Page 57 of Headstrong Like Us
His cheek rests against the crook of my neck, my arm curled around his shoulders. The air mattress already deflated to where we’re tucked against one another in the sunken middle.
Carefully, slowly, so I don’t wake him, I reach over to the orange rug, about to shut off my phone.
But I catch sight of the texts, and it jolts me.
Fucking hell.
I bow upright with abrupt force, stirring Maximoff.
My worry explodes like a fucking barrel of dynamite as I click into the string of messages that have been blasting off for the past ten minutes. All from Donnelly.
I’m outside your door.
Please open up
I can’t knock
I don’t wanna wake anyone else
FARROW
Fuck. Please open up
This is serious
Like real fucking serious
I need you
Please
I’m already climbing off the mattress, wobbling a little to gain footing on the floor.
“Farrow.” Maximoff stands, and I reach the door, hand on the knob, and as soon as I open it, my stomach drops.
My friend is sitting on the ground in the hallway, phone hanging limply in his hand. Elbows resting on his bent knees where his jeans are worn and ripped. Donnelly’s eyes are bloodshot, but I can’t discern if he’s been crying or if he’s just angry.
Right now, faint irritation lies behind glassy blue eyes. “I’ve been texting you,” Donnelly whispers as he stands.
“I’m here.” I put a hand on his back, pushing him into the room. Gently, I shut the door and twist the lock. Maximoff pulls a T-shirt on over his head. His tough forest-greens dart between us, but he stops on Donnelly.
“Aren’t you on Xander’s night-duty?” Concern tenses his muscles. “Is he alone?”
“Nah.” Donnelly runs a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t do that. I called Thatch first. He’s in your brother’s room.”
Maximoff nods, but he’s still prepared for this to swing in a bad direction. And having him present during any shit storm is helpful. As his family would say, he’s Captain America.
Donnelly spins to me. Eyes still raw. He opens his mouth and shuts it.
I wonder if he’s thinking what I am.
He got ahold of Thatcher Moretti long before I answered. Hurt piles up against me, and whatever’s going on, I just need to be here for him.
I am now.
Before I can say anything else, Donnelly chokes out, “I’m in deep shit, man.” He puts both of his hands, palms-down, on top of his head. Distress rings in every inch of him. “And I don’t know what to do.”
I hold out a hand. “Let’s just take it one step at a time.” Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Maximoff moving into gear. He zips from his desk to his bed, collecting things and throwing them in a backpack.
