Unlucky Like Us (Like Us, #12)

by Krista Ritchie

I turn my head a fraction, and her narrowed green eyes fix on mine. Dyed black hair is chopped at her collarbones, bangs shading her brows. “The aliens aren’t coming for you,” she deadpans. “But if you fall off the roof, you will turn into a ghost.” She sounds so much like our dad.

“Kin—” I start, but her name is torn out of my throat as someone barrels towards me. Mom. Her wide panicked eyes are on this impending demise, and quickly, she clutches the frame of the bookcase—the bookcase that’s at least three arm-spans wide. The bookcase that nearly swallows my entire wall. The bookcase that’s seconds from crushing me. She tries to heave the thing upright. “Go, Luna! Leave!” Mom yells at me. I’ve never heard her yell like that—with so much urgency and distress. She can’t support the weight on her own either, so I stay and try to dig my feet in. Kinney is suddenly on my other side, using her back and shoulder blades to thrust the bookcase to its original position. It’s at a fifty-degree angle. It’s bearing on all three of us. “We can’t,” I mutter, breath knotted inside me. “We can,” our mom says through gritted teeth, trying her mightiest to upright what I’ve dislodged. Guilt nips at me. “On the count of three, we all push our hardest, okay? One, two, three.”

I blink repeatedly like I’ll finally inherit teleportation. My mom says it could’ve skipped several generations, and we truly don’t know whether Great Grandma Pearl had superpowers or not. She died before I was born, but Dad always disputed the idea and said the woman never left Palm Beach. To which, Mom replied, that we know of.

“I know you don’t want to be here…” Xander tells me. “But you have to ignore that voice. Not forever. Just ignore it this minute, this shitty second.” This minute. This second. I inhale slowly. “Small hurdles, you know?” Xander says quietly. “You can do that. I know you can, sis. You’re way stronger than me.”

“Shelve the pitchforks, Kinney,” he says gently and more quietly than softly, but then again, my dad’s voice is almost never soft. “Not pitchforks. A sharpened knife.” He squeezes her shoulder. “Shelve the knives, battleaxes, all weapons. We’re not pointing them at Paul Donnelly.” It takes me aback. The certainty of his voice. Is he really not against Donnelly anymore? Kinney frowns. She’s searching for an adversary of my broken heart. In the battle of good and evil, Kinney needs the villain of all villains to attack. “But Dad⁠—” “If you want to point a blade at someone, it’s going to be me—not him.” Kinney jolts backwards like our dad electrocuted her. Her breathing heavies. “You didn’t do anything bad. You couldn’t…you wouldn’t?” He wears a half-smile. “Me? Do something bad? I’d never.” His sarcasm and way of cheering up Kinney lands lifeless in the tense room. “Dad,” she says, sounding scared. “What’d you do?” He lets out a breath, glances at our mom for support, and then holds out a reassuring hand. “I meant that if you go after Paul, you’re going to have to go through me. I’m standing in front of him, and just so everyone in the room knows”—he spins around to lock eyes with each of us, staying on me for an extended beat—“I haven’t been easy on him. I might’ve even been hell for him.” He cringes into another dry smile. “So…it’s complicated.” He claps his hands together.

“You were teenagers.” “Okay, but what does that change? I told you that he has no bad bone in his body. I told you that he’d give you the last shirt he owns. Right off his back. Shit, I told you he’s been kind towards the women he’s been with, and he would let Luna rule his world if she wanted to. I told you he’d be there for her. I told you they’d be good together. So what the hell does us meeting as teenagers have to do with shit?” “I wish I knew what he meant to you from you or even him. Not from Luna. Not from Moffy. Instead, you just kept telling me who he is.” Farrow keeps shaking his head. “You left out an important part.” Farrow breathes angrier, shaking his head harder. “I didn’t.” “You forgot to tell me he’s like your brother.” It knocks Farrow one step backward. He rotates his head away from my dad. “That’s the thing, Farrow. I had no goddamn idea the depth of how close you were to him. I didn’t know what he meant to you.” My dad cringes into a wincing smile. “And that’s the other thing, I should’ve known. It was right there in my face.” Guilt knits his brows. “He was your best man, but for some goddamn reason, I thought you were just college buddies. Crossed paths later and decided to become bodyguards around the same time. But you aren’t just college friends. Right?” Farrow takes the longest second to recoup from this bombshell. I haven’t seen him this frazzled before. Not much ever seems to unsettle him. My dad crushes the silence first. “I learned that he fo...

