.” “Guess so.” God, I’d love to fling my arm over her shoulders. Can’t. Feels intimate. So was calling her hot, but fuck me,

“Joke’s on Charlie though ‘cause you’re definitely not a sheep, but I’m fucking glad he thinks you are.” “Why?” “Because if he went at you, I’d be in his face.” Can’t even imagine how Farrow has felt watching a guy repeatedly go at the love of his life. I’d lose my mind.

So luna is the love of his life?

“What do you think, Luna?” I ask as a friend to a friend. Just friends here. Gotta remember that. She skims me but mostly stays on my eyes. “I never saw you as a pumpkin kinda guy, but it could work.” “Artichoke is more my style?” I watch Jane out of my peripheral. She’s on the move, and I casually spin towards her and everyone follows after me. “Uh-uh,” Luna shakes her head. “Maybe a zucchini since it pairs well with your eggplant.” My cock. I grin. “Stop making so much sense. It’s…” Turning me on. Don’t fucking say that.

“Alright,” I breathe. “What is it?” “At the Fanaticon Convention, she’s planning to meet up with another guy.” My nose flares and stomach overturns. “Who?” “I don’t know his name, but I call him Wonder Bread.” “‘Cause he’s a basic white boy?” “No, it’s because his username is StaleBread89.” Pure fucking relief. I end up laughing. Shouldn’t have doubted Luna.

LMAO

Frog scrunches her face at me. “What? It’s not funny.” She comes in closer and whisper-hisses, “I thought you like her. I know I assumed it, but I’m usually not that far off. And she’s awesome. You should love her, actually. She’s that amazing, and she’s way better than you, honestly. Fuck you—” “Frog,” I laugh, touching my chest. “I’m Wonder Bread.” Her mouth drops. “Shut up.” “I’m not basic though.”

“Yes,” she says into another scream. “Hurry!” On one knee, I quickly peer between her legs. No baby’s head is breaching through Jane. Good signs? I have no clue, but I can one-hundred percent tell she’s dilated. A lot. And that definitely means labor. Meredith Grey would be so proud of me, I think.

Lol

“Ambulance is on its way. You’ll get out of here in no time. Then you can laugh about how you almost had a garden baby.” Jane focuses on my voice and her breathing. “You can call her Olive Garden Moretti.” She almost laughs, the noise caught in her throat. “Thatcher…hates that restaurant.” I know. “I don’t know what he’s got against it. Their breadsticks are dope.”

No head, but she’s extremely dilated and she seems to be resisting the natural urge to push. This baby is coming. Am I about to deliver a baby? Jane and Thatcher’s baby, to be exact.

Akara tells everyone else to stay off comms, leaving the channel open for Farrow. “Here,” Farrow says, a little crackly but audible. “How far apart are her contractions?” “I think every minute or so.” I peer back underneath her skirt. Oh shit. I speak softly into the mic. “I can see the start of a head.”

“Jane needs to push, now,” Farrow says. Just like that all ill thoughts drive away. I’m focused in. I touch her knee. “It’s time to push, Jane.” She’s crying again and muttering, no, no, no, then intakes a sharp breath. “I don’t want to do this without him. I don’t want to.”

Ahhhhh

In my mic, I say, “Farrow, give me a run-down of what to do as fast as you can.” He does. I listen. It’s scaring the fuck outta me, really, because he adds, in case this happens, you need to do this—and I’m hoping and praying she won’t land in a worst case scenario. “Alright. Now get Thatcher on the line.” Thatcher is in my ear in a millisecond. “Donnelly—” “You’re gonna talk to your wife through comms. I won’t be able to hear you, but she can.” So carefully and quickly, I detach the radio and pry out my earpiece. I tell Jane, “You won’t be able to respond to him, but Thatcher is gonna walk you through this. He’s right here.” Jane sniffs,

“Almost there, one more push,” I tell Jane, cupping the baby’s shoulders, and as Jane pushes, I ease this fragile being out into the world. My pulse is racing again. ‘Cause she’s covered in membranes and I hear nothing but Jane’s exhausted pants. “Is she okay?” Jane asks, her voice pitching. “She’s not crying. Donnelly?”

Omg

Please cry. Cradling her baby girl in my arms, I rub my fingers along her nose to ease out mucus and I warm her back with my shirt. This is what Farrow instructed in the event the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck, but the cord isn’t cutting off her oxygen. Still, she’s not breathing. And she kind of looks like an alien. And I wonder if Luna might have done a better job.

“Donnelly,” Jane starts sitting up more. Another swipe along her nose, and the baby suddenly stretches an arm and cries out to the world.

