Page 132 of Lovers Like Us
Something’s notright.
I drift further into the narrowed hall, and I hear Maximoff ask Beckett if he needs anything. If he’s okay. What he always asksfamily.
“Beckett!” the girls call. “Comeback!”
Beckett smiles warmly. “With that. As my little brother would say, ‘I bid you farewell’.” He waves in salute with his unoccupied hand, and then turns around, his bare ass in view. He disappears into the secondlounge.
Maximoff almost smiles, shoulders loosening, and he passes me, texting the girls back. “Food?”
“Omelet.” I sling the bunkcurtain.
Donnelly lies down with headphones on, just staring upward in a daze. He doesn’t turn, but he can see me in hisperipheral.
I frown and shake his arm. “Donnelly.”
He pulls one pad off his ear and mumbles something, his South Philly lilt too thick. He only gets quiet like this when he hears from hisfamily.
“Is it your mom?” Iask.
Donnelly tugs at his chestnut hair with a hot breath, then nods. He sits up but slumps. “She got caught with 8 grams. Been out of prison for oneweek.”
My frown darkens. “Man, I’m sorry.” I don’t ask what drug. I know it’smeth.
“I thought it’d be different this time.” Donnelly scrolls through his music. “Fuck me, right.” He hands me his cell. “Pick out somethin’.” He lies back down and puts a T-shirt over his face, headphoneson.
I shuffle through some artists and then play “Do You Realize?” by The Flaming Lips. I tuck the phone under his pillow, and close thecurtain.
I rejoin Maximoff in the first lounge. He’s about to pocket his cell. “Is Donnellyokay?”
“Not really.” I catch his wrist. “Text Jane to order him awaffle.”
He types out a message. “If he needs to go home, I’ll pay for theflight—”
“He won’t want to.” I keep a hand on Maximoff’s waist. “Whenever this shit happens, he stays away from home. It’s played out before.” I pause. “Momproblems.”
Maximoff nods. He’s aware of Donnelly’sfamily.
“Not that I really know what those are,” I add since I’m the only one on the bus without amom.
Maximoff fits his cell in his back pocket. “You never had problems with yourstepmom?”
“No. She’s nice, but we’re notclose.”
He knows the timeline. He attended the wedding. I was a senior in high school when my father dated Rachel, then a freshman in college when theymarried.
Maximoff holds the back of my neck, and we draw together, legs knocking—“Ahhhh!” a girl moansagain.
I roll my eyes, and then a five-notejingle bellchime plays in mypocket.
“That’s fucking creepy,” Maximoff says, referring to the noise, not what’s attached to thejingle bellnotification. Because he couldn’t be less afraid of the stalker if hetried.
I dig for my phone. “Don’t worry,” I say casually. “I’ll keep yousafe.”
Maximoff glares. “I feelzeroworry. Nothing.” He cringes at the app. “Jesus, don’t look at it. Forget it tonight. It’s New Year’sEve.”
“It’s New Year’s Day,” I correct, opening the @maximoffdeadhale account, “and this is my job.” My voice sinks with mystomach.
What the…fuck.