“I would’ve liked to know,” my dad says just as quietly. “It would’ve meant something to me.” “We didn’t grow up together,” Farrow reminds him. “Neither did me and my brother. I met Ryke the day I turned twenty-one.” Realizations wash over me about the same time that Farrow’s expression changes shape. I think we’re both understanding just how much this would’ve meant something to my dad. He loves Ryke to his deepest, rawest core, and I wonder if he’s reevaluated everything Farrow has ever said about Donnelly.

“I would’ve liked to know,” my dad says strongly. “It would’ve mattered. And I don’t know why it is, but the bonds we make matter to other people. I know that Ryke and Rose’s friendship matters to me. Connor and Daisy matter to me. Willow and Daisy matter. Garrison and Lily matter. Just like you and Donnelly are going to matter to me. Hell, you both may even annoy me.” He grimaces but stares deeper into Farrow. “But these relationships mean something to the people who love you. And I love you like a son, and I’m…I’m sorry I didn’t take your word beforehand. I’m sorry I’m an ass. I’ve been an ass. You deserved a father-in-law who listened, and I didn’t. But I promise, I’m going to try from now on.”

“His family is dangerous, Luna. There are no buts. I’m handling this with Donnelly. It’s the team-up no one saw coming, especially me.” He touches his chest. “It’s Cyclops and Peepers.” “Peepers?” I cringe at the worst X-Men villain ever. He did not just refer to Donnelly as Peepers. His enlarged eyes and bald head make him look like a toad. Like my dad is eating glass, he slowly amends, “Cyclops and whoever you choose.” I don’t know if Donnelly reminds me of anyone but himself, but I’d never cast him as a villain. “Peter Parker,” I say softly. I think about Peter’s tragic backstory and light-heartedness amidst adversity as he swings between buildings with a joke and a laugh. He’s also one of my favorites. “Spider-Man.” Dad makes another cringey face. “Fine. Cyclops and Spider-Man.”

Dad looks at me with more seriousness. “And in the meantime, just use some patience.” He glances over at Mom. “Does anyone in this family have any?” Mom raises her hand. “Me.” He smiles lovingly. “Yes, you do, love.” He swings his head back to me. “Your mom will share some patience with you.” “All the patience,” Mom says to me, like we’ll get through this together. I’m not alone.

Farrow runs a finger over his lip piercing. “You said you’re going to protect him, Lo. So if your fucking plan is to send him back to South Philly to speak to his father, you better not hang him out to dry. Or else I’ll have a problem with you.” Dad wears another half-smile. “Spoken like a true brother.” “I’m serious.” “As am I.” He shifts his weight, his sarcasm replaced with real gravity. “I’m going to protect him. I promise you that.”

My mom is behind the wheel of her black Aston Martin. The fancy SUV was an anniversary gift from my dad several years ago. My parents rarely flaunt their wealth. Uncle Connor and Aunt Rose are the ones who love designer brands, jewelry in the six-figure mark, and rare bottles of wine. At some point, my parents’ feelings changed on cars. Dad bought a Bugatti, and Mom reluctantly loved it more than her old BMW. I remember she said she felt like she was cheating on an archaic thing for the newer model and it felt wrong. Cars aren’t people, love. They don’t have feelings. You’re cheating on nothing. That’s what my dad said.