As I place the newborn in Jane’s arms, the waterworks hit me too, seeing Jane embrace her baby, kiss her soft cheek, instantly love her. Life is strange and beautiful, and moments like these, I’m grateful to be alive.

I click the mic and say, “Congratulations, Papa Moretti. You’ve got a beautiful baby girl.” I lower the mic to the newborn who lets out softer cries. Thatcher can hear his daughter. Jane laughs into more tears. When I release the mic, Thatcher can respond back.

As we stare out, watching the precious moments before they’ll wheel Jane to the ambulance, I feel Luna’s hand slip into mine. Softly, quietly…secretly. Even though my palm isn’t clean, even though she knows we shouldn’t—she’s still holding my hand. I encase mine around hers. For a moment. Before we have to let go.

Thatcher answers, towering four inches above me. I smirk. “Good thing your baby didn’t come out six-foot and thirty-pounds.” She’s only five pounds, two ounces.

My smile fades at the emotional look in his eyes. “Did something happen?” “Yeah,” he nods. “You delivered my daughter. You helped Jane.”

“She did all the work. I just cracked Olive Garden jokes.” Jane laughs inside the room. She heard me. My lips rise, and Thatcher just nods to me, “I should’ve said it earlier—” “Nah, man, you just had a baby. You only needed to think about her and Jane.”

Still, Thatcher produces the words, “Thank you, Donnelly.” I lift my shoulders. “Happy to be there.” I mean it. Being able to witness a new life coming into the world has reminded me why I love existing.

“She’s so small,” I murmur and start to smile when her thimble nose crinkles. “What are you gonna call her?” I ask since they’ve been flip-flopping on the name for months. “Olive is still on the table, you know. I’ve never known a single bad Olive, except for that moldy jar of kalamatas.” Jane grins. “Olive is unfortunately off the proverbial table. We’ve already chosen a name.” Thatcher nods. “Took long enough.”

“We wanted to go with the letter M, preferably something Italian. Like Martina.” “Martina Moretti,” I nod. “I dig it.” “That’s not her name,” Jane says. “After what happened, after what you did for me”—I’m shaking my head, but tears are already flooding her eyes—“you did help me, Donnelly. You made sure Thatcher was there with me.”

“What’d you name her?” is all I ask. “Maeve. It’s Irish,” Jane says. “It means she who rules. And in Irish mythology, she’s a goddess.” Irish. Because of me. My gaze clouds with more emotion, and I look down at Maeve Moretti. A baby goddess is the perfect addition to the Cobalt Empire—and to Jane and Thatcher’s new family.

“Call Xander’s Dad,” I tell the car. “Calling Xander’s Dad,” the automated voice responds. It rings a handful of times. “Wake up, Lo,” I mutter. Finally, the line clicks. “Why the hell are you calling me at two a.m.?” His groggy voice floods the car, and I detect slight worry from him. Slight. Maybe I’m hallucinating it.

“What?” he snaps, still sounding half asleep. “We’ll talk about this another day. Shouldn’t you be sleeping? In bed? Tucked away? You just delivered a baby.” Not just any baby. A Cobalt baby.

I know fandoms. I know this fandom, and once they hear I delivered Jane’s daughter, it’ll do the inverse of what we’ve been trying to accomplish. “I had to cancel dinner with my dad tonight,” I remind him. “For this. He’s not dumb. He’s gonna think I’m like Thatcher or Farrow to your family. Like I’m more than a no-named, replaceable bodyguard, and I have to be no one.” Lo is quiet.

“What’s the hold up, Xander’s dad?” I ask, trying to keep my voice leveled. “Who cares if it has typos?” “It’s not about the typos, and you know that,” Lo says with a deep, irritated sigh. “It’s about Luna,” I’m guessing,

Is Paul Donnelly considered an honorary Cobalt after delivering Jane’s baby?

Illyana_Dallas222: Good luck, fellow Planet Partner! I’m crossing my many fingers for your safe

StaleBread89: I’ll relay everything. Stay sparkly, space

“They fired you?” I ask Eliot. “Your troupe fired you after hearing about my stories?” Eliot shakes his head once. “No, they’re too spineless for that.” He glares at the ceiling. “They gave me an ultimatum. Either I leave the company or I stop associating with someone that would do damage to their family-friendly brand.” The fury in his gaze doesn’t subside when he looks to me. “First thing I told them was, you realize my parents have a porn tape out in the world? Apparently, past indiscretions don’t matter as much.” So he quit. For me. Because of me.

Olmg