Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Just as Lo lights the grill, the backdoor swings open. Ryke steps out, slipping a green Columbia jacket on. “I thought I was grilling,” he tells his brother.
“We’ve got it,” Lo says with a curt raise of the spatula. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
Ryke’s hardened gaze bounces between me and Lo. Then he gives him a look I can’t decipher.
“Jesus, I’m not going to murder him,” Lo says. “He’s fine.” He nods towards the house. “Go back to the game. Wave a foam middle finger. Flirt with your wife.”
“I’m not worried about you murdering him,” Ryke retorts.
Lo glares. “I know that. We know that. Can you go?” He rattles the spatula. “Seriously. Go be a craisin. Jump off the roof with your better half. Stop…” He bites back the phrase, but I fill in the blanks. Stop worrying about me.
“Fucking fine,” Ryke mutters. He opens a storage cabinet on the shingled wall. Not for outdoor pool storage, I realize. It’s housing a TV. Before he leaves, he draws the TV out and powers-on the game with a remote. Then he sheds his jacket, handing it to me.
The brothers share a glare-off.
I’m wondering if I should take the jacket or not.
Is that like siding with the Meadows? I only wanna be on Team Hale.
I shake my head at Ryke. “Nah, I like the cold. Keeps my brain all frosty and my dick limp.”
Lo waves the spatula at me like I’ve made my point.
Ryke shoves the jacket in my chest. “Just fucking have it.” As he leaves, I feel bad I didn’t thank him.
Could’ve really kissed his toes for putting on the game out here. I don’t think Lo would’ve confessed to having an outdoor TV.
I glance at the screen.
The score is 7-7.
Fuuuck.
Luna’s dad tosses burgers on the grill, then mutes the game with the remote. But he leaves the closed captions on. So there is a God.
“My brother thinks you’re too big of a stressor for me,” Lo admits. “What do you think?”
Feels like a trick question. Then again, most conversations I’ve had with Luna’s dad have felt like I’m one breath away from being hurled on the street. Thought things were getting better. During the holidays, he’d been appreciative when he realized I bought Luna a new phone so she didn’t have to deal with harassing texts or calls. Even more so when I looped him in on the whole situation. Told him about Keagan Bell and his friends from New York, how they were behind the messages.
I learned Loren Hale had, in fact, gotten them blacklisted from popular clubs Luna frequented.
For a second there, we were working together again. But it was to protect his daughter. Our common ground has always been about protecting Luna. It’s the one thing we can both stand on together.
But walking in on him and Lily probably threw me into Monopoly jail. No passing Go.
Mulling over his question, I splay Ryke’s jacket over a patio chair. My brother thinks you’re too big of a stressor for me. What do you think?
“I think there’s probably enough reasons why you could be stressed out around me. I mean, I’m still talking to my dad and wearing a wire. It’s not something you wanna be reminded of. I get it.”
I am that night.
The Night to Forget.
The night Luna’s dad and I shared, and even now, my eyes burn reimagining the distress in Luna’s voice and Lily’s voice over the phone. Coming up on the busted-out windows of the rental car. Unsure of what we’d even find. It’s a lot.
It’s been a lot.
His brows crinkle. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
He’s frustrated for a second and shuts the lid on the grill. “Luna said you went to therapy with her. How’d that go?”
“It went fine. As much as I don’t get along with her, I think Dr. Raven is good for Luna.”
“How’d it go for you?” he clarifies, almost pissy about it.
I start to smile. “Why so interested in me, Luna’s dad?”
“You’re dating my daughter, Paul. Sue me for asking. Or don’t. Because I’d bankrupt you.” He flashes a half-smile.
I laugh. “You can have my pennies. I’m rich without ‘em.”
Lo smiles a bit softer at this, like he understands what real wealth is, too. “Was that your first time in therapy?” He reopens the grill lid, checking the burgers.
“I’ve been before. Never liked it. I still don’t.”
“It took me a while to get into it,” he admits. “Once you get over the sharing part, it’s easier.”
“That’s the whole part.”
“Exactly.” He gives me another dry smile.
“It’s just not for me. I don’t like sitting there knowing someone’s analyzing me. Puts me on the defensive, and anyway, I’m doing fine without it.” I speak faster, hoping to change topics. Wind picks up, and I shove my hands in my jeans pockets. Goosebumps are tiny mountains on my arms. “About earlier in the kitchen—”