“Dad told me that it’s okay if I never had friends. He said that I’m the queen of my own galaxy, and after so many years, I’ve realized there are people in the universe who make you feel at home. Donnelly has made me feel like my galaxy is the happiest, most exhilarating place to be, even if I’m the only one there.” I drop my head and gaze back at our photo. “He treats me like I’m his moon. His stars. Like I’m the person who makes him glad it’s today and there’ll be a tomorrow, and I don’t know if I’ve ever been that for anyone who’s not my family.” I’m important to someone. I’m not a failure. I’m not a fuck-up or future screw-up to Donnelly. I’m someone worth something. And he’s worth everything to me. I hear my mom’s hitched breath before I turn to look. Tears have flooded her reddened gaze. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you, Luna.” She smiles tearfully over at me but quickly focuses on driving. “You know, it makes sense then.” She wipes at the corners of her eyes with her sleeve. “What does?” “Why he’s trying to protect his moon, his stars.”

Being on Lo’s shitlist, I can handle, but if I’m on Lily’s, I dunno…I think I’d still go fling myself off this planet and sob.

“I won’t let anything hurt her.” I just say it. I believe it. I’d rather be bait and roadkill than let a single soul harm Luna Hale. And I plan to prove it. “Just don’t give up on each other,” Lily suddenly says, and I realize she’s gazing at the last sight of Luna too. “Even if it’s hard to wait it out. It’ll be worth it in the end.” Before I can reply, she gives me a warm smile. “Night, Donnelly.” She leaves.

Do I want to know more? Yeah, I want to know every last detail of her life. Of who she is. It’s a hunger. An urge, and she must be craving the same from me. We’re the same.

Question of the Day: Can I take Luna to the Fanaticon Convention in December? Is a butterfly kiss considered a real kiss? Is Ryke Meadows’ secretly Loren Hale’s hit man?

For me, it’s too easy to tell the Moretti brothers apart, especially with how Akara unwinds more around Banks, and those two interact like they share a secret world. They do share a wife, and I suppose they share each other too. I think they’re lucky to have found love that’s worth pushing through all havoc. Love that endures together is the toughest love. The strongest. I want that. I want love that survives with me. ‘Cause I know I’m gonna survive in the end. No matter what.

“To make this very clear,” Connor continues, “I also wouldn’t have stopped Rose if it weren’t for Lo. He said he put you through enough, and Rose didn’t need to do extra damage.” Lo wears another half-smile. “What can I say? I was feeling charitable.” “I’m happy to be your favorite charity case,” I say lightly. “Did I call you my favorite?” He feigns confusion. “Inferred it.”

“Yeah,” Lo says, digging out his car keys. “I’m driving you.” “You can’t drive him.” Connor rests his electronic tablet on the desk. “We’ve been over this, Lo.” They have? “Great, so you heard me last time when I said, I don’t care if I’m spotted. He’s my son’s bodyguard. It’s not that weird for me to drive him to South Philly.” “Lo—” “For Christ’s sake, Connor, he’s going in my car. I’m dropping him off. I’m picking him up. If you have a problem with that, take it to your god, whoever that may be. And if it’s yourself, there’s ten billion mirrors in your mansion, have fun.” I’m too surprised to laugh. “Let’s go,” Lo says to me, trying to usher me out of the office. I hesitate and look to Connor. “He’s going to have his way,” Connor says simply. “So go with him, but just know, this isn’t a good choice. If you’re to gain his trust, Sean shouldn’t think you’re close to any of us.” “He won’t,” Lo assures. “I’m dropping off my son’s bodyguard. He’s not a friend. He’s not family. He’s a bodyguard. That’s it, Connor.” Why does he want to drive me so badly?

Lo told me to “relax” when we got in the car. Doing this thing called listening to Loren Hale is as comfortable as wet socks, but I can’t say he’s thrown me to the wolves yet, not when he’s sitting beside me in the driver’s seat.

“If you want to keep staring at me, we can make a pitstop and get you a magazine,” he says, hands tight on the steering wheel. “Pretty sure I’m in at least two at the grocery store checkout.” “Figured you’d be used to staring.” I rotate back to the windshield. “Being used to it doesn’t mean I like it.”

