Page 27 of Whatever It Takes
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
WILLOW MOORE
Age 17
“Loren?” I ask in a soft, timid voice. I scoot around Ryke Meadows.
Both brothers are so tall that I have to tilt my head back and lookup.Maybe if they were shorter, I wouldn’t be nervous. Maybe if they weren’t famous. Maybe if I didn’t know more about them than they know about me. Maybe if they weren’t the current focus of every teenage girl in Superheroes & Scones.
If all of that changed, maybe it’d be easier.
My heart thuds harder and beats faster—their gazes suddenly zeroed in on me. Looking down while I look up. I can’t really unmask their expressions. Ryke is stiff and unmoving while Loren shakes his head a little, his eyes flitting over my awkward frame.
I truly feel seventeen. I truly feel like Loren’slittlesister.
Please let him believe so too.I made it this far—I made it to him. It only took almost a month of scavenging Philadelphia for Loren Hale, and the closest I came before today was a house party that amounted to a beer-stained shirt and mortification.
It took me a solid five-minutes to even climb out of my car and enter that house, my first ever high school party, mind you.
I felt in the way. I never knew where to stand, where to scoot to, and even then, I bumped four or five elbows and shoulders. I left with my stomach twisted like a pretzel. And it solidified what I’ve always known:Willow Moore is not meant for high school parties.I’m just not built to live through them.
Fast forward to today: My bank account is creeping close to just $50, barely enough for another night in a Philadelphia motel. I’ve already spent five nights in my car to save money, and my last hope was staking out Superheroes & Scones. Which proved to be the winning strategy, even though I always thought it was a long shot.
But I’ve foundhim.
Loren Hale is standing right in front of me.
Now for the hardest part. I open my mouth and adjust my backpack on my shoulder with a sweaty palm. “Hi,” I say. I lick my lips repeatedly.Hi—is that really all you have, Willow?
I had more planned, I think. I just—I’m looking at my brother. This is the second time I’ve met him, and I start to see a greater resemblance between us.
We have the same light brown hair. I subconsciously touch my nose.
We have the same slender nose—
Ryke’s rough but sincere voice breaks my concentration. “Do you want an autograph or a picture or something?”
I try to meet his expression, but he raises his eyebrows at me like,we can get anything for you. Oh my God. I immediately look away and push my glasses up. “No…thanks.” I cough a little to hide my nerves, but maybe that just makes it worse.
I’m used to seeing Ryke in video footage, yelling and throwing out F-bombs at paparazzi, trying to block cameras from his brother and girlfriend’s way.
Seeing him now—with an unshaven jawline, crinkled brows, brooding eyes, and overwhelming masculine energy—it’s like meeting a scruffy god in the flesh.
I’m surprised I haven’t combusted into flames yet.
Ryke turns to Loren, probably wondering what to do with a crazy, awkward fan like me.
Say it, Willow. Tell him that you’re his sister.Why is this so hard? I blow out a breath, prepared to let this truth out and desperately hoping Loren Hale will believe it.
I meet his amber eyes, our gazes locked for a strong, tense moment. And I say, “I’m—”
“My sister,” he finishes.
The hairs rise on the back of my neck, a chill snaking down my spine and arms. My eyes burn as tears try to well.
Loren barely flinches. “Willow, right?”
My mouth keeps falling. All this time, I thought he’s been looking at me likewho is this girl?But he’s been really looking at me in disbelief likethis is my half-sister, standing right here. He’s been piecing me together with the middle school girl he once met, so long ago. In Caribou, Maine.