“What happens if you stop paying that prick?” Lo asks me. “I don’t know. It’s why I haven’t stopped.” His jaw sharpens. “I’ll pay him in the meantime.” “No—” “You realize I make more money than Connor Cobalt?” He makes a face at me like I hit my head on the curb. “Whatever you’re giving Scottie is chump change to me. I’m paying. He’ll still think it’s coming from you, and he won’t ask for more.”

If looks could kill, Lo is definitely trying to murder me. “Is this your way of telling me you’re thinking of having sex with my daughter? Because A. Did not want to know that because now I want to throw you out of my car, and B. She should be the most chaste person in your fucking head. You’re supposed to be waiting. And if it were up to me, you’d be waiting for eternity.”

I like thinking that moments carry melodies, and being with Luna is like listening to the exultant hum of my soul. I’ll never get tired of the sound.

“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.

“Fuck everyone who thinks you wrote something gross or obscene. Fuck the fans who want me and Tom to stop being your friends.” Hot tears invade his eyes, like those last comments have punctured raw pieces of him. I haven’t dived too deep or long into the internet this week, and I’m starting to guess he has. Tom crosses his arms over his chest. He looks to me. “We’ll always be your friend, Luna.” I know.

A pit is sinking in my stomach, and I open my mouth to reply—just as the door begins to open. My heart skips several beats. Like I conjured him from my greatest desires, in walks Paul Donnelly.

Donnelly scratches the side of his jaw, and I try not to imagine running my palms over his stubble. The way he exists is sexy. It’s the confidence in himself, in who he is. His biceps look cut and sculpted in his tight black AC/DC shirt, and I have trouble not picturing those arms snug around me. Sometimes, in quiet moments, I pretend we’re a rare species that needs physical touch from a soul mate to survive. Connecting and reconnecting forever. And recently, I’ve been dying, starved, and longing for Donnelly to run his hands all over me.

“Lo knows I can’t have my family thinking I’m in love with her.” “Love?” Eliot’s grin has exploded. He buttons his slacks with an amused, delighted laugh. Tom is grinning now too. He told my best friends he’s trying to date me. That he loves me. It’s sinking in, and I feel my smile mushroom. Donnelly shares the grin. “You think I would do all of this just for a girl I sort of like?” “This is beautiful,” Eliot says, “and tragic all at the same time.”

My parents are addicts too, but Donnelly hasn’t experienced sober parents. And I’ve never experienced parents off the path of recovery. I’ve never had to make big excuses for my mom and dad. For one, they always take full responsibility for the mistakes they’ve made and the people they’ve hurt in the past. For the other, I never grew up with them in the worst of their addictions.

He searches my gaze again. “The way you look at me, Luna…” He seems overwhelmed. “How am I looking at you?” I’m trapped in his orbit, not wanting to be set loose. “I’m the hero of your story.” His voice drops to the same hushed sound as mine. “I don’t know if anyone has ever placed me there, but one of the things I’m most scared of is disappointing you.” I shake my head slowly, then more hurriedly. My eyes burn. “You won’t.”

“You’re right…when I look at you, I do see a hero. Not because I think you’re indestructible, but because you’ve chosen the light side despite growing up in the dark.” I let out a breath. “It’s just Star Wars stuff.”

“To remind you of our future together,” Donnelly says. “Time is irrelevant when I’m always right here.” He hoists my wrist, the watch secured perfectly.

“If I fail⁠—” “Heroes fail all the time. It won’t change how I see you, Donnelly.”

I fall into his gaze, his touch, my lungs alight. “In the Star Wars mythos, you’d be a Jedi Knight, but in our universe, you’re something else.” “What am I?” His lips are so close to mine. “Some noble hero of another galaxy? An alien warrior? Or well-traveled bounty hunter?” “You’re human,” I whisper. “You’re my human hero. And there is no one stronger than you.”

Today’s Focus: stop thinking about fucking your friend Luna. (I’m deadass now.)

To Do: Ice cold shower. Need it asap. See which detail I’m assigned to today. Wallow. Jk. Wallowing is for weeping willows. I’m a mf-ing oak tree. Sturdy af. Dinner with Xander’s dad at his Halway Comics office. Just him. Feels sus.

Question of the Day: Is Loren Hale a human lie detector by proxy of Connor Cobalt? How many broken promises are too many? Why is thinking about Qunnie’s belly button lint the best boner killer?

It’s the part that I should learn to shut off, but I’m selling my soul every second I’m back in South Philly with my dad, so the least I could do is return to my soul by being with Luna. Give myself that.

Thanks

DAD It’s what dads do. And I love you more than chicken tacos Spicy chicken tacos From the food truck outside S&S I smile and text: Those are the best in all galaxies. It is known. DAD Known by me. Taco expert.

She uses her blinker and switches lanes. She had to take her car into the shop, and this rental has the pungent “new car” smell. It’s also missing an X-Men Cyclops bobblehead on the dash and a middle console full of Sour Patch Kids.

“You’re not gross,” Mom reminds me again. “You’re creative and talented. So talented.” I look at my hands, fingernails painted a sparkly purple. I want to believe her, but she’s my mom—a kind, amazing mom who will always try to lift me up, especially when others are kicking me down.

I know I can’t overpower these men. Neither can she. But I’d rather be in my mom’s loving arms, suffering, than take the futile chance of escaping and being on the cement alone.

“It’s never easy digging through a shitty past that you’d rather forget,” Lo says. “And sometimes it gets easier. Other days, it feels like you’re back there. You’re playing roulette, hoping not to hit that bad number with that bad memory, and truth be told, I hate that I’m the goddamn dealer, hoping you land on it. But that’s where we’re at.”

“My dad was an asshole when he was drunk,” he suddenly tells me. “Which was all the time. He was also a shit father, and when he stopped drinking, he tried to be a better dad—but he was still an asshole. Depending on who you ask, he never became a better man.” “You think he did?” I wonder. Lo looks far away now. “Yeah, I do.” He forces a half-smile. “But I’m also the bastard who makes excuses for him, so you’re asking the wrong Jonathan Hale offspring.” “Nah.” I wad up a napkin, leaning back in my chair. “You’re the only one I would’ve asked.” “Because I lived with him the longest,” Lo guesses. “Because you’re Luna’s dad.”

He dunks another chip in salsa. “I also hate Van Halen.” He stares at the old, ripped Van Halen tee I’m wearing like it’s radioactive. He’s throwing darts at my favorites when I thought he’d mention how I need a new wardrobe. Gotta get a new fit to impress his daughter and all. “That’s alright, Xander’s dad. Not everyone has good taste.” He reaches for his water on the desk. “That’s exactly what I was thinking about you.” He flashes a dry smile. “Like minds.” I give him a rock on gesture.

“LILY!” Lo sees his wife on the concrete several feet beyond the rental car. Monroe and Frog are crouched around her unmoving body. The wind is knocked out of me, and I stagger back and slow to a deadened stop. This isn’t happening. This isn’t fucking happening. I whirl around, my world spinning three-sixty degrees. “The Keenes are coming,” Monroe tells Lo, right as he drops down to his wife. “Lily.” His voice is punctured, fractured…obliterated. “Lily, Lily.” “She’s still breathing,” Frog says shakily, but she staggers to a stance, her hands to her mouth while she sees Lo shatter completely. “Lily. No, no, no,” he cries into a scream, his face twisting and his fingers featherlight across her battered skin. The anguished, guttural noises he’s making could freeze rain and time. I almost puke. I pinch my eyes tightly and wince at the wall, the concrete, the sky. Pain is relentless in my body.

“I can’t lose you,” Lo sobs. “You’re okay. Come on, love. You’re okay. Wake up. Please, wake up. Lily…Lily.